'Shattered Hues of Light"

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

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

And shattered hues of joy illume the night.

My Heart Aches Quietly

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

'joy'

"He will joy over thee with singing."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May we learn to so joy over Him,
Elisabeth

'Elemeno' & 'Double-U'

Family,

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

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

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

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

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

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

My love to you all…
Elisabeth

Qiute Delirious With Joy

My Dears,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I thank each one of you for your love,
Elisabeth

A Packet of Letters

Family,

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

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

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

Counting on your Prayers,
Elisabeth

Simple Pleasures

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

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

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

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

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

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

Service Here Rocks

Family o' mine,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As always, I ask for your prayers,
Elisabeth

An Equitable Diaphragm

Dear Family,

That my emails are coming farther and fewer between is indicative that I'm finding more things here to tie myself to. I don't feel the need, so deeply, to relate my life in Korea with heretofore familiar things. On the other hand, I've never so appreciated fortification from friends back home. How shall I say it? My roots are deeper, but the wind is proportionately stronger. So don't forget about me quite yet - I count on your prayers!

Teresa and I bought a cordless a few whiles ago, which is a super-blessing. I can get things done while I talk now, so I don't feel like I'm wasting half a day when I call home on Tuesdays. That will be my last splurge for a while, though. Since I've been here, I've been keeping track of how much I spend, and on what. About a week ago, I multiplied my monthly expenses by two years. If I don't buy any more cordless phones, I should be just able to scrape through language school on what I make teaching.

That is, provided I can find a cheap enough apartment to rent. I have to find another place to live by the end of February. There are a few options before me, but each holds its own respective quirk, leaving me uncertain as to how to proceed. I'm not troubled, though. I have no anxiety. God has never failed to provide, nor will He now.

The days are very cold. I avoid the out of doors as much as possible, which while perhaps not good, nevertheless is. I contemplate making use of my apartment's five-flight staircase. It's not heated, of course, but being enclosed, nor is it bitter. The exercise would, no doubt, be good for me. But so far it hasn't passed from ponder to practice, and perhaps never will.

My students gazed quizzically, a day ago, when I randomly contracted the hiccoughs. I supposed they were just being amused, as was I myself. The malady passed quickly enough. I spoke of the happenstance, later, to Teresa.
"You know what they were thinking, don't you?" She asked.
I shook my head.
"Well, when a person hiccoughs, it means that he's eaten stolen food."
Though guiltless, I cannot plead innocent. I'm told, to my chagrin, that the diaphragm never lies!