생일축하합니다 (it reads better if you translate it after reading the post)

I woke up this morning to a knock on my door.

Suh-ti-bun. question, question, I'm sorry. How old are you?

26.

Twenty six. Okay okay. Goodbye.

I've been asked that question so many times since moving to Korea that I didn't bother to think about why he would choose this time to ask me that. It just seemed like he needed to know. It was time for me to get up anyway. We are going to tour Seoul today, and I am leaving for Daegu tomorrow.

I feel the need to take a moment to prepare myself for the full-frontal invasion that is to be breakfast today. My stomach isn't awake yet, and telling a Korean that I don't normally eat breakfast is a mistake that I have no desire to repeat. You get a similar reaction to how an American reacts to the fact that they eat a soup made from dog meat here. It's not that I mind so much the type of food I eat. In fact I have grown extremely accustomed to it. The problem with Hyounjun's mother's cooking os one of volume. The sheer number of things she expects me to eat is staggering. I have never tried so hard, nor failed so badly at having a "masculine" appetite. It's just not in me anymore.

It actually took me a while to adjust to the sight of it.

Koreans normally eat fish, rice, kimchi, and some sort of soup for breakfast. Their breakfasts are a lot like our lunches and dinners. The bakeries in this country are not usually open in the early mornings, and the people who work in such establishments usually stare at me for a good amount of time if I buy a pastry or doughnut before noon. All this to say, I was VERY surprised to see a cake in the middle of the table.

There were seven candles in it.

Hyounjun's father knows how to sing 'Happy Birthday' in English, while his mother only speaks Korean. I don't know how they knew. Hyounjun must have told them. I usually don't mention my birthday, since it's so close to Christmas, and everyone is pretty tired from the holidays. I think it's been several years since someone has bought me a cake, and even longer since they sang the 'happy birthday' song. In fact, I've never heard it in Korean.

Happy birthuh day Suh-ti-bun. I love you.

I love you too.

Hyounjun called later that day. He said happy birthday, and then his mom asked him to say something to me.

Stephen? Yeah, my mom says to give her your dirty laundry so she can wash it before you go. Trust me, you don't want to fight her.

I don't think anyone has done my laundry since I was sixteen. I can't believe of all the things se wanted to say to me, that was the thing that was most important.

Hyounjun mama. Suh-ti-bun mama. It's okay.

She's been studying me like a hawk, trying to figure out what I like and don't like. She pours me water with my meal (most Koreans don't drink water when they're eating) in the cup with a picture of a bear on it (I like bears). Breakfast was 잡채, 불고기, and of course, cake.

이것먹어. 많이 먹어.

We went off to see Seoul, Hyounjun's father and I. She buttoned up my sweater and smothed out the wrinkles, adjusting my scarf and making sure my hat was on straight.

Handsome boy, Suh-ti-bun. Handsome boy.

I think she's probably the reason why a lot of Korean men have unrealistic expectations of their wives, or their girlfriends. If I grew up in this culture, I would be sooooo spoiled. I still find it so strange to be loved so much by someone who barely even knows me, and can't really communicate with me at all.

I mentioned earlier this month that I don't have a lot of pictures of my face on this blog. Actually I don't think I have any. This one seems worthy though. This is me and my 엄마.

사랑해요.

I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm

Today was my first day of vacation since 초석. I woke up early and took the 401 bus to the international Airport. I waited there. About 10 minutes later, I got a phone call, and a white van pulled up to gate 1. A well-dressed Korean man got out of the van and started to load my bags into it. Though his English skills were limited (much less limited than my Korean, btw), his welcoming attitude towards me was translated instantly.

Suh-ti-bun? I am so happy seeing you!

반갑습니다.

I am trying to speak in Korean whenever I feel like know how to say something. Anything to make it easier for him, especially after he woke up at 5AM just to drive down here and pick me up. I have never spoken to this man before, but he happens to be the father of one of my best friends.

Suh-ti-bun...um...Korea? You like your time?

네. 한국 촣아요.

Ah. Good! Now. let's go please. We will...home...3:30. 3:30? yes. Let's go.

It's snowing. I should say now that I think snow is magic. I think the main reason for this is the fact that I'm from California, and I have only seen snow once there. Since, I have seen it 3 more times, all of them in this country.

Snow dances. It spins around in the wind, catching every note, every beat of the air around it. It almost feels like it's alive. I can't imagine a more beautiful thing, nor would I dare to think how jaded I would be about the whole thing if I grew up somewhere where it snowed every year. I think maybe I won't let my children see the ocean until they are adults.

Is it weird that I still hold my breath every time I drive through a tunnel? Jon and I used to do that every time we went on the 1 freeway to the Monterey Bay Aquarium. I like to go there to watch the tourists watch it. Somehow we forget that it's amazing when it's near us all the time. The problem with holding your breath in Korea is that their tunnels are so long you rarely can even see the light at the end. I can't ever seem to make it the whole way on one breath. I feel like a failure. He's watching me struggle towards the end. Perhaps he thinks I'm claustrophobic or something, but I guess he figures that I am uncomfortable going through tunnels. He speeds up a little when he drives through them. It helps some, but I still can't get through on one breath.

Just breathe. It was only valuable when you believed it.

Suh-ti-bun. You like lunchey? Korean food you like?

네. 한식 좋아요.

He takes me to the first restaurant he can find labeled "western food." I guess whatever I said before didn't translate quite right. The "western food" menu had such items as 도까스 and 회빕빔밥 on it. Funny, I don't remember my mother serving me any raw fish OR raw egg when I was little. I certainly eat plenty of it here. Somehow, he finds me a fork. I'm sort of awkward with forks now. It has been a while. It hasn't really been that long, it's just... I've taken in everything so fast, I feel like I've been here forever. I had American food for Christmas this last weekend, and It really upset my stomach. My body is craving rice and 김치, and my fingers feel more comfortable around a set of chopsticks these days. I don't know why, but I feel like I'm going home. I'm going home with a perfect stranger who is anything but a stranger. He has Hyounjun's face. He stops to pray before eating. When did I stop doing that?

This country is so f%*$ing beautiful.

As the snow performs pirouettes around the cold mountain air, it masks everything but what it wants me to see. The mountains. The skeleton trees like rows of repentant sinners waiting for evening mass, their arms raised to the sky. Again, the snow only shows us what we were meant to see.

This city is called the 분당.

분당?

Yes. The 분당.

He twirls his hands in the air like a circus ringmaster.

White Christmas, yes? Let's inside go. 많이 cold. 많이 많이 cold.

His wife is inside. She has been waiting. She called several times to make sure we were alright. When I get inside, she grabs my hand and takes me into where I will be staying for the next 5 days.

Suh-ti-bun 방. 현준 방.

She speaks even less English than he does, but there is something that translates instantly. She has a lot of food prepared for me, but this time (I had met her before) I know how to say "I'm full," so I've got the jump on her. I'm going to find a way to break it to these people that I am able to use chopsticks, after I enjoy a bit of their frantic rush to find what I assume is the only fork they own. They never do, so I have to tell them. Oh well, fun's over. She sits next to me, watching me eat, talking to me in Korean. I understand almost none of it, but I don't think she cares. These are things she needs to say. I think that once someone becomes a mother, they will always need someone or something to take care of. I must have some food or something on my face, because she gets a wet rag and wipes the corner of my mouth with it.

한국 남자친구 있어요?

남자친구? 없어요.

He laughs.

She wants you to have a Korean girlfriend. She thinks you are very handsome.

I smile awkwardly like I usually do.

감사합니다.

She grabs my arm again.

You,현준 same. I love you.

She want to... treating you like... her son.

There are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand. I don't get most of my life these days, why I do the things I do, why I go the places I go. It's like everything is covered by these dancing weather patterns. White Christmas. Everything is beautiful and nothing is clear.

So here's the deal, God.

I don't know why you don't want me to see everything, and I have no idea what will happen next. I do not know why you put me here, or why I feel so inclined to stay. I don't want to ask why anymore, because I'm so glad you did.

Maybe someday it will stop snowing, and I'll see everything. Until then, I have seen enough.

Oh come, Oh come.

He came quietly.

Like all those He sent before Him, He was not recognized by people of good reputation.Those sorts of people do not spend time looking for pregnant teenagers having children in dark caves. Why would they? Nothing ever comes of that sort of thing.

He needed her.

He had chosen her to care for Him, to wrap Him in cloth, to bed Him down in the trough. It was the best she could do, and He would often go without the things that other chidren had. She cherished and pondered the great mysteries of the universe, that one thing that we would, that she would persue all her life and never get any closer to, but how He loved to see her run towards it. Could all of Him really fit into such a small and fragile thing?

He was a baby.

He could have been a man. He could have appeared on the earth with the ability to feed and care for Himself, but that is not what He chose. He chose the dark place, that dirty stall where good people are afraid to go. If these tragically flawed creatures could not care for Him, He would die. They would teach Him to speak, to walk, to dress Himself, to work, all the while in awe that He should not be theirs, but He gave Himself to them. He became what all other gods were too afraid to become.

Human.

He came to a world that had turned itself on its head.

There was already someone claiming to be the son of god. There were many claming solutions to every ailment, but it was not medicine that they needed.

It was freedom.

The problem was one of ownership. These things that they thought would be a help had become their masters, and there were debts to be paid, more than a lifetime, and so they had given over everything. Freedom would never come of their own accord, it had to be something bigger.

He was small.

Unless you were in That dark place, on that night so long ago, you would have to crane your neck to hear it. The sound of a child crying in a manger. He was God, and He put Himself in our care, not so that He would understand us, but so that we would know that there is nothing He would not endure to be with us, not even the lives that we had forced ourselves to live. They had prayed for thousands of years for this day, a faint hope.

Come, Immanuel.

It was with that cry in the night, so soft it was missed by nearly all. That sound that said:

I am here. Even at my weakest, I am stronger than whatever has you.

and the world has not stopped spinning since He left it.


Merry Christmas.

Disappointed With God

I have decided that in an attempt to observe Christmas in a correct and reverent manner this year (as I am far removed from my usual range of distractions), I will only post on issues relating to the Advent season until the end of the month. I don't really want to talk about Christmas, with all the jingle in bells, decking of halls and ho's in triplicate. I really want to talk about the historical period of Advent, and its effect on both the broad global culture and the narrow lens through which I see it, commonly known as the Church.

However, on a completely hypocritical note, allow me to introduce...

My Ginger bread 집 한국. my 김gerbread 하우스.

I've just realized that the above comments will only be entertaining to people who speak exactly as much Korean as I do. If they speak less, they won't be able to read what I wrote, and if they speak more, they will probably think (perhaps know) that I'm an idiot.

Oh well, that's probably still a much wider audience than most of the other things I've written.

Though my "I'm-so-sad-that-I'm-still-single-even-though-I'm-really-nice-and-smart-and-might-be-attractive-since-there-aren't-any-pictures-of-my-face-on-this-site" posts are quite popular with the "20-something-and-I-live-with-my-mom" crowd.

Don't worry ladies. I've got plenty more where that came from.

Today, I want to talk about disappointment. There have been a lot of things in my life that have been disappointing.

My film "career."

The end result of the nearly 10 years I have been playing the guitar.

the six week "relationship" I had at the age of 24, as the result of the first time I ever asked a girl out (You see ladies? Your pity is always welcome here).

My New Years resolution to "always do my laundry on time."

Let's not forget the many many disappointments that come with the Christmas season. I'm not talking about presents I wanted but never got when I was 5. It's this whole Christmas season thing, whatever it's become. Every year, you're promised magic, and togetherness, and miracles even. At the end, All I see is more stress, empty pockets, and a world that's just about broken even. No one is any better off, save a few people who own toy stores.

I myself have never owned a toy store. Hence disappointment.

I have always longed to live in a simpler time. Before the industrial age, or before the digital age. Hell, I'll even take before Youtube. I'll bet my work week would have been a lot more productive.

I hope no one from my work is reading this...

Anyway, of all the times I wished I could have lived in, at Christmas time I always think of the Middle East, right smack in the middle of that whole BC - AD mess. What would it have been like?

I probably wouldn't like it.

I never realized before how disappointing the Christmas story really was. It seems like the grandeur and spectacle I see in canvases, greeting cards, and the occasional cathedral window is a tragic misinterpretation of the details.

Think about it.

I can just see the Jewish priests putting together their letters to Santa...

Send me a messiah this year. I've been very good. Make him big and strong so that he can set us free. Make his birth known throughout the world, so that the most important people can rush to serve him. Equip him with the ability to establish a kingdom here on Earth. And make sure he doesn't hang out with hookers and IRS agents.

Sincerely,

J. Pharasee

This is what they were waiting for since, I don't know... forever? How would they even recognize him?

Here comes Jesus. Born in a poor family. Born to a teenage mother, out of wedlock, who CLAIMED that the spirit of God impregnated her (couldn't God have come up with something more believable than that?) which I'm sure was a popular excuse at the time. There wasn't much of a birth announcement, save to some dirty shepherds (who, let's face it, could have been drunk), and a couple of Asian stargazers who weren't even Jewish. Not exactly the most reliable sources. The only person who really made a big deal of it was that Herod guy, who ordered the slaughter of every child under the age of 2. The first Christmas present, before all the Gold Frankincense and myrrh (which is an embalming fluid, btw) was an empty cradle. Sounds like an episode of Maury Pouvich meets the Holocaust.

I can't help but think that He could have chosen another way to do it. He could have done whatever he wanted.

Jesus grew up to achieve no major political office. In fact, he never even became a priest. He just went from town to town, hanging out with the wrong sorts of people, talking disrespectfully to the other sorts of people until finally... they just killed him. Even with the high mortality rate of the times, 33 is a pretty young age to go. I imagine that the Jews left his burial site just in time to begin drafting this year's letter to Santa. They had thought of some new things that they wanted their messiah to be.

I guess they didn't recognize Him, did they?

Can't blame them.

I have some trouble spotting Him from time to time.

Of course, as most of you know, I am neglecting to mention the part that gets everyone excited. The fact that something fantastic really did happen that night. The fact that God came to the Earth in the form of a man, and was such a picture of meekness and strength under control that he could do so without being known to the very people who had been looking so hard for him. In fact that the very nature of his descent into human form shows what the dirty, the unfortunate, and the unreliable had suspected all along, that he had come for them. Of course, you might say that I am neglecting that.

Perhaps, but it is still a kind of disappointing story. It's a perfect story, but a disappointing one.

I have come to the astounding realization that we are able to be disappointed with something that is perfect. The divine could come to Earth, and we would turn up our nose at Him if we were looking for something else.

Can you really blame the Pharasees? If I told you that God was alive here on this Earth, could you tell me where to find him?

I confess that I can not.

I must be looking for something else. Something that He is not.

It's a thing that gives me hope, actually. The fact that I am disappointed with perfection, because I can't see what it really is. Perhaps we will see miracles, and healing, and love like we've never had before. The kind that goes with you. That wraps you up like a warm winter coat, and kisses the tip of the tongue like a winter carol about a time more fantastic than this one, because He really did come, and it really was perfect.

I want Him to teach me how to not be disappointed.