Dear Friends,
I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to drop a line.
I completed the Korean language course, and graduated on Friday! That was so much more difficult that I had bargained for, and is a relief to have over and behind me!
I’m taking off for China in an hour and a half (which is why I don’t have much time here). I’ll be there for a month, visiting friends, and getting a much needed rest, and then I’ll be coming back to Korea. I hope to work in an orphanage here, this summer. It would be a great way to practically apply my newly acquired language skills.
I wish that I’d had time to write earlier, and make this a longer email, but these last two weeks have been crazy. Had my finals last week, and am leaving two days later. It’s not just packing for a visit to China that keeps me busy, though, but packing to move out of my house. Since I don’t know where I’ll be living when I get back, I got rid of all my things, save two suitcases and four small boxes. A friend is keeping what I can’t take to China. So moving house, taking finals, and packing to move to China have made it next to impossible to do much else.
I may not be able to check my email, while I’m in China. So if you write, and I don’t reply, that’s why. But I don’t mind returning to a full inbox! =)
Please keep me in your prayers.
God is very, very good…
Elisabeth
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Being in Touch
Dear Family
I have run into a cultural issue that absolutely stumps me. This is a first. There have been cultural differences that have been difficult to adjust to, or that I’ve disagreed with, or that have confused me. But this one is absolutely incomprehensible.
In class we often read chapters of random books. On one particular day the chapter we read was a story, the main points of which may be summarized as follows:
Six or seven young business men enter a small restaurant, and order some drinks, side dishes, and their meals. “But,” they tell the waitress, “Don’t bring our meals out until we’ve finished our drinks.”
Five minutes pass, and in walk four middle-aged men. They sit and order their food, which the waitress promptly brings out. When the young business men see this, they’re thrown into a frenzied rage, throw their glasses down, and storm out of the restaurant.
I read this story again and again, and was more confused with each reading. I finally looked up at my teacher, and shook my head. So she explained,
“Well, the business men got there first, so the waitress shouldn’t have served the later customers, until they had their food.”
The relational hierarchies in this country are so rigid! How can it be an issue for a later customer to be served first, if the former customer wants to wait?!
I am utterly perplexed, and sometimes wonder if I’ll ever entirely understand the Korean mind.
I’ve been quite busy lately. Busy enough, in fact, that I didn’t have time to fully prepare for the twenty minute presentation in Korean, that I was to have given on Monday, until the day before. Sunday evening had been set aside and preserved for that very purpose. I got home from Church at four o’clock (English services in Korea are generally held in the afternoon), opened the window to let in the beautiful spring air, and sat down to apply myself. I can’t have been studying for more than five minutes, before two or three winged bugs began to distract me in a general sort of way. I turned around to squish them, and as I looked up from the computer, the most remarkable sight met my eyes. A sea of bugs (termites, as it turned out) was pouring out of my kitchen. It was a rampage - there is no other way to describe it. The walls and floor of my kitchen were coated black, and bugs seemed to be spilling out of every nook and corner. I shot out of my chair with a stifled exclamation, slammed every door in my house to keep the invasion at bay, and darted over to my landlady’s house, to share the news.
She listened calmly to my rather breathless declaration, and when I had finished, replied, “I’ll call someone to come by within the next day or two.”
I felt that my house would not be standing still, in a day or two, and might even be found to have been entirely devoured by morning, but she apparently didn’t share my opinion. And, as her Korean is better than mine, she won the argument.
“If you must, you can go down to the corner store and buy some bug spray.”
So down to the corner store I went, but they had nothing other than a fine stock of mosquito spray, which was, I’m quite sure, very superior mosquito spray in every way, but not at all applicable. Back home I ran, empty handed, with the rather vague notion, since there seemed to be no other option, of smashing all of the hundreds of thousands of termites by hand. I hoped that I had exaggerated the situation in my mind. My hopes were dashed.
Back to my landlady’s house. This time I resolved not to leave until she relented, if it meant that I had to camp out on her floor for a week. Fortunately my bluff was never called. Two young men (presumably her grandsons) were sitting with her, when I returned, and when I saw them I knew I was saved; Korean men live to rescue childishly helpless girls from absurdly simple straits.
“There are bugs in my house!” I breathlessly clasped my hands, and opened my eyes wide, “I’m afraid of bugs!”
The eagerness with which they instantly sprang to their feet showed me that I had played the right card. I could only be glad that there were plenty of bugs to go ‘round, else an altercation might have arisen as to who should be the privileged champion.
I lead them back to my house, preserving a flurried façade, and opened the door.
Together they stepped inside. Together they stopped in their tracks. Then together they dashed back out, slamming the door behind them. They stood for a horrified moment, staring at each other, then the elder ran turned on his heel, dashed down the street, as I had done not long before, to that convenient corner store, and came back with the mosquito spray. He grimly stripped off his coat, untied his tie, rolled up his sleeves, set his jaw, and marched back inside. I noticed that his companion was content, this time around, to be relieved of active combat duty, and was composing himself to form the cheering committee.
Our hero whipped two hefty cans from their holsters, held them out at arm’s length, took hasty aim, turned his head away, and squeezed the triggers, emptying both rounds of poison into the air at once. Then he took another can, and coated the floor…or would have, if the floor had been visible. I suppose it would be more appropriate to say that he coated the termites that coated the floor. He did the same in my living room and in my entryway, then ran back outside.
“Don’t go back into your house,” He warned me, “You don’t want to die, too.”
I expressed my hearty appreciation; the firing squad waved off my thanks with a magnanimous gesture; the cheering committee replied, ‘you’re welcome,’ in English, then turned pink at his own boldness; and we each went our separate ways.
I waited around the corner until they had both gone out of sight, then came back and unlocked the front door, held my breath and dashed inside. The house was filled with a thick, poisonous haze. I threw some things into my backpack and slipped my computer and school books into their bag, and then hurried back outside, and wondered what to do next. I ended up calling one of my friends, who called his cousin, and she graciously invited me to spend the night at her apartment.
Needless to say, I didn’t get much studying done that evening. In order to make up for lost time, I got up at 5:30 the next morning, and took a taxi home. When I stepped inside, I was greeted with good news and bad news. The good news was that the bugs were all dead. The bad news was that the mosquito spray was oil-based.
So long story short, I studied for a few hours, and managed to stumble through my presentation. As soon as I got back from school, I lay down for a quick nap, and then the rest of the day was spent scrubbing layers of half-disintegrated termites off my floor, washing all my dishes, and throwing away all of the food that had been exposed to the poison. It was unfortunate that I had gone shopping on the afternoon of the invasion.
At ten o’clock that evening I was finally done. When I sat back and thought about it from first to last, the humor of it all hit me, and if there had been anyone to share it with, I would have had a good laugh.
I will have someone to share my laughs with soon: Amy Horn is going to be visiting me for a week. Her flight gets in at 4:30 tomorrow morning. Titus and Ruth are also coming down to Seoul, and they’ll get here on Monday. It will be so pleasant to see my friends!
I’ve been reading Isaiah, and a few verses in chapter 48 really jumped out at me,
“For my name’s sake will I defer mine anger, and for my praise will I refrain for thee, that I cut thee not off…for mine own sake, even for mine own sake, will I do it.”
Somehow it is very reassuring to me that, much as God loves and blesses me for my sake, there is in Him that which will – outside of myself – remain faithful, for His own sake, through eternity. That is unshakeable.
I’m going to wrap this up, even though I really haven’t said anything of much importance. I really wanted to get an email out this week, but now that I actually have a few short moments do write, I find that I’m too tired to think of much to write about. I guess that’s okay. The main thing is being in touch, right? =)
God be with you,
Elisabeth
I have run into a cultural issue that absolutely stumps me. This is a first. There have been cultural differences that have been difficult to adjust to, or that I’ve disagreed with, or that have confused me. But this one is absolutely incomprehensible.
In class we often read chapters of random books. On one particular day the chapter we read was a story, the main points of which may be summarized as follows:
Six or seven young business men enter a small restaurant, and order some drinks, side dishes, and their meals. “But,” they tell the waitress, “Don’t bring our meals out until we’ve finished our drinks.”
Five minutes pass, and in walk four middle-aged men. They sit and order their food, which the waitress promptly brings out. When the young business men see this, they’re thrown into a frenzied rage, throw their glasses down, and storm out of the restaurant.
I read this story again and again, and was more confused with each reading. I finally looked up at my teacher, and shook my head. So she explained,
“Well, the business men got there first, so the waitress shouldn’t have served the later customers, until they had their food.”
The relational hierarchies in this country are so rigid! How can it be an issue for a later customer to be served first, if the former customer wants to wait?!
I am utterly perplexed, and sometimes wonder if I’ll ever entirely understand the Korean mind.
I’ve been quite busy lately. Busy enough, in fact, that I didn’t have time to fully prepare for the twenty minute presentation in Korean, that I was to have given on Monday, until the day before. Sunday evening had been set aside and preserved for that very purpose. I got home from Church at four o’clock (English services in Korea are generally held in the afternoon), opened the window to let in the beautiful spring air, and sat down to apply myself. I can’t have been studying for more than five minutes, before two or three winged bugs began to distract me in a general sort of way. I turned around to squish them, and as I looked up from the computer, the most remarkable sight met my eyes. A sea of bugs (termites, as it turned out) was pouring out of my kitchen. It was a rampage - there is no other way to describe it. The walls and floor of my kitchen were coated black, and bugs seemed to be spilling out of every nook and corner. I shot out of my chair with a stifled exclamation, slammed every door in my house to keep the invasion at bay, and darted over to my landlady’s house, to share the news.
She listened calmly to my rather breathless declaration, and when I had finished, replied, “I’ll call someone to come by within the next day or two.”
I felt that my house would not be standing still, in a day or two, and might even be found to have been entirely devoured by morning, but she apparently didn’t share my opinion. And, as her Korean is better than mine, she won the argument.
“If you must, you can go down to the corner store and buy some bug spray.”
So down to the corner store I went, but they had nothing other than a fine stock of mosquito spray, which was, I’m quite sure, very superior mosquito spray in every way, but not at all applicable. Back home I ran, empty handed, with the rather vague notion, since there seemed to be no other option, of smashing all of the hundreds of thousands of termites by hand. I hoped that I had exaggerated the situation in my mind. My hopes were dashed.
Back to my landlady’s house. This time I resolved not to leave until she relented, if it meant that I had to camp out on her floor for a week. Fortunately my bluff was never called. Two young men (presumably her grandsons) were sitting with her, when I returned, and when I saw them I knew I was saved; Korean men live to rescue childishly helpless girls from absurdly simple straits.
“There are bugs in my house!” I breathlessly clasped my hands, and opened my eyes wide, “I’m afraid of bugs!”
The eagerness with which they instantly sprang to their feet showed me that I had played the right card. I could only be glad that there were plenty of bugs to go ‘round, else an altercation might have arisen as to who should be the privileged champion.
I lead them back to my house, preserving a flurried façade, and opened the door.
Together they stepped inside. Together they stopped in their tracks. Then together they dashed back out, slamming the door behind them. They stood for a horrified moment, staring at each other, then the elder ran turned on his heel, dashed down the street, as I had done not long before, to that convenient corner store, and came back with the mosquito spray. He grimly stripped off his coat, untied his tie, rolled up his sleeves, set his jaw, and marched back inside. I noticed that his companion was content, this time around, to be relieved of active combat duty, and was composing himself to form the cheering committee.
Our hero whipped two hefty cans from their holsters, held them out at arm’s length, took hasty aim, turned his head away, and squeezed the triggers, emptying both rounds of poison into the air at once. Then he took another can, and coated the floor…or would have, if the floor had been visible. I suppose it would be more appropriate to say that he coated the termites that coated the floor. He did the same in my living room and in my entryway, then ran back outside.
“Don’t go back into your house,” He warned me, “You don’t want to die, too.”
I expressed my hearty appreciation; the firing squad waved off my thanks with a magnanimous gesture; the cheering committee replied, ‘you’re welcome,’ in English, then turned pink at his own boldness; and we each went our separate ways.
I waited around the corner until they had both gone out of sight, then came back and unlocked the front door, held my breath and dashed inside. The house was filled with a thick, poisonous haze. I threw some things into my backpack and slipped my computer and school books into their bag, and then hurried back outside, and wondered what to do next. I ended up calling one of my friends, who called his cousin, and she graciously invited me to spend the night at her apartment.
Needless to say, I didn’t get much studying done that evening. In order to make up for lost time, I got up at 5:30 the next morning, and took a taxi home. When I stepped inside, I was greeted with good news and bad news. The good news was that the bugs were all dead. The bad news was that the mosquito spray was oil-based.
So long story short, I studied for a few hours, and managed to stumble through my presentation. As soon as I got back from school, I lay down for a quick nap, and then the rest of the day was spent scrubbing layers of half-disintegrated termites off my floor, washing all my dishes, and throwing away all of the food that had been exposed to the poison. It was unfortunate that I had gone shopping on the afternoon of the invasion.
At ten o’clock that evening I was finally done. When I sat back and thought about it from first to last, the humor of it all hit me, and if there had been anyone to share it with, I would have had a good laugh.
I will have someone to share my laughs with soon: Amy Horn is going to be visiting me for a week. Her flight gets in at 4:30 tomorrow morning. Titus and Ruth are also coming down to Seoul, and they’ll get here on Monday. It will be so pleasant to see my friends!
I’ve been reading Isaiah, and a few verses in chapter 48 really jumped out at me,
“For my name’s sake will I defer mine anger, and for my praise will I refrain for thee, that I cut thee not off…for mine own sake, even for mine own sake, will I do it.”
Somehow it is very reassuring to me that, much as God loves and blesses me for my sake, there is in Him that which will – outside of myself – remain faithful, for His own sake, through eternity. That is unshakeable.
I’m going to wrap this up, even though I really haven’t said anything of much importance. I really wanted to get an email out this week, but now that I actually have a few short moments do write, I find that I’m too tired to think of much to write about. I guess that’s okay. The main thing is being in touch, right? =)
God be with you,
Elisabeth
Thursday, March 26, 2009
God is Good
Dear Friends,
I just closed my books, and stretched. I have a few minutes now, and will try to pull my thoughts together enough to write an update with some semblance of chronology and coherency. We shall see.
As you know, my sister left three days ago. It was refreshing to be able to bounce my thoughts and ideas off of her, and I was very glad for the excuse to be able to push some of my normal activities to the back burner and take a breather. It was such pleasant, relaxed month! By contrast, I always feel something like a rudderless boat after a visitor leaves: little bit disconnected, unfocused, and generally feeling like I wouldn’t be any worse off for a good shake or a splash of cold water. It will pass. It always does. In a week or two, I’ll feel normal again (whatever that may be). Meanwhile, I try to keep busy so that I don’t have too much thinking time.
And it’s not difficult to find things to keep busy with. My teacher from the last semester, Ms. Oh, is writing an ‘introduction to Korean’ book for Western beginners. Her English is not really that good, so I’m not sure why she’s the one writing it. But, be that as it may, she needs a lot of help correcting and proof reading. So she gives me her papers, I cover them with red, and then we get together for coffee or lunch, and discuss the corrections I’ve made. In return, she has offered to help tutor me. I haven’t yet taken her up on the offer, though. She’s a sweet lady, but her teaching style drives me nuts.
On Wednesday afternoons I go next door to visit with my landlady for an hour or so. She’s an elderly woman, so she doesn’t get out much, and enjoys the company. She’s also a Jehovah’s Witness, and has taken it upon herself, personally, to convert me. We first began studying the Bible/JW tracts together while I was in level 2, and she charged along at such a rate that I understood, generously, one word in ten. In those long ago days I consoled myself with the memory of how Naaman was pardoned for inadvertently bowing with his master in the temple of Rimmon, and was quite sure that God would be equally gracious to me if I inadvertently agreed to some heresy. But I can no longer be so easily let off the hook. I understand about ninety percent of the dialogue (or monologue, to be more accurate). It makes for more interesting conversation, but yesterday we got to the part where she explained to me that Jesus is merely a created being, and no deity. I can listen quietly to her beliefs of who the 144,000 are, and of where heaven is or isn’t located, but I could not, of course, let her think that I agree with her understanding of Christ. With all my heart, I was hoping the subject would never be brought up, because it would place me in such a culturally sticky situation. I’m not supposed to contradict my elders, you see. Particularly not a woman of her age. I’m not even supposed to let on that I think differently, because that would indicate that I consider my thoughts better than hers, which would reek of egotistic individualism, not to mention disrespect. My teacher once told me that the import of submission to one’s superior is so strong that Korean children are scolded when they come up with more clever ideas than their parents, even when those ideas, so far from contradicting, are in line with the adults’ thoughts. So I was in something of a pickle, trying to think how to be respectful without agreeing with that which I could not. I managed to muddle through, though I was never given enough space to explain my beliefs. Every time I began, “Yes, I can understand that, but…” she would cut me off, with “If you understand, how can you say ‘but’?” and then take her explanation back to the very beginning and go at it again. It didn’t really bother me not to be able to tell her why I think as I do, but I can become a bit mulish and ruffled when another’s ideas are shoved down my throat in such a manner, so several times I had to remind myself that the miscommunication lay not with her, but at the door of our cultural differences. She was patient with me, albeit rather excited and upset. All things end, though, and so did this. We’ll probably hash it out from the beginning all over again next week.
School wraps up in two months. Unbelievable. I do look forward to being done! I’ve applied to volunteer at an orphanage over the summer, and am hoping that I’m accepted. I need the opportunity to practice Korean in an everyday setting, but aside from that, I think it will be really good for me to invest my time and energy into something other than the language and (vicariously) myself. I hope to hear back from them by the end of this month.
Thank you all so much for the gifts that you sent with Naomi! They blessed me very much, and made me miss you all the more. But it was a good sort of missing; rather more fond than wistful. I really appreciate the amazing friendships that God has blessed me with! He is good…and I’ve just decided that that’s the only un-random thing about my life.
Fondly,
Elisabeth
I just closed my books, and stretched. I have a few minutes now, and will try to pull my thoughts together enough to write an update with some semblance of chronology and coherency. We shall see.
As you know, my sister left three days ago. It was refreshing to be able to bounce my thoughts and ideas off of her, and I was very glad for the excuse to be able to push some of my normal activities to the back burner and take a breather. It was such pleasant, relaxed month! By contrast, I always feel something like a rudderless boat after a visitor leaves: little bit disconnected, unfocused, and generally feeling like I wouldn’t be any worse off for a good shake or a splash of cold water. It will pass. It always does. In a week or two, I’ll feel normal again (whatever that may be). Meanwhile, I try to keep busy so that I don’t have too much thinking time.
And it’s not difficult to find things to keep busy with. My teacher from the last semester, Ms. Oh, is writing an ‘introduction to Korean’ book for Western beginners. Her English is not really that good, so I’m not sure why she’s the one writing it. But, be that as it may, she needs a lot of help correcting and proof reading. So she gives me her papers, I cover them with red, and then we get together for coffee or lunch, and discuss the corrections I’ve made. In return, she has offered to help tutor me. I haven’t yet taken her up on the offer, though. She’s a sweet lady, but her teaching style drives me nuts.
On Wednesday afternoons I go next door to visit with my landlady for an hour or so. She’s an elderly woman, so she doesn’t get out much, and enjoys the company. She’s also a Jehovah’s Witness, and has taken it upon herself, personally, to convert me. We first began studying the Bible/JW tracts together while I was in level 2, and she charged along at such a rate that I understood, generously, one word in ten. In those long ago days I consoled myself with the memory of how Naaman was pardoned for inadvertently bowing with his master in the temple of Rimmon, and was quite sure that God would be equally gracious to me if I inadvertently agreed to some heresy. But I can no longer be so easily let off the hook. I understand about ninety percent of the dialogue (or monologue, to be more accurate). It makes for more interesting conversation, but yesterday we got to the part where she explained to me that Jesus is merely a created being, and no deity. I can listen quietly to her beliefs of who the 144,000 are, and of where heaven is or isn’t located, but I could not, of course, let her think that I agree with her understanding of Christ. With all my heart, I was hoping the subject would never be brought up, because it would place me in such a culturally sticky situation. I’m not supposed to contradict my elders, you see. Particularly not a woman of her age. I’m not even supposed to let on that I think differently, because that would indicate that I consider my thoughts better than hers, which would reek of egotistic individualism, not to mention disrespect. My teacher once told me that the import of submission to one’s superior is so strong that Korean children are scolded when they come up with more clever ideas than their parents, even when those ideas, so far from contradicting, are in line with the adults’ thoughts. So I was in something of a pickle, trying to think how to be respectful without agreeing with that which I could not. I managed to muddle through, though I was never given enough space to explain my beliefs. Every time I began, “Yes, I can understand that, but…” she would cut me off, with “If you understand, how can you say ‘but’?” and then take her explanation back to the very beginning and go at it again. It didn’t really bother me not to be able to tell her why I think as I do, but I can become a bit mulish and ruffled when another’s ideas are shoved down my throat in such a manner, so several times I had to remind myself that the miscommunication lay not with her, but at the door of our cultural differences. She was patient with me, albeit rather excited and upset. All things end, though, and so did this. We’ll probably hash it out from the beginning all over again next week.
School wraps up in two months. Unbelievable. I do look forward to being done! I’ve applied to volunteer at an orphanage over the summer, and am hoping that I’m accepted. I need the opportunity to practice Korean in an everyday setting, but aside from that, I think it will be really good for me to invest my time and energy into something other than the language and (vicariously) myself. I hope to hear back from them by the end of this month.
Thank you all so much for the gifts that you sent with Naomi! They blessed me very much, and made me miss you all the more. But it was a good sort of missing; rather more fond than wistful. I really appreciate the amazing friendships that God has blessed me with! He is good…and I’ve just decided that that’s the only un-random thing about my life.
Fondly,
Elisabeth
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Three Years Well Spent
Dear Family,
It’s such a pleasure to have a quiet moment to say hello. I feel like I haven’t written for quite a while…certainly it seems longer than just a month ago.
Three days ago Naomi arrived. It’s so pleasant to have someone to talk to and be with! I’m looking forward to showing her my world. I’m also looking forward to a breather. Some of you know what uphill work this last semester has been for me, in so many ways. These last two weeks, particularly, have been remarkably difficult, as level five bowelled toward an end. But the grueling effort was not wasted: I found out yesterday not only that I passed level five, but also that I aced all my tests. Now that it’s over I feel exhausted, relieved and satisfied. And grateful. God has been faithful, once again.
We studied ‘titles’ in class, just recently. By ‘titles’, I mean the English equivalent of Father, Aunt, Sister, etc. It’s important to know these titles, because Koreans, like Westerners, would never call their parents or grandparents by their given names. But Koreans take it a step further. They call every person they’re related to by a title, which really serves in place of the word ‘you’. This wouldn’t be so bad if aunts and uncles were just aunts and uncles, and nothing more. In English it doesn’t matter that the aunt is my dad’s sister, as opposed to my mom’s sister. She’s still an aunt. But not so in Korea. Here there are different titles, not only for maternal and paternal aunts and uncles, but also for how old they are in relation to your parents, and whether or not they joined the family by marriage.
And, speaking of in-laws, you should understand that one’s older brother’s wife is called by a different title from one’s younger brother’s wife (similarly with brothers-in-law, depending upon the age of the sister), and each are changed again depending upon the sex of the one addressing that unfortunate woman. Every person in a family tree is called by a different title from every other person, depending on where they stand in age or by marriage.
Why stop there, though? If some is good, more is better, right? One’s older friend’s girlfriend is called something different from one’s younger friend’s girlfriend, and (again) this depends upon the sex of the speaker. In the office, each person has his own title, according to rank, and according to whether one is speaking of the individual or to the individual. At the grocery store I’m ‘Sonim,’ at school I’m ‘Haksang,’ to a stranger I’m ‘Agashi,’ and to a friend I’m ‘Onni.’ There’s a title for everyone and everything, and I hope that my Korean fish isn’t offended that I call him by nothing but his name.
Of course, the poor foreigner, who is hopelessly mixed up in such cases, may always revert to the ambiguous ‘you.’ That’s a different ‘you,’ needless to say, according to whether the ‘you’ is a lover, a close friend, someone who deserves a scold, or someone with whom one wants to pick a fight (ironically, the same ‘you’ as the lover’s ‘you’).
So, why am I telling you all this? Because the conclusion makes me laugh:
With my blue eyes and light (relatively) hair, I rather stand out at school. And my school name, Lisa, is easy for people to remember. As a result, a lot of people from other class rooms know who I am, so when we meet in the hall, they bow and greet me,
‘Is Lisa passing time well?’
I nod, and would like to reply in kind, but in nine cases out of ten I’ve no idea what the person’s name is. So I reply,
‘Yes. I’m sorry, though, I’ve forgotten your name.’
But there are so many people, and with such odd names (from all over the world), that no matter how many times I’m told a person’s name, I can’t seem to remember it. And one can only say ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten again…’ so many times. I draw the line at four. After that it begins to sound rude.
Of course, rather than replying ‘Yes, and how about Whangshi?’, I could always just ask, ‘and how about you?’ At least, it seems to me that I should be able to. Surely there must be a ‘you’ with which one addresses an acquaintance. But, of all the odd twists of language, there’s not. How can there be a title for every person and relationship under the sun, save one with which to address the man to whom I’m speaking?!
I asked a Korean friend, and after giving it several moments of very serious thought, he concluded, ‘The best method, is just to memorize all their names.’
Help.
I wanted to write about a few more things, but this email has already taken a week or so to compile. A few sentences here, and a paragraph there, as I get time. I think that now, with Naomi here, if I put it off any longer, it will become outdated before it ever gets sent. The thought I would like to end on is that it occurred to me a few days ago that, if nothing more will have been accomplished by my three years residence in Korea than that I should have learned to trust and love my God, it will have been a three years well spent.
God is good,
Elisabeth
It’s such a pleasure to have a quiet moment to say hello. I feel like I haven’t written for quite a while…certainly it seems longer than just a month ago.
Three days ago Naomi arrived. It’s so pleasant to have someone to talk to and be with! I’m looking forward to showing her my world. I’m also looking forward to a breather. Some of you know what uphill work this last semester has been for me, in so many ways. These last two weeks, particularly, have been remarkably difficult, as level five bowelled toward an end. But the grueling effort was not wasted: I found out yesterday not only that I passed level five, but also that I aced all my tests. Now that it’s over I feel exhausted, relieved and satisfied. And grateful. God has been faithful, once again.
We studied ‘titles’ in class, just recently. By ‘titles’, I mean the English equivalent of Father, Aunt, Sister, etc. It’s important to know these titles, because Koreans, like Westerners, would never call their parents or grandparents by their given names. But Koreans take it a step further. They call every person they’re related to by a title, which really serves in place of the word ‘you’. This wouldn’t be so bad if aunts and uncles were just aunts and uncles, and nothing more. In English it doesn’t matter that the aunt is my dad’s sister, as opposed to my mom’s sister. She’s still an aunt. But not so in Korea. Here there are different titles, not only for maternal and paternal aunts and uncles, but also for how old they are in relation to your parents, and whether or not they joined the family by marriage.
And, speaking of in-laws, you should understand that one’s older brother’s wife is called by a different title from one’s younger brother’s wife (similarly with brothers-in-law, depending upon the age of the sister), and each are changed again depending upon the sex of the one addressing that unfortunate woman. Every person in a family tree is called by a different title from every other person, depending on where they stand in age or by marriage.
Why stop there, though? If some is good, more is better, right? One’s older friend’s girlfriend is called something different from one’s younger friend’s girlfriend, and (again) this depends upon the sex of the speaker. In the office, each person has his own title, according to rank, and according to whether one is speaking of the individual or to the individual. At the grocery store I’m ‘Sonim,’ at school I’m ‘Haksang,’ to a stranger I’m ‘Agashi,’ and to a friend I’m ‘Onni.’ There’s a title for everyone and everything, and I hope that my Korean fish isn’t offended that I call him by nothing but his name.
Of course, the poor foreigner, who is hopelessly mixed up in such cases, may always revert to the ambiguous ‘you.’ That’s a different ‘you,’ needless to say, according to whether the ‘you’ is a lover, a close friend, someone who deserves a scold, or someone with whom one wants to pick a fight (ironically, the same ‘you’ as the lover’s ‘you’).
So, why am I telling you all this? Because the conclusion makes me laugh:
With my blue eyes and light (relatively) hair, I rather stand out at school. And my school name, Lisa, is easy for people to remember. As a result, a lot of people from other class rooms know who I am, so when we meet in the hall, they bow and greet me,
‘Is Lisa passing time well?’
I nod, and would like to reply in kind, but in nine cases out of ten I’ve no idea what the person’s name is. So I reply,
‘Yes. I’m sorry, though, I’ve forgotten your name.’
But there are so many people, and with such odd names (from all over the world), that no matter how many times I’m told a person’s name, I can’t seem to remember it. And one can only say ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten again…’ so many times. I draw the line at four. After that it begins to sound rude.
Of course, rather than replying ‘Yes, and how about Whangshi?’, I could always just ask, ‘and how about you?’ At least, it seems to me that I should be able to. Surely there must be a ‘you’ with which one addresses an acquaintance. But, of all the odd twists of language, there’s not. How can there be a title for every person and relationship under the sun, save one with which to address the man to whom I’m speaking?!
I asked a Korean friend, and after giving it several moments of very serious thought, he concluded, ‘The best method, is just to memorize all their names.’
Help.
I wanted to write about a few more things, but this email has already taken a week or so to compile. A few sentences here, and a paragraph there, as I get time. I think that now, with Naomi here, if I put it off any longer, it will become outdated before it ever gets sent. The thought I would like to end on is that it occurred to me a few days ago that, if nothing more will have been accomplished by my three years residence in Korea than that I should have learned to trust and love my God, it will have been a three years well spent.
God is good,
Elisabeth
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Hello, Family!
Dear Family,
I feel like I should have a lot to write about, because this month and last have been very full. But I really can’t think of much that’s new, so this email will probably be quite short. Mostly I just want to keep in touch, and to ask for your continued prayers.
As you know, Sarah has come and gone. We had a really amazing time together, and split our sides laughing at everything and nothing. It’s so pleasant to have someone to laugh unrestrainedly with. She had her wisdom teeth pulled while she was here, so we spent a lot of time at the dentist, and laid low the first week. But after that, my Christmas break began, and we explored Seoul together. It was great fun, and I think that I’m experiencing a little bit of Post Company Syndrome, now that she’s gone. Having another person around made the house twice and small cluttered, but proportionately cozy and warm. Being alone again is rather bleak.
I got really sick, right after Sarah left. It seemed like every cold I’ve ever had was pummeling me all at once. I had a pretty high fever, and couldn’t eat for four days, on top of debilitating congestion and headache. One the second day I couldn’t lie down, so I propped myself up against my headboard. And since my toes were the only part of my body that didn’t hurt, I made myself think about them and how nice they felt, until I fell asleep. I slept for the entire day, except for about three hours in the afternoon, and that felt so very nice! The next day I went to school, because I was out of sick days, and I won’t be able to renew my visa if I absent any more this semester. That was Friday. I did nothing over the weekend, and by Monday was back to feeling more like my normal self.
The next day, Tuesday, was midterms. The listening test was pretty difficult. Listening comprehension is easy enough, as are reading and writing. But when one has to listen to the text, read the questions, and write the answers all at the same time, the language tends to rather run away with itself. But even though I got a terrible grade, I did far better than I had thought. The other tests, reading, writing and grammar, weren’t too bad, and I’ll find out how I did on them on Monday.
The only other things worth mentioning are the fact that it snowed yesterday, a beautiful, clean, white snow. The feathery flakes danced, and I wanted to dance with them, but I was uncomfortably aware of people’s eyes curiously watching the odd foreigner. Holding my hands out to catch the flakes, with my head uncovered, was enough of a spectacle. Everyone else was scurrying hither and fro, huddled under umbrellas. It puzzles me every year. How can people be so busy as to be oblivious to, and even hide from, the beautiful ways in which God participates in our lives?
My other random note is that I just cracked the last egg, of a flat of a dozen, and ten of them were double yoked. What are the odds?
With Love,
Elisabeth
I feel like I should have a lot to write about, because this month and last have been very full. But I really can’t think of much that’s new, so this email will probably be quite short. Mostly I just want to keep in touch, and to ask for your continued prayers.
As you know, Sarah has come and gone. We had a really amazing time together, and split our sides laughing at everything and nothing. It’s so pleasant to have someone to laugh unrestrainedly with. She had her wisdom teeth pulled while she was here, so we spent a lot of time at the dentist, and laid low the first week. But after that, my Christmas break began, and we explored Seoul together. It was great fun, and I think that I’m experiencing a little bit of Post Company Syndrome, now that she’s gone. Having another person around made the house twice and small cluttered, but proportionately cozy and warm. Being alone again is rather bleak.
I got really sick, right after Sarah left. It seemed like every cold I’ve ever had was pummeling me all at once. I had a pretty high fever, and couldn’t eat for four days, on top of debilitating congestion and headache. One the second day I couldn’t lie down, so I propped myself up against my headboard. And since my toes were the only part of my body that didn’t hurt, I made myself think about them and how nice they felt, until I fell asleep. I slept for the entire day, except for about three hours in the afternoon, and that felt so very nice! The next day I went to school, because I was out of sick days, and I won’t be able to renew my visa if I absent any more this semester. That was Friday. I did nothing over the weekend, and by Monday was back to feeling more like my normal self.
The next day, Tuesday, was midterms. The listening test was pretty difficult. Listening comprehension is easy enough, as are reading and writing. But when one has to listen to the text, read the questions, and write the answers all at the same time, the language tends to rather run away with itself. But even though I got a terrible grade, I did far better than I had thought. The other tests, reading, writing and grammar, weren’t too bad, and I’ll find out how I did on them on Monday.
The only other things worth mentioning are the fact that it snowed yesterday, a beautiful, clean, white snow. The feathery flakes danced, and I wanted to dance with them, but I was uncomfortably aware of people’s eyes curiously watching the odd foreigner. Holding my hands out to catch the flakes, with my head uncovered, was enough of a spectacle. Everyone else was scurrying hither and fro, huddled under umbrellas. It puzzles me every year. How can people be so busy as to be oblivious to, and even hide from, the beautiful ways in which God participates in our lives?
My other random note is that I just cracked the last egg, of a flat of a dozen, and ten of them were double yoked. What are the odds?
With Love,
Elisabeth
Saturday, December 13, 2008
An Absurd Contradiction of Adjectives
Dear Family,
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to write, tonight. But I did want to get a quick email sent off, before Sarah arrives on Monday. I know I won’t be writing at all while she’s here!!
I began level 5 two weeks ago, and was assigned the one teacher whom I’d most hoped to be able to avoid. She was my reading teacher, last semester, and I had written of her to my Naomi,
“I find her teaching style so abrasive that I totally shut down during reading class. I try to engage for the first five minutes or so, but I quickly become so stressed by her, that I implode. My thoughts begin to fall apart, and then I begin to panic, and suddenly my mind freezes. And there I am for the rest of the hour. I stumble through it in sort of a daze, trying not to listen to her voice, because it makes me feel chaotic, and hoping that I won't be called on to answer any questions. When the time comes for us to discuss amongst ourselves the passages that we've read, I try to appear enthusiastic, because it's demoralizing to be studying with someone who lacks interest in what's going on. But inside my heart is in my stomach, because I know that I'll have to go home and set aside more precious time to re-study on my own what I ought to have learned in that waisted hour of class.”
I had supposed that my chances of having her as a teacher two semesters in a row were pretty slim. But I was wrong. And now she teaches not only my reading class, but my grammar/speaking class as well. There no words to describe what a blow this was to me. On the first day, she walked into the room, and a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. The will to fight was utterly and completely extinguished. I felt like I’d had the breath knocked out of me, and I was suddenly exhausted and absolutely finished.
“I cannot think about any of my tomorrows with any amount of peace.” I journaled a few days later, “I fully expect to fail, and it’s only day three! It’s far too early to give up! But I think I have. My body and mind keep pressing forward, but my hear has lost courage. I’m trying not to let myself be discouraged, but it’s hard to rally myself for a strong start when there are such obstacles at the outset. I will pray about it this morning, and ask God to teach me to trust in Him.”
I did pray. And God met me. The funny thing is that I can’t remember any of that prayer. I don’t remember what I said, or what things He showed me. But I do know that I came away fully at rest, and with a renewed enthusiasm, and was able, with my whole heart, to later write,
“God’s promises are sure. I have nothing to fear, nothing to dread. Every tomorrow will display fresh evidences of His care. I have but to ‘sink into His fullness, and in trustful weakness lie.’ What a Father! What a Friend!”
For the last week and a half, from that time till now, my life has been the most absurd contradiction of adjectives. Class is difficult, and pointless. I came a hairs breadth away from making arrangements to remain here without continuing on with school. Once a week I stay home to make up on my own for everything I’m not learning in class. It’s ironic to me that I learn more when absent. But God has shown me, I think, that I’m not to diverge from what He has set before me, until He instructs me to do so. So I see myself retaking level five this spring.
But, contrary to circumstance, my heart feels light and carefree. It’s not difficult (and it should be!) for me to throw as much will into this as I would if I had a fighting chance. Rather, I feel the promise of life and the pleasure of honest effort. I enjoy waking up every morning, and laughing at the absurdities of my fish. I enjoy walking to class, in the crisp, cool out of doors. I enjoy being with my classmates and friends. I find that life is beautiful.
Also, I’ve been able to interact with my teacher outside of class quite a bit this semester (It’s random. I’ve never interacted with any of my other teachers outside of class.), and I find myself heartily appreciating her as a person. It doesn’t make school any less pointless, but it does make the class atmosphere lighter and more pleasant. I laugh at the absurdity of it.
God is good, is He not?
In essence, the topic of this email hasn’t hugely differed from my last email, has it? School. It’s always about school. That is my life, presently, so that is what I write of.
I’ll add some variety, before I sign off. I realize that I do so at the risk of loosing your interest, by further lengthening an already long email. But the story is a funny one, and I hope you’ll appreciate it. It’s a sketch of my fish that I wrote, some weeks back.
“Junior has been busily rearranging his tank all day. Just a few minutes ago I stopped studying to watch him for a bit. As soon as he noticed that my eye was on him, he totally feigned innocence. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to swim around in casual circles. He would have added a whistle to the general effect of unconcern, but I had surprised him red handed, and he had five or six un-whistle-around-able pebbles in his mouth.
I'm generally pretty lenient, and if he wants ten pebbles on the east side of his tank, and two hundred fifty on the west, I'll turn a blind eye. But he knows that I put my foot down when it comes to blocking off the filter. It was the later occupation in which had been employed, so I considered it a good sign that his conscience had smitten him.
I spoke to him coaxingly, offering a compromise: I promised that if he spit the stones out, I wouldn't fry him for dinner. He looked surprised that I could doubt his innocence, and continued flitting around in lazy circles, his gullet stuffed so full of stones that it was stretched transparent. So I laughed and went back to studying.
Fifteen minutes later, I glanced in his direction again, and saw that he was resting his heavy head on the bottom of the tank, still stubbornly holding onto that uncomfortable mouthful of pebbles. It occurred to me that I might persuade him to spit them out, if I could tempt him with something more tasty. So I shook a few flakes of food into the tank, and Junior went wild. He began chasing the flakes of food around, but he couldn't open his mouth wide enough to eat them without the pebbles popping out. So he'd catch at the edge of a flake with pursed out lips (fish do have lips) and, just hold it there, totally nonplussed. After a few seconds, he discovered that, if he went for minuscule particles of food, he could suck them in without moving his mouth. But, of course, that accomplished, he still couldn't swallow! To swallow would be the same as opening his mouth, only in the other direction! So there he sat, with one molecule of food and five stones in his mouth, as he longingly watched that hated filter suck up his beautiful, red dinner. His eyes were tortured, and even as I keeled over laughing, I felt pity.
I'll leave the room to make dinner, soon, and leave him to his privacy.
I love my demented fish.”
Thank you all for your emails and prayers.
With much love,
Elisabeth
I don’t know how long I’ll be able to write, tonight. But I did want to get a quick email sent off, before Sarah arrives on Monday. I know I won’t be writing at all while she’s here!!
I began level 5 two weeks ago, and was assigned the one teacher whom I’d most hoped to be able to avoid. She was my reading teacher, last semester, and I had written of her to my Naomi,
“I find her teaching style so abrasive that I totally shut down during reading class. I try to engage for the first five minutes or so, but I quickly become so stressed by her, that I implode. My thoughts begin to fall apart, and then I begin to panic, and suddenly my mind freezes. And there I am for the rest of the hour. I stumble through it in sort of a daze, trying not to listen to her voice, because it makes me feel chaotic, and hoping that I won't be called on to answer any questions. When the time comes for us to discuss amongst ourselves the passages that we've read, I try to appear enthusiastic, because it's demoralizing to be studying with someone who lacks interest in what's going on. But inside my heart is in my stomach, because I know that I'll have to go home and set aside more precious time to re-study on my own what I ought to have learned in that waisted hour of class.”
I had supposed that my chances of having her as a teacher two semesters in a row were pretty slim. But I was wrong. And now she teaches not only my reading class, but my grammar/speaking class as well. There no words to describe what a blow this was to me. On the first day, she walked into the room, and a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach. The will to fight was utterly and completely extinguished. I felt like I’d had the breath knocked out of me, and I was suddenly exhausted and absolutely finished.
“I cannot think about any of my tomorrows with any amount of peace.” I journaled a few days later, “I fully expect to fail, and it’s only day three! It’s far too early to give up! But I think I have. My body and mind keep pressing forward, but my hear has lost courage. I’m trying not to let myself be discouraged, but it’s hard to rally myself for a strong start when there are such obstacles at the outset. I will pray about it this morning, and ask God to teach me to trust in Him.”
I did pray. And God met me. The funny thing is that I can’t remember any of that prayer. I don’t remember what I said, or what things He showed me. But I do know that I came away fully at rest, and with a renewed enthusiasm, and was able, with my whole heart, to later write,
“God’s promises are sure. I have nothing to fear, nothing to dread. Every tomorrow will display fresh evidences of His care. I have but to ‘sink into His fullness, and in trustful weakness lie.’ What a Father! What a Friend!”
For the last week and a half, from that time till now, my life has been the most absurd contradiction of adjectives. Class is difficult, and pointless. I came a hairs breadth away from making arrangements to remain here without continuing on with school. Once a week I stay home to make up on my own for everything I’m not learning in class. It’s ironic to me that I learn more when absent. But God has shown me, I think, that I’m not to diverge from what He has set before me, until He instructs me to do so. So I see myself retaking level five this spring.
But, contrary to circumstance, my heart feels light and carefree. It’s not difficult (and it should be!) for me to throw as much will into this as I would if I had a fighting chance. Rather, I feel the promise of life and the pleasure of honest effort. I enjoy waking up every morning, and laughing at the absurdities of my fish. I enjoy walking to class, in the crisp, cool out of doors. I enjoy being with my classmates and friends. I find that life is beautiful.
Also, I’ve been able to interact with my teacher outside of class quite a bit this semester (It’s random. I’ve never interacted with any of my other teachers outside of class.), and I find myself heartily appreciating her as a person. It doesn’t make school any less pointless, but it does make the class atmosphere lighter and more pleasant. I laugh at the absurdity of it.
God is good, is He not?
In essence, the topic of this email hasn’t hugely differed from my last email, has it? School. It’s always about school. That is my life, presently, so that is what I write of.
I’ll add some variety, before I sign off. I realize that I do so at the risk of loosing your interest, by further lengthening an already long email. But the story is a funny one, and I hope you’ll appreciate it. It’s a sketch of my fish that I wrote, some weeks back.
“Junior has been busily rearranging his tank all day. Just a few minutes ago I stopped studying to watch him for a bit. As soon as he noticed that my eye was on him, he totally feigned innocence. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and began to swim around in casual circles. He would have added a whistle to the general effect of unconcern, but I had surprised him red handed, and he had five or six un-whistle-around-able pebbles in his mouth.
I'm generally pretty lenient, and if he wants ten pebbles on the east side of his tank, and two hundred fifty on the west, I'll turn a blind eye. But he knows that I put my foot down when it comes to blocking off the filter. It was the later occupation in which had been employed, so I considered it a good sign that his conscience had smitten him.
I spoke to him coaxingly, offering a compromise: I promised that if he spit the stones out, I wouldn't fry him for dinner. He looked surprised that I could doubt his innocence, and continued flitting around in lazy circles, his gullet stuffed so full of stones that it was stretched transparent. So I laughed and went back to studying.
Fifteen minutes later, I glanced in his direction again, and saw that he was resting his heavy head on the bottom of the tank, still stubbornly holding onto that uncomfortable mouthful of pebbles. It occurred to me that I might persuade him to spit them out, if I could tempt him with something more tasty. So I shook a few flakes of food into the tank, and Junior went wild. He began chasing the flakes of food around, but he couldn't open his mouth wide enough to eat them without the pebbles popping out. So he'd catch at the edge of a flake with pursed out lips (fish do have lips) and, just hold it there, totally nonplussed. After a few seconds, he discovered that, if he went for minuscule particles of food, he could suck them in without moving his mouth. But, of course, that accomplished, he still couldn't swallow! To swallow would be the same as opening his mouth, only in the other direction! So there he sat, with one molecule of food and five stones in his mouth, as he longingly watched that hated filter suck up his beautiful, red dinner. His eyes were tortured, and even as I keeled over laughing, I felt pity.
I'll leave the room to make dinner, soon, and leave him to his privacy.
I love my demented fish.”
Thank you all for your emails and prayers.
With much love,
Elisabeth
Friday, December 05, 2008
A Quick Story
I have a quick story for you:
I went to a 'Bible Study' yesterday. It wasn't open discussion, like I'd expected it to be. That, I suppose, would have been too western, encouraging independent thought. It was rather more like a church service. We sat in rows of folded chairs, facing the front, and sang a few songs. Then the pastor came and delivered a 'lecture'. Or at least he began to. He wasn't fifteen minutes into it, though, before he stopped in the middle of his train of thought, and said,
"I don't feel like God's Spirit is here. Please give me just a minute."
And then he just stopped talking. I suppose he was praying, even though he didn't bow his head or close his eyes. It might have been an uncomfortably long silence for some, but I was intrigued. I've never seen or heard of a Korean figure of authority, especially a religious one, exhibit any degree of...well, of humiliation, for lack of a better word. Especially under the gaze of inferiors. It must have been hugely embarrassing for the Koreans present.
After a bit, he began again.
"I'm not going to teach what I prepared. I can give a dozen lectures, and teach you to know all about God, and you'd go away with religion. But religion isn't God."
And then he left his notes folded up, and proceeded to teach spontaneously.
I can't really say that I got a whole lot out of what he taught. His ideas may have been new to some, but they weren't especially to me. And I didn't entirely agree with all of his doctrine. That wasn't really the point, though. He spoke of God from his soul, and not from a page. I think I've finally found what I've been looking for in a leader: a man whose heart is soft toward God, and who is willing to be faithful to the point of foolishness. Someone who teaches about God because he loves, and not simply because he's expected to, or because it's his 'job', and he's payed a salary, and he'll be asked to resign if he doesn't fulfill expectations.
I had begun to wonder if I was being too picky. If I was perhaps holding out for a good orator, rather than a good man. If I hadn't been spoiled by Travis's teachings. But I know now that that' wasn't the case, and it rather relieves me.
At any rate, they're going to start an English church service this Sunday. I'll go, and rather expect it to be people with Koreans, almost exclusively. I'm good with that. I've been thinking about joining a Korean service, in order to have more opportunity to interact with Korean Christians. The only thing that had held me back, was that I didn't want to turn my church experience into a Korean study session, which is what it would be if the service was in Korean. But this will fulfill both expectations. A 'real' pastor, an English sermon, and lots of Koreans to interact with afterwards.
I'll let you know how it goes.
With love...
I went to a 'Bible Study' yesterday. It wasn't open discussion, like I'd expected it to be. That, I suppose, would have been too western, encouraging independent thought. It was rather more like a church service. We sat in rows of folded chairs, facing the front, and sang a few songs. Then the pastor came and delivered a 'lecture'. Or at least he began to. He wasn't fifteen minutes into it, though, before he stopped in the middle of his train of thought, and said,
"I don't feel like God's Spirit is here. Please give me just a minute."
And then he just stopped talking. I suppose he was praying, even though he didn't bow his head or close his eyes. It might have been an uncomfortably long silence for some, but I was intrigued. I've never seen or heard of a Korean figure of authority, especially a religious one, exhibit any degree of...well, of humiliation, for lack of a better word. Especially under the gaze of inferiors. It must have been hugely embarrassing for the Koreans present.
After a bit, he began again.
"I'm not going to teach what I prepared. I can give a dozen lectures, and teach you to know all about God, and you'd go away with religion. But religion isn't God."
And then he left his notes folded up, and proceeded to teach spontaneously.
I can't really say that I got a whole lot out of what he taught. His ideas may have been new to some, but they weren't especially to me. And I didn't entirely agree with all of his doctrine. That wasn't really the point, though. He spoke of God from his soul, and not from a page. I think I've finally found what I've been looking for in a leader: a man whose heart is soft toward God, and who is willing to be faithful to the point of foolishness. Someone who teaches about God because he loves, and not simply because he's expected to, or because it's his 'job', and he's payed a salary, and he'll be asked to resign if he doesn't fulfill expectations.
I had begun to wonder if I was being too picky. If I was perhaps holding out for a good orator, rather than a good man. If I hadn't been spoiled by Travis's teachings. But I know now that that' wasn't the case, and it rather relieves me.
At any rate, they're going to start an English church service this Sunday. I'll go, and rather expect it to be people with Koreans, almost exclusively. I'm good with that. I've been thinking about joining a Korean service, in order to have more opportunity to interact with Korean Christians. The only thing that had held me back, was that I didn't want to turn my church experience into a Korean study session, which is what it would be if the service was in Korean. But this will fulfill both expectations. A 'real' pastor, an English sermon, and lots of Koreans to interact with afterwards.
I'll let you know how it goes.
With love...
Sunday, November 30, 2008
With Wings as Eagles
Happy Thanksgiving, Family!
Today is the last day of what has been a relaxing two week break between semesters. I had hoped that the R&R would help me to kick this bug, but so far that hasn't happened. The weather has been pendulous, warmish one day, and freezing the next. Every time the temperature drops below zero, my cold rears its head, tyrannically asserting it's self-appointed rights. I'm hoping that, once winter finally makes up it's fickle mind, my immune system will begin to kick in.
Otherwise, life is good. I've been spending a couple of hours every day getting prepared for Level 5. I wanted to get my books in advance, hoping to be able to at least familiarize myself with a significant portion of the vocabulary before the semester begins. Vocab is, hands down, the most time consuming part of studying. So I my way up to the seventh floor of the language building, to speak to the department director. Since I'd been able to get my books for Level 4 three months early, it never entered my mind that there would be any problem. But apparently administration has changed since then, and I was uncompromisingly informed, "You'll get your books on the first day of class."
It had been a very stressful week, pulling 13-14 hour study days in preparation for my finals, so I was feeling worn out and upset to start with. The director's decision was singularly unreasonable, in light of the fact that I was registered, payed for, and the books were available and sitting in the shelf next to us. I listened to his explanation with a frozen smile on my face, but the room was loud, and his Korean was blurry (guy-Korean is spoken much less distinctly than girl-Korean, so it's generally very difficult to understand), and I was too angry to listen carefully, so his explanation was wholly unintelligible. I went home feeling more discouraged and upset than I have in a very long time.
When I got home, I hashed out my attitude with God, and then sang to myself while I made lunch. It's remarkable how far a song can go toward improving one's perspective. I was still at a complete loss, though. I'd been able to glance briefly through one of my friend's books, and not only is the vocabulary load increased, but we'll be given twice as many grammar rules than we've been given in any of the levels up to date. It was entirely impractical for me to think about studying level 5 without having the books in advance. I finally decided to wait until after finals to think about it, and pushed the matter to the back of my mind.
Two days later, with the other tests out of the way, and only the interview left, I gritted my teeth and rode the elevator to the ninth floor. I showed up early, and feeling strangely detached, walked over to one of the ceiling-to-floor windows to watch the life of the city below me. I had slept little, and eaten next to nothing for the past thirty-six hours, because I had been feeling sick, and as I stood there I began to feel dizzy and to see black spots in the corner of my vision. I sat down on the window ledge, and at that moment an osprey glided past the window at eye level. The end of Isaiah 40 flashed into my mind, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." And I knew that, pass or fail, God would continue to be strong for me.
My name was called, and I bowed and greeted my interviewer. It's called an 'interview', but it's not so much that as a guided, twenty minute conversation, to determine one's level of fluency. The conversations are recorded, so that the interviewer may later go back and analyze one's grammar, pronunciation, intonation, vocabulary, continuity, and variety. As such, what one answers is wholly irrelevant. On the last day of class we were told: "Feel free to state false preferences and opinions. Your interviewer hasn't the least interest in whether you're from Brazil or Japan, so if it's easier for you to talk about Japanese customs, then for that twenty minutes, you're Japanese. If you don't know the answer to something, make it up!"
As it turned out, it wasn't necessary for me to create a fictional self. One of the first questions the teacher asked was how Level 4 had been for me.
"It wasn't as hard as I'd expected," I replied, "But it's not as easy for me as it is for the other Asian students, so I need a lot more study time than they do. There was so much vocabulary to memorize, though, that I didn't feel like I had enough time to spend with the other subjects."
"You know Level 5 is going to be more difficult..." (Don't I!!) "...if you didn't have enough time last semester, how are you planning on making it through the next?"
"I have no idea." And I explained to her what I've entailed above, ending with, "If I can't get the books in advance, I might not study here next semester."
"Well, you know," She smiled a beautiful smile, "I have the books. I can lend them to you until you get yours."
I pressed my hands to my face, laughed weakly, and for one dreadful moment thought that I was going to burst into tears. The moment quickly passed, and I heartily thanked her.
The rest of the time passed smoothly and quickly. When I got home and called my family, they told me that they had asked people to be praying for me. I wasn't surprised. Both the tests and the interview were easier and more relaxed for me than any before, and when I got my grades back, 99% was scribbled on the face of my reading test, that subject in which I had been previously averaging very low 70s. Mounted up on eagle's wings, indeed!
I have a lot of stuff to do this evening, so I shouldn't spend any more time on the computer. I hadn't meant to write only of my tests! Next time I'll try to add more variety, but meanwhile this will have to do. Please be praying for me, as I go on to this next semester. I'm beginning to feel burnt out, and am so very ready to be done studying Korean!
With love,
Elisabeth
Today is the last day of what has been a relaxing two week break between semesters. I had hoped that the R&R would help me to kick this bug, but so far that hasn't happened. The weather has been pendulous, warmish one day, and freezing the next. Every time the temperature drops below zero, my cold rears its head, tyrannically asserting it's self-appointed rights. I'm hoping that, once winter finally makes up it's fickle mind, my immune system will begin to kick in.
Otherwise, life is good. I've been spending a couple of hours every day getting prepared for Level 5. I wanted to get my books in advance, hoping to be able to at least familiarize myself with a significant portion of the vocabulary before the semester begins. Vocab is, hands down, the most time consuming part of studying. So I my way up to the seventh floor of the language building, to speak to the department director. Since I'd been able to get my books for Level 4 three months early, it never entered my mind that there would be any problem. But apparently administration has changed since then, and I was uncompromisingly informed, "You'll get your books on the first day of class."
It had been a very stressful week, pulling 13-14 hour study days in preparation for my finals, so I was feeling worn out and upset to start with. The director's decision was singularly unreasonable, in light of the fact that I was registered, payed for, and the books were available and sitting in the shelf next to us. I listened to his explanation with a frozen smile on my face, but the room was loud, and his Korean was blurry (guy-Korean is spoken much less distinctly than girl-Korean, so it's generally very difficult to understand), and I was too angry to listen carefully, so his explanation was wholly unintelligible. I went home feeling more discouraged and upset than I have in a very long time.
When I got home, I hashed out my attitude with God, and then sang to myself while I made lunch. It's remarkable how far a song can go toward improving one's perspective. I was still at a complete loss, though. I'd been able to glance briefly through one of my friend's books, and not only is the vocabulary load increased, but we'll be given twice as many grammar rules than we've been given in any of the levels up to date. It was entirely impractical for me to think about studying level 5 without having the books in advance. I finally decided to wait until after finals to think about it, and pushed the matter to the back of my mind.
Two days later, with the other tests out of the way, and only the interview left, I gritted my teeth and rode the elevator to the ninth floor. I showed up early, and feeling strangely detached, walked over to one of the ceiling-to-floor windows to watch the life of the city below me. I had slept little, and eaten next to nothing for the past thirty-six hours, because I had been feeling sick, and as I stood there I began to feel dizzy and to see black spots in the corner of my vision. I sat down on the window ledge, and at that moment an osprey glided past the window at eye level. The end of Isaiah 40 flashed into my mind, "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." And I knew that, pass or fail, God would continue to be strong for me.
My name was called, and I bowed and greeted my interviewer. It's called an 'interview', but it's not so much that as a guided, twenty minute conversation, to determine one's level of fluency. The conversations are recorded, so that the interviewer may later go back and analyze one's grammar, pronunciation, intonation, vocabulary, continuity, and variety. As such, what one answers is wholly irrelevant. On the last day of class we were told: "Feel free to state false preferences and opinions. Your interviewer hasn't the least interest in whether you're from Brazil or Japan, so if it's easier for you to talk about Japanese customs, then for that twenty minutes, you're Japanese. If you don't know the answer to something, make it up!"
As it turned out, it wasn't necessary for me to create a fictional self. One of the first questions the teacher asked was how Level 4 had been for me.
"It wasn't as hard as I'd expected," I replied, "But it's not as easy for me as it is for the other Asian students, so I need a lot more study time than they do. There was so much vocabulary to memorize, though, that I didn't feel like I had enough time to spend with the other subjects."
"You know Level 5 is going to be more difficult..." (Don't I!!) "...if you didn't have enough time last semester, how are you planning on making it through the next?"
"I have no idea." And I explained to her what I've entailed above, ending with, "If I can't get the books in advance, I might not study here next semester."
"Well, you know," She smiled a beautiful smile, "I have the books. I can lend them to you until you get yours."
I pressed my hands to my face, laughed weakly, and for one dreadful moment thought that I was going to burst into tears. The moment quickly passed, and I heartily thanked her.
The rest of the time passed smoothly and quickly. When I got home and called my family, they told me that they had asked people to be praying for me. I wasn't surprised. Both the tests and the interview were easier and more relaxed for me than any before, and when I got my grades back, 99% was scribbled on the face of my reading test, that subject in which I had been previously averaging very low 70s. Mounted up on eagle's wings, indeed!
I have a lot of stuff to do this evening, so I shouldn't spend any more time on the computer. I hadn't meant to write only of my tests! Next time I'll try to add more variety, but meanwhile this will have to do. Please be praying for me, as I go on to this next semester. I'm beginning to feel burnt out, and am so very ready to be done studying Korean!
With love,
Elisabeth
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Grass and Sparrows and Thumbs
Dear Family,
I seems a long time since I last wrote you all. I find myself now with a moment, and feel that it would be a good thing to take advantage of it, before I jump back into the fast-paced life, tomorrow, of people and school.
I've been fighting a cold for a few weeks, but to no avail. This last week it finally knocked me out. Toward the end of the week I began canceling engagements, on Friday I finally skipped a day of school, and I'm now pretty much milking it for all it's worth. I've usually got so much on my plate that it's a beautiful luxury to be able to kick my feet up with a good book and a box of Kleenex. I was never more grateful for a raw throat and swollen sinuses!
I had midterms three and a half weeks ago, and the days leading up to it were so full and feverish, that I hardly had a chance to stop for breath. Just after midterms, as the week drew to a close, I found myself with a free evening. The weather was still fall-ish, fresh and warm, so I made myself a sandwich for dinner, and took it outside to the Sogang campus, along with Twain's 'The Mississippi River'. It was a pleasant way to dine. When it grew to dark to read comfortably, I drew a light sweater about me, and strolled about the campus, with only the vaguest idea of where I was or where I was going. It was simply enjoying being out of doors, with no demands upon my mind or my time. One of my favorite places on campus is a water fountain just outside of the Korean language building. I wrote my sister about it, a few weeks ago:
"Monday night I was on my way home, at ten o'clock, after a long day of just about everything you can imagine, and I passed a water fountain near the Sogang language building. It beckoned me, so I sat on one of the square stones beside it, while I waited for the traffic light to give me permission to cross the street. I watched the brightly lit water spill over lips of slate, and dash playfully into the frothy pool below. The light flashed green, and then red again, and still I watched the water. It was so calming. That water fountain has become rather a habit with me. It's loud enough that, if I sit very close, it drowns out the noise of the traffic and the people. And sometimes I forget that they're there at all. It's probably the only place in the city where I can pray out loud without being overheard, and I pray every time I sit by it. This time I prayed for a girl that I had passed just moments before, who had been walking down the street crying. And then I just sat and thought about God for a while. It's amazing how such a little thing can be so calming."
Unfortunately, now that winter has blown into every corner and crack of the city, I'm not able to enjoy the out of doors as much any more. I'm looking forward to spring already!!
A few Fridays ago was Korea's National Foundation Day, so we had the day off from school. I decided to use part the afternoon to make cookies my my small group, which gathers each Friday evening. No sooner had I stepped into kitchen and rolled my sleeves up, than I realized that this would not be as simple a thing as I had supposed. Apart from a one cup measuring cup, I had no other measuring instruments, so most of the ingredients were added somewhat by guess. And my little toaster oven is set to one temperature, and what that is I don't even know. The first batch burnt on the outside, but was runny on the inside, so I propped the oven door open a crack with a fork, and after that they cooked nicely enough. Not Mrs. Field's cookies, perhaps, but my friends thought they were excellent. I'm certain that the fact that they haven't tasted a home-made chocolate chip cookie in Korea yet helped a great deal.
It's really important, in Korean society, to build relationships with colleagues / classmates outside of the normal work / study environment. So my class decided that we ought to have dinner together some evening. The restaurant of choice was a restaurant where they serve pork. At Korean restaurants one orders a few common platters of food to be divided up between everyone, rather than each ordering individual dishes,. I think it's an excellent system, because then you can eat as much or as little as you want, and have a more varied meal. I generally let others make the choice of what to eat, because most people have more preference than I. My classmates' choice ended up being, in this case, three heaping platters of pig feet, stuffed pig intestine, and pig fat. I tried a bit of each. The hoof was okay, once I got past the texture and abundance of cartilage, but the intestine was the most repulsive thing I've ever eaten. Koreans eat a lot of it, but I'd never been brave enough to try it until then. This time I steeled my nerves and told myself that I could just chew it up really fast, and gulp it down. So I put a slice in my mouth, and began chewing. But, to my horror, it wouldn't chew. It was like rubber, and I couldn't distract myself from what it was that I was eating. So I chewed and imagined, and imagined and chewed, and then chewed some more, and after an eternity it was small enough to swallow. After that I stuck to the fat, which is actually pretty good. I didn't used to like it, because I wasn't used to fat texture. But it's remarkably flavorful, and now is one of my favorite meats (and it can be called a meat, because there is always a little bit of meat on each slab).
Now that winter has come, and the days are shorter and darker, I frequently have a candle lit. A little candle works wonders in transforming a gloomy space into a cozy cubbyhole. Sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, I turn off all the lights in my house, and watch the flame for a bit. A few weeks ago I lay on my belly on the floor, with my candle in front of me. And as I lay watching it, I told God about all the things that I like – the things that I think He did an especially good job with. The stars, for example, and autumn leaves, and green beetles, and water drops. It was a very pleasant way to spend time with God. I don't think I've ever before told Him what things I like, just like that.
Moving a candle to my desk, the other day, my thumb pressed itself into the warm wax, so that when I pulled it away, its print stood out clearly. Looking at it, the thought flashed into my mind that my thumb print is unique. I wonder why God took thought for thumbs – they're so insignificant. It seems absurd that God should have been so deliberate in the creation of my thumb, but so it is. I think I'll stamp my thumb print in ink somewhere where I can see it regularly, to remind myself that God takes thought for little things: grass and sparrows and thumbs.
With love,
Elisabeth
I seems a long time since I last wrote you all. I find myself now with a moment, and feel that it would be a good thing to take advantage of it, before I jump back into the fast-paced life, tomorrow, of people and school.
I've been fighting a cold for a few weeks, but to no avail. This last week it finally knocked me out. Toward the end of the week I began canceling engagements, on Friday I finally skipped a day of school, and I'm now pretty much milking it for all it's worth. I've usually got so much on my plate that it's a beautiful luxury to be able to kick my feet up with a good book and a box of Kleenex. I was never more grateful for a raw throat and swollen sinuses!
I had midterms three and a half weeks ago, and the days leading up to it were so full and feverish, that I hardly had a chance to stop for breath. Just after midterms, as the week drew to a close, I found myself with a free evening. The weather was still fall-ish, fresh and warm, so I made myself a sandwich for dinner, and took it outside to the Sogang campus, along with Twain's 'The Mississippi River'. It was a pleasant way to dine. When it grew to dark to read comfortably, I drew a light sweater about me, and strolled about the campus, with only the vaguest idea of where I was or where I was going. It was simply enjoying being out of doors, with no demands upon my mind or my time. One of my favorite places on campus is a water fountain just outside of the Korean language building. I wrote my sister about it, a few weeks ago:
"Monday night I was on my way home, at ten o'clock, after a long day of just about everything you can imagine, and I passed a water fountain near the Sogang language building. It beckoned me, so I sat on one of the square stones beside it, while I waited for the traffic light to give me permission to cross the street. I watched the brightly lit water spill over lips of slate, and dash playfully into the frothy pool below. The light flashed green, and then red again, and still I watched the water. It was so calming. That water fountain has become rather a habit with me. It's loud enough that, if I sit very close, it drowns out the noise of the traffic and the people. And sometimes I forget that they're there at all. It's probably the only place in the city where I can pray out loud without being overheard, and I pray every time I sit by it. This time I prayed for a girl that I had passed just moments before, who had been walking down the street crying. And then I just sat and thought about God for a while. It's amazing how such a little thing can be so calming."
Unfortunately, now that winter has blown into every corner and crack of the city, I'm not able to enjoy the out of doors as much any more. I'm looking forward to spring already!!
A few Fridays ago was Korea's National Foundation Day, so we had the day off from school. I decided to use part the afternoon to make cookies my my small group, which gathers each Friday evening. No sooner had I stepped into kitchen and rolled my sleeves up, than I realized that this would not be as simple a thing as I had supposed. Apart from a one cup measuring cup, I had no other measuring instruments, so most of the ingredients were added somewhat by guess. And my little toaster oven is set to one temperature, and what that is I don't even know. The first batch burnt on the outside, but was runny on the inside, so I propped the oven door open a crack with a fork, and after that they cooked nicely enough. Not Mrs. Field's cookies, perhaps, but my friends thought they were excellent. I'm certain that the fact that they haven't tasted a home-made chocolate chip cookie in Korea yet helped a great deal.
It's really important, in Korean society, to build relationships with colleagues / classmates outside of the normal work / study environment. So my class decided that we ought to have dinner together some evening. The restaurant of choice was a restaurant where they serve pork. At Korean restaurants one orders a few common platters of food to be divided up between everyone, rather than each ordering individual dishes,. I think it's an excellent system, because then you can eat as much or as little as you want, and have a more varied meal. I generally let others make the choice of what to eat, because most people have more preference than I. My classmates' choice ended up being, in this case, three heaping platters of pig feet, stuffed pig intestine, and pig fat. I tried a bit of each. The hoof was okay, once I got past the texture and abundance of cartilage, but the intestine was the most repulsive thing I've ever eaten. Koreans eat a lot of it, but I'd never been brave enough to try it until then. This time I steeled my nerves and told myself that I could just chew it up really fast, and gulp it down. So I put a slice in my mouth, and began chewing. But, to my horror, it wouldn't chew. It was like rubber, and I couldn't distract myself from what it was that I was eating. So I chewed and imagined, and imagined and chewed, and then chewed some more, and after an eternity it was small enough to swallow. After that I stuck to the fat, which is actually pretty good. I didn't used to like it, because I wasn't used to fat texture. But it's remarkably flavorful, and now is one of my favorite meats (and it can be called a meat, because there is always a little bit of meat on each slab).
Now that winter has come, and the days are shorter and darker, I frequently have a candle lit. A little candle works wonders in transforming a gloomy space into a cozy cubbyhole. Sometimes, late at night or early in the morning, I turn off all the lights in my house, and watch the flame for a bit. A few weeks ago I lay on my belly on the floor, with my candle in front of me. And as I lay watching it, I told God about all the things that I like – the things that I think He did an especially good job with. The stars, for example, and autumn leaves, and green beetles, and water drops. It was a very pleasant way to spend time with God. I don't think I've ever before told Him what things I like, just like that.
Moving a candle to my desk, the other day, my thumb pressed itself into the warm wax, so that when I pulled it away, its print stood out clearly. Looking at it, the thought flashed into my mind that my thumb print is unique. I wonder why God took thought for thumbs – they're so insignificant. It seems absurd that God should have been so deliberate in the creation of my thumb, but so it is. I think I'll stamp my thumb print in ink somewhere where I can see it regularly, to remind myself that God takes thought for little things: grass and sparrows and thumbs.
With love,
Elisabeth
Monday, October 20, 2008
God Sees and Understands
I have to remind myself frequently, these days, that I'm not just throwing my life away over here. Somehow that thought keeps coming back to discourage me, "You've been in Korean since you were twenty-two!" my mind shouts at me, "And now you're nearly twenty-five! What have you got to show for it?! So you can speak Korean better than the average westerner - what of it? The chances of you being able ever to use it in the way you anticipate are so slim as to be absurd. And, meanwhile, here you are, throwing away the best years of your life!" And then it shrugs and shakes it's head at me in a pitying sort of way. All I can do is try to ignore it and pray, but even that resource is so evasive sometimes... But, however futile my present course sometimes seems, this one thing I know: God sees and understands that, foolish or otherwise, the life that I have turned my back on was set aside for love of Him. My course may be ill advised, my direction purposeless, but like the widow's two mites, it is all I have, and it has been given to God. If He chooses not to use it, that is His business. At least He may know that I love Him.
Please pray that God will give me courage.
Elisabeth
Please pray that God will give me courage.
Elisabeth
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