Sure enough, my drain isn't plugged! Tomorrow the fix-it man is going
to come by again to reseal the bathroom tile, which also isn't the
problem. I hope you all don't mind if I chronicle the journey of my
shower leak to it's conclusion. It amuses me to do so, and keeps me
from taking it all too seriously.
Until tomorrow...
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Monday, September 01, 2008
Rainy and Cool
Life in Korea is in full swing again. My Korean, which seemed to have abandoned me my first few days back here, has resurfaced, with all of its idiocies and stuttering mistakes. But at least I don’t feel dwarfed by my inarticulacy now, as I did three days ago, and can enjoy laughing at myself along with everyone else. One Korean girl, whom I’d only met once last year, called me the day after I got back. We got together, hoping to become better acquainted, and really hit it off. Her English is about at the level of a two year old, and my Korean is (says she) is as that of a seven year old, so it was almost entirely in Korean that we communicated. We talked for two hours on subjects that would have required, for two individuals sharing a common language, perhaps thirty minutes to canvas, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. Especially after I became accustomed to the strong alfalfa taste of our shared green tea ice-cream, scooped over red bean paste. Next week we’re going to begin reading the Psalms together, in Korean and in English. I look forward to that.
Today is rainy and cool. I have my one window open, and am sitting in front of that, enjoying listening to the musical pitter-patter of rain, while bigger splashes of pregnant drops, falling from the eaves of my house, keep time. Today excepted, the weather has been stiflingly humid. And I haven’t any AC. During the day, it’s not so difficult to deal with. I can sit in the stale, hot inside air, watching the heavy, hot outside air, and imagine that somehow the window being open causes the two classes of hot air to become cooler. But at night it’s quite a different matter. At night all my windows are closed, and I lie panting in great gulps of humidity. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to sleep in such a state. But I’ve discovered that, if I hold a pack of ice to my chest and can fall asleep before it melts, then I generally stay asleep for a few hours at least.
Later this afternoon a plumber (I suppose) will come by. I haven’t been able to shower at my house, because whenever I turn the shower on, water seeps up through the floor in my entryway, flooding it. So one of my Korean friends came over two days ago to explain the situation to my landlady, who later informed me that on Monday (today) someone would come by to clear my drains. I objected, ‘the drain isn’t clogged!’ But she’s quite sure it must be, and as her Korean is ever-so-much-more proficient than mine, she had the upper hand in the discussion, and I was forced to smile and acquiesce. Whenever whoever gets here, I’ll try to explain the problem to them, and see what happens with that. Meanwhile, I’ve a friend who lives about thirty minutes away, and she has graciously invited me to make free use of her place. Friends are good to have.
School begins tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about all the days that will follow today. I was glancing through my level 4 book yesterday, and it looked really difficult. I remember last year, how I had barely enough time to keep up with class. And I look ahead, and dread it being the same scenario all over again: me wrapped up in my little world of books and lessons and tests. It’s a very introverted world, and when I’m in it, I tend to shut other people out, which is unhealthy. I need to be involved in other people’s lives; it is, of course, why I’m here in the first place. But I don’t know at all how to incorporate both Korean and People. They squeeze each other out, because each is time consuming, and there are only twenty four hours in a day. There’s no lack of desire, but I feel an absolute lack of ability. Please pray for me, that I will know how to use my time wisely and well.
With love,
Elisabeth
Today is rainy and cool. I have my one window open, and am sitting in front of that, enjoying listening to the musical pitter-patter of rain, while bigger splashes of pregnant drops, falling from the eaves of my house, keep time. Today excepted, the weather has been stiflingly humid. And I haven’t any AC. During the day, it’s not so difficult to deal with. I can sit in the stale, hot inside air, watching the heavy, hot outside air, and imagine that somehow the window being open causes the two classes of hot air to become cooler. But at night it’s quite a different matter. At night all my windows are closed, and I lie panting in great gulps of humidity. It’s difficult, if not impossible, to sleep in such a state. But I’ve discovered that, if I hold a pack of ice to my chest and can fall asleep before it melts, then I generally stay asleep for a few hours at least.
Later this afternoon a plumber (I suppose) will come by. I haven’t been able to shower at my house, because whenever I turn the shower on, water seeps up through the floor in my entryway, flooding it. So one of my Korean friends came over two days ago to explain the situation to my landlady, who later informed me that on Monday (today) someone would come by to clear my drains. I objected, ‘the drain isn’t clogged!’ But she’s quite sure it must be, and as her Korean is ever-so-much-more proficient than mine, she had the upper hand in the discussion, and I was forced to smile and acquiesce. Whenever whoever gets here, I’ll try to explain the problem to them, and see what happens with that. Meanwhile, I’ve a friend who lives about thirty minutes away, and she has graciously invited me to make free use of her place. Friends are good to have.
School begins tomorrow. I’m trying not to think too much about all the days that will follow today. I was glancing through my level 4 book yesterday, and it looked really difficult. I remember last year, how I had barely enough time to keep up with class. And I look ahead, and dread it being the same scenario all over again: me wrapped up in my little world of books and lessons and tests. It’s a very introverted world, and when I’m in it, I tend to shut other people out, which is unhealthy. I need to be involved in other people’s lives; it is, of course, why I’m here in the first place. But I don’t know at all how to incorporate both Korean and People. They squeeze each other out, because each is time consuming, and there are only twenty four hours in a day. There’s no lack of desire, but I feel an absolute lack of ability. Please pray for me, that I will know how to use my time wisely and well.
With love,
Elisabeth
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A Little Animation Figure on a Screen
Hello from Korea!
After a long, and somewhat complicated and erratic flight, I arrived back at my little home, in the big, bustling city of Seoul. So very odd, you know. I feel like a little animation figure on a screen who, having walked through a doorway, has stepped out the other side into an entirely new world. And the world I left behind, such a short time ago, has so absolutely disappeared behind me, that it seems I’ve just awaked from a dream, and nothing more. No time seems to have lapsed between when I closed my eyes in June, and opened them again three days ago. People still bustle happily outside my house, the city lights still flash and blink with regular chaos, the air is still warm and muggy, and my house is just as I left it, only perhaps a little smaller looking. But, however my senses belie the reality that I’ve been away for two months and a half, I know that it cannot all have been a dream, unless I shrunk while sleeping. Ten weeks ago I was brimfull of confidence. Now I feel as small as that animation figure on the screen. My house is very quiet. The large silence fills it, wrapping me around. I feel intimidated by small things, and know that it’s because, in that other world or dream, I was able to communicate effortlessly and fluently, and now I cannot. I tire easily, because my internal clock is still set to the time of that other world, which is seventeen hours behind this world. It all conspires to make me sigh. But school begins in a week, and I’m pretty confident that, when jet lag wears off, and when I have more to fill my time with, I’ll be ready to set that world on the shelf, and tackle this world with renewed enthusiasm. Meanwhile, thank you for praying for me.
Elisabeth
After a long, and somewhat complicated and erratic flight, I arrived back at my little home, in the big, bustling city of Seoul. So very odd, you know. I feel like a little animation figure on a screen who, having walked through a doorway, has stepped out the other side into an entirely new world. And the world I left behind, such a short time ago, has so absolutely disappeared behind me, that it seems I’ve just awaked from a dream, and nothing more. No time seems to have lapsed between when I closed my eyes in June, and opened them again three days ago. People still bustle happily outside my house, the city lights still flash and blink with regular chaos, the air is still warm and muggy, and my house is just as I left it, only perhaps a little smaller looking. But, however my senses belie the reality that I’ve been away for two months and a half, I know that it cannot all have been a dream, unless I shrunk while sleeping. Ten weeks ago I was brimfull of confidence. Now I feel as small as that animation figure on the screen. My house is very quiet. The large silence fills it, wrapping me around. I feel intimidated by small things, and know that it’s because, in that other world or dream, I was able to communicate effortlessly and fluently, and now I cannot. I tire easily, because my internal clock is still set to the time of that other world, which is seventeen hours behind this world. It all conspires to make me sigh. But school begins in a week, and I’m pretty confident that, when jet lag wears off, and when I have more to fill my time with, I’ll be ready to set that world on the shelf, and tackle this world with renewed enthusiasm. Meanwhile, thank you for praying for me.
Elisabeth
Friday, May 30, 2008
hokshi, hangukmal chal hayo?
Hello Family,
I’m sorry that I haven’t written sooner to let you all know that I did indeed pass level 3!! It was close, but my teachers were merciful, and I managed to drag myself through with trembling legs, burning lungs, and a powerful headache. I wrote in my little, green journal, ‘Well, I did pass. My head is splitting, but that’s okay. It’s okay, too, that I’m likely to pass out from fatigue, and feel like I’m getting another cold. I have nothing to do which demands health or comfort or energy. For three months I’m perfectly free to be as tired and headachy and sick as I jolly well please, with absolutely no extenuating stress. What a light and airy feeling this is!’
Taking advantage of my freedom, I decided to spend a few days at a retreat, in the eastern part of Korea, called the Jesus Abbey. There one may find a few thatched, stone buildings, snuggled up in the mountains, away from the rest of the Country and it’s noises and lights and smells. My object in seeking such seclusion, was to spend some much needed time in reflection, quietness, and prayer. On the verge of a great deal of change, I felt the definite need to reassess my focus and direction, as well as to re-communicate to God my desire to love Him well. So, with this in mind, three days ago I purchased a ticket for a four and a half hour train ride to Taebaek.
Upon arriving in Kangneung, I glanced about me, looking for a road whereby I might carry out Mr. Torrey’s instructions to ‘walk down hill for about ½ block, then turn right.’ I discovered to my amusement and chagrin, but not necessarily to my surprise, that the train station had stopped at the top of said hill, from which point three roads ribboned out, each more down hill than its neighbor.
I’ve been too often confronted by similar situations to be dismayed, so holding my bag close, I looked about for some sort of public city map. These large, posted maps can be found at the entrance of any subway station in Seoul, and often are posted randomly along major streets. I depend on them to get my bearings, when in an unfamiliar district, something like the needle of a compass depends upon the North Pole. I supposed that, in such a public location as a train station one must be displayed. I was wrong, but no matter. Far to the left I spotted a little, round building with a conical roof. Large orange letters adorned the front of it: ‘여행 안내소’ The words were familiar, but I was tired, and while I registered enough to suspicion that the place might be of some use to me, my mind wouldn’t tell me in what way, specifically. I gazed, in a puzzled way, for some moments more, and then my eyes took in even larger English words directly below the Korean, ‘Tourist Information’. It testifies to my obsession with Korean that my eyes automatically registered the Korean before even noticing the English.
I stepped over to the little, half-moon window and inquired, ‘Yaesuwon-ae eotteohkae gayo? How do I get to the Jesus Abbey?’
She pulled out a pamphlet, circled a set of numbers which were swimming in a sea of Korean words, pointed in a generally unspecific direction, and rattled off a string of Korean, the only part of which I comprehended being, ‘and then go left’ sandwiched somewhere in the middle.
I nodded and looked intelligent, and when she had finished, surprised her by asking her to repeat herself. She did so, voluntarily translating the ‘go left’ part into English for me. Since the directions that I had taken earlier said nothing about going left, but rather had ‘go right’ written twice (for emphasis, I suppose), I decided not to worry my head over that particular part of either set of directions, but just to walk in the down hill direction apparently indicated, and trust to fate, or to my finer instincts, to direct me to where I ought to be. As it chanced, fate deserted me after about two minutes, and my finer instincts directed me to hale a cab.
I know that taking such short cuts won’t help me with my Korean, and perhaps I ought to have gone back to the information desk to commence a dissection of the agent’s instructions. But as long as there remain taxis to tempt me, I’m afraid that ‘travel Korean’ may never become my strong suit.
But, aside even from the convenience of that particular method of transportation, taxi talk is by far my favorite. I learned how to ‘talk taxi’ before I knew the alphabet, for all intents and purposes, and that only took me 24 hours to commit to memory. All one needs to know are the name of his destination, and the words for ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘straight’ and ‘stop’. ‘No’ is also helpful, but not absolutely necessary. That particular word is employed in the following manner:
After giving the name of one’s destination and ‘left’ or ‘right’ed his way down a couple of streets, the driver will usually drown his hapless passenger under a flood of words, a mile long and several miles deep. There’s no call for the passenger to comprehend any of it, really, because nine times out of ten, the driver is simply commenting on the passenger’s Korean fluency, to which ‘anyo! no!’ is a culturally, and honestly, appropriate reply. The tenth time, it will turn out that the driver was asking the passenger if he studies Korean, to which a ‘no’ (for the average foreigner) applies in any case. ‘No’ is always a safe reply to either comment, and generally puts a damper on further conversation.
Of course, once I was able to carry on a more in-depth conversation that what could be maintained with ‘left’, ‘right’ and ‘no’, I began to encourage an expansion of topic. Drivers are willing, and usually pleased, to accommodate. So when told what a good grasp I have on the word ‘straight’, I startle even the most sincere by replying with unerring pronunciation and in present perfect progressive tense, ‘Oh no! I’ve been studying Korean for about nine months, but it’s a really difficult language, so I still don’t speak it very well.’
After a moment of deliciously startled silence, a grand smile dawns on our sociable driver’s face, and he repeats his first observation with a great deal more conviction, and then proceeds to ask where and for how long I’ve been studying, following up with such questions as, ‘What’s your major?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Are you married?... No?... Then do you have a boy friend?... Why not?’ etc.
All such questions are not only culturally acceptable, but also personally so, because they’re easy to tackle. Before the conversation has a chance to get out of my ball park, we’ve arrived at my destination, and can wish each other a merry farewell, feeling each toward the other a mutual sense of peace and good will.
However, at this point I reach an impasse. In spite of my flexible maneuvering of verb tenses and adverbs and prepositional phrases, I’m confounded, to my chagrin, when it comes to wishing our driver farewell. ‘Stay in peace’ or ‘Go in peace’? The driver is remaining in the taxi, however he (in his vehicle) is preparing to depart, so which to employ?
I used to agonize over the conundrum long before arriving at our destination, until one day it occurred to me that the driver’s confidence in my fluency is so firmly root and grounded, and the two greetings similar enough in sound, that he probably would never notice which I used, if I dwelt fondly on the similarities and rushed over that one syllable upon which the contrast is based. And if he did happen to notice, it would most likely result in his adopting my mistake and the written word, and adjusting his own vocabulary accordingly. It’s not uncommon for a foreigner with no more than a passing command of the language to be told, ‘You speak Korean better than we do!’ And it’s spoken with such simple sincerity that sometimes I wonder if they actually believe it...
I arrived at the Abby in the late afternoon, and had just enough time to settle comfortably in before the dinner bell rang. I didn’t see much, that evening, of the mountains that hug the Abby, but what I did see reminded me strikingly of my Oregon mountains, so that I felt instantly at home.
The next day it rained, so I spent much of it indoors in the ‘tea room’. I was sipping my morning coffee there, and writing some of my thoughts, when a young couple came over and sat at my small table with me. In Korea it’s nothing for perfect strangers to share a table in a public place, but one generally keeps to himself in such a case. So I was surprised to hear myself being addressed. Even more surprising was that the man’s opening comment was in Korean. I think that’s a first for me. When ever I’ve been addressed, it’s always been in English, butchered or otherwise, if only to ask if I, by any chance, speak Korean. In this case the question was the same, but in it’s own language, ‘hokshi, hangkmal chal hayo?’
‘No,’ I replied, adding that rider with which I ordinarily impress the cab drivers.
This, of course, led to further questions, which I was able to answer with perfect ease, even throwing in a few questions of my own, from time to time.
If I may do so without boasting (and yet, may I not boast? I have indeed worked hard for that privilege!), those subjects with which I am familiar, in Korean, I have studied and studied again with such ferocity, that I’m able to converse on them with a respectable degree of fluency, ease, and clear pronunciation (this latter I have received countless compliments on, and I believe that the compliments given were not hollow ones, because, while a Korean may insist that the foreigner speaks the language better than he does himself, he seems not to notice the discrepancy when immediately following that with ‘and your pronunciation needs a lot of practice.’). My ability to handle the lesser topics is quite deceptive, leading people to suppose that I have a much better grasp on the entire language than I really do have. I’ve even pulled the wool over my own eyes, before, which always leads me into trouble.
Unlike my taxi experiences, when sitting together in a coffee room there is no definite end to the conversation in sight, so it shortly moves from ‘How much money do you make?’ to ‘What are your long term goals for studying Korean?’ to ‘How do Americans generally feel about the cultural atmosphere in Korea?’ I can tackle these questions, when given my space, but by the time I’ve properly skinned and gutted the subject, and disposed of the entrails, everyone’s minds have been disabused of the notion that I can do any more than wield the pronunciation, and my linguistic status has dropped from ‘better than a Korean’ to ‘just like a Korean’ with the thoughtful rider that ‘you should practice a lot.’
‘I know,’ I reply, back in swim-able depths, ‘I want to speak more Korean, but when I hang out with my Korean friends, they always want to practice their English on me, so I really get very little Korean practice outside of the classroom.’
And so my new friends are sympathetic and invite me to practice on them, which I do until they inevitably turn the conversation, ‘Yes, and I want to learn English, too.’
But back to the ‘tea room’ wherein I began this monologue.
Just as our friend’s opening comment was out of the ordinary, being in Korean, so also was the flow of conversation that followed. He asked nothing beyond ‘when did you come here?’ and I even had to voluntarily supply my one name. Apparently the fact that I live in Korea was enough to convince him that I was a fluent bi-linguist, and, being the sociable fellow that he was, within ten minutes I realized that I was destined to hear the in-depth history of his short life.
It was an amusing recital. I know this, because he smiled often while recounting it. I watched his face and hands carefully, taking my cues from him. When he smiled I chuckled. When he laughed I split my sides. When he frowned I shed tears. This, coupled with appropriately applied ‘yeah’s and ‘mhmm’s, convinced him that I thoroughly understood and sympathized with the matter at hand.
In all reality, I picked up only one word out of 50, to begin with. When my head began to stop spinning, I was able to pay closer attention, and picked out one word in ten. Enough to grasp the topic of conversation, at least, and at that point my comments evolved from ‘uhuh’ to ‘I understand’ or ‘yeah, I think so, too.’ After this fashion we rushed headlong through some great conversational pieces, for nearly an hour and a half, and though it often seemed as though I was drowning, and a couple of times I even choked and had to be resuscitated, I managed to survive credibly.
Those one or two near death experiences occurred whenever our friend interrupted his narrative with a question. My heart would be absolutely still for a moment, and then return with a plunge calculated to ram itself through my chest wall. ‘Yes?’ with raising inflection. The rough equivalent of, ‘Can you be more specific?’
And so the question would be thoroughly repeated and explained, until I was able to grasp it well enough to answer.
If entirely lost, I would pick one word at random from his explanation and say, for example, ‘Cheolyeon? I don’t think I know that word.’ Which set him off upon the happy embarkment of a detailed explanation, effectively steering us away from the dangerous topic at hand.
In all, I suppose I grasped about 25% of what was toward, and remember none of it. I do need more practice, and sigh to think of how far I’ve yet to go.
So much for boasting.
As I glance back over all that I’ve just written, it occurs to me that I’ve talked an awful lot, without really saying anything. It think that one of the things that was very apparent to me, in contrast to English-speaking Seoul, was the amount of Korean I was expected to use, and my own incompetence. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it was a thought provoking one. So two of those many experiences were what naturally made their way from my mind to my fingertips.
And I was able to accomplish what I had gone there for. I don’t have any of the answers to life. In fact, if any thing, I have more questions than ever. But, while talking with God about them, the questions have taken on definition, form, continuity and definite relation. Like a tumble-dryer: My thoughts were spinning around before, but now the spinning has stopped. The clothes are still there in all their variety (except, maybe, a missing sock or two), but now the chaos has been reduced to something sort-able and fold-able.
...Ummm, okay. So maybe that wasn’t the most coherent parallel, after all. But this email is getting too long, so I’ll leave it as is, and trust to your generous imaginations to supply the discrepancy.
I love you all, and sincerely look forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
I’m sorry that I haven’t written sooner to let you all know that I did indeed pass level 3!! It was close, but my teachers were merciful, and I managed to drag myself through with trembling legs, burning lungs, and a powerful headache. I wrote in my little, green journal, ‘Well, I did pass. My head is splitting, but that’s okay. It’s okay, too, that I’m likely to pass out from fatigue, and feel like I’m getting another cold. I have nothing to do which demands health or comfort or energy. For three months I’m perfectly free to be as tired and headachy and sick as I jolly well please, with absolutely no extenuating stress. What a light and airy feeling this is!’
Taking advantage of my freedom, I decided to spend a few days at a retreat, in the eastern part of Korea, called the Jesus Abbey. There one may find a few thatched, stone buildings, snuggled up in the mountains, away from the rest of the Country and it’s noises and lights and smells. My object in seeking such seclusion, was to spend some much needed time in reflection, quietness, and prayer. On the verge of a great deal of change, I felt the definite need to reassess my focus and direction, as well as to re-communicate to God my desire to love Him well. So, with this in mind, three days ago I purchased a ticket for a four and a half hour train ride to Taebaek.
Upon arriving in Kangneung, I glanced about me, looking for a road whereby I might carry out Mr. Torrey’s instructions to ‘walk down hill for about ½ block, then turn right.’ I discovered to my amusement and chagrin, but not necessarily to my surprise, that the train station had stopped at the top of said hill, from which point three roads ribboned out, each more down hill than its neighbor.
I’ve been too often confronted by similar situations to be dismayed, so holding my bag close, I looked about for some sort of public city map. These large, posted maps can be found at the entrance of any subway station in Seoul, and often are posted randomly along major streets. I depend on them to get my bearings, when in an unfamiliar district, something like the needle of a compass depends upon the North Pole. I supposed that, in such a public location as a train station one must be displayed. I was wrong, but no matter. Far to the left I spotted a little, round building with a conical roof. Large orange letters adorned the front of it: ‘여행 안내소’ The words were familiar, but I was tired, and while I registered enough to suspicion that the place might be of some use to me, my mind wouldn’t tell me in what way, specifically. I gazed, in a puzzled way, for some moments more, and then my eyes took in even larger English words directly below the Korean, ‘Tourist Information’. It testifies to my obsession with Korean that my eyes automatically registered the Korean before even noticing the English.
I stepped over to the little, half-moon window and inquired, ‘Yaesuwon-ae eotteohkae gayo? How do I get to the Jesus Abbey?’
She pulled out a pamphlet, circled a set of numbers which were swimming in a sea of Korean words, pointed in a generally unspecific direction, and rattled off a string of Korean, the only part of which I comprehended being, ‘and then go left’ sandwiched somewhere in the middle.
I nodded and looked intelligent, and when she had finished, surprised her by asking her to repeat herself. She did so, voluntarily translating the ‘go left’ part into English for me. Since the directions that I had taken earlier said nothing about going left, but rather had ‘go right’ written twice (for emphasis, I suppose), I decided not to worry my head over that particular part of either set of directions, but just to walk in the down hill direction apparently indicated, and trust to fate, or to my finer instincts, to direct me to where I ought to be. As it chanced, fate deserted me after about two minutes, and my finer instincts directed me to hale a cab.
I know that taking such short cuts won’t help me with my Korean, and perhaps I ought to have gone back to the information desk to commence a dissection of the agent’s instructions. But as long as there remain taxis to tempt me, I’m afraid that ‘travel Korean’ may never become my strong suit.
But, aside even from the convenience of that particular method of transportation, taxi talk is by far my favorite. I learned how to ‘talk taxi’ before I knew the alphabet, for all intents and purposes, and that only took me 24 hours to commit to memory. All one needs to know are the name of his destination, and the words for ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘straight’ and ‘stop’. ‘No’ is also helpful, but not absolutely necessary. That particular word is employed in the following manner:
After giving the name of one’s destination and ‘left’ or ‘right’ed his way down a couple of streets, the driver will usually drown his hapless passenger under a flood of words, a mile long and several miles deep. There’s no call for the passenger to comprehend any of it, really, because nine times out of ten, the driver is simply commenting on the passenger’s Korean fluency, to which ‘anyo! no!’ is a culturally, and honestly, appropriate reply. The tenth time, it will turn out that the driver was asking the passenger if he studies Korean, to which a ‘no’ (for the average foreigner) applies in any case. ‘No’ is always a safe reply to either comment, and generally puts a damper on further conversation.
Of course, once I was able to carry on a more in-depth conversation that what could be maintained with ‘left’, ‘right’ and ‘no’, I began to encourage an expansion of topic. Drivers are willing, and usually pleased, to accommodate. So when told what a good grasp I have on the word ‘straight’, I startle even the most sincere by replying with unerring pronunciation and in present perfect progressive tense, ‘Oh no! I’ve been studying Korean for about nine months, but it’s a really difficult language, so I still don’t speak it very well.’
After a moment of deliciously startled silence, a grand smile dawns on our sociable driver’s face, and he repeats his first observation with a great deal more conviction, and then proceeds to ask where and for how long I’ve been studying, following up with such questions as, ‘What’s your major?’ ‘How old are you?’ ‘Are you married?... No?... Then do you have a boy friend?... Why not?’ etc.
All such questions are not only culturally acceptable, but also personally so, because they’re easy to tackle. Before the conversation has a chance to get out of my ball park, we’ve arrived at my destination, and can wish each other a merry farewell, feeling each toward the other a mutual sense of peace and good will.
However, at this point I reach an impasse. In spite of my flexible maneuvering of verb tenses and adverbs and prepositional phrases, I’m confounded, to my chagrin, when it comes to wishing our driver farewell. ‘Stay in peace’ or ‘Go in peace’? The driver is remaining in the taxi, however he (in his vehicle) is preparing to depart, so which to employ?
I used to agonize over the conundrum long before arriving at our destination, until one day it occurred to me that the driver’s confidence in my fluency is so firmly root and grounded, and the two greetings similar enough in sound, that he probably would never notice which I used, if I dwelt fondly on the similarities and rushed over that one syllable upon which the contrast is based. And if he did happen to notice, it would most likely result in his adopting my mistake and the written word, and adjusting his own vocabulary accordingly. It’s not uncommon for a foreigner with no more than a passing command of the language to be told, ‘You speak Korean better than we do!’ And it’s spoken with such simple sincerity that sometimes I wonder if they actually believe it...
I arrived at the Abby in the late afternoon, and had just enough time to settle comfortably in before the dinner bell rang. I didn’t see much, that evening, of the mountains that hug the Abby, but what I did see reminded me strikingly of my Oregon mountains, so that I felt instantly at home.
The next day it rained, so I spent much of it indoors in the ‘tea room’. I was sipping my morning coffee there, and writing some of my thoughts, when a young couple came over and sat at my small table with me. In Korea it’s nothing for perfect strangers to share a table in a public place, but one generally keeps to himself in such a case. So I was surprised to hear myself being addressed. Even more surprising was that the man’s opening comment was in Korean. I think that’s a first for me. When ever I’ve been addressed, it’s always been in English, butchered or otherwise, if only to ask if I, by any chance, speak Korean. In this case the question was the same, but in it’s own language, ‘hokshi, hangkmal chal hayo?’
‘No,’ I replied, adding that rider with which I ordinarily impress the cab drivers.
This, of course, led to further questions, which I was able to answer with perfect ease, even throwing in a few questions of my own, from time to time.
If I may do so without boasting (and yet, may I not boast? I have indeed worked hard for that privilege!), those subjects with which I am familiar, in Korean, I have studied and studied again with such ferocity, that I’m able to converse on them with a respectable degree of fluency, ease, and clear pronunciation (this latter I have received countless compliments on, and I believe that the compliments given were not hollow ones, because, while a Korean may insist that the foreigner speaks the language better than he does himself, he seems not to notice the discrepancy when immediately following that with ‘and your pronunciation needs a lot of practice.’). My ability to handle the lesser topics is quite deceptive, leading people to suppose that I have a much better grasp on the entire language than I really do have. I’ve even pulled the wool over my own eyes, before, which always leads me into trouble.
Unlike my taxi experiences, when sitting together in a coffee room there is no definite end to the conversation in sight, so it shortly moves from ‘How much money do you make?’ to ‘What are your long term goals for studying Korean?’ to ‘How do Americans generally feel about the cultural atmosphere in Korea?’ I can tackle these questions, when given my space, but by the time I’ve properly skinned and gutted the subject, and disposed of the entrails, everyone’s minds have been disabused of the notion that I can do any more than wield the pronunciation, and my linguistic status has dropped from ‘better than a Korean’ to ‘just like a Korean’ with the thoughtful rider that ‘you should practice a lot.’
‘I know,’ I reply, back in swim-able depths, ‘I want to speak more Korean, but when I hang out with my Korean friends, they always want to practice their English on me, so I really get very little Korean practice outside of the classroom.’
And so my new friends are sympathetic and invite me to practice on them, which I do until they inevitably turn the conversation, ‘Yes, and I want to learn English, too.’
But back to the ‘tea room’ wherein I began this monologue.
Just as our friend’s opening comment was out of the ordinary, being in Korean, so also was the flow of conversation that followed. He asked nothing beyond ‘when did you come here?’ and I even had to voluntarily supply my one name. Apparently the fact that I live in Korea was enough to convince him that I was a fluent bi-linguist, and, being the sociable fellow that he was, within ten minutes I realized that I was destined to hear the in-depth history of his short life.
It was an amusing recital. I know this, because he smiled often while recounting it. I watched his face and hands carefully, taking my cues from him. When he smiled I chuckled. When he laughed I split my sides. When he frowned I shed tears. This, coupled with appropriately applied ‘yeah’s and ‘mhmm’s, convinced him that I thoroughly understood and sympathized with the matter at hand.
In all reality, I picked up only one word out of 50, to begin with. When my head began to stop spinning, I was able to pay closer attention, and picked out one word in ten. Enough to grasp the topic of conversation, at least, and at that point my comments evolved from ‘uhuh’ to ‘I understand’ or ‘yeah, I think so, too.’ After this fashion we rushed headlong through some great conversational pieces, for nearly an hour and a half, and though it often seemed as though I was drowning, and a couple of times I even choked and had to be resuscitated, I managed to survive credibly.
Those one or two near death experiences occurred whenever our friend interrupted his narrative with a question. My heart would be absolutely still for a moment, and then return with a plunge calculated to ram itself through my chest wall. ‘Yes?’ with raising inflection. The rough equivalent of, ‘Can you be more specific?’
And so the question would be thoroughly repeated and explained, until I was able to grasp it well enough to answer.
If entirely lost, I would pick one word at random from his explanation and say, for example, ‘Cheolyeon? I don’t think I know that word.’ Which set him off upon the happy embarkment of a detailed explanation, effectively steering us away from the dangerous topic at hand.
In all, I suppose I grasped about 25% of what was toward, and remember none of it. I do need more practice, and sigh to think of how far I’ve yet to go.
So much for boasting.
As I glance back over all that I’ve just written, it occurs to me that I’ve talked an awful lot, without really saying anything. It think that one of the things that was very apparent to me, in contrast to English-speaking Seoul, was the amount of Korean I was expected to use, and my own incompetence. It wasn’t a bad experience, but it was a thought provoking one. So two of those many experiences were what naturally made their way from my mind to my fingertips.
And I was able to accomplish what I had gone there for. I don’t have any of the answers to life. In fact, if any thing, I have more questions than ever. But, while talking with God about them, the questions have taken on definition, form, continuity and definite relation. Like a tumble-dryer: My thoughts were spinning around before, but now the spinning has stopped. The clothes are still there in all their variety (except, maybe, a missing sock or two), but now the chaos has been reduced to something sort-able and fold-able.
...Ummm, okay. So maybe that wasn’t the most coherent parallel, after all. But this email is getting too long, so I’ll leave it as is, and trust to your generous imaginations to supply the discrepancy.
I love you all, and sincerely look forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Running and Running
Dear Sister,
I have a half-dozen important emails to reply to, and a late dinner to eat, but your email beckons me, and I must 'talk' to you a bit.
I miss you. I have never longed to be home more utterly and completely. My heart is there already, and my body feverishly aches to join it. No reservations. No hesitation. I would take off running toward you now, if I thought it would get me there any faster.
Meanwhile, my mind has absolutely shut off. I have never experienced this before. Weariness, frustration, confusion, overwhelmed-ness; these have all had my mind in their powerful grips before, but never have they so completely razed. When one dashes uphill until his legs burn and his lungs explode, then still keeps running and running, there comes a point where his body must collapse, no matter how close to the top he is. The strongest will in the world cannot prevent it. Two days ago my mind turned to lead, and try as I would, I could not make it go on. It was simply done with contorting and stretching and running and running. In a desperate attempt to lighten its load, hoping that it might be able to pick itself back up and scrape through just one more week, I spoke to my teacher on Tuesday, three class days before my finals, and told her that I was going to drop out of writing class. She was disappointed, no less was I, but there was no other way of going forward.
Or so I though. God seemed to think otherwise, though. The next morning it occurred to me that I hadn't consulted God about my decision. I had simply reacted with something of a natural instinct for survival. I didn't suppose that God would object to my decision, but I decided that I ought at least to give Him a chance to so, if He should want to. So I told Him what I'd done, finishing with, 'Can I just leave it as is?' Sitting quietly for a bit, then, it seemed to me that I had God's permission, but not necessarily His blessing, to do as I wanted. Considering it, I saw that to submit 50 hours of accredited class time, when all that was needed to secure them was three more days of class and one test, would be foolishness. But this left me utterly nonplused. While to stop would be foolish, to continue was impossible.
Then something struck me: Often I have been brought to an end of my own ability to perform physically, so that I have had to lean on God and on His physical strength alone. Often, also, I have been brought to an end of my ability to perform spiritually, and here again God has filled in with His own spiritual strength. But this is the first time I've ever reached an end of my mental strength. I've no doubt that God has brought me here because He wants me to depend on Him in this area, too. Very well. I need not lighten my load, because God is not confounded. I need simply to lean against Him, and let Him do what He will.
So I went to writing class again this morning, to my teacher's amusement, and felt just as dead and heavy as ever. But God will pull us through. He always does.
That's my story. I don't know whether I'll pass my finals or not. I tend to philosophically categorize, "I suppose I will; one does." Either way, I just pray that God will carry me through the next few days of my life, and that I will learn to depend on Him utterly.
If you feel inclined to pray for me, I won't object...
I love you tremendously,
Jonny-Jo
I have a half-dozen important emails to reply to, and a late dinner to eat, but your email beckons me, and I must 'talk' to you a bit.
I miss you. I have never longed to be home more utterly and completely. My heart is there already, and my body feverishly aches to join it. No reservations. No hesitation. I would take off running toward you now, if I thought it would get me there any faster.
Meanwhile, my mind has absolutely shut off. I have never experienced this before. Weariness, frustration, confusion, overwhelmed-ness; these have all had my mind in their powerful grips before, but never have they so completely razed. When one dashes uphill until his legs burn and his lungs explode, then still keeps running and running, there comes a point where his body must collapse, no matter how close to the top he is. The strongest will in the world cannot prevent it. Two days ago my mind turned to lead, and try as I would, I could not make it go on. It was simply done with contorting and stretching and running and running. In a desperate attempt to lighten its load, hoping that it might be able to pick itself back up and scrape through just one more week, I spoke to my teacher on Tuesday, three class days before my finals, and told her that I was going to drop out of writing class. She was disappointed, no less was I, but there was no other way of going forward.
Or so I though. God seemed to think otherwise, though. The next morning it occurred to me that I hadn't consulted God about my decision. I had simply reacted with something of a natural instinct for survival. I didn't suppose that God would object to my decision, but I decided that I ought at least to give Him a chance to so, if He should want to. So I told Him what I'd done, finishing with, 'Can I just leave it as is?' Sitting quietly for a bit, then, it seemed to me that I had God's permission, but not necessarily His blessing, to do as I wanted. Considering it, I saw that to submit 50 hours of accredited class time, when all that was needed to secure them was three more days of class and one test, would be foolishness. But this left me utterly nonplused. While to stop would be foolish, to continue was impossible.
Then something struck me: Often I have been brought to an end of my own ability to perform physically, so that I have had to lean on God and on His physical strength alone. Often, also, I have been brought to an end of my ability to perform spiritually, and here again God has filled in with His own spiritual strength. But this is the first time I've ever reached an end of my mental strength. I've no doubt that God has brought me here because He wants me to depend on Him in this area, too. Very well. I need not lighten my load, because God is not confounded. I need simply to lean against Him, and let Him do what He will.
So I went to writing class again this morning, to my teacher's amusement, and felt just as dead and heavy as ever. But God will pull us through. He always does.
That's my story. I don't know whether I'll pass my finals or not. I tend to philosophically categorize, "I suppose I will; one does." Either way, I just pray that God will carry me through the next few days of my life, and that I will learn to depend on Him utterly.
If you feel inclined to pray for me, I won't object...
I love you tremendously,
Jonny-Jo
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
A Multitude of Faces
Here I am again... writing in a state of semi-drowsiness. I've been in school or studying for the last ten hours straight, not counting a break for lunch. This hasn't been an abnormal day, really, but for some reason I'm feeling it more now than I usually do, so I don't know how much I'll get written before my mind entirely shuts down.
This morning I learned my favorite Korean word to date: '토킹아바우트'. The Romanization of that would be 'tokingabaut', stolen, of course, from the English phrase, 'talking about'. English words with a Korean twist, and it's really good for a laugh when one begins to conjugate that with suffixes and infixes.
The weather had begun to be beautiful a few weeks ago, but the day that Mary Horn arrived it clouded over, and has been chilly ever since. The weather in no way interfered with her visit, though, and we had a grand time exploring those parts of Seoul that I only see when I have visitors. The places are worth visiting more often, but I really haven't the motivation to go 'yogi jogi' ('here and there') alone. Some things simply require two.
One very pleasant part of going 'round, was that by it I was able to measure my Korean improvement. Every time I go to Namdaemun Market, for example, I'm able to ask questions of the vendors, or make comments on their wares that I had wanted to speak of the previous time, but had been unable to do. I understand a lot more of the conversations around me, and am able to interact on, if not a deeper level, at least a more specific and thorough one. Very motivating, needless to say.
One of the things we did was something of an adventure, based as it was upon mere speculation. I told Mary about the 'Spectacular Musical Water Fountain', which I had seen last year. The name provides for itself a fairly accurate description: it is spectacular, it is musical, and it is a water fountain. She had seen a similar fountain while in China, and we agreed that it would fun to go see this one together. The only hitch was that it was outside of Seoul, and I didn't know how to get there. I tried to get a hold of Boyeun, who would have been able to provide me with a bus number, but she was unreachable. So I explored a subway map, and saw way off in the left had corner: 'Lake Park'. I was pretty sure that that was the name of the place that sported the fountain, so we decided to gamble an hour subway ride, each way, against the chance of my being right. And I was.
The first time I saw the fountain, it provoked me to record in my journal, "It really was remarkably beautiful. It made me think of Jesus, and I marveled at His nature which is not beautiful, but Beauty itself. My prayer is that I will see, and always be aware of the depths of the beauty of my God."
There is something about living things, or things that resemble life, that resonates with me. Perhaps therein lies my obsession with candles and plants and fish. When I watch the water shooting into the air, and whirling and dancing it time to music and lights, my heart soars with it, and for a time I'm lost to everything around me.
One thing that has struck me, lately, is how very creative God is.
I challenge you to recreate 6 billion of any one item, applying these restrictions:
1. All items must be constructed with the same features.
2. The features of each item must be of relatively similar proportion and size.
3. The same color scheme must be applied to every item, allowing only for variation of shade.
When I see the multitude of faces around me, I see that each of these restrictions has been adhered to, without any one person looking so like his neighbor as to be indistinguishable, or even nearly so. How is that possible? And how great, then, must be the individual value of each man's soul, where so much more creativity and variety have been applied! What a shame that even one should be lost!
Last Sunday I visited the public bath house near my house. My back has been so tight lately, that I'm in almost perpetual pain. I thought that perhaps the saunas and bath jets might help to loosen the muscles enough for my back to return to its normal state. After an hour and a half of almost nauseating heat, my back felt very much better, and I came home with only a very small cramp left in my shoulder. But the effect didn't last long, unfortunately, and all through my upper back and over my right shoulder feels on fire. It's worse than it has been in a long time, and has begun to interrupt my sleep, so I ask you to please be praying for me.
A few weeks ago I was talking to God about my future. It all seems so vague. I have a general idea of where I think I'm going to end up, but no real plan of how to get there. I believe that God will show me what the next step is, when the time is right, and usually I'm perfectly at peace with not knowing. But on the particular night of which I write, I was battling that old feeling of restlessness that always seems to settle upon me after I've remained in one place for any length of time. I was struggling to express to God the feeling of helpless drifting that had begun to possess me, and found that I was unable to do so verbally. So I began to write my prayer, instead, and ended up with a poem, which I have since altered to read as follows:
With no clear call, and no specific thrust,
Footstep follows step, as in a dream.
I am a leaf born on a flitting autumn gust,
I am a bubble on the surface of a stream.
I cannot grasp what spurs me on my way.
Footstep follows step, as in a dream,
And each is swallowed up with every day.
You are my Call, my soul may breathe relief.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek.
Your Spirit is the Wind that flits the leaf,
You are the coursing Water of the beck.
Your purpose spurs my life along its Way.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek,
And Christ, Your Son, the Dawn of every day.
I look very forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
This morning I learned my favorite Korean word to date: '토킹아바우트'. The Romanization of that would be 'tokingabaut', stolen, of course, from the English phrase, 'talking about'. English words with a Korean twist, and it's really good for a laugh when one begins to conjugate that with suffixes and infixes.
The weather had begun to be beautiful a few weeks ago, but the day that Mary Horn arrived it clouded over, and has been chilly ever since. The weather in no way interfered with her visit, though, and we had a grand time exploring those parts of Seoul that I only see when I have visitors. The places are worth visiting more often, but I really haven't the motivation to go 'yogi jogi' ('here and there') alone. Some things simply require two.
One very pleasant part of going 'round, was that by it I was able to measure my Korean improvement. Every time I go to Namdaemun Market, for example, I'm able to ask questions of the vendors, or make comments on their wares that I had wanted to speak of the previous time, but had been unable to do. I understand a lot more of the conversations around me, and am able to interact on, if not a deeper level, at least a more specific and thorough one. Very motivating, needless to say.
One of the things we did was something of an adventure, based as it was upon mere speculation. I told Mary about the 'Spectacular Musical Water Fountain', which I had seen last year. The name provides for itself a fairly accurate description: it is spectacular, it is musical, and it is a water fountain. She had seen a similar fountain while in China, and we agreed that it would fun to go see this one together. The only hitch was that it was outside of Seoul, and I didn't know how to get there. I tried to get a hold of Boyeun, who would have been able to provide me with a bus number, but she was unreachable. So I explored a subway map, and saw way off in the left had corner: 'Lake Park'. I was pretty sure that that was the name of the place that sported the fountain, so we decided to gamble an hour subway ride, each way, against the chance of my being right. And I was.
The first time I saw the fountain, it provoked me to record in my journal, "It really was remarkably beautiful. It made me think of Jesus, and I marveled at His nature which is not beautiful, but Beauty itself. My prayer is that I will see, and always be aware of the depths of the beauty of my God."
There is something about living things, or things that resemble life, that resonates with me. Perhaps therein lies my obsession with candles and plants and fish. When I watch the water shooting into the air, and whirling and dancing it time to music and lights, my heart soars with it, and for a time I'm lost to everything around me.
One thing that has struck me, lately, is how very creative God is.
I challenge you to recreate 6 billion of any one item, applying these restrictions:
1. All items must be constructed with the same features.
2. The features of each item must be of relatively similar proportion and size.
3. The same color scheme must be applied to every item, allowing only for variation of shade.
When I see the multitude of faces around me, I see that each of these restrictions has been adhered to, without any one person looking so like his neighbor as to be indistinguishable, or even nearly so. How is that possible? And how great, then, must be the individual value of each man's soul, where so much more creativity and variety have been applied! What a shame that even one should be lost!
Last Sunday I visited the public bath house near my house. My back has been so tight lately, that I'm in almost perpetual pain. I thought that perhaps the saunas and bath jets might help to loosen the muscles enough for my back to return to its normal state. After an hour and a half of almost nauseating heat, my back felt very much better, and I came home with only a very small cramp left in my shoulder. But the effect didn't last long, unfortunately, and all through my upper back and over my right shoulder feels on fire. It's worse than it has been in a long time, and has begun to interrupt my sleep, so I ask you to please be praying for me.
A few weeks ago I was talking to God about my future. It all seems so vague. I have a general idea of where I think I'm going to end up, but no real plan of how to get there. I believe that God will show me what the next step is, when the time is right, and usually I'm perfectly at peace with not knowing. But on the particular night of which I write, I was battling that old feeling of restlessness that always seems to settle upon me after I've remained in one place for any length of time. I was struggling to express to God the feeling of helpless drifting that had begun to possess me, and found that I was unable to do so verbally. So I began to write my prayer, instead, and ended up with a poem, which I have since altered to read as follows:
With no clear call, and no specific thrust,
Footstep follows step, as in a dream.
I am a leaf born on a flitting autumn gust,
I am a bubble on the surface of a stream.
I cannot grasp what spurs me on my way.
Footstep follows step, as in a dream,
And each is swallowed up with every day.
You are my Call, my soul may breathe relief.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek.
Your Spirit is the Wind that flits the leaf,
You are the coursing Water of the beck.
Your purpose spurs my life along its Way.
My feet are sure, You are the Path I trek,
And Christ, Your Son, the Dawn of every day.
I look very forward to seeing you soon,
Elisabeth
Sunday, March 23, 2008
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
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
Friday, February 29, 2008
He will Have His way
Naomi,
I've a plane ticket for the 10th of June. I don't know if that's my departure date, arrival date, or (since I'll be crossing the international date line) both. My return flight is set for August 20th, but that's a changeable ticket, so that date is just a tentative guess.
Okay, lets see how much of the history of this last week I can fit into this email, before three o'clock.
Up until just a week ago (the 20th, to be exact), I had been planning, after some prayer (thought none of it very whole-hearted, you know...I think I was more running my already-plans before God, than asking Him what He wanted me to do), on definitely coming home, this summer.
Last Wednesday (did you know that I hate Wednesdays? Always have.) Mom sent me an email, letting me know how much I had in my CD acct. at Sterling. I was startled to find that the CD contained about $8000 less than I'd supposed. Immediately I began looking through and adding up how much I've spent so far, and (based on that) how much more I'll need to complete all six levels at Sogang. As it turned out, even if I decided not to come home, I would only have enough to get through level five. Coming home would cut that down to level four. Which, of course, threw all my plans into absolute confusion.
My first reaction was to cut down on every expense not absolutely essential. Since I already live frugally, the only thing else to do was to turn off my heat and cancel my internet connection (which former I did a week ago, and which latter I'll do this afternoon). Also, of course, I called home, and told them not to be expecting me.
But, even though I didn't have any idea of really coming back, at that point, I found that I couldn't get it out of my heart. I began to pray about it more seriously, and for this last week have been under more pressure and prey to more anxiety than I have since being in Korea this second time.
After a few days of feckless indecision, I wrote an email (at Beka's suggestion, bless her!) to the elders at Camas, which I also forwarded to Sharri and to Dad. In it I stated some of the pros (recuperation, refocus, and preparation for another nine months, as well as the opportunity to get to know the Camas Church better) and cons (lack of resources) of coming home, ending with,
"While I was praying about it, yesterday, it occurred to me that I just don't know enough to be able to make a wise decision. Everything is uncertainty and supposition, and I'm a little bit afraid that my own desires will get in the way of me hearing God clearly, or recognizing what He wants me to do in this case."
Travis and Tim both wrote back, advising me (for their various reasons) to come back home. I felt that I should wait for Dad's reply, as well, before making a final decision. If he agreed with Travis and Tim, considering how unlikely a response that would be, I should know for certain that I ought to plan the trip. As it turned out, his response, after praying about it was, that he felt that the decision needed to be between me and God, as he felt too far removed from the situation to be able to make give very definite advice.
As I relate these circumstances, Sister, I've only, so far, touched on actions and thought process. You must be aware, I know, that my emotions were neither so orderly nor so under control. There was so much at stake, and I felt that the wrong decision would be detrimental. I was aware that God is able (and does) take the choices that I make, and turn them for His glory, but my heart was not there. All my wisdom urged me to follow the advice of those more mature in judgment than I. But that same wisdom screamed at me that to throw a semester of Korean to the wind was foolishness beyond permission.
After wrestling, with no clarity, for days, I no longer even wanted to come home. You know how much I've put into being able to learn Korean. You know how important it is to me, and how much I've given up, how much pleasure and comfort I've put aside, in order to pursue what I believe with all my heart God has called me to do. To leave the language program half way through, is not merely giving up fluency in Korean, but everything that I've worked toward and thrown myself into for these last two years, and more. Every sacrifice that I've made in the way of loneliness, frugality, discomfort. Failure at that which I'm persuaded God has set before me would be the price I must pay for two months in Oregon. The thought of such an exchange left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I was, through all this, persuaded that God could, and would provide for me, by whatever means, if He asked me to go home. But I was in no way certain that He would do so, if I chose to go back without His sanction, and this left my heart in no little anxiety, because still I hadn't heard from God.
The ticket reservation that I had made, while waiting for direction, was to expire by the weekend, so (since I was communicating with my travel agent via email and everything was slower) I needed now to make my decision immediately.
At this point, I felt that, where my own wisdom failed, it would be foolish to ignore the advise of those whom I've asked to take some rule of authority in my life. As I had no clearer direction for myself, there seemed nothing else to do, but come home.
I decided to pray about it one more time, and then (as a decision must be made), simply choose one of the two options at random. So I got on my knees, and reminded God of His promise, in James 1:5, to give wisdom to the seeker. Immediately, as clearly as if spoken verbally, I heard, "It is wisdom to trust in Me." Simultaneously with those words, came the very clear understanding that my decision wasn't one of circumstance, but one of trust. If I chose to stay here, I would be choosing to trust in my frugality, my resources, to make it as far in Korean as possible. If, on the other hand, I chose to go home, I would be placing myself in the most vulnerable place imaginable, where the above were concerned, and leaving myself nothing on this earth to trust, but God Himself. And in that split second, my decision was made.
Oddly, that decision didn't bring a sense of peace, as I had expected it to. I contacted my travel agent and told her to purchase my ticket, then let everyone concerned know that they would see me in June. But my heart was despondent, and it was all I could do, through the whole of yesterday, to hold back tears that would come, and to pursue my normal activities. I was tired and headachy and cross, and decided this morning that, rather than spend another day so pointlessly dejected, I would pray again, and not leave God's presence until my heart had been calmed by Him.
At first I couldn't stay focused at all. For about an hour or so, my mind wandered pitifully, and at random, until finally God brought to my mind those beautiful verses in Mat 6 about God clothing the lilies of the field, and making provision for the birds. From there, I explored other verses about God's goodness and faithfulness, until I came to Psalm 146:5-6 "Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God: Which made heaven, and earth, the sea, and all that therein is: Which keepeth truth for ever."
Sister, is there any comparison to the gentle goodness of God? Remarkable Goodness displayed in His desire to wrest all other dependencies from me. I don't, and probably never will, understand why He takes such trouble to shape and form my life. Why He has so determined to have all my heart, and has diligently and minutely directed and prepared my way. And Remarkable Gentleness displayed in the method He has chosen for accomplishing His work. In what more protective, sustaining way can He have moved than to bring me home, to people who will love, and challenge, and support me? What way more gracious, than to allow me the comfort, for a season, of those dearest to my heart? How carefully He must have worked to bring about this circumstance, which will at once both remove me from my dependencies and self-conceit, all the while coddling my spirit.
The understanding of all this allowed me, finally, the relief of tears, and I find my heart light, today, for the first time in many days.
To conclude: I will come home this summer, and when I get back to Korea, only expect to take one more semester at Sogang. Where God will move me from there is an absolute blank. If He provides, financially, for me to continue, I will be very glad in that. If He ask me drop out of school, He'll probably have to wrestle with me again, but I know He will have His way, because He is determined to have me. All I can count on, for certain, is that He will lead in an entirely unpredictable, and astoundingly brilliant way, so I need not concern myself, at this point, with pointless speculation.
This has ended up being much longer than I had intended. But I don't know how to shorten it, and still include everything. And, somehow, I'm persuaded you won't mind the detail. ^^
I love you, and am wholeheartedly looking forward to seeing you in June!!
Jonny
I've a plane ticket for the 10th of June. I don't know if that's my departure date, arrival date, or (since I'll be crossing the international date line) both. My return flight is set for August 20th, but that's a changeable ticket, so that date is just a tentative guess.
Okay, lets see how much of the history of this last week I can fit into this email, before three o'clock.
Up until just a week ago (the 20th, to be exact), I had been planning, after some prayer (thought none of it very whole-hearted, you know...I think I was more running my already-plans before God, than asking Him what He wanted me to do), on definitely coming home, this summer.
Last Wednesday (did you know that I hate Wednesdays? Always have.) Mom sent me an email, letting me know how much I had in my CD acct. at Sterling. I was startled to find that the CD contained about $8000 less than I'd supposed. Immediately I began looking through and adding up how much I've spent so far, and (based on that) how much more I'll need to complete all six levels at Sogang. As it turned out, even if I decided not to come home, I would only have enough to get through level five. Coming home would cut that down to level four. Which, of course, threw all my plans into absolute confusion.
My first reaction was to cut down on every expense not absolutely essential. Since I already live frugally, the only thing else to do was to turn off my heat and cancel my internet connection (which former I did a week ago, and which latter I'll do this afternoon). Also, of course, I called home, and told them not to be expecting me.
But, even though I didn't have any idea of really coming back, at that point, I found that I couldn't get it out of my heart. I began to pray about it more seriously, and for this last week have been under more pressure and prey to more anxiety than I have since being in Korea this second time.
After a few days of feckless indecision, I wrote an email (at Beka's suggestion, bless her!) to the elders at Camas, which I also forwarded to Sharri and to Dad. In it I stated some of the pros (recuperation, refocus, and preparation for another nine months, as well as the opportunity to get to know the Camas Church better) and cons (lack of resources) of coming home, ending with,
"While I was praying about it, yesterday, it occurred to me that I just don't know enough to be able to make a wise decision. Everything is uncertainty and supposition, and I'm a little bit afraid that my own desires will get in the way of me hearing God clearly, or recognizing what He wants me to do in this case."
Travis and Tim both wrote back, advising me (for their various reasons) to come back home. I felt that I should wait for Dad's reply, as well, before making a final decision. If he agreed with Travis and Tim, considering how unlikely a response that would be, I should know for certain that I ought to plan the trip. As it turned out, his response, after praying about it was, that he felt that the decision needed to be between me and God, as he felt too far removed from the situation to be able to make give very definite advice.
As I relate these circumstances, Sister, I've only, so far, touched on actions and thought process. You must be aware, I know, that my emotions were neither so orderly nor so under control. There was so much at stake, and I felt that the wrong decision would be detrimental. I was aware that God is able (and does) take the choices that I make, and turn them for His glory, but my heart was not there. All my wisdom urged me to follow the advice of those more mature in judgment than I. But that same wisdom screamed at me that to throw a semester of Korean to the wind was foolishness beyond permission.
After wrestling, with no clarity, for days, I no longer even wanted to come home. You know how much I've put into being able to learn Korean. You know how important it is to me, and how much I've given up, how much pleasure and comfort I've put aside, in order to pursue what I believe with all my heart God has called me to do. To leave the language program half way through, is not merely giving up fluency in Korean, but everything that I've worked toward and thrown myself into for these last two years, and more. Every sacrifice that I've made in the way of loneliness, frugality, discomfort. Failure at that which I'm persuaded God has set before me would be the price I must pay for two months in Oregon. The thought of such an exchange left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I was, through all this, persuaded that God could, and would provide for me, by whatever means, if He asked me to go home. But I was in no way certain that He would do so, if I chose to go back without His sanction, and this left my heart in no little anxiety, because still I hadn't heard from God.
The ticket reservation that I had made, while waiting for direction, was to expire by the weekend, so (since I was communicating with my travel agent via email and everything was slower) I needed now to make my decision immediately.
At this point, I felt that, where my own wisdom failed, it would be foolish to ignore the advise of those whom I've asked to take some rule of authority in my life. As I had no clearer direction for myself, there seemed nothing else to do, but come home.
I decided to pray about it one more time, and then (as a decision must be made), simply choose one of the two options at random. So I got on my knees, and reminded God of His promise, in James 1:5, to give wisdom to the seeker. Immediately, as clearly as if spoken verbally, I heard, "It is wisdom to trust in Me." Simultaneously with those words, came the very clear understanding that my decision wasn't one of circumstance, but one of trust. If I chose to stay here, I would be choosing to trust in my frugality, my resources, to make it as far in Korean as possible. If, on the other hand, I chose to go home, I would be placing myself in the most vulnerable place imaginable, where the above were concerned, and leaving myself nothing on this earth to trust, but God Himself. And in that split second, my decision was made.
Oddly, that decision didn't bring a sense of peace, as I had expected it to. I contacted my travel agent and told her to purchase my ticket, then let everyone concerned know that they would see me in June. But my heart was despondent, and it was all I could do, through the whole of yesterday, to hold back tears that would come, and to pursue my normal activities. I was tired and headachy and cross, and decided this morning that, rather than spend another day so pointlessly dejected, I would pray again, and not leave God's presence until my heart had been calmed by Him.
At first I couldn't stay focused at all. For about an hour or so, my mind wandered pitifully, and at random, until finally God brought to my mind those beautiful verses in Mat 6 about God clothing the lilies of the field, and making provision for the birds. From there, I explored other verses about God's goodness and faithfulness, until I came to Psalm 146:5-6 "Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God: Which made heaven, and earth, the sea, and all that therein is: Which keepeth truth for ever."
Sister, is there any comparison to the gentle goodness of God? Remarkable Goodness displayed in His desire to wrest all other dependencies from me. I don't, and probably never will, understand why He takes such trouble to shape and form my life. Why He has so determined to have all my heart, and has diligently and minutely directed and prepared my way. And Remarkable Gentleness displayed in the method He has chosen for accomplishing His work. In what more protective, sustaining way can He have moved than to bring me home, to people who will love, and challenge, and support me? What way more gracious, than to allow me the comfort, for a season, of those dearest to my heart? How carefully He must have worked to bring about this circumstance, which will at once both remove me from my dependencies and self-conceit, all the while coddling my spirit.
The understanding of all this allowed me, finally, the relief of tears, and I find my heart light, today, for the first time in many days.
To conclude: I will come home this summer, and when I get back to Korea, only expect to take one more semester at Sogang. Where God will move me from there is an absolute blank. If He provides, financially, for me to continue, I will be very glad in that. If He ask me drop out of school, He'll probably have to wrestle with me again, but I know He will have His way, because He is determined to have me. All I can count on, for certain, is that He will lead in an entirely unpredictable, and astoundingly brilliant way, so I need not concern myself, at this point, with pointless speculation.
This has ended up being much longer than I had intended. But I don't know how to shorten it, and still include everything. And, somehow, I'm persuaded you won't mind the detail. ^^
I love you, and am wholeheartedly looking forward to seeing you in June!!
Jonny
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Little Bits and Pieces of my Life
Dear Family,
I hope you are all well!
As for myself, I’m enjoying a short break between semesters. Level 2 has risen, wrestled, and been defeated. One week from now level 3 will raise to the challenge, and attempt success where levels 1 and 2 have failed. That conquered, I will be half way through the language program. Which is baffling to realize!
Meanwhile, I’ve been teaching myself to write with my right hand. From writing so many hours of Korean vocabulary (the most effective way I’ve so far discovered of stimulating memorization), my left hand has begun to cramp and to be rather weak and shaky. I find that icing it for a few hours, after studying, helps a lot, but what a way to spend a cold winter evening! So now I’m training my other hand to obey me, and am happy to be able to report that my right-handed penmanship is becoming stronger and more readable each day.
My head, as well as my hand, is aching for relief, and as a means of clearing from it the cobwebs of Korean, a Chinese classmate and I have begun meeting, once a week, for Chinese lessons. I have been enjoying these heartily, and find them relaxing, since (both of us having busy schedules and full heads) we’re taking it pretty easy. I’ve been amused, however, by the two responses that I generally receive, when I tell my friends of it. In one camp, well wishers are concerned for my sanity, and caution me not to over do it. In the other, I’m unofficially classified ‘genius’, and wondered at from afar. So far, the most rational responses I’ve received have been from the Wilkes and Amy Horn, which is no real surprise, considering our relative situations.
Titus and Ruth: That sounds really good! Do you think we could do it with you?
Amy: Glad to hear about your Chinese lessons...that sounds like a blessing, and a good way to relax your head from Korean.
Namdaemun (Great South Gate), which was South Korea’s No.1 National Treasure (compliments to it having been built in the 1400’s), was set fire to, a few weeks ago, by a disgruntled citizen, who was dissatisfied about the outcome of a decade-old land dispute. It was a shame, and when I first heard news of it, I was floored. There has been so much destruction to Korea, over the years, by other countries, and so little of her history has been preserved, that this senseless damage really upset me. So I called Rebekah, who (having wandered with me through the streets and alleyways of that ungainly market which sprawls at it’s feet) could sympathize with my dismay, and after talking for a little while, felt quite better enough to apply my mind to other things.
There was another fire in this area, a few weeks ago. Standing cold and formidable on the hill behind my house, a public high school caught fire, and proceeded to be consumed. It was late in the afternoon, so there were no crowds of people in the halls, and the fire seemed to catch slowly enough to allow plenty of time for laggards to make good their escape. I was studying, and hadn’t heard the crowds gathering outside my house, from where there was a clear view of the action. Shouting men, and flashing lights aren’t out of the norm enough for them to really claim my attention, so I gave only half an ear, and wasn’t diverted until a siren screamed just outside my window. That surprised me, and throwing on my coat, I stepped on to the front step just in time to witness a fire engine backing up (apparently the driver hadn’t realized that my alley is something of a dead end) to the computer-generated tune of Fur Elise, in lieu of that more generally accepted series of beeps which one would expect to hear in association with the backing up of a large and cumbersome vehicle. My very intimate understanding of the Koreans’ love of bells, whistles and random tunes notwithstanding, this caught me off guard, and regardless of circumstances, I was hard put not to laugh at the absurdity of that pleasant melody warbling imperturbably forth, from such a vehicle and at such a time.
I’ve begun attending a small to medium sized church on the campus of nearby Yonsei University. My attendance is really more a matter of form, than otherwise, as it’s been difficult for me to find my niche among them. They’re trying to form a small group that will meet after services, which I’ll begin attending as a means of getting to know the people there better. Meanwhile, my main source of fellowship comes, rather, from two other small groups, organized by a different church, that meet in my area, one on Thursday evenings, and the other on Fridays. Outside of the time I spend with Titus and Ruth, these evenings are the highlight of my week, stimulating, creative, and challenging. And English. ^^
Yesterday and all last evening it snowed. I was going out to meet some friends, and my first reaction, as I stepped outside, was to reach for my umbrella in imitation of then native inhabitants of this country, to protect myself from becoming white with the world. Stopping myself, I gave a little laugh, left my pink umbrella on it’s accommodating hook, and put on a pair of black gloves instead. It was beautiful snow. It flitted about in perfectly symmetrically flakes, clinging to the bare limbs of the trees, and setting gently on the sidewalks and streets in little flurries. I held my hands up, exulting inside that something so small could have been fashioned be so perfectly. All evening it continued to fall, and I stopped near my house, on my way back home, and patted together a very little snow man (passers-by at first seemed concerned by this irregularity, but when they saw that it was just a foreigner, they exchanged comprehending glances and passed on), which I set on the curb, thinking all the while of Amy Horn, of course.
Well, this email makes up in length, if nothing else, what my last lacked. I enjoy telling you all little bits and pieces of my life on this side of the world, and look forward to hearing back from you...
With much love,
Elisabeth
I hope you are all well!
As for myself, I’m enjoying a short break between semesters. Level 2 has risen, wrestled, and been defeated. One week from now level 3 will raise to the challenge, and attempt success where levels 1 and 2 have failed. That conquered, I will be half way through the language program. Which is baffling to realize!
Meanwhile, I’ve been teaching myself to write with my right hand. From writing so many hours of Korean vocabulary (the most effective way I’ve so far discovered of stimulating memorization), my left hand has begun to cramp and to be rather weak and shaky. I find that icing it for a few hours, after studying, helps a lot, but what a way to spend a cold winter evening! So now I’m training my other hand to obey me, and am happy to be able to report that my right-handed penmanship is becoming stronger and more readable each day.
My head, as well as my hand, is aching for relief, and as a means of clearing from it the cobwebs of Korean, a Chinese classmate and I have begun meeting, once a week, for Chinese lessons. I have been enjoying these heartily, and find them relaxing, since (both of us having busy schedules and full heads) we’re taking it pretty easy. I’ve been amused, however, by the two responses that I generally receive, when I tell my friends of it. In one camp, well wishers are concerned for my sanity, and caution me not to over do it. In the other, I’m unofficially classified ‘genius’, and wondered at from afar. So far, the most rational responses I’ve received have been from the Wilkes and Amy Horn, which is no real surprise, considering our relative situations.
Titus and Ruth: That sounds really good! Do you think we could do it with you?
Amy: Glad to hear about your Chinese lessons...that sounds like a blessing, and a good way to relax your head from Korean.
Namdaemun (Great South Gate), which was South Korea’s No.1 National Treasure (compliments to it having been built in the 1400’s), was set fire to, a few weeks ago, by a disgruntled citizen, who was dissatisfied about the outcome of a decade-old land dispute. It was a shame, and when I first heard news of it, I was floored. There has been so much destruction to Korea, over the years, by other countries, and so little of her history has been preserved, that this senseless damage really upset me. So I called Rebekah, who (having wandered with me through the streets and alleyways of that ungainly market which sprawls at it’s feet) could sympathize with my dismay, and after talking for a little while, felt quite better enough to apply my mind to other things.
There was another fire in this area, a few weeks ago. Standing cold and formidable on the hill behind my house, a public high school caught fire, and proceeded to be consumed. It was late in the afternoon, so there were no crowds of people in the halls, and the fire seemed to catch slowly enough to allow plenty of time for laggards to make good their escape. I was studying, and hadn’t heard the crowds gathering outside my house, from where there was a clear view of the action. Shouting men, and flashing lights aren’t out of the norm enough for them to really claim my attention, so I gave only half an ear, and wasn’t diverted until a siren screamed just outside my window. That surprised me, and throwing on my coat, I stepped on to the front step just in time to witness a fire engine backing up (apparently the driver hadn’t realized that my alley is something of a dead end) to the computer-generated tune of Fur Elise, in lieu of that more generally accepted series of beeps which one would expect to hear in association with the backing up of a large and cumbersome vehicle. My very intimate understanding of the Koreans’ love of bells, whistles and random tunes notwithstanding, this caught me off guard, and regardless of circumstances, I was hard put not to laugh at the absurdity of that pleasant melody warbling imperturbably forth, from such a vehicle and at such a time.
I’ve begun attending a small to medium sized church on the campus of nearby Yonsei University. My attendance is really more a matter of form, than otherwise, as it’s been difficult for me to find my niche among them. They’re trying to form a small group that will meet after services, which I’ll begin attending as a means of getting to know the people there better. Meanwhile, my main source of fellowship comes, rather, from two other small groups, organized by a different church, that meet in my area, one on Thursday evenings, and the other on Fridays. Outside of the time I spend with Titus and Ruth, these evenings are the highlight of my week, stimulating, creative, and challenging. And English. ^^
Yesterday and all last evening it snowed. I was going out to meet some friends, and my first reaction, as I stepped outside, was to reach for my umbrella in imitation of then native inhabitants of this country, to protect myself from becoming white with the world. Stopping myself, I gave a little laugh, left my pink umbrella on it’s accommodating hook, and put on a pair of black gloves instead. It was beautiful snow. It flitted about in perfectly symmetrically flakes, clinging to the bare limbs of the trees, and setting gently on the sidewalks and streets in little flurries. I held my hands up, exulting inside that something so small could have been fashioned be so perfectly. All evening it continued to fall, and I stopped near my house, on my way back home, and patted together a very little snow man (passers-by at first seemed concerned by this irregularity, but when they saw that it was just a foreigner, they exchanged comprehending glances and passed on), which I set on the curb, thinking all the while of Amy Horn, of course.
Well, this email makes up in length, if nothing else, what my last lacked. I enjoy telling you all little bits and pieces of my life on this side of the world, and look forward to hearing back from you...
With much love,
Elisabeth
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Being in Touch
2/7
Dear Family,
It is far too long ago that I last wrote. It’s kind of tough getting back into the swing of things, after having been so royally entertained with first my sister’s company, and then with Amy’s. I find that I’ve begun to let things fall behind, and have a difficult time applying my mind to things that were before simple matters. Talking to my sister, the other day, I laughingly described it as ‘post-company syndrome’ and suppose that pretty accurately sums it up. But I know that moping won’t help me to get back into the swing of things, so today I gave myself a mental shake, rolled up my sleeves, and put myself to work.. Work is always therapeutic.
So are game rooms. I hadn’t wanted to go to Bible study, last Friday evening. After having frustrated myself to the point of tears over evasive Korean expressions, I wanted nothing more than to lie down on my bed, and never move again. But, supposing it would be a good thing for me to get some fresh air (it being nearly a half-hour walk to my destination) and to interact a bit with others, I bundled myself up and took myself off. Excellent intentions notwithstanding, I couldn’t rouse my thoughts to engage in what was toward, and don’t suppose I said two words together. Instead, quietly sipping a latte, my mind, belying my erect position, slept. Our group broke up at ten o’clock, and I would have headed home, had some brilliant individual not suggested heading over to a game room. I decided to join them for a short time, at least, and we all made our way up the street. The atmosphere of a game room is much like that of a coffee shop, warm and small, with lots of tables and comfy (or not quite) chairs. We entered, sat, and after a cursory glance at the game menu, opted for Speed Scrabble. I began to wake up, and by the time we had done with that and moved on to other games, I was fully alert and enjoying myself thoroughly. We didn’t leave until past midnight, and by that time I felt entirely restored to my normal self, and was persuaded that few things (if any) hold a candle to a good game with good friends!
2/10
The Chinese New Year came and went over this last week, and I turned 25 with it. In Korea, Lunar New Year is not only the biggest holiday of the year, but it’s also the day that everyone adds a number to his age. Start with the fact a child is considered a year old at birth, and it can get really complicated really fast. One year at birth, and another added on New Years Day means that babies born on the 6th of this month are already two years old. As inaccurate as this system is, Koreans don’t usually exchange ages, but birth years. In reply to “How old are you?” the common reply is “I was born in 19__.”
Only one more week of class to go before finals. I’ll be happy to be done with level two, so that I can tackle level three. Learning is frustrating, sometimes. I have a lot of knowledge in my head, but don’t feel like I’m really able to make it very applicable. I know all of the material that we’ve covered so far, but I can’t make it happen when I need to. I find myself reverting to baby-talk when I’m on the spot, then slapping my head later for not having spoken as I ought to have been able to. I know I just need more practice. I need to hang out with more Koreans who don’t speak any English. Most of my Korean friends are bi-lingual, and we end up communicating in my language, because it’s smoother that way.
Well, I feel like this email is a little bit choppy, and neither very interesting nor very communicative. I’ve been pretty tired lately, and have had a hard time making my mind engage. But I wanted to be in touch, and to give you all a brief update on how things are going.
I’ll write again soon; meanwhile I pray God’s blessings on you,
Elisabeth
Dear Family,
It is far too long ago that I last wrote. It’s kind of tough getting back into the swing of things, after having been so royally entertained with first my sister’s company, and then with Amy’s. I find that I’ve begun to let things fall behind, and have a difficult time applying my mind to things that were before simple matters. Talking to my sister, the other day, I laughingly described it as ‘post-company syndrome’ and suppose that pretty accurately sums it up. But I know that moping won’t help me to get back into the swing of things, so today I gave myself a mental shake, rolled up my sleeves, and put myself to work.. Work is always therapeutic.
So are game rooms. I hadn’t wanted to go to Bible study, last Friday evening. After having frustrated myself to the point of tears over evasive Korean expressions, I wanted nothing more than to lie down on my bed, and never move again. But, supposing it would be a good thing for me to get some fresh air (it being nearly a half-hour walk to my destination) and to interact a bit with others, I bundled myself up and took myself off. Excellent intentions notwithstanding, I couldn’t rouse my thoughts to engage in what was toward, and don’t suppose I said two words together. Instead, quietly sipping a latte, my mind, belying my erect position, slept. Our group broke up at ten o’clock, and I would have headed home, had some brilliant individual not suggested heading over to a game room. I decided to join them for a short time, at least, and we all made our way up the street. The atmosphere of a game room is much like that of a coffee shop, warm and small, with lots of tables and comfy (or not quite) chairs. We entered, sat, and after a cursory glance at the game menu, opted for Speed Scrabble. I began to wake up, and by the time we had done with that and moved on to other games, I was fully alert and enjoying myself thoroughly. We didn’t leave until past midnight, and by that time I felt entirely restored to my normal self, and was persuaded that few things (if any) hold a candle to a good game with good friends!
2/10
The Chinese New Year came and went over this last week, and I turned 25 with it. In Korea, Lunar New Year is not only the biggest holiday of the year, but it’s also the day that everyone adds a number to his age. Start with the fact a child is considered a year old at birth, and it can get really complicated really fast. One year at birth, and another added on New Years Day means that babies born on the 6th of this month are already two years old. As inaccurate as this system is, Koreans don’t usually exchange ages, but birth years. In reply to “How old are you?” the common reply is “I was born in 19__.”
Only one more week of class to go before finals. I’ll be happy to be done with level two, so that I can tackle level three. Learning is frustrating, sometimes. I have a lot of knowledge in my head, but don’t feel like I’m really able to make it very applicable. I know all of the material that we’ve covered so far, but I can’t make it happen when I need to. I find myself reverting to baby-talk when I’m on the spot, then slapping my head later for not having spoken as I ought to have been able to. I know I just need more practice. I need to hang out with more Koreans who don’t speak any English. Most of my Korean friends are bi-lingual, and we end up communicating in my language, because it’s smoother that way.
Well, I feel like this email is a little bit choppy, and neither very interesting nor very communicative. I’ve been pretty tired lately, and have had a hard time making my mind engage. But I wanted to be in touch, and to give you all a brief update on how things are going.
I’ll write again soon; meanwhile I pray God’s blessings on you,
Elisabeth
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