"I like this place..." - Shakespeare

Hello Dear Family,

I've been heartily enjoying my sister's company, as is evidenced by my recent lapse in communication. I haven't written in over a month, and feel that it's about time to catch you up on all the present happenstances of daily life in Korea.

As you know, Rebekah (whom I introduce to my Korean friends as Becky, a much more linguistically manageable name) arrived two weeks ago, on a Monday evening. Four days later my Christmas break began, and we've spent these last nine days visiting all those exciting places in Korea that everyone other than its residents have toured. I haven't really been out much, since getting back here, so it's been good for me to spend some of my days out of doors. If only to spite the frigid temperatures.

We've taken a boat on the Han River (a first for me), ascended 136 meters up to the 3rd observation deck of Seoul Tower, nearly lost ourselves in the Namdaemun market, strolled through the quaint, traditional streets of Insadong, popped our heads out of the subway in Itaewon, the foreign side of town, enjoyed fresh, warm waffles underground, joined a DMZ tour, and of course, partaken of those necessary Korean dishes: kimche, rice, noodle soup, kimbop, mandu, and p'chingae.

Needless to say, I haven't studied much over this last week. But, having foreseen a busy Christmas break, I purchased my level two books in advance, about a month and a half ago, and committed to memory sixty-eight vocabulary words a day, between semesters. That covered all of the vocab for level two, cutting about two hours a day off of my study time once school began. So now I'm able to be relaxed and enjoy hanging out with Rebekah, without being stressed out or feeling like I'm falling behind.
It's interesting for me to watch her response to things that have become a part of my every day life. It brings back all of my impressions, from the first few months I lived here.
Walking out together out on Rebekah's first day here, I was surprised when, as I stepped out to cross a road without first looking both ways, she grabbed my arm and jerked me back onto the sidewalk. "It's okay," I laughed at her, "Drivers here are pretty alert for pedestrians." Was it only twelve months ago that I lived strictly according to the rules of crosswalks and stop lights, lest all of Seoul's maniacal drivers run me over at once?
When it comes to elbowing ones way through a crowded subway or bus, her western sense of etiquette amuses me. I'd forgotten that where I come from there's such a thing as personal space. But, as she follows in my intrepid wake, I remember the first time I had to physically move a stranger aside, and what an daunting, uncomfortable experiencethat was for me.
"What were you guys talking about?" she often asks, when I walk away from a Korean conversation, and it comes back: how lonely it was to be on the outside of interesting discussions for so very long, and how badly I once wanted to be able to at just ­get by in Korean.
It's good for me to remember. I get discouraged when I don't see huge leaps and bounds of progress, or immediate results. But memories provide a contrast between where I was a year ago and where I am now. I realize that my time here has been as profitable as it has been pleasant, and (to quote Shakespeare), "I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it."

Aside from the negative effects of a semi-debilitating head cold, the end of 2007 has been altogether pleasant, and I look forward to writing you all again next year.

Much love, and thank you for your prayers, and for the letters that you sent with Rebekah,
Elisabeth

A Lovely Little Phone

Dear Family,

A week ago, Friday, I blissfully recorded in my little Thanksgivings Book, 'I have a cell phone – happy day!!' Having neither that blessed contrivance nor a land line, life in Seoul has been laboriously inconvenient. But now I'm finally able to get back in touch with friends that I said good bye to five months ago, and be more involved with people whose company I appreciate and enjoy.

I should have called myself the happy owner of this toy and tool a month ago, had it been in my power to make it so. After speaking to some people who had themselves gone through the process of finding a new phone, and feeling myself, if not linguistically competent, at least fumblingly capable of tackling the thing alone (foolish girl!), I wandered off, of a Thursday evening, to beard the lion in its den. Spotting the bright orange store front of a LG Telecom establishment, I stepped hesitantly through the door, and waited for a sales person to notice my presence, and offer his help.

Allow me to digress here. I must note that Korea is excessively 'service' oriented. If I buy a cake, the clerk will slip some candles under the lid of the box, smile sweetly up at me from behind the counter, and pronounce, 'sahbeece!' When I bought my fish, I asked the sales man how much it would cost to replace some of the parts in my water filter. He smiled grandly, 'sahbeece!' and then added for my benefit, 'no cost!'

I appreciate that mispronounced English word when it's applied to freebees, but it irritates me when service takes the form of personal assistance. Scanning the shelves in the hair products aisle, for example, a pretty, dark haired girl always steps shyly toward me, and attempts to ask in English what I'm looking for. 'Molahyo.' I shrug, hoping (without expecting) to be left in peace. Emboldened by my indecisiveness, the sales lady plucks up her courage, and begins a veritable lecture, in rapid Korean, on the various pros and cons of each of the dozens of product ranged before me. I try to appear disinterested, but she will not be daunted, and finally, with a multitude of colorful labels swimming before my baffled eyes, and my wrists sticky with hairsprays of various fragrances, I shake my bewildered head, declare, with a shameless disregard for the truth, that I don't need anything, and make a dash for freedom. Especially during my first year here, this frequently reenacted scene overwhelmed me, and I learned to keep a wary eye open for those daunting figures of benevolent accommodation, and to flee before they had a chance to open their mouths . Over the last while I have learned to simply ignore helpful voices and hands, and while I have yet to appreciate the help, at least I can value the humor of the situation.

But now, as I paused uncertainly on the threshold, I was hopeful, for the first time, of being personally assisted. Not knowing where to begin without the help, I waited expectantly to be addressed. But, to my astonished dismay, no one stepped forward. Instead, after glancing up at me, each turned a different shade of red, and applied himself, with a steady fixedness wonderful to behold, to his various job. And it struck me that I had made an irreme diable mistake in applying cosmetics before sallying forth.

I freeze myself, again, in this unexciting frame, and apologize for another necessary digression. It must be understood that, as a general rule, when I want to be taken seriously in Korea, I wear makeup. It took me some time to make the useful discovery that, when I do so, others are a little bit intimidated, and so I step out of the realm of 'ignorant child' and into that of 'the symbol and representative of the entire western world.' My perspective is, granted, rather exaggeratory, but the principle applies. With this in mind, and hoping for my desires to carry more weight, I had dressed myself up, completely forgetting that cell phone establishments (for some undiscovered reason) are peopled, almost exclusively, by young men. And, in their case alone, my methods backfire on me.

Most Korean men, between the ages of eighteen and thirty, behold me from a distance with curious wonder, and up close are reduced to varying degrees of mortal fear and trembling. Last year, one of the Korean teachers at SCG introduced me to a group of her friends. The girls shyly smiled, with their hands over their respective mouths, while the gentlemen, unable to take recourse in nervous giggles, bravely ploughed through the ordeal, dropping and upsetting everything in reach. I tried to appear small and un-intimidating, but was apparently unsuccessful, because after a moment, one of the guys pulled his friend aside and whispered, "I don't think I can do this without a drink. "

His remark was overheard, and my friend asked, "Have you never met a foreigner before?"

He replied in a rush, but with an appropriate degree of awe and reverence, "I've never been even this close to a foreigner!"

I return now to the small shop in which I left myself standing in an attitude of naive expectancy. As soon as I realized that, so far from having educed a universal atmosphere of peace and good will, I had effectually struck terror in the hearts these poor men, I attempted to atone for my inexcusable folly by making the first move, thereby helping them to help me. So I stepped up to the counter, and assumed a general air of hopeful uncertainty. Still, their various tasks completely consumed them, and no move was made to assist me. I became impatient, and mercilessly turned upon the man nearest, demanding, in English, "Do you speak English?"

"No." He replied, in English.

"Well, do you have any inexpensive cell phones?" Still in my native tongue.

"No, everything here is expensive."

Seeing the uncertainty in my face, he squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and in a reckless maneuver to dispose of me manfully, pointed to a KTF store up the street, "Over there. I think there are cheap phones there."

I shook my head over the bitter animosity that apparently exists between LG and their unsuspecting rivals in business, bowed my thanks, and crossed the street.

I may as well have spared myself the pains; I fared no better there. After wandering the streets for the better part of two hours, and visiting half a dozen establishments, all of whose phones were "very expensive", I bit my lower lip in agitation, attempted to console myself with a forty-cent ice cream from McDonalds, and made my weary way home.

A week later, Boyeun (a fellow teacher from last year, and very good Korean friend) offered her help. Together we revisited one of the establishments which I had previously darkened with such unconscious dismay, and within five minutes I had gleefully exchanged $30 for a unassuming phone of modest proportions. The clerk, setting up my account, required a copy of my passport and ID card, both of which I had had the foresight to bring along. But alas!

Informatively: "This visa is only good for six months."

Anxiously: "Yes?"

Heartlessly: "Well, we can't set up an account for you, unless you have a visa that will let you stay for a year."

Pleadingly: "But I don't work in Korea. I'm a student, so I can't get a longer visa. I will be here for at least a year and a half, but I have to renew my visa every six months."

Firmly: "I'm sorry."

So was I. Very sorry. My $30 was returned, and I made a noble attempt to be pleasant company to Boyeun for the rest of the evening. But I was glad to finally go to bed, and start tomorrow fresh.

But Boyeun, bless her!, didn't let the matter rest, and the next time I saw her, she handed me one of her old cell phones, saying, "You still won't be able to set up an account, but at least this way you can use pre-paid, and you don't have to buy a phone."

And so, to wrap up a very long story (my apologies, family): I now have a lovely little phone, the minutes of which I pay for in advance, and am rendered nearly as happy by it as I was upon receipt of my new stove.


Before leaving you in peace, I would like to offer a general apology, to all of you who have been so good as to email me over these last few weeks, for being so silently unresponsive. Excuses are generally very weak things, but I flatter myself that I have two that are at least passable. The first may appear the stronger, but they both carry, in my humble opinion, equal weight. My internet connection has been down during the entire second half of last month, and most of this month as well. I think that most of you will readily admit that this is a great deterrent to timely communication, and for those of you who are unconvinced, allow me to plead in my favor, that even had my connection not been down, I certainly hadn't the mental energy, after studying myself into a headache every evening, to stay on the computer a moment longer than necessary. However, these two disincentives are now removed and over the course of the next few days I hope to be able to be in closer personal touch. Meanwhile, your emails are as encouraging and brightening as ever, so please continue to support me with them!

Much love,
Elisabeth

The Demise of 'Double-U'

Dear Family,

These last two weeks have been quite inimitable, and tonight I experience, to an equal degree, the strangely compatible sensations of exultation and exhaustion.
An ordinary day, for me, consists of several hours of study after class. As the day of the finals approached, my study hours lengthened, until over this last week, it has been a regular thing for me to be immersed in Korean from nine in the morning to nine in the evening. Often, I would rub my burning eyes, and sit back to rest my neck and shoulders, pushing myself on with the thought: "Only a few more days, Lis. Just work at it for a few more days. You can rest then. Not yet. Not yet." Then I would bend again over my books until my mind ached. There is so much to learn and know, and my mind feels so very numb, sometimes.
Wednesday morning finally arrived, and I made it through the grammar & vocabulary, listening, and reading tests, without too much ado. The rest of the afternoon was devoted to studying for the morrow's interview, which was the only part of the whole ordeal that I was seriously worried about and dreading. When Thursday morning dawned, I got on my knees and told God that I didn't think I would be able do it. "But we both know why I'm here," I reminded Him, "So let's have a go at this together."
The twenty-minute interview over, I bowed to the teacher, and left the room, quietly closing the door behind me. At the gentle sound of the clicking latch, a hammering pulse abruptly began to pound behind my eyes, and I took myself home to rest. But, rather than subsiding, the headache worsened, and I finally gave in, before heading to school this morning, and took an aspirin.
I held my breath as my score card was passed to me, with a smile and a nod. Unfolding it, my eyes eagerly scanned the page, and I slowly exhaled when they spotted what they had hoped, but hardly expected, to find. While my classmates were all smiling, laughing and congratulating each other, I sat quietly, folded my paper without reading the note that my teacher had written at the bottom, and slipped it back into its envelope. And the sharp pain in my temples and behind my right eye, began instantly and mercifully to subside.
So I have officially passed Korean, level one.

I recently added some new fish to my tank, which, as it turned out, had a vicious streak, and began taking their issues out on my very gentle gold fish. I quickly grew weary of snapping on the tank to settle their disputes, but was loathe to leave 'Double-U' to his fate. So for a short while he lead an isolated, cramped existence in a mason jar. The solitary confinement apparently didn't suit his constitution, however, because he instantly went into a steady decline, growing languid and droopy, until one day he simply was no more. Due to a flash of rare and brilliant foresight, I had magnanimously bestowed my handsome, bright orange fishy, with his black fins and tail, on the unsuspecting Wilkes, a day before his untimely demise, and so, having subjected myself to the more immediate pain of separation, was spared the greater pain of disposing of the body. I now look with an choleric eye upon my remaining fish, especially Sorbet, whose color reminds me exactly of that desert, only perhaps rather less deliciously. He has little idea of how very often he falls under my the wrath of my righteous indignation, nor how very close he has come, on more than one occasion, to meeting his Maker. He may count himself fortunate that I haven't yet been able to bring myself to retaliate quite so vengefully, but toy, rather, with the idea of foisting…ahem!…with the idea of bestowing him upon my very good friends, as a consolation, of course, for their recent loss.

I must be off,
Elisabeth

보고 싶은 가족이

보고 싶은 가족이 - Dear Family,

I do enjoy Saturdays! That is the one day a week that I allow myself the luxury of sleeping in as long as I like, and of not opening my Korean books all day. Instead, as the day gets lazily underway, I usually turn on quiet music, and take up some craft or art to employ myself with. Such a very pleasant and relaxing way to spend a cold afternoon, snuggled in my little house! Last weekend I wrote some letters, and this weekend I painted my window. I haven't curtains, you see. And my front, wood-paned window looked a little bleak all by itself. So a few weeks ago I bought some watercolors and paintbrushes. I haven't had time to actually use them until today. After sketching an outline, in black, I thinned down all the paints, and colored in my hills and tree and river and sunshine and clouds, feeling as though I were painting in the pages of a coloring book. After they dried, I fitted the windows back in their tracts. Against the light from outside, the water colors took on a stained glass effect, as I'd hoped they would, so I'm quite happily pleased with the results.

Days are growing colder. I've been keeping my eye on Oregon weather, and though we have yet to catch up to you, it's cold enough here that the mosquitoes are finally dying off. That is a very good thing. For nearly the whole month of October, I would jerk awake three or four times a night to a high pitched whine in my ear. After a few nights of particularly fruitless mosquito hunts, supplemented by empty threats, I discovered that if I leapt out of bed and flicked the light on instantly, the mosquito usually wouldn't have time to fly further than a few feet from the head of my bed before being stunned by the light, and settling on a wall. Then it became a simple matter for me to reach for the sandal I keep under my bed, for just such a purpose, and deal the penalty of capitol punishment on the offending party. Of course, in the chill night air, such procedure would thoroughly wake me, and not being the one of those fortunate few who fall asleep the moment their heads touch the pillow, my only consolation lay in the fact that my opponent had fared worse than I.

Finals are upon us. In just a week and a half the interrogation begins, and for three days we'll feel the pressure of having our writing, grammar, reading, listening, and speaking skills minutely examined and picked to pieces. An intimidating prospect, but one that I look forward to more with impatience to be finished than with dread. We'll be given two weeks, after that, to recover from the ordeal. Then those of us who are fortunate enough to have passed inspection will move on to level two, while the rest of us are corralled heartlessly back to the beginning. I want to pass. Replace that verb with a dozen more potent, and the mark may come close to being hit. I desire, wish, aspire, long, yearn… You may be glad that I haven't a thesaurus by me now, or the list would be indefinitely extended. But even so, I have perfect calm in God's hand over all. I know that the outcome, whatever it may be, will be governed by Him, and so I experience no trepidation, no anxiety. Just a very strong desire to be given a few days to rest. That God is my strength is reassuring, because where my own abilities fail, His never reach an end. He is always strength, and I am always His. Thus, by right of love, I have unlimited access to His unlimited help.

On Friday evenings I've been attending a Bible study that meets in a little coffee shop about fifteen minutes, on foot, from my house. I find it particularly pleasant. It's a very small group, composed of a few enthusiastic individuals. Since I haven't found a church, yet, that I feel at all one with, these few hours of fellowship on Friday are a blessing to me.

I've been studying Psalm 18, and am struck again and again by the violence of God's response to David's cry for help, and by the calamitous discomfiture into which the world is cast in response to God's wrath. And why? How can David have had such a hearing with One to Whom the earth responds by undulating and violently agitating, and the mountains and hills by quivering with fear? It's incredible to me that God allows Himself to be so swayed by our words. But He does. And so, please continue to lift me before Him…

Elisabeth

A Very Good Stove

Dear Family,

It feels rather more like three months than three weeks have passed between my last email and this. Oregon seems so long ago and far away, it's such a different world! Sometimes it's hard to picture you all going about your daily lives there, as I do here, with the same vitality of life and moment by moment experiences.

Last week and this have been occupied with preparing for our mid-terms. We had our writing, listening, reading tests on Friday, which I think I did okay on. In any case, I felt well enough prepared for those. Tomorrow we've an interview, which is a little more nerve wracking to look forward to. At least with reading and writing one can take what time he needs and go back to review his answers before submitting them. But speaking is a different matter. One must, of necessity, be somewhat spontaneous, and there isn't the time-to-think allowance. I'll probably do okay, if I don't get too flustered, but there's no guarantee on that . Actually, provided you check your email in the early afternoon, I'll be taking my interview as you read this.

And then life, or at least school, goes back to normal.

Tomorrow, directly after the interview, I make my way to Apgujeong Station, about forty-five minutes away, for what will hopefully be my last check up in relation to my wisdom teeth extraction.
I had my sutures out two weeks ago, and what pleasant relief that was! The swelling in my mouth had gone down right away, leaving those loose and abrasive. That was, I announce with a general feeling of gratitude, the worst of it. The dentist had told me that, because of where the nerves in my jaw run in relation to the roots of my teeth, I should expect to experience numbness and tingling for a few months after the extraction. On the left side, he said, the nerves were so close that he couldn't recommend the extraction of those teeth, and that if I chose to have them out, I should be prepared to loose the feeling on that side of my mouth for up to one and a half years. As you know, I decided to brave the consequences and have them pulled anyway, for a number of inconsequential reasons. When I went back a week after the event for a check up, he looked at my throat and gums and jaw, and asked if I was experiencing any numbness or tingling yet (it's supposed to take up to a week to begin to loose feeling). When he saw that there was no swelling, no pain (I never had to take the painkiller he had prescribed), and no nerve damage, he exclaimed, "You had all four wisdom teeth out at once, and there are no complications. That is impossible." Since my mouth was hanging open with a mirror and pick in it, I was unable to answer. But I smiled with my eyes, and thanked God with my heart, thinking, "Yes, that's just like You."

The gas range that gawkily adorned my kitchen when I moved in was much improved, in appearance only, by a thorough scrubbing. In response to every other aspect thereof, the best attitude that I could muster was a half-hearted, "Well, at least it's something." But that something, the flame of which was altogether impish and capricious, may as well have been a nothing, for all the use I got out of it. Before the flame would condescend to even catch, I had to flick the knob between the on and off positions at least a half dozen times. At that point, it would flicker for only a second before going out again. After two or three more minutes of knob flicking, the stove would acknowledge me master of the situation, and the flame would stay lit. But only at a full blaze. There was no turning it down even the smallest degree. Really, the only thing it was good for was boiling water, because that is unburnable. But even then, I couldn't use my pot, because the flame would lick up its sides and melt its plastic handles. Nevertheless, undaunted and determined, I would light the flame, brave the nauseating gas fumes, and hold my big frying pan up several inches above the fire to cook at a simulated low heat. Needless to say, I did more eating out than home cooking during those first weeks.
The fix-it man, the same who had replaced all my toilet parts as I was moving in, came by about two weeks ago, at my request, and looked at the stove, to see if he could fix it. After tinkering a bit, he shook his head gravely, and pronounced the solemn verdict, "You need a new stove."
I sighed, and nodded, "Yes, I thought I might. Thank you for looking at it."
He then took himself off, and I made a mental note to go stove shopping over the weekend.
Fifteen minutes later, there was another knock on the door. I opened it to find that the fix-it man had returned, "Here is a new stove." He nodded over his shoulder, and stepped aside to make way for a second man, bent double with a heavy box on his back. I was surprised, thought not displeased, and followed them curiously into the kitchen.
"It costs a hundred fifty thousand won (about $150)." Mr. Fix-it casually informed me.
I was appalled, "Oh! That's too expensive!"
He shook his head grandly, "No, this is a very good stove."
"But I don't have a lot of money. And I know I can get one for only fifty thousand."
Again, "It's a very good stove." in a placid tone of voice.
"I don't want a good stove." I objected, with some asperity, "I want a cheep stove!"
I was then treated to the, 'Now, now! Be a good child!' look that, as a foreigner, I've grown accustomed to, but have yet to learn to accept gracefully. Seeing, however, that there was nothing to be done, and since the new stove had by this time been installed by my friend's companion, I swallowed further objections, and attempted to appreciate the magnanimousness that had prompted this gesture, however unsolicited it may have been.
As it turned out, and which I discovered just a few minutes later, Mr. Fix-it had already paid for the stove on behalf of my landlady, his sister-in-law, and was having it installed as an addition to the apartment, with no expectation of being reimbursed. When I discovered this, I was, of course, consternated at the recollection of my very un-gracious behavior, and attempted to atone for it by thanking him kindly, and acknowledging in enthusiastic accents that it was indeed a remarkably good stove.
Apparently unconscious of my duplicity, he smiled pleasantly and promised to return soon to fix the leak under my sink.
At his departure, I tripped euphorically back into the kitchen, rapturously embraced my beautiful, very good stove, and immediately set about to scrambled myself some eggs. I don't, ordinarily, find that dish particularly appetizing, but I must say, I've never before tasted more delectable eggs. Even still, the thought of my new gas range fills me with ecstasy, and I wonder that I never before appreciated the beauty of that particular convenience, as I do now.

There's so much more to write of, but I need to get to bed, so it will have to wait.

Meanwhile, may God bless and keep each one of you, as He has me,
Elisabeth

Various Instruments of Torture

Dear Ones,

Chusok, Korean Thanksgiving, is upon us. This is the second most important holiday in Korea, next only to their three day New Year celebration. All my shopping for the week was done in advance, because shops will be closed up until Thursday. Seoul is a pretty quiet city during this week, because most families have traveled to other parts of Korea, to spend the holiday at the home of the paternal family's eldest son. When the families are together, they visit their ancestors' graves to set out food and pay obeisance. It used to be believed that every person has three spirits. When a person dies, one of those spirits enters the spirit world, one remains in the grave, and one returns to the house of the family. So I think the idea is to keep the 'grave spirit' happy, so that the 'house spirit' will protect the family, instead of becoming a menace. I don't know if that's still a serious belief any more, but the custom of ancestor worship is still observed, and some of my Christian friends have experienced conflict with relatives, who consider their refusal to bow to be nothing more than a disrespectful demonstration. For myself, the holiday is nothing more or less than an welcomed break from school.

I'm a little headachy, because I've been cleaning. On Thursday I had my wisdom teeth pulled, and since then the least exertion wipes me out. It puzzles me a little bit, because it really wasn't that much of an ordeal.
Ruth came with me to the dentist's, which I was glad for. It was a good thing to have her company to keep my mind off of what I uneasily looked forward to as my impending doom. After getting only a little bit lost, and understandably exasperating our poor taxi driver, we arrived at the office just on time.
My dentist is wonderful, and was very patient with all my nervous questions. I was glad to learn that he didn't mean to put me under, but only to numb me. Somehow, the idea of being knocked out while native parts of my mouth were forcefully removed wholly unsettled me. However, when the dentist picked up a three inch long needle I nearly changed my mind. I closed my eyes, but Dr. Jung didn't like that. He made me open them again, and look at him. He told me later that he needed to be able to watch my pupils, to make sure that I was reacting to the anesthesia okay. And so I nervously watched the needle being brought to my mouth, and clenched my fists as felt it burry itself in my jaw. It hurt, but I have a pretty high pain tolerance, so I was surprised to feel tears rolling down my face. The needle was drawn out, and re-pierced me again and again, until my whole mouth began to ache. It was an eternity and eighteen shots, before Dr. Jung was satisfied. He sat me up, and left me for five minutes while the numbness spread mercifully through my jaw and over my face, until all I could feel was a five pound lower lip.
The first tooth came out quickly. While Dr. Jung worked, I tried to keep my mind else where. I was pretty certain that when the tooth was ripped out, it would feel intolerable. So I put into practice a little trick I've used before: I pulled to mind all the blessings in my life, particularly those related to the present situation, and thanked God for them. "God, thank You for a good dentist. Thank You that I have enough money to do this. Thank You that Ruth could come with me. Thank You we were able to find our way here. Thank you for…" I fired them off in rapid succession, leaving no room for uncomfortable thoughts, and as always, this calmed me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I was feeling a pressure somewhere in my mouth, but it was entirely painless, and I was surprised when Dr. Jung announced, "The first tooth is out."
After that, all nervousness dissipated, and I began to be interested in the proceedings. I opened my eyes, and watched various instruments of torture being lifted toward my mouth. Always they came away covered in blood, which was actually pretty gross. I didn't like to watch Dr. Jung preparing to sew up my gums after each tooth was pulled, but otherwise found it interesting.
The second tooth was out, and Dr. Jung let me close my mouth for a minute to rest. I was glad for that, because my neck was beginning to ache. Before he began again, I asked if I could use a mirror to watch the next one being pulled. To my disappointment, he shook his head.
The third tooth came out as unconcernedly as the previous two had. Almost as though it didn't consider itself bound to me by our previous four years of experience together, and would just as soon be out of my mouth as in.
The last tooth, however, was not so complying. My lower, left jaw wasn't as numb as the rest of my mouth. I had wondered if I should tell him so before he began, but hadn't wanted him to give me another shot, and so had kept silent. When he reached in and began to loosen that last tooth, I felt it being worked out of the socket, and began to regret my squeamishness. My neck was so tired, by this time, that I couldn't hold my head against the dentist's pull. His aid gripped my forehead and lower jaw and held me in place, and as they pulled against each other, the muscles in my neck and shoulders began to tremble spasmodically with weariness. When Dr. Jung showed me the tooth after it was all over, I saw why this one had been so difficult. The roots were bent and twisted at the tip, nearly to a ninety degree angle, so that they were almost barbed. "We have a saying in Korea," Dr. Jung smiled, "A person is like the roots of his teeth. If the roots are twisted, then his personality is very unique." Is this good or bad?
Dr. Jung sat me up, and gave me a glass of water and ibuprofen. Remembering the last time I'd attempted to take a drink while my upper and lower lips were both numb, this time I tipped my head back to keep the water where it should be, and gratefully swallowed the pain killer.
I wanted to stand, so I looked over to where Dr. Jung was pulling of his gloves. "Can I gelluf?" The sound of my voice startled me into giggling, and I modestly covered my mouth with my hand, a very Korean gesture. "I thoun thransh!"
Dr. Jung, bless him, speaks very equitable English, but his skills were no match for my slurred words. Fortunately, he seemed to understand that I was finding amusement in the way my words 'thounded' and just smiled.
I wasn't supposed to talk much, and since I had wads of netted padding stuffed into all four corners of my poor, swollen mouth it was more comfortable to be still. But when we went back out to the waiting room to find Ruth, I wanted to relate all my experiences to her. This attempt earned me a gentle rebuke from Dr. Jung, "Don't talk!"
I was really alert, so instead of taking a taxi back, as I'd intended, we rode the subway. Aside from drooling blood the whole way home (Ruth had happily thought to provide me with tissue, bless her!), it was an uneventful ride.
I was happy to be home, and to be still. But I couldn't rest, so I sat down and wrote a simple poem, to remind myself of God's goodness:

Lord, You have searched, and have known my ways:
When I wake, when I sleep, how I structure my days.
Your hand rests upon me, my thoughts are Your own.
My path is compassed, all my ways You have known.
Every word on my tongue You have heard in my mind.
You uphold and compass me before and behind.
I cannot conceive why I should be thus sought;
Such wonderful knowledge is greater than thought!

Where can I hide from Your Spirit in me?
Where from Your presence of love shall I flee?
If I raise up to heaven, my way You prepare.
If I lie down in hell, You remain by me there.
If I fly on the wings of the dawn, to be free,
Or dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there will Your hand in my own lead my feet,
Will Your right hand enfold me and make me complete.

How precious and rare are Your thoughts about me,
More numerous in count than the sand of the sea.
Before I was born, Your love set me apart.
You have purchased my mind, and have captured my heart.
Search me, O God, know my thoughts and my ways.
May each breath that I take render glory and praise
To the One Who so fearfully and wonderfully chose
His wisdom and power in me to disclose.

Indomitably Plunging

Family o' mine,

Today is Saturday, and what a lovely day it is. Overcast and cool. I don't usually like autumn, being the forerunner of winter. But always before I've possessed some means of dominating summer's ruthless heat. Now I have no AC, no fan, and even open windows at night are taboo, because this is mosquito season. So, while I still stand in dread of the coming frigid temperatures, today's coolness is very welcome.

I write, not because I really have anything to say, but because I miss you all. Saturdays are slow and lazy, which is nice in some ways. But it does leave me with a lot of unoccupied time on my hands. Mom is sending me two boxes of books, which I expect to get any time now. I look forward to that.

Meanwhile I continue to plod doggedly along. But perhaps the words 'plod' and 'dogged' are too arduous. I have, after all, been back at it for only two weeks. Maybe I should save that expression for some five or six months down the road, where it may be more applicable, and be content at present to 'plunge indomitably forward.'
Ah yes, that's much more apt! When I picture a man standing to take an indomitable plunge, I can see fire burning in his eyes, and can feel the charge of electricity coursing through his body. That same thrill of vigorous life has been my experience since being back in Korea. I love to wake up every morning. I love to breath, and to flex my fingers, and to shiver with delight at God's all-ness. I love to sing to myself, and to wait for the traffic light to turn green, and to watch the sky grow dark every evening. I love all the wonder of feeling and thinking and breathing and doing that comes with being alive.

I picked up a bug, while in China, that I just don't seem to be able to shake. This morning my head was feeling particularly uncomfortable. But later, after school, I slept for two and a half hours, and hopefully the rest will help me to be able to fight whatever this is that's taking me out.

I had my first dream in Korean. Yay! Well, maybe it wasn't really in Korean, but I dreamt I was studying, and through the whole dream all of my hundreds of vocabulary words and phrases were shooting themselves through my mind, over and over and over and over again. It was actually kind of stressful, but hey! If I can sleep and learn at the same time, I'll be the last to complain.
I really love the challenge of learning Korean. Studying this language stretches my mind. It focuses my energy. It tantalizes and teases, laughing at my efforts. It dances and skips just out of reach. But someday I shall get the better of it, and I love to hope for that time.
I appreciate my language teachers, too. Last year, I took one level at Ewha, and there's no comparison between my present experience and that. The Sogang teachers enjoy their job and want us to learn, and the program here is really student friendly. Lots of speaking/listening time, which is what I need more than anything. My strong points are reading and writing, but the oral skills just kill me. I feel, though, like I'm finally breaking through that. It's still a challenge, and often frustrating, but I'm on the up-hill, and that excites me.

My back has been aching lately. It's the same old story, from when I fell on the ice several years ago, in New Hampshire. It hurts especially when I sit for long periods of time, so three hours in the morning during class, and two or three hours of study in the afternoon leaves me with a sharp pain between my shoulders that sometimes goes away quickly, but other times lasts for days. So please be praying for me.

I'd like to thank you again for your emails. I'm sorry that I've been so bad about responding in a timely fashion. I still don't have a phone line in my house, hence no internet connection, so communication with the outside world is really slow right now. But to be unable to reciprocate as I would like to, makes me appreciate your friendship all the more.

Missing you all,
Elisabeth

Domestic Humdrum

Dear Family,

Two hours ago I very much wanted to sit down and write to you all. Instead, I dutifully forced myself to memorize Korean vocab. Now that I've finished with that, and have a few free minutes, I want to do nothing more than to lie down, shut my eyes, and turn my mind off.

Last night was the first night I spent in my little home. It was also the first night that I've been alone since leaving the States. I had forgotten how very quiet and lonesome a room can be, with no one else to break the silence.
I had also forgotten how very close God draws in the stillness.

It's been a difficult week. Every morning I raise early to get some time with God. Those few hours before ten o' clock are the most relaxed time of day for me. The remaining twelve hours I simply walk through one step at a time.

Classes began on Monday, and are so far pretty easy. I've familiarized myself with the contents of the workbook we're now using, so I don't feel like my mind is frantically grasping at simple concepts. That is a feeling which I am, unfortunately, all too familiar with. The only difficult part of school, so far, is the vocabulary memorization. They tell me that the grammar gets more complicated at the levels progress, but that doesn't intimidate me. I like puzzles, and language is like that for me. It's a mental challenge to wrestle with. But vocabulary is just drudgery, and I have a really hard time remembering which crazy sounds belong to what concepts.

After school I come directly home, and do what I can to beautify my very unbeautiful house. Hours of sorting, and cleaning, and unpacking have left me with something resembling a comfortable home. Yesterday I bought myself a fridge, washer, bed, wardrobe, and desk from a English teacher who's heading back to the states. It makes me happy to finally be settling in.

I still have to clean the kitchen and bathroom. That's going to be a big job, and I'll probably tackle it tomorrow. The previous renter must have been a southern deep-fryer, because the entire kitchen, from ceiling to floor, is bespattered with grease. I'm going to have to pull out the stove, cupboards, and sink to scrub the yellow walls behind them back to their natural blue color.

Actually, yesterday I wasn't very enthusiastic about the kitchen, at all. Except that's describing my feelings mildly. To begin with, the entrance to the kitchen is barely as wide as I am across the shoulders, and not nearly as tall. It looks as thought it was built for a dwarf, and I've lost count of the number of times I've turned and smacked my head into the frame. The bright yellow linoleum is blotched and stained beyond repair, and the cupboards, once sky blue, are now a faded, nondescript muddy color. And smack in the middle of the room, taking up at least a quarter of the floor space, stands a deep, electric blue washing machine. Add to that a rust stained gas range, a small, aluminum sink, the cord hanging from a single florescent light, and rust colored gas and water pipes snaking their lugubrious ways across the walls, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what that particular room looks like.

As I lay awake last night, I chided myself for being disgruntled, and determined that, if initiative, creativity, and resourceful energy can turn a dreary kitchen into an artistic cubby hole, then I shall try my hand at all three. As soon as I get the time, I'll set to work, and see if I can't achieve something with a little flair.

Wow. That was half a page of unexceptional, domestic humdrum. My apologies! Unfortunately, there's not much else to write of. I hit the ground running, when I landed on Korean soil, but so far the race has involved nothing more than school, domesticity and, when I get the chance, an occasional meal.

I did want to let you know, though, that I've been so blessed by the all emails that you've sent! I wish I could somehow convey how much it means to me when you send one or two sentences just to let me know that I'm in your thoughts and prayers. I usually check my email in the morning, and those notes that I receive help to set the pace for the entire day. They really make all the difference between the feelings of close camaraderie and absolute aloneness.

I pray for God's protection and guidance over you. Please continue to come before Him boldly and unceasingly on my behalf,

Elisabeth

Bleach and a Bucket

Dear Family,

Today was a long one. After church this morning, I headed over to my apartment, armed with bleach and a bucket. I was amazed at how much dirtier the place was that I had supposed. It seemed like the longer I scrubbed, the dirtier it got, until my fingers were raw and I completely wore a hole through one of the rags I was using.
Several grueling hours into the afternoon, a little old man stepped through the door, "Hangungmal issayo? Do you speak Korean?"
"Only a little." I replied.
"It's okay, I speak English." He introduced himself as my landlady's brother-in-law, and informed me that he had come to fix the toilet.
While he replaced all the toilet parts, inside and out, we chatted. I was glad for the brake, and he was happy to practice his English while spinning stories of his adventurous younger years.
My landlady, a little, eighty year old ajumah, came by a few minutes later to see how I was progressing with my work. She nodded, smiled, and jabbered away in Korean. I regularly inserted a comprehensive, 'Nae' at what I hopped were appropriate intervals. She seemed satisfied, and soon tottered away only to return a few minutes later with a vitamin yogurt drink for me. I laughed, thanked her kindly, and went back to work.
Hopefully tomorrow I'll be able to finish the kitchen and the bathroom, and then I'll be ready to move in. Yay!

I don't have time to write more, but know that you're loved,
Elisabeth

Back Home

Very Dear Family,

I'm back in Korea, and it's so good to be home! Who would have thought that I'd ever be able to call it 'home' with real sincerity?

My time in China was amazing. Because of the canceled NK tour, I was the only person who decided to go ahead and go up to China instead. Being last minute, everything was a little bit disorganized, which my friends there felt badly about. From my perspective, however, it was great. I think I was able to get a much better picture of how things work there, and of the different projects and relationships that the foreigners in that area have going, than I would have if my days and hours had been more planned, and filled in with exciting things to do and see. As it was, I was able to meet a lot of people, and just tag along and watch them relate and work.
It was a good time to focus, too, and to remember why I'm here. A lot of westerners moved into that area after having studied Korean for only a few months, and every one of them voiced their regret at not having learned Korean more fluently before moving up to China. I was encouraged to plough through school, and to not let myself get distracted by other opportunities before I'm well prepared. That was a good reminder, and I'm eager to start studying Korean again.

While I was there, I was taken up to Tumen, a little border city. We walked around, and had a great view of the city and some people on the other side of the river. Then we went out onto the river on a long, narrow log raft. A little Chinese man stood at the back with a long river pole, and pushed us up stream, just four feet off the bank of NK. It was a great experience, with water lapping at our feet, through the gaps in the unsteady raft, and tall reeds on the shore just out of reach.

I flew to Beijing three nights ago, and the next morning took off for Seoul.
Coming out of the airport, I caught a bus to an area close to my destination. I was dropped of in front of an elaborate, black-glass hotel, with limos, porters, the whole nine yards…far out of my league.
"Can I take your bags in?" asked a pill-capped boy.
"No, no!" I hastily replied. "Get me a taxi, please."
I asked the driver to take me to Naksapyeong Station, and from there walked uphill with two 60lb suitcases, a backpack, and my carry-on, until I found a pay phone.
Brenda came down to pick me up, and brought me back to her apartment where I'll stay until I have a place to move into.

Yesterday morning I registered with Sogang, and then spent the rest of the day wandering on foot around Sinchon with Titus and Ruth looking for an apartment. Toward evening I found a place that I like, within walking distance from the university, very reasonably priced. Of course, it was priced according to its condition. It'll need a lot of elbow grease and the basic appliances before I can move in. But hopefully I'll get some of that done this weekend. I'd like to be moved in before school starts on Monday. That is, provided the place is still available when I go back this afternoon to pay for it. Apartments are snatched up like hot cakes in this area.

Like I said, it's really good to be back. Contrasted with my ten days in China, where everything was foreign and crazy, Seoul is warmly familiar and welcoming. And all I can think over and over again is, "God is so good to me!"

Thank you so much for holding me up in prayer over these last two weeks. God's hand has been with me in a remarkable way.

Elisabeth

Safe 'n Sound

And here I am in Yanji. Thank you, my family, for your many thoughts.

As the train drew near, Yanji station was announced in mutilated English, so I had time enough to gather my wits and my belongings, and make a hasty exit.

I was exhausted and disoriented enough that most of that day remains a blur. Mike introduced me to a few of his own friends, and together they contrived (quite deliberately) to keep me away from home and sleep until around 8:00. Miserable as it was at the time, I was grateful for it later, because that night I slept like the dead. The only thing that really stands out in my mind, was crossing streets. It was insane. At first I was able to cope with being nearly run down several times in succession. But as the evening wore on, and I became more disoriented, my fried mind blew a socket whenever we came to an intersection, and it felt as though I was flying in every direction at once, as maniacal vehicles careened past and around me in the dark, often with only inches to spare. My head snapped around, but it didn't seem to matter which way I looked, there was always a worse fate over the other shoulder. The 'Intersection of Death' was especially intense, and I came, then, as near as I ever have to panicking.

That night I slept soundly, and woke up the next morning pretty rested. Which was fortunate, because at 5:00 AM a group of us took off for Baekdu Mountain. That was a beautiful experience. After a five hour drive in a rickety bus, we hiked for one or two hours up the lovely, mellow green mountain, to a waterfall. We were to have hiked up the fall, but that trail was closed due to rock slides. So we hired a SUV, instead, and drove to the very top of the mountain, from where we had a breathtaking view of the glassy, water-filled crater at it's center. About two thirds of the crater is actually in NK. So standing on top of the world, over a magnificent scope, so close to the land of my people, was exhilarating.

I could write of more, but I know how quickly an email can get ­very long, so I'll stop here. I mostly just wanted to let you know that I got here safely, and to thank you for thinking of me.

Elisabeth

A Grueling Experience

Family...

Well, this train ride has been a grueling experience. With five hours left to go, my neck and shoulders are beginning to ache from three days of cramped inactivity.
I've seen a little of the country side, which is much like one would find anywhere, with it's greens and browns under a very blue sky. Here and there are herds of long haired goats. Their herders stand in the road side or sit picturesquely in the shade of a near by tree, with gnarly staffs and conical, straw hats. There are a lot of corn crops, their silky tassels hinting at the ripeness of their fruit. It has been pleasant to sit on one of the little, backless bucket seats by the window and watch the world sluggishly roll past. But, as those seats are quite uncomfortable, I've spent most of this journey lying in my bunk, above two others, with about three feet of head room. The forced rest has been a disguised blessing: I feel much more alive today than I did yesterday.

I found the train depot, yesterday, as you may have gathered. After paying the taxi driver, and hoisting my luggage out of the car, I began to walk in a generally unspecific direction. Before long I spotted a police officer on the corner. Showing my ticket to him, I pointed in several directions at once, and shrugged my shoulders. He obligingly gesticulated, grunted in four or five different tones, and made me to understand that I was to walk down to the nearest crosswalk and cross the street. This I did, and found myself before an impressive, stately building, pressed in on every side by a throng of people all heading in the same direction. For reasons ambiguous, only one person was permitted to enter the building at a time. So the surging crowd outside pressed and pulled together, moving like a strong current of water, while one individual at a time burst through the doors, much like a wet watermelon seed. Once inside, of course, the crowds thinned a bit.
I wandered around the depot for a while, until I eventually spotted a billboard above 'Waiting room number 4' that had numbers to match those on my ticket. I stood, looking around me uncertainly at the hundreds of people crowded, sitting, into this large room. Spotting an official at the very back, I picked my way over to her, and showed her my ticket. She unexpectedly punched it, and opened the little gate in front of which she stood, ushering me through.
I followed several corridors for an eternity, until my whole body began to ache from the weight of the two backpacks I carried. None too soon, a long cement hall opened on the left to a flight of stairs. Up these, and there was a train, with an officer standing at the door of each car. Again, out came the ticket. Again I was gesticulated at, and understood that I was to move further along the train. At every car I stopped, showing my ticket, was pointed in one direction or another, until at last I gave my ticket to an officer who scrutinized first the ticket, then myself, then stepped aside to let me in. Without too much more ado, and with the help of some helpful fellow passengers, I found my bunk, stowed my bags, and settled down for a very long ride.

I must leave you now.
Much love,
Elisabeth

Perfect Rest

Dear Ones,

I may or may not have the opportunity to send any emails while in China. In any case, I thought I'd keep an account of life on a daily basis, so that when I do get the chance to email, either from here or from Korea, I won't have to dig back into the recesses of my mind to remember what happened when and where.

In these last forty four hours I've been able to catch a total of four hours of broken, alert sleep. So if what I write today seems in any way scattered or irrelevant, that will have to be my excuse. And I will continue to use it for the next thirty hours. My travels, you must understand, are only half over. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It wasn't too difficult to wave goodbye to you, two nights ago. I've said good-bye enough times that I'm pretty much able to disengage my mind, at times like that, from what's happening. So it wasn't until I actually stepped on to the plane, nine hours later, that a heavy weight settled on my chest, and my mind screamed at me, 'What on earth are you doing?!' Somehow planes always seem to have that effect on me…they're so irrevocable, you know. But I told myself that now was not the time to be entertaining such thoughts, and allowed the candy and cookies you sent along turn my mind to more pleasant, or at least less restless, channels.

The rest of the plane trip was uneventful enough to satisfy the most prosaic of travelers, if you don't count the fact that the seats were so squeezed together that my knees pressed into the seat in front of me for the entirety of the twelve hour flight from San Francisco. I was most sincerely thankful when we finally touch down in Beijing.

…Except, I'd never met (or, of course, seen) the man who was to meet me at the airport. I picked up my luggage, went through customs, and from there was quickly re-initiated into the very east-Asian method of maneuvering through a crowd (this, for those of you who are drawing a blank, employs mostly the elbows). And it was a crowd. I looked over the sea of glossy, black heads (I really don't know what for. As I said, I didn't know for whom I was looking) and quickly decided that the one who didn't have the luggage must be the one to do the finding. So I dragged everything over to a row of seats, pulled out a sudoku puzzle, and settled down to wait for an indefinite amount of time. It occurred to me that I should be a little nervous, at least. And certainly I berated myself for not having gotten Marvin's phone number, or at least having arranged a particular spot at which to meet him. But in the same moment I knew that He had His eyes on me, and absolutely had my hand in His. And sure enough, one from a multitude of Asian faces spotted me about a half an hour later, and called my name. He had been looking for me for several hours, and 'was just about to take off.'
'I'm very glad you didn't.' I replied with intense sincerity.

Marvin took me to the apartment where I'll stay tonight. To my very great joy, the elderly couple with whom I'm living speak fluent Korean so that we're able to hold basic, albeit stunted, conversation. Sometimes they laugh, so I know either that I've misunderstood their question, or somehow miscommunicated what I had attempted to say. It's all good practice, and I'm happy that, despite my deplorable lack of studying this summer, I'm able to pick up where I left off.

After exchanging some money into Chinese currency, Marvin brought me around the corner to a little cubby hole in a wall where I purchased a train ticket that will carry me up to Yenji tomorrow. That will be a twenty-one hour journey, which I'm not even remotely looking forward to. Marvin will put me in a taxi, give the driver directions to the depot, and then I will be on my own, with no way of contacting anyone, if I need help. As he was telling me this, he said, 'You should probably know that the driver won't take you all the way to the station, because he's not allowed to drive that far. He'll drop you off somewhere near by, and you'll have to find it from there.'
In relation to which train to take, 'Someone will be able to help you, but don't let anyone besides yourself hold your ticket. If you let go of it, you'll never get it back.'
And when I asked how I'll know at which station I'm eventually to disembark, 'Oh, you'll probably just know.'
The entirety of the trip is fraught with vaguenesses, and if you've ever spent time in a foreign country, you'll understand some of the discomfiture I experience in being set loose to find my ambiguous, twenty-one hour way, alone on my second day here. If it weren't for the absolute certainty that every step (I do not speak generally, but very specifically: every foot step) I take is Ordered and Prearranged, I would be experiencing every emotion other than that which I now feel, and that is perfect rest.

...

Yay! I get to send this sooner than I thought I would. I'll be taking off for the train station very soon, and hopefully (though by no means probably) will be able to send a quick email tomorrow, when I've arrived, letting you all know that I'm still alive and hopefully not too disoriented.

Missing you already,
Elisabeth

A Bloody Nose, 주세요.

Dear Family,

Too many weeks have passed between my last email and this. I've been intending to write for some time, but some how have heretofore lacked the necessary enthusiasm. Correspondence is not the only thing to have become colorless. I've been remiss in studying Korean. Crafts that interested me a month ago, have since lain untouched. Many other mundane tasks have been neglected; I won't bore you with a more exhaustive list. I've only become aware of this state of lethargy within these last few days, and have puzzled over what could be the cause of it. I'm in fine health and my work situation is no more chaotic or insane than usual, so I don't feel any remarkable physical or emotional stress. The weather is warm and beautiful, entirely un-depressing. I sat in silence for a while this morning, to consider if perhaps my relationship with God has become indolent. Aside from feeling keenly how little I know and love Him, not by any means a feeling isolated to this last month, I am glad to say that I don't think that spiritual regression is at the root of this torpidity. Then the only thing I can put my finger on is that I'm simply winding down in anticipation of being home in just four weeks.

Only four weeks! I've never experienced such escalation of appetent impatience. If other pursuits have become dry, that eager interest which they once commanded is now redirected, with all the force of bridled energy, toward intensifying my voracious desire to be home - like a lens that focuses scattered rays of sunlight into a live, smoldering radial, until its very heart must, by the laws of nature, burst into flame. To be with the ones I love best. I believe I'm not alone in the persuasion that there is no stronger earthly pull.

On the other hand, I experienced for the first time, the other day, while hanging out with my Korean friends, some small regret for the things I will leave behind, and find myself excited at the prospect of being back here in August. I look forward to being able to devote my time to studying this complicated language in earnest. I know that so many of the frustrations and difficulties I experience arise from my lack of comprehension.

Though I've been here for over ten months, I'm only just beginning to realize how very different Korean is from English. They don't just speak differently, they think differently, and to become fluent, one must learn to think the thoughts of a Korean. Some time ago we experienced an unexpected rain. Boyeun and I were just leaving the Kindergarten, and neither of us had an umbrella. She turned back to speak to one of the other Korean teachers. I was puzzled by the question I heard her ask, and supposed that I had mistranslated.
"Did you just ask her if she doesn't have an umbrella we can borrow?" I verified.
"Yes." Boyeun replied, "That way whatever answer she gives will be okay."
It took me a while to figure out what she meant, but after having listened to several similar dialogues, I begin to understand.
In America, one would ask his friend, "Do you have the time?"
Either "yes, I do" or "no, I'm sorry" would be the reply.
However, in Korea one mustn't place a friend in the position of having to give a negative answer, so the question will be stated, "Do you not have the time?"
To this, the reply must be either "yes, I don't" (positive accedence) or "no, I do" (positive modification). The situation has been handled with delicacy and no apologies are needed.

Along the same train of thought (that is, creating circumstances most comfortable for your audience) is the idea of mi casa es su casa. It's not 'my apartment' or 'my car' or 'my phone.' It's ours: 'our teeth hurt' or 'our left shoe is missing' or 'I'd like to introduce you to our wife.' …huh?!

However, I regret to state that not all of my linguistic difficulties can be explained so casually away. Some mistakes simply take the form of those errors which other language learners may struggle with, but I had determined never to make. I have been adequately humbled, however, and step forward to join rank with countless others who have been humbled before me. Not very long ago, upon sanguinely ordering a 'coppie latte' at the local Star Bucks, I was rewarded with that bemused look that has become as familiar to me as the back of my hand. Being accustomed to receiving such peculiar glances, especially at cafes, I paid no heed, but Boyeun began to laugh.
"Do you know what you just said?"
"Of course I do. Why?"
"I think you mean 'cappie'… you ordered a bloody nose."

While my opinion of own intelligence may suffer severe blows, at least I don't feel entirely alone. Korea has economically developed at an amazing rate. Sometimes it's difficult to picture this Korea that I know today as the war-torn, isolated country that it was just over fifty years ago. So when Koreans present their old ways of thought as proven fact, it can be somewhat startling. I've mentioned before, for example, that hiccoughs are caused by eating stolen food, and that rain water will make one's hair fall out. But I think I should warn you, also, that it's fatal to closet oneself in an unventilated room with a running fan, and that to prick one's thumb is to draw bad blood from his stomach, thereby relieving a bellyache. What a wealth of information one amasses in a foreign country!

Once a month all the English teachers eat dinner out, on the company's bill. This is always a pleasant experience, especially since we usually go to a western restaurant. This month, for various reasons, I happened to be the only Western teacher amongst us. Being easily outnumbered by the other bilingual teachers, my lone vote for Outback Steak House was overridden by six in favor of Seafood Ocean. I took this in good grace, and each laughed at the strangeness of the others' peculiar taste.
In most cases, one establishment is pretty much like the next, where seafood is concerned. Each sports several large aquariums out front; the equivalent of a sidewalk menu. One studies the various fish and squid and rays and octopi and eels and barnacles swimming round, and if the restaurant has a palatable assortment, he steps in to find a seat on the floor round a long, low table. From the moment our hungry friend has ordered to the moment his dish will be placed before him, only as much time passes as is necessary for the chef to reach into a fish tank, slay his unlucky victim, and diametrically arrange this still pulsating, writhing creature on a lovely bed of crisp, green lettuce. This adds a whole new dimension to my understanding of fresh seafood.
With this picture in my head, a quaking in my heart, and a smile on my lips, we were off. I'm happy to be able to report that my heart quaked in vain. Not only was most of the food in the Seafood Ocean buffet edible, but much of it was even quite delectable, and I heartily enjoyed my dinner of fried shrimp, chicken shish kabobs, sharks' fin, and various pastas and fruit. The tray at the very end of the line was a novelty to me. It bore a mound of sea-snails, their large, gyroidal shells still stained green with algae. I toyed with the idea of eating one, until I happened to spy one of the other teachers prying his from its shell. The strings of slime involved dissuaded me, and I had to hide a smile when Boyeun leaned over and whispered,
"Koreans don't like them either. But they're so expensive, that people aren't going to pass up the opportunity of eating them at no extra cost."
As we filed out of the restaurant two hours later, our waiter handed each of us a bar of soap - dish soap, I supposed, glancing at the sparkling, clean dishes pictured on the box. I opened mine, and took a big whiff. Wrinkling my nose with disgust, I cried out,
"Ugh! It smells like fish!"
"No it doesn't." The others protested, smelling in turn. But I laughed when it was later explained to me that the soap was made from the used oil in which the restaurant had fried its seafood. When they knew why I was laughing, they grinned sheepishly, and admitted that maybe there was just a hint of fishy odor about it.
"But that's okay. It's not dish soap, so your dishes won't smell fishy. It's laundry soap."
I gave my bar away.

It occurred to me for the first time, the other day, that I will always be seen as a foreigner here. I may learn to think, speak, behave, and even feel like a Korean, but until my eyes develop a slant, and my hair becomes straight and black, I will always be stared at as I walk down the street, and strangers will always shy away from me at the super market or in the park. While I dislike it, I've become used to some Koreans refusing to talk above a whisper in my presence, or even turning their backs to me in their shyness.
On Monday, riding from the first floor to the cafeteria on the eighth, Boyeun and I were joined by two other employees. They hesitated before stepping on to the elevator with us. This bashfulness was overcome, but once in, they stared silently at their shoes, with their hands clenched tightly together, until they were able to make their escape. It's not really an uncommon scenario, but for some reason it struck me particularly then. I commented on it to Boyeun, only half funning.
"I don't bite!" I protested. "Maybe I should hang a sign around my neck to that effect."
She laughed, but I don't know if she really got it. Cross-cultural humor is hardly communicable.

I bought myself a hand crafted fife, a few weeks ago. The instrument sang so beautifully when the salesperson wielded it! My pains, however, produce no more than a clumsy squawk, and I'm lazily inclined to believe that a sleight-of-hand was pulled, and the exceptional instrument I purchased mysteriously exchanged for the one I now hold. I shall continue to practice, however, until I have rung out of the lemon a tune as sweet and melodious as ever. I do so enjoy making music!

Several evenings ago I glanced at the pile of dishes in my sink, and sighed. Suddenly I was very, very tired. It was raining out, so I opened my sitting room window and pressed my cheek against the wet screen. It felt so cool and beautiful. The rain was fine, and the icy-green leaves on a tree just outside the window were covered with sparkling droplets. It all shouted God's voice at me, "See what I have done!" I opened the screen and held up my hand to catch the rain. It gathered in a little pool in my palm and ran down my arm, and again the silent but distinct exultation, "See what I have done!" My heart thrilled as a sudden gust of wind shook the leaves, spraying me with water. Leaning as far out of the window as I could, I lifted my face to the sky and laughed with spontaneous delight at the wonderful care of my God.

May He so care for you,
Elisabeth

'Shattered Hues of Light"

A silent ache, a trembling droplet blears
The vision of my vacant, brimming eye.
Color melts with color, drips, and smears
A stained glass world, washed and splashed awry,
And falls among the thousand watery tears
That tumble from a weary, weeping sky.

Then in a trice, one captive shaft of light
Bursts from the prism of one raindrop’s bight

And shattered hues of joy illume the night.

My Heart Aches Quietly

Dear Family,
I'm so sorry about Grandpa's death. All day that thought has been in the back of my mind, but as a dream rather than reality. Sitting here alone, now, I begin to realize that I will never see him again, and my heart aches quietly. At times like this, it's incommunicably difficult to be so far from home.
Wishing I was there with you...
Elisabeth

'joy'

"He will joy over thee with singing."

Well, it's been about a month since my last email. I've had every good intention, on several intermittent occasions, of writing to you all, but somehow have up till now been unable to focus on collecting all my thoughts.

Life is dealing well with me lately. Spring begins to discard its inconstancy and to become more assertive. As the gray skies lift, so to does my spirit.

The only one disobliging element of an otherwise perfect season is the yellow dust. Every year in April, for about two weeks, fine dust from the more arid regions of China blows across Korea, positively enshrouding the country in a hazy, yellowish fog. Some days it's not bad, but on others the air is thick and dirty. I'll try to remember to attach a picture of it. In this case a visual is worth a thousand words.

A week ago I registered at Sogang Language Institute, for the fall semester. There are no words with which to describe my absolute happiness in the prospect of finally settling down to learn Korean. I've come to realize about myself that I don't like to stay on one place for very much time. I've been teaching at SCG for long enough. Forward and Onward!

Meanwhile I continue to study Korean with Boyeun, who has become an amazing friend to me. We hang out a lot, and she's made my life here infinitely easier. Fluent in both English and Korean, and having spent three years in Canada, she understands Western culture, and knows first hand how it feels to be a 'foreigner'. We relate very well, and I'm grateful for her friendship.

My commitment here ends toward the end of June, so between then and September, I'm a free woman. Taking advantage of this rare state of being, I'll be home for two months this summer. YAY! I'm hugely excited.

A couple of weeks ago my adult English class treated me to dinner. This class is composed solely of male employees from the company, none of whom speak very fluent English. On this occasion, however, and to my pleasant surprise, a young woman came along, who (though she spoke no English), served to relieve the situation of any awkwardness it may otherwise have afforded.
The restaurant they took me to was a typically traditional one. We sat at a small round table, with a grill set deep in the middle. This was filled with white-hot coals, and covered with an open rack. Here was grilled perhaps some of the most delicious cuts of beef I've had yet in Korea. Tender, juicy, and delectable. I felt very Korean, eating this with raw onion, garlic, and horseradish, thought I was only just able to refrain from asking for water.
Dinner over, desert was brought out. Artfully arranged on a bed on parsley, and liberally topped with shredded pare, a pound or two of raw ground beef was set before us. My eyes widened, and I found my lips twitching at the absurdity of such a dish. Fortunately, my half-smile communicated, to those curious eyes watching my face, a degree of pleasure, and I was invited to dig in. It was better than I had expected, but only just. The taste was fine, but the thick, greasy consistency was nauseating. However, I helped them to polish of the last of it with out recourse to either water or the glass of beer placed at my elbow.
This particular drink had been liberally partaken of through the meal, by the others. My own abstinence was commented on, but I excused myself, "The taste is very strange." They all nodded with sympathetic understanding, and held up their glasses for more.
After dinner, we went to a coffee house (of very cozy and comfortable ambiance…such a thing would absolutely take Bandon by storm) where I, by ordering a Latte, forestalled the inevitable next round of beer. We talked comfortably for a while, the only disturbance to my peace of mind lying in the amount of caffeine I was ingesting at such a late hour. It must by this time have been nearly nine o'clock. After some small talk, one of the men announced, "We must be home by 10:00." I cocked my head curiously and he explained, "After 10:00 police officers arrest drivers who have been drinking." There was a barely perceptible pause, then he asked politely, "Would you like me to drive you home after we leave? My house is close to yours." It's to my credit that I didn't burst out laughing at the absurdity of this offer, coming as it did on the heels of his previous statement. I declined gracefully enough, but still shake my head ruefully at the memory of that evening.

Boyeun bought me flowering potted cacti for my birthday. They're beautiful, each holding his own vibrant orange or red or pink head up with the inexorable dignity of one conscious of his own superiority, whether real or imagined. I find their stately airs amusing, though I never let on…not, of course, as though they would take me seriously, if I did. Such an ego cannot fathom that one might see him as less than he perceive himeslf to be. At any rate, we get on famously. They are the only plants with which I have absolute success, simply because I'm never required to touch them.

The school shooting in Virginia has been a hot topic here. I've been amazed at the Koreans' reaction to it. They took it really hard. It's just a guess, but I'd say that most Americans, those not directly involved, probably heard the news, threw mental hands heavenward, exclaimed in horrified accents, "Dear God, that's terrible!!!", then went back to their dinners. The Koreans, on the other hand, listened with stolid silence and lost their appetites. The Korean concept of family and nationality is such that one member represents all. Korea is apprehensive that America will point her outraged finger, "What kind of people are you?!" The apparently individual personal responsibility assumed is sobering to watch.

Well, this is getting rather long. I will end with a thought that has lately made me very happy. The end of Zephaniah 3:17 reads: "He will joy over thee with singing." That word 'joy' is 'to spin around under the influence of any violent emotion.' That I infuse God with such elation is beyond my grasp…

May we learn to so joy over Him,
Elisabeth

'Elemeno' & 'Double-U'

Family,

I write this wrapped in a fuzzy, variegated brown shawl-ish thing. Teresa bought one of the biggest skeins of yarn I've ever seen, because she liked the color and the texture. I liked these qualities as well, but $15 was a bit pricey for a ball of yarn I'd no idea what to do with. However, Teresa found the yarn difficult to work with, and so bequeathed it to myself a few days later. Having already several scarves, I decided to try for some slippers. I quickly found that this was impractical, since the yarn has absolutely no stretch. To make the slippers small enough at the ankle to stay on my feet, was to make them too small to get past my heel. So I unraveled my work, and left the ball in a pile with my other projects. The ball was left undisturbed, but being so large, and so loosely wound, it began to become tangled, as yarn will do of its own accord. Wanting to get the ball out of my way, I sat down one evening and cast on until my needles couldn't hold any more. Then I began knitting away. I lugged the thing around with me daily, and several people asked me what I was making. I shrugged cheerfully, "We'll see!" It took a very long time to complete, but finally, last night, I knit the final stitch, and now have what appears to be a small shawl. I like it, and will leave it thus, until I can think of something better to do with the yarn, at which point it will be unraveled. At least for now, it is reduced to something, if not useful, at least untangle-able.

A week ago, Wednesday, was White Day. It's similar to Red Day (also known as Valentines Day), the only discrepancy lying with who bestows what upon whom. On February fourteenth, the boy receives a gift from his girl. On March fourteenth, visa-versa. And on Black Day, April fourteenth, those who have neither received a gift nor given one must bemoan the fact by eating Chinese black noodles (which, by the way, taste pretty good). May fourteenth, Rose Day, is the last, and my favorite, in this series of holidays: the day on which friends exchange roses.

My love of living things has risen to a new level. I decided, spur of the moment, to get myself two bunny rabbits. The idea pleased me, but it's perhaps fortunate that I had a night to sleep on the thought. The next morning the prospect of having two high maintenance animals around overshadowed the prospective pleasure of having cute little bundles of fur hopping round under foot, and I promptly called to cancel with the lady I was to have taken them from later that afternoon. Seeing my slightly downcast demeanor, Petra suggested fish. I spoke to the Dubes of her idea, and they marveled, "We were going to get fish, too!"
On Sunday afternoon we all traipsed over to E-mart and bought our aquariums and fish together. I took mine home, and with Petra's help named all my fish that evening. Unfortunately, half of my nine Neon Tetras, which look something like small sardines, died the next morning, and by that evening the remaining four and a half were down to only four. I wasn't too upset by it. Being each so identical, I'd named them all Bob. When I called out to Petra, "Another Bob died!" She replied, "That's okay, there's still a few left." The logic of that pleased me. However, by the end of the week all the rest of the Bobs had met their watery demise, along with Tinker Bell, a small feathery, white thing, and I was sad. Daphne followed Tinker Bell, Paris followed Daphne, and now the only ones left are my black, evil looking Delilah, three gold fish, and one of those sucking fish, that is supposed to keep the tank clean. He hasn't got a name yet. The biggest of the three gold fish, Hank, is all orange, but the other two have black fins and tails. I like these two the best, mostly because of the story behind their names.
Allow me to relate: At the beginning of this semester, we divided up the classes differently than they had been before. Then I'd taught only beginning students, now I was to teach all ability levels. Of course, the first thing I did was to find out how much each student knew, so that I could place him in his appropriate class. Calling random students to the front of the class by turn, I asked each to recite the alphabet. Some whizzed through it, others stumbled along, and all, with out fail, pronounced the twelfth letter of the alphabet 'elemeno.' I talked to Boyeun, who's musically inclined, and told her that we needed to change the alphabet song to be more commodious to learning the letters. That afternoon she sat down at the piano, I sang, and we bestowed upon L, M, N, and O each their own beat, as well as taking the N out from between Y and Z. No longer do students recite, "…jay, kay, elemeno, pe…" Talking with Petra later, though, we both agreed that 'elemeno' was definitely the coolest letter in the alphabet, with 'double u' coming in for a close second. And so I've named my gold fish for these two letters, because they make me laugh.

Seeing 'my kids', after nearly a month long vacation, was amazing. I hadn't even realized how much I love them. But I do, and I'm glad I do, and I'm glad that they're back. Especially James. I try not to make him 'teacher's pet,' but I think I probably root harder for him than I do for the others when they're spelling out a word, or playing a game. He's an average student, but so earnest, and cute. And I think I've been able to make him enjoy learning English, because it got back to me that his mom is pleased with the remarkable progress he's made since I've begun to teach him. That makes me very happy. Sometimes I love my job.

Other times I don't. We have more classes to teach this semester, in a much shorter space of time, so I feel perpetually rushed, and perpetually behind the game. I've begun staying late at work some evenings just to catch up on all that I need to do. I feel quite bogged down. Unfortunately, this puts my language learning on hold for some time. I had begun to take private lessons with Boyeun, but she's become just as busy as I, and we neither of us now have time. I've had a perpetual headache for four days, partly from the anxiety of not being able to meet deadlines. If nothing else, however, at least this present schedule is clarifying. I had been debating in my mind whether or not to continue to work here next year. The 'rush' has made my mind up for me. Unless something changes (which, knowing this place, could possibly happen at any given moment) I have no intention of staying. I'll go to Sogang Language Institute next year, as planned. It's rather a relief to have that decision made.

Boyeun has a brother-in-law whose cousin is one of the actors in a show that costs between $50 - $80 to attend. This young man seems a close enough relation that she was able to get free tickets for herself, me and Petra. The show was a mix between break dance and Korean traditional dance, and was absolutely phenomenal. I shan't be able to describe it, so I won't try. Let me just say that it would have been worth every penny spent, had the seats come from our own pockets. I only wished that Jimmy could have been there to see it with me, because he would have so appreciated it.
Well, suffixing my farewell turns this two page Microsoft document into three, so I'll keep it short.

My love to you all…
Elisabeth

Qiute Delirious With Joy

My Dears,

Thank you for the emails and prayers you send my way! I'm blessed.

These last few days have been exceptionally joyous ones, for no real cause. In fact, were I to recount to you all the adventures and misadventures that have lately befallen me, it would be enough to move the most hardened individual to tears of frustration and despair. It has me frequently enough. Often when wallowing in it, I seem to enjoy my misery. That is, I refuse to be comforted or cheered. I want the world either to cry with me or to leave me alone. But lately I seem not to have the power to remain down cast. In fact, I have been quite delirious with joy. I laugh at nothing and everything. I sing at the top of my voice (in the most off key notes), just because I can. I watch the falling snow outside, and want to dance and skip and twirl with it. Every little thing reminds me of God's goodness, until I feel redoubly (there I go again, using a word that doesn't exist) blessed.

Yesterday, March amazed everyone by wrapping the world in a heavy, gray blanket. Most of the day, powdery, clean snow flitted about in intermittent flurries, but by the time I left work, thick whiteness was falling quickly. I walked to the bus stop, about 150 meters away, chuckling silently to myself at all the bundled up figures scurrying hither and fro, huddled together under umbrellas or awnings. Traffic was bad, so my bus was slow in coming. I stood beneath nothing but the sky while I waited, catching snowflakes on my black gloves. How exquisitely symmetrical each one was! Intricate in every detail, and each more beautiful than the last. I marveled at the oblivious passers-by, each too wrapped up in his own thoughts, or too concerned with staying warm, to notice these tiny miracles. "How often am I like that?" I wondered. "How often am I oblivious to the love of God revealed in the little things?" I must begin to make a point of noticing the beauty of His character as reflected in His creation.

Petra has been staying with me while in Korea. Her friendship is a blessing. It's strange seeing another face from home. A few evenings ago, Petra, Titus, Ruth and I were out walking in the rain. It was a gusty night, so that the umbrella that Petra and I were sharing was nearly tugged out of our hands, until it completely flipped inside out, and I had to stop and buy another. We had such a jolly time, laughing and singing, and really behaving like children. We traipsed over to building 63, the tallest building in Seoul, named for its number of floors. Built by Christians to take the shape of praying hands, the glass tower glistens in the sunshine, because of the gold in it's windows. We trudged in, looking like drowned rats, and took the elevator to the 60 th floor, where we talked for an hour, looking out over the city. So pleasant!

A week ago, Wednesday, I spent the whole morning apartment-hunting at the behest of the powers that be (who later decided, contrary-wise, that I am to remain at Herb Farm). Most of what I looked at left much to be desired. But eventually the realtor stumbled upon a snug little place, in a cozy area near the company, at a reasonable price. I was exceptionally pleased, nodded and smiled, and agreed to return on Friday to sign the contract. Making my way home, I felt so good with the day's accomplishment, and such a load off my shoulders, that I stopped in the market to buy a basket of strawberries. Strawberries here, let it be known, are a taste of heaven. They have all the natural sweetness of that fruit, concentrated and quadrupled in each bite. Truly remarkable. These, in turn, pleased me so, that I treated myself to two potted plants.

Potted plants have become something of a fetish for me. Used, as I am, to being surrounded with all things natural and beautiful, the cold, stone edifices of Seoul, looming and intimidating, quite depress me. So the first time I saw a pink, flowering bit of greenness, in a red pot, I took it home with me. Every day I touched its pedals, while watering it, and told it how happy it made me, until one day it began to droop. My spirits drooped vicariously, and I wondered if perhaps just a drop of coffee wouldn't perk it up. Upon execution of this thought, my little bit of sunshine withered immediately and entirely away. I have since replaced it with six others. And, though I'm not having much better luck with any of them, their deaths have been somewhat slower and of more natural causes.

The adjima (grandmother) from whom I buy my plants, sells one for three-thousand won. I have become a regular enough customer that when I ask for two for five-thousand won, "du gey oh-chon woneayo?" she nods with that bemused smile which with I have become quite familiar. It has shown on the faces of countless individuals, who are humoring the strange and random whims of the foreigner.

As afore mentioned, my preparations to move were later made null and void. Two weeks earlier I should have welcomed the option of remaining where I am, but for sundry complicated reasons, this is just now the worst possible thing for me. I struggled for a few days against the irritation I felt toward those with whom the decision rested. But God has reassured me that this, too, is of His doing, and I have nothing to fear. That He has orchestrated and arranged, is infinitely comforting. And I even feel something akin to excitement when I think of Gideon and how God dealt similarly with him, removing from him every stability and dependency other than Himself. I am happy for God's love, and that He has seen fit to remind me of it.

I thank each one of you for your love,
Elisabeth

A Packet of Letters

Family,

I got a packet of letters in the mail two days ago. How happy that made me! Thank you, Dear Ones! The receipt of a letter is easily the highlight of my day. Which is not to say that my days are dry, but rather that reading a letter from home is such joy! I really appreciate your thoughtfulness and encouragement.

Titus, Ruth, and Petra are in China for a week. Titus is kindly letting me borrow his guitar until he gets back. I hadn't realized how much I would miss home-made music, and now regret that I haven't made more of an effort to become proficient. I should love to buy myself a guitar, but will have to wait until I know whether or not I will be able to stay at Herb Farm. If I have to put down money on another apartment, the guitar will have to wait.

It struck me a few days ago that I am on purpose. What a beautiful thought! It's not just random chance that I'm not a bird or a tree or a stone. God looked down from His eternal glory and loved this beautiful world that He had created. His handiwork reflected His character, and He was pleased. But then he saw one life untouched, one work undone, one missing element to the continuity of His creation. He could have stretched and patched and improvised…but instead, He deliberately made me. I hope that my life may now be such that I may someday repeat Jesus' words, "I have glorified Thee on the earth: I have finished the work which Thou hast given me to do."

Counting on your Prayers,
Elisabeth

Simple Pleasures

What delightful days these last four have been! Warm and clear; lovely in every respect. I have taken advantage of the weather by daily climbing the mountain near my house, an activity I have not enjoyed since winter began. It looks so different now than it did six months ago. The short, spindly trees are bare, and the earth, still covered with the brown leaves of autumn, is damp. At first I was disappointed by this contrast with the flourishing green of several months ago, but now I find it enchanting in it's own quiet way.

My room-mate, Teresa, will be leaving a week from today. The thought is unreal, so doesn't yet effect me one way or another. No doubt I'll miss her, but I know that rather with my head than with my heart, so I am able to help her pack, etc., with neither foreboding nor loneliness.

As one friend leaves, another comes. I will see Petra on Thursday, the anticipation of which is, contrary to the above, ­anything but unreal. I've no doubt of being heartily blessed and encouraged by her visit.

My back has been more sore, lately, than usual. The knot in my right shoulder, never quite absent, is tight and aches relentlessly. I suppose that the monotonous motions of knitting probably aggravate the mischief, though I occupy myself less with that now than before.

Rather, I have taken into my head the notion of making a rag rug. Teresa has a mountain of clothes to get rid of. I keep myself amused by tearing these into long, thin strips, to be later tied together and braided into that rug with which I hope to make the middle room more comfortable and homey. The prospect pleases me.

I have found a restaurant that gives free coffee refills! Teresa and I were dining comfortably together; I had no anticipation of any occurrence out of the ordinary. The coffee had been remarkably delicious, but came in that very small mug that indicates some stinginess on behalf of its server. Sitting thus, engaged in pleasant conversation, I was surprised to have my empty cup replaced with a full one. The surprise quickly gave way to a hearty benevolence. What warm and cozy feelings a good cup of coffee excites! Something akin to a blazing fire, or an intriguing book; the smell of chocolate, or the crisp sound of autumn leaves under foot. Simple pleasures, are after all, the fullest.

Service Here Rocks

Family o' mine,

I taught Beth and Teresa how to knit last week, and we three have really gotten into it. We've discovered a multitude of little yard shops tucked away in corners here and there, which we frequent. By 'multitude' I mean three. I act as interpreter, which consists solely of, "How much is it, please?" and then translating the clerk's response back to my companions. This it gratifying, so long as she restricts herself to single sentence replies. I get lost when she goes into a spiel along the lines of:
"If you buy one, it's five-thousand won, but if you get more than one, I'll take one-thousand off the total. If you buy up to fifty-thousand won worth, I'll take a total of five-thousand won off, and throw in a pair of knitting needles."
"Oh." I respond doubtfully, and place the yarn gingerly back on its shelf.
My next project will be a pair of socks, then I'll go on an all out attempt at a sweater.

For the entirety of February the Hagwon, or English school, is on break while the school building is under construction. I still teach during the morning at the kindergarten, but that's as nothing, when the whole rest of the day is free. I'm not really certain what I'm going to do with all the free time. I'm pretty sure I'll be eager to get back to work in March. But until then, I'm enjoying the break. I've been fighting a cold for a few weeks, and on Monday a week ago, I finally succumbed to it. I feel like I haven't been able to get my feet back under me, so I'm hoping the break will do it.

I may not have gotten so sick on Monday, if I'd stayed at home. I had contemplated doing so, feeling not exactly up to par. But Monday evenings are enjoyable. "And perhaps," thought I, "Getting out will do me good." On Monday, Hapkido classes, dealing strictly with self-defense, are offered at a local church that I irregularly attend. Daryl Covington is a seventh degree black belt, and coached for two years in the National Olympics, so the opportunity to learn from him, and for free, is one I'm glad has come my way.
Classes are supremely exhilarating, though they leave me so sore that I can barely move for days afterwards. Even shifting positions in my sleep jars me painfully awake. Last Monday I practiced falling backwards onto a mat, while keeping my head tucked up to my chest. I suppose those muscles much be acutely underdeveloped, because I couldn't keep my head where it was supposed to me for the world. As soon as my body hit the mat, my head would fling backwards, slamming down with all the force of its weight. By the end of the evening, my head was beginning to pound, but I was able to stop my head just a fraction of an inch from the mat. Every muscle in the front of my neck was strained until, even standing upright, my head wobbled painfully on my shoulders. When, the next morning, I woke up sick, it was the most uncomfortable experience ever. Raw throat on the inside, and burning muscles on the outside. It defies description.
But self-pity was crushed when, a few days ago, I got a text from Daryl's 12 year old daughter, Miriah. "My dad's sick, and I'm crying." I called her, of course, but found that her tears were shed for the disappointment of a postponed outing, rather than for that sickness which was the cause thereof. After we'd gotten that sorted and properly consoled, I asked after her dad. They're pretty certain that he contracted Asian bird flu from a raw duck that he ate in China a week ago. The mortality rate among those few who have ever contracted the flu is pretty high, partly because it doesn't respond to antibiotics, so your prayers would be hugely appreciated.

I finally broke down a few weeks ago, and asked Ruth if she could hook me up with a dentist. We went together of a Thursday. She was seen first, then I was ushered into a back room. The dentist, judging from his manner, seemed find the linguistic barrier a bit awkward, but 'Ahhhh' must, I think, be a universal word, and I accordingly opened wide my mouth. Without further ado, he ran a small camera over my teeth, and within five minutes had me back in an upright position, looking at pictures of my teeth on the computer screen hanging in front of me. "You have ten cavities." He told me, with the aid of Ruth's translation. I wasn't necessarily surprised at his assessment, having been pre-warned that dentists here are cavity-happy. Nor however, did I trust it. I told him that I would go home and think about which ones to have filled.
As we left the office, I asked Ruth, "How much did it cost?"
"Why, nothing." She replied, "You didn't have any work done."
Service here rocks.

I mentioned in my last email that I was going to have to find a new place to live by the end of February. Well, that may or may not still be the case. I've heard that I might be able to continue to live at Herb Farm, my present location, for as long as I teach at SCG. I would love for that to be the case, but I'm not banking on it until it actually happens. This constant fluctuation seems to be the story of my life. But I just finished reading through Exodus, where God gives directions to Moses for the building of His temple. Those passages reveal the precision and foresight of the mind of God. Why do I concern myself with what my future holds? Why do I find myself growing preoccupied with trying to solve all the little difficulties involved? God is detailed. God is accurate. It is His work in which I involve myself. I must, then, let Him work. It is presumptuous for me to take upon myself the task of solving those troubles that are not mine to solve.

I bought a three-thousand won plant a few days ago, with showy, magenta blossoms. I like such things. They make me think of God. I've been tossing around the question in my mind, of whether or not the re-creation of beauty, be it in music or in drawing or in any other form of art, can be of itself an act of worship. I like to think that it can be, and so have picked up my pencil again, and begin to sketch a bit in the dark wee hours of the morning. Oddly enough, I'm drawn more to abstract art than I ever thought I would be. I'm curious to discover whether I can communicate such ideas as mercy, sorrow, or love through indefinite shapes and shadows. A week or so ago I depicted the last half of Romans 7 almost to my satisfaction. The sketch lacks the element of duress, but I trust that a little practice will render me more facile.

I've been a little bit discouraged with myself lately, I think. I seem to be loosing momentum on the up-hill, and am wondering how I'm going to make it to the top. It is difficult to live here. It's very alone. It makes the words of Isaiah so much more beautiful, "Hast thou not known? Hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary? There is no searching of His understanding. He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might He increaseth strength."

As always, I ask for your prayers,
Elisabeth