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