Grass and Sparrows and Thumbs

Dear Family,

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

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

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

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

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

With love,
Elisabeth