Every Spring...

Dear Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elisabeth