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.

Culture Shock: A Haiku

Lunchtime chicken piece,

sorry that I did not eat.

I thought you were fish.

Bear Speaks to the Moon

It should come as no surprise to you that I like bears. I haven't worked with watercolor since the 3rd grade. I hope my technique has improved at least a little. It feels really good to be creating again though.

The text reads like so:

By what means do you hang

like quotations within quotations

marking feet and inches

up against this violet curtain

sheltering daybreak before

all hungry eyes will feed again?

The opening scene.

Shall we dance, just you and I?

a dress rehearsal before the curtain's rise

and if I say I only know a world

of glowing things that wear their bones

on the outside, would you think

I am so small?

Some who play behind your other face

have torn this world to pieces.

Final act called over thinking.

Expect the moon's response sometime in the near future:)

It Isn't Any Trouble Just To S-P-E-A-K

My school has a special education program. I have heard that special Ed is kind of a taboo subject in Korea, so I feel fortunate that the good people of 해서 Elementary have put together such an impressive program. There are two classes, each with their own teacher, classroom, and there are 10 students in the special needs category.

There's one student in general that captures my attention. I don't know his name. In fact, I don't know many people's names (I have almost 600 students), but I feel sorry that I don't know his name in particular.

He's a very joyful person, while I, in full posession of my body, and with a fully developed brain, am not. Not all of the time. Not even most of the time. I barely fit into the "some of the time" category. He's got a big smile, and he always squinches his face together when he's concentrating on something. They let him come to my 5th grade class. Even if he can't really learn much English, I think no one should be deprived of the opportunity to stare at the weird looking foriegner, especially not one so disadvantaged.

He did learn some English though. He learned how to say "hello," and he usually interrupts my teaching about 3 times a lesson to smile at me, wave and say hello. He is so proud of himself when I wave and say it back. It's as if he has unlocked some magic code that allows him to do something with me that his teachers can barely do...

Communicate.

Today, he was crying at the end of my class. We were learning about the past tense today. Every way we had of saying that something was done was now wrong. He tries so hard. I think that sometimes we don't get that. We see someone like him and we imagine that if we were in his place, we might not want to learn anything, because it would be so much harder. I noticed how wrong that assumption was about him today. Everything is so hard. He tries so hard.

Something struck me about him today. It was a tough day. Everything was wrong again. The magic code was broken. Communication was in jeopardy. When the bell rang, he brushed his eyes, stood up, collected his book like everyone else, and headed out the door. He stopped in front of me as I was waving to the other students exiting the classroom. He shook his hands urgently.

"Teacher! Hello!"

Hello. Goodbye.

"Goodbye."

I think his smile is a reflex. I think that instead of taking it out like fine china, using it only for special occasions, he lives there. That's the plate he eats off of every day. It was back, before it was even long enough to say it was ever gone.

Goodbye.

It's a revolutionary concept. He now speaks English twice as well as he could before. What I wouldn't give for that kind of progress in my own life.

His smile shames me. That I could be up against so much less than that, and yet...

I can't smile like he does.

I call myself a teacher. What do I have to teach but hello and goodbye? I think he can teach me how to smile.

The Birth of Uncool

I just started swimming laps at the local pool. I say local because it's in the city, but it's really really far from where I live. Perhaps it would not be so far if I didn't have to take public transportation, but it takes me about an hour and twenty minutes to get there by way of two busses and the subway. I think it's pretty lame of me that I want to travel that far just to goo swimming.

I have a beautiful body, in a sort of... untrue kind of way. I was never in the best of shapes. I mean, everyone is in some sort of shape, right? Mine is just less of a sculptural ideal and more of a ...muffin.

You know that part of the muffin that hangs over the side of those muffin papers that they put them in? Yeah, like that.

There are some overweight people who are actually pretty good athletes. I am not. I'm actually not even that coordinated. I can't walk in a straight line for very long without concentrating really hard. If I'm in a group talking to someone I kind of tend to pinball around a bit. It's okay, that's just kind of who I am. But I do want to change that. That's why I'm going swimming at the pool.

Words cannot describe how incredibly lame I look in my swimsuit, with my goggles that leave scrape marks on my nose because they are made especially for the shallow Korean bridge, combined with my swimcap (which the lifeguards make me wear, as though that will keep all the hair out of their pool) and my particular swimming style, perfected from years of never trying.

The pool is crowded when I get in. I feel (as I often do) that everyone is staring at me. I felt that way in America, when it wasn't true, but I feel it now all the more. I realized later it was because I was swimming in the wrong lane (apparently there are specific lanes for people wearing fins). I have to share this lane with 5 other people. I can feel their hands scraping my feet while they pass me. Everyone passes me. I really feel like this is not a place I should be. It has been a long time. Middle aged women are passing me, but I don't stop swimming until I have swum the amount I came for. Someday they won't pass me.

On the way back home, I pull out my flash cards on the bus. My flash cards are also extremely uncool. I have become known for my flash cards. I use them at work, on the bus, when I go home, and all throughout the weekends. I use them to learn to speak Korean. It is going very very slow. I have already learned enough Korean to thoroughly impress everyone back home, because I'm white, so I shouldn't know any Korean. I really don't want to impress people anymore.

Well... I wouldn't go that far, actually.

Let's just say that I don't want to want to impress people anymore.

I've noticed an interesting connection between coolness and success. Most successful people don't seem all that cool at first.

I'm not saying that successful people are uncool. In fact it is a very cool thing just to be successful. In fact I think that everyone in the world should always try to be as cool as they possibly can. Wear clean clothes, trim your nails, don't pick your nose, etc. There is nothing wrong with looking good.

Except when that was the entire goal.

Being cool means that you don't go places where you won't fit in. Being cool means that you don't try something when you know you will fail miserably at first. Being cool means always, always, always being in a situation you can handle, so that you always look good.

Again, I'm not saying that successful people are not cool, or even that they don't try to be cool, but when being cool itself is not the goal, a successful person can sacrifice his coolness in order to pursue success. I want to be like that.

So go ahead and pass me, Ajuma swimmers of Korea, I'm going to get faster, and I won't always look like a muffin. And go ahead and laugh at my flash cards, my so-called friends who spend their weekends getting drunk and the majority of their workweek on Facebook. I will speak someday.

I want to sacrifice for something better than cool.