Merry Christmas, all. I figured I'd do a cheap update here in Blogland, by cutting and pasting a recent email that I sent out to friends and family. I just couldn't be bothered to type it all out again, and change some of the wording. Enjoy. Or, if you've already read it in your inbox in its email form, stay tuned for further tales of travel and a God-driven life...
____________________________________________________________
It’s true. Although some (including myself) can’t believe it, a year has already passed since I left Toronto for Korea.
Skipping around Pyongchon, teaching the little kiddies (one of whom has written me since my departure to tell me: “I am sad now that you left my bosom ”), shopping at stores that specialize in petite sizes, traveling the country on weekends, and hanging out with some of the best people in the world is how I spent most of 2005. Korea was good to me in many ways,
including emotionally and spiritually, and it will be a time in my life that I will look fondly on in years to come.
After my contract was finished, and the good-bye parties had all run out, I boarded a plane from Korea to Tokyo, then had a stop-over in Tokyo for eight hours, was bumped from economy to business class from Tokyo to Honolulu (“Champagne or orange juice, miss?” “Champagne, of course…”), then flew to Maui where I spent six days with friends on the Youth With A Mission (YWAM) base in Paia. The weather was scrumptious and I was able to see a lot of the island, including a day of “surfing” (let’s just say, I’m better apt to wax poetic than wax a surfboard…) at Launiopoko Beach, a drive up Haleakala Mountain, and a motorbike tour of the East Maui Mountains on the way to Lahina. If you haven’t had a chance or excuse to go to Hawaii yet, make one. You won’t be disappointed.
From the 30 degree weather (that’s about 86 Fahrenheit for you others out there) in Hawaii, I flew out of Honolulu to Minneapolis, from Minneapolis to Detroit, and from Detroit to snow-covered Toronto. Once jetlag had subsided and my equilibrium had returned to normal I was able to venture out and meet up with friends that I had not seen in over a year. Much coffee was drunk. Many hours were consumed with chatter. Traipsing around downtown helped me to re-orient myself with the city that I love. Who knew that the Marché
changed its name? Why are there so many new condos along the Lakeshore? Does H&M look out of place on Bloor to anyone else? And where DID all this snow come from?
I was also able to visit the various places of ministry that I had worked with prior to Korea and was interested to see that both the Toronto Airport Christian Fellowship (TACF) and The Meeting House have started locations in the downtown core. Tehillah is still up and running, as is Freedomize and there seems to be a heightened desire to direct attention to the city of
Toronto proper as opposed to the suburbs – where many ministries have benefited from tactical “beachheads”. This latest move towards the inner city has not been overlooked by the fledgling YWAM Toronto base, which is where I have recently begun as a staff member.
The YWAM base director, Anderson, and his wife, Cynthia, came over from Barbados with their two kids and started the base out of a hotel in Port Credit, Mississauga. When I went to meet with them last week they shared with me their vision to have me working downtown; amusingly, I foresee myself drawing on my knowledge and training in event coordinating (from the year spent with the Television Bureau of Canada before I went to Korea) in this new “downtown facilitator” role. Seems as if there has been precise purpose in many of the choices I have made along the road…some of which I have considered to be arbitrary until now. I heard it best said recently: “God is magic.”
Mid-January I will be leaving for Amsterdam with Anderson and someone from The Dam Youth Drop-In in Mississauga, to see how inner city projects are carried out on the YWAM base there. From Amsterdam I plan to travel through the U.K. to meet with various people and ministries – both YWAM affiliated and not – as part of a “self-inflicted internship”. My desire is to pick the brains of people who have been serving in missions for much longer than I have, to learn of the pitfalls, to gain perspective, to glean wisdom, and to humbly ask for prayer and advice. Starting from the south, I hope to hit:
• the Brighton base (where they specialize in 24/7 Prayer, pubs/clubs ministry, and outreaches to the homeless)
• Brighton & Hove, Christian Outreach Center (C.O.C.)
• Holmsted Manor base, Sussex (the YWAM base where I did my Discipleship
Training School in 2000)
• Higher Vibe ministries in London
• King’s Lodge base, Warwickshire
• York base, York
• Seamill base, Ayrshire
• Edinburgh, for a family friend’s 40th birthday (and also a visit to the base in Leith where I did a theater evangelism course in the summer of 2000, after my DTS)
I am expecting to be back in Toronto at the beginning of March and move into the hotel base community in Port Credit. I’ll be serving wherever they need me, gaining clarity about what needs to be done in Toronto, and enjoying some much needed bonding time with the other YWAM Toronto staff members. My memory of sleeping on the couch at the girl staff house in Paia, Maui and hanging out with them is still so fresh and comforting in my mind that I am
looking forward to my time in Port Credit with a particular fervor. If God opens doors that no man can open, I’ll be moving into the city core in the fall of 2006 along with other YWAM staff members who have a particular calling for the downtown area. Ongoing prayer concerning confirmation, revelation, and provision will no doubt occupy my/our time until then.
If you’re still reading, then I commend you for your tenacity. Extra bonus points will be given to anyone who can recite, my memory, the update in its entirety.
• To those who find themselves living in Great Britain: Send me an email and I’ll do my best to pay you a visit while I’m over.
• To those who find themselves (still) in Korea: I ROVE YOU GUYS. I miss you all excruciatingly and can’t wait until we’re in closer proximity to each other.
• To those in Maui: You have no idea how lucky living in paradise really is until you’re suddenly…ankle-deep in snow. I am very fond of your island and miss your relaxed way of life.
• To those in Toronto: Stay tuned for a local email regarding a new *gasp* cell phone number for yours truly. Yes, it must be a mark of the apocalypse. Until then, 416-698-8176 is my parents’ number where I will be until January 12th.
• To those in various other locations around the globe: If you have a few hours to kill (this took about one and a half), send me updates of your own because I’m always curious to hear what you’re up to.
And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because theSpirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.
(Romans 8:27)
Merry Christmas to all and to all a goodnight.
Love,
Sarah
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Hanshi...a good hamster.
Sometime on Saturday afternoon, I came to the realization that I had not heard my two hamsters, Hanshi and Dusi, squabbling for at least a day or so. Concerned, I took their cage down from the top of the fridge where I have been stowing them for over a month so as not to a) tease my cat, Beomgye, with treats he can't eat nor b) give my hamsters heartattacks with being glared at by a cat.
I placed the cage on my kitchen counter and made my "squeaky-hamster-noise". Dusi popped his head out from the woodchips and blinked at me. Hanshi did not. I proceded to tap the sides of the cage. Dusi proceded to drink from the water bottle. Hanshi did not. I opened the top of the cage and prodded around in the woodchips, thought better of it, retrieved a spoon from my cutlery drawer, and fished around for...Hanshi.
Hanshi, curled up in his sleeping position, was found by my spoon, lifted by my spoon, and examined by me without moving. His eyes sockets were oddly...sunken.
"Oh." I said, and looked at Dusi. He didn't seem to care. In fact, he almost looked smug. I looked down at Beomgye who was observing me with a tilted head. "You want this?" I asked him. He meowed. It was an elongated, hungry meow so I glared at him. No respect for the dead, cats.
I spooned Hanshi's little body into a ziplock bag and placed - did not drop - it in the garbage. I remembered buying my hamsters, over ten months ago, with Dan Fietje at Carrefour. Dan had councelled me to buy two, in case one died. I guess it was like a "back up hamster" tactic. Even their names, Hanshi and Dusi, were given to them under the assumption that they wouldn't live past a month. "Hanshi" means "one o'clock" in Korean, and "Dusi", two o'clock. I could then carry on with "three o'clock", "four o'clock", "five o'clock", etc. until I tired of buying hamsters that only lived a month. Hanshi was always the sicklier one of the two: one of his ears was a little torn, one of his eyes was always a little closed, he was scrawny and very jittery. I half expected Dusi to finish him off within a few weeks.
But they had grown to tolerate, even to like each other. They still wrestled and squawked, usually over food or whose turn it was on the excercise wheel, but they always slept together in a combined little ball. And Hanshi had lived his little life like this for ten months.
Cause of death: unknown, although Dusi has been taken in for questioning.
I placed the cage on my kitchen counter and made my "squeaky-hamster-noise". Dusi popped his head out from the woodchips and blinked at me. Hanshi did not. I proceded to tap the sides of the cage. Dusi proceded to drink from the water bottle. Hanshi did not. I opened the top of the cage and prodded around in the woodchips, thought better of it, retrieved a spoon from my cutlery drawer, and fished around for...Hanshi.
Hanshi, curled up in his sleeping position, was found by my spoon, lifted by my spoon, and examined by me without moving. His eyes sockets were oddly...sunken.
"Oh." I said, and looked at Dusi. He didn't seem to care. In fact, he almost looked smug. I looked down at Beomgye who was observing me with a tilted head. "You want this?" I asked him. He meowed. It was an elongated, hungry meow so I glared at him. No respect for the dead, cats.
I spooned Hanshi's little body into a ziplock bag and placed - did not drop - it in the garbage. I remembered buying my hamsters, over ten months ago, with Dan Fietje at Carrefour. Dan had councelled me to buy two, in case one died. I guess it was like a "back up hamster" tactic. Even their names, Hanshi and Dusi, were given to them under the assumption that they wouldn't live past a month. "Hanshi" means "one o'clock" in Korean, and "Dusi", two o'clock. I could then carry on with "three o'clock", "four o'clock", "five o'clock", etc. until I tired of buying hamsters that only lived a month. Hanshi was always the sicklier one of the two: one of his ears was a little torn, one of his eyes was always a little closed, he was scrawny and very jittery. I half expected Dusi to finish him off within a few weeks.
But they had grown to tolerate, even to like each other. They still wrestled and squawked, usually over food or whose turn it was on the excercise wheel, but they always slept together in a combined little ball. And Hanshi had lived his little life like this for ten months.
Cause of death: unknown, although Dusi has been taken in for questioning.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
Shoes, Glorious Shoes!
We all own 'em. Many of us love 'em. So, when asked by Andrew about my favourite shoes, I complied. I figured I'd share it with the world because, well...I've never knew just how attached I was to something that clads my feet until I had to write about it.
________________________________________________________
In chronological order, my top five:
1. I had a very small pair of black patent leather shoes when I was about three years old. I loved them because they were so shiny. In fact, it was when I was about three when I learned the word "patent" from my mother, in regards to these shoes. I wore them to church, mostly. When I went out for Hallowe'en that year (the first, and last year for a long, long time due to the fact that I was scared out of my wits and my parents had to console me for about an hour before I could sleep that night), dressed as Cinderella (complete with a pumpkin - made to look like a coach - which was a perfect size because I was such a tiny kid), my mother covered my black patent leather shoes with aluminium foil. I was astounded. My mother made me glass slippers. Genius.
2. When I was in Buffalo with my family for vacation, we went shopping at a place called G.H. Bass & Co. I think I was about 14 or 15 at the time, and unused to shopping for myself because my mother generally did the honours. But there we were, in G.H. Bass & Co., when I saw a pair of leather sandals. Not just any sandals, really, because they had a special, padded sole and the thick, dark brown straps were topstitched with lighter brown stitching. They were very rugged looking...very Australian Outback. They were expensive, but came with some ridiculously long warrantee so I proposed that I use my own money to purchase them based on logical deduction and customer saavy. My parents were impressed. The shoes proceded to follow me through a few Canadian summers, mostly spent up at camp romping through the forest, and three months in India in 2000, including a trek in the Himalayas. While in Toronto, I had the stitching repaired at a local shoe repair guy but he always did a hack job. In India, I had to get the stitching retouched again, and the darling, ancient Indian man, with hands as leathery as my shoes, repaired them so beautifully I would have prefered his job to the original stitching from Bass. He also refused payment. I almost cried. In fact, I did shed a tear when recently, now in Korea, my shoes have stared to split in the sole. The local Korean shoe repair man can't do anything for them. I thought of throwing them out because, really, do I need to lug home any more luggage than I already have to lug? no. but I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm going to bring them home in hopes that the G.H. Bass & Co. warrantee was, in fact, a lifelong one.
3. I own a pair of parade (army) boots. I bought them at the Old Clothing Show at the Ex one year, from a booth that originated in Kengsington (like Exile, or something). My ubercool mother had already bought a pair, as had my father, so it wasn't like I was rebelling or anything. I loved them right away. I love the weight of them when I wear them...like, "I'm small and blond, but I could kick your ass." When I went to England I wore them so much in the rain outside, I had to polish them every few days or so. To this day, some of my friends from that time remember me sitting, crosslegged, at Holmsted Manor (the YWAM base in Sussex), furiously polishing the heel and toe of a boot. Also, I wore them for a concert called 2000 ACTS (if you've heard of it, I'll have to explain more and, if you haven't, don't worry) with a skirt. That was always my favourite combination: long, flowing, feminine skirt...WITH KICK-YOUR-ASS BOOTS.
4. Before I left for Korea, I spotted a pair of Steve Madden shoes at a store downtown. They were slick - the kind of shoe you wear when you want to be sexy, but also dangerous. They're kitten-heeled (a la Audrey Hepburn), with a gap at the arch of the foot, and a very sharp, witch-like pointed toe. They're black, with hot pink interiors. Problem was, I was just about to leave and was attempting to save money. I lamented to Kate about them (as only girls can do) and described them in detail. About a week before my departure, Kate came to pick me up at work downtown in her car. Before I got in, she ordered for me to close my eyes and hold out my hands. In them, she placed...the Maddens. I could tell what they were by the feel of the shape of them. Shrieks, hugs, more shrieks, etc. And this proves that a) I have the best friend in the world, and b) these shoes deserve to be on my top five list.
5. The last pair of shoes I bought here in Korea actually makes my top five. First, I think it's the most I've paid on a pair of shoes. I have a million pairs of shoes, but none of them have cost me more than $10, on average...before these ones. I was shopping in a department store with my friend, Matt, when he asked if we could stop while he looked at buying a new watch. I said no problem. WHILE HE WAS LOOKING AT THE WATCHES, I casually turned around, spotted these shoes, asked the price, tried them on, and bought them. When Matt had found a watch worthy of purchasing, about 10 minutes later, I sheepishly showed him my shoebag. They're moss green, with a three inch heel, ankle strap, and fancy detailing around the closed toe. They fit like a dance shoe, which is important in a three inch heel. They were my first pair of "Sex In The City" shoes and I feel exactly like Carrie Bradshaw when I wear them.
________________________________________________________
In chronological order, my top five:
1. I had a very small pair of black patent leather shoes when I was about three years old. I loved them because they were so shiny. In fact, it was when I was about three when I learned the word "patent" from my mother, in regards to these shoes. I wore them to church, mostly. When I went out for Hallowe'en that year (the first, and last year for a long, long time due to the fact that I was scared out of my wits and my parents had to console me for about an hour before I could sleep that night), dressed as Cinderella (complete with a pumpkin - made to look like a coach - which was a perfect size because I was such a tiny kid), my mother covered my black patent leather shoes with aluminium foil. I was astounded. My mother made me glass slippers. Genius.
2. When I was in Buffalo with my family for vacation, we went shopping at a place called G.H. Bass & Co. I think I was about 14 or 15 at the time, and unused to shopping for myself because my mother generally did the honours. But there we were, in G.H. Bass & Co., when I saw a pair of leather sandals. Not just any sandals, really, because they had a special, padded sole and the thick, dark brown straps were topstitched with lighter brown stitching. They were very rugged looking...very Australian Outback. They were expensive, but came with some ridiculously long warrantee so I proposed that I use my own money to purchase them based on logical deduction and customer saavy. My parents were impressed. The shoes proceded to follow me through a few Canadian summers, mostly spent up at camp romping through the forest, and three months in India in 2000, including a trek in the Himalayas. While in Toronto, I had the stitching repaired at a local shoe repair guy but he always did a hack job. In India, I had to get the stitching retouched again, and the darling, ancient Indian man, with hands as leathery as my shoes, repaired them so beautifully I would have prefered his job to the original stitching from Bass. He also refused payment. I almost cried. In fact, I did shed a tear when recently, now in Korea, my shoes have stared to split in the sole. The local Korean shoe repair man can't do anything for them. I thought of throwing them out because, really, do I need to lug home any more luggage than I already have to lug? no. but I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm going to bring them home in hopes that the G.H. Bass & Co. warrantee was, in fact, a lifelong one.
3. I own a pair of parade (army) boots. I bought them at the Old Clothing Show at the Ex one year, from a booth that originated in Kengsington (like Exile, or something). My ubercool mother had already bought a pair, as had my father, so it wasn't like I was rebelling or anything. I loved them right away. I love the weight of them when I wear them...like, "I'm small and blond, but I could kick your ass." When I went to England I wore them so much in the rain outside, I had to polish them every few days or so. To this day, some of my friends from that time remember me sitting, crosslegged, at Holmsted Manor (the YWAM base in Sussex), furiously polishing the heel and toe of a boot. Also, I wore them for a concert called 2000 ACTS (if you've heard of it, I'll have to explain more and, if you haven't, don't worry) with a skirt. That was always my favourite combination: long, flowing, feminine skirt...WITH KICK-YOUR-ASS BOOTS.
4. Before I left for Korea, I spotted a pair of Steve Madden shoes at a store downtown. They were slick - the kind of shoe you wear when you want to be sexy, but also dangerous. They're kitten-heeled (a la Audrey Hepburn), with a gap at the arch of the foot, and a very sharp, witch-like pointed toe. They're black, with hot pink interiors. Problem was, I was just about to leave and was attempting to save money. I lamented to Kate about them (as only girls can do) and described them in detail. About a week before my departure, Kate came to pick me up at work downtown in her car. Before I got in, she ordered for me to close my eyes and hold out my hands. In them, she placed...the Maddens. I could tell what they were by the feel of the shape of them. Shrieks, hugs, more shrieks, etc. And this proves that a) I have the best friend in the world, and b) these shoes deserve to be on my top five list.
5. The last pair of shoes I bought here in Korea actually makes my top five. First, I think it's the most I've paid on a pair of shoes. I have a million pairs of shoes, but none of them have cost me more than $10, on average...before these ones. I was shopping in a department store with my friend, Matt, when he asked if we could stop while he looked at buying a new watch. I said no problem. WHILE HE WAS LOOKING AT THE WATCHES, I casually turned around, spotted these shoes, asked the price, tried them on, and bought them. When Matt had found a watch worthy of purchasing, about 10 minutes later, I sheepishly showed him my shoebag. They're moss green, with a three inch heel, ankle strap, and fancy detailing around the closed toe. They fit like a dance shoe, which is important in a three inch heel. They were my first pair of "Sex In The City" shoes and I feel exactly like Carrie Bradshaw when I wear them.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
I'll Fly Away...Oh Glory!
I was handed an airplane ticket this afternoon. I shrieked. Then I sat down. Then I held it really, really tight between both index fingers and thumbs and just...stared at it. Then, for a brief moment, I felt sad. Then I shrieked again.
The moment has come. I've been looking forward to it and dreading it, in equal parts, since this time last year. I dread it because the moment I'm on that plane, departing Incheon Internation Airport, this life - my apartment, my classroom, my school, the streets of my neighbourhood, my group of friends, my memories, this age, these memories - will no longer exist. One of my least favourite memories was going "under" whilst having my wisdom teeth extracted. I hated waking up, with cotton swabs in my mouth, and not being able to account for the past hour of my life. I love revisiting old places, old sites, old smells, old feelings, to remind myself that they existed. That I, at that time, existed. Korea is a year of life that will go unrevisited. And that's a bitter pill to swallow.
It's been an easier pill to swallow now that I have things to look forward to upon my return. I have officially been accepted by YWAM Toronto as a (yet untitled) staff member. I will soon see Kate, Nik, my amazing family - complete with two hilarious brothers who I have missed so much while I've been away - my beloved Toronto, my house on Malvern, Lake Ontario, etc...
And yet...
"One becomes, sometimes, a little incoherant in talking about it;...one loses temper in reasoning about what can only be felt."
- Henry Adams
The moment has come. I've been looking forward to it and dreading it, in equal parts, since this time last year. I dread it because the moment I'm on that plane, departing Incheon Internation Airport, this life - my apartment, my classroom, my school, the streets of my neighbourhood, my group of friends, my memories, this age, these memories - will no longer exist. One of my least favourite memories was going "under" whilst having my wisdom teeth extracted. I hated waking up, with cotton swabs in my mouth, and not being able to account for the past hour of my life. I love revisiting old places, old sites, old smells, old feelings, to remind myself that they existed. That I, at that time, existed. Korea is a year of life that will go unrevisited. And that's a bitter pill to swallow.
It's been an easier pill to swallow now that I have things to look forward to upon my return. I have officially been accepted by YWAM Toronto as a (yet untitled) staff member. I will soon see Kate, Nik, my amazing family - complete with two hilarious brothers who I have missed so much while I've been away - my beloved Toronto, my house on Malvern, Lake Ontario, etc...
And yet...
"One becomes, sometimes, a little incoherant in talking about it;...one loses temper in reasoning about what can only be felt."
- Henry Adams
Sunday, October 16, 2005
"X-Rated" (yoinked from Jenn's blog)
The following is a post that my friend, Jenn, wrote for her blog (www.jenndu.blogspot.com) but, because it is brilliantly portrayed and I am feeling quite lazy, I have copied and pasted for my own blog. All facts are true.
* * * * * * * *
The Korean Sauna is an interesting thing. Today, Sarah and I decided to treat ourselves by visiting one. First of all, the jinjo bongs (spelled very incorrectly) or saunas, are everywhere. This is mainly because everyone in Korea frequents them on a regular basis. However, don't get ahead of yourselves by thinking that this is some sort of snooty elitist society (which it is, but not because of thier habiutal visits to saunas). Because although the saunas are somewhat of a luxury item, a lot of korean men, women, and families will visit one just to take a regular shower. Odd, i know.
So, the jinjo bongs are made up of several diffent features. First there are the baths. Not just hot tubs, but baths filled with scented water, salt water, tea (including a giant tea bag in the bath), baths with massaging jets, out door baths, cold water baths... you name it. Then there are the actual sauna rooms; stand up showers; sit down shower stations; and a place to have treatments done. So basically, these sauna's are great. The only thing is that in the sauna's you must be completely naked. No bathing suits, no towels... just what your mamma gave you.
Basically it's a cess pool of naked korean women.
Because Sarah and I were on a mission to treat ourselves right today, we decided to have body exfoliating treatments done. * Just so you can have a clear idea of what we were getting ourselves into, the women that preform these treatments are agima's (old women) who are stripped down to only their underware, bra not included. First we lay down on plastic beds while the agima's dumped buckets of warm water on us. Then, they put on what were basically brillo pad mittens and proceeded to scrub us raw. I literally watched several layers of my own body come off. After about half an hour of this we were pretty much basted, like christmas turkeys, with eucalypts oil and sent on our way. So, in a nutshell, we paid to have old topless women score our entire bodies (literally from our toes to the tips of our fingers) with steel wool. Bizarre, I know. But, the thing that is even more bizarre, is that this was not at all a traumatizing experience. Actually, it was totally amazing... so amazing that we've decided to continue to pay the topless agima's to do this to us on a bi weekly basis!
Yes, there was the looming anxiety of an agima nipple possibly grazing my back (which it didn't... praise the Lord), but in the end it was completely relaxing, and we left with skin soft as a baby's bottom. Not bad for $13.
* * * * * * * *
The Korean Sauna is an interesting thing. Today, Sarah and I decided to treat ourselves by visiting one. First of all, the jinjo bongs (spelled very incorrectly) or saunas, are everywhere. This is mainly because everyone in Korea frequents them on a regular basis. However, don't get ahead of yourselves by thinking that this is some sort of snooty elitist society (which it is, but not because of thier habiutal visits to saunas). Because although the saunas are somewhat of a luxury item, a lot of korean men, women, and families will visit one just to take a regular shower. Odd, i know.
So, the jinjo bongs are made up of several diffent features. First there are the baths. Not just hot tubs, but baths filled with scented water, salt water, tea (including a giant tea bag in the bath), baths with massaging jets, out door baths, cold water baths... you name it. Then there are the actual sauna rooms; stand up showers; sit down shower stations; and a place to have treatments done. So basically, these sauna's are great. The only thing is that in the sauna's you must be completely naked. No bathing suits, no towels... just what your mamma gave you.
Basically it's a cess pool of naked korean women.
Because Sarah and I were on a mission to treat ourselves right today, we decided to have body exfoliating treatments done. * Just so you can have a clear idea of what we were getting ourselves into, the women that preform these treatments are agima's (old women) who are stripped down to only their underware, bra not included. First we lay down on plastic beds while the agima's dumped buckets of warm water on us. Then, they put on what were basically brillo pad mittens and proceeded to scrub us raw. I literally watched several layers of my own body come off. After about half an hour of this we were pretty much basted, like christmas turkeys, with eucalypts oil and sent on our way. So, in a nutshell, we paid to have old topless women score our entire bodies (literally from our toes to the tips of our fingers) with steel wool. Bizarre, I know. But, the thing that is even more bizarre, is that this was not at all a traumatizing experience. Actually, it was totally amazing... so amazing that we've decided to continue to pay the topless agima's to do this to us on a bi weekly basis!
Yes, there was the looming anxiety of an agima nipple possibly grazing my back (which it didn't... praise the Lord), but in the end it was completely relaxing, and we left with skin soft as a baby's bottom. Not bad for $13.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Thoughts On a Thursday Evening
- What is it about a freshly-cleaned apartment that makes one feel as if all is right with the world? Two hours spent washing dishes, folding clothes, vacuuming, doing laundry, and sorting...and I feel as if I can take on anything. Is this what they refer to as the "nesting instinct", or is that only for pregnant women? In any case, it's delightful.
- Why is it that once something becomes available, the desire to have it all but disappears? This came up in conversation with some of my friends today - electronics, fashion, relationships, jobs: the urge to possess them is overwhelming right up until the moment that they present themselves to us on a silver platter. Then...forget it. We want something else. Something unattainable. Marriage must be difficult.
- While lamenting to a friend that I wished I had several parallel lives to live (in one I could be a full-time artist with a gallery, in another I could travel the world and never settle, in one I could be a stay-at-home mom with several bubbies, in another I could make a living as a writer...), she answered, "Why can't you?" Which made me think that it's actually possible. If you're capable of letting one go as you reach for the next. In summary, if you're capable of knowing your identity lies outside of what you DO.
- If cats experience vast ups and downs in their energy level (11:00 a.m. - if I were to pick him up and toss him across the room, he would remain in a comatose-like state; 11:00 p.m. - he's throwing himself across the room in a frenetic fashion), shouldn't we also expect to experience the same? Cats don't even drink coffee. Does this mean that there is a natural "high" point of the day for each of us? I'm going to discover mine and make the best of it.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Beomgye & Me
Enjoying a comfortable Tuesday evening in with m'kattin. He's helping me as I type this.
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Kitten
I'll be the first to admit that this wasn't the best decision. It was base entirely on a desire: I want a cat. I have wanted a cat since I arrived in Korea, I miss the cat I left in Toronto, I thought I was in need of fur therapy. Granted, it is delightful to be woken up with soft mewing and purring, paws in my face and nose in my hair, but I have also been rudely reminded of the fact that I am more than slightly allergic to felines and perhaps more so now that I haven't been around them for over 10 months. I am also leaving the country in less than two months. I already have a large sized box in the middle of my already-cramped studio apartment to fill with things to send home in the post. So the box, plus the assorted piles of things to be packed, plus the paths that I require to actually do anything in my place (for example, reach the fridge, bathroom, or front door), plus a small ball of fur jumping madly around my ankles...well, it makes for a frustrating existence.
But it is delightful to be woken up with soft mewing and purring, paws in my face and nose in my hair.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Do You Like Scary Movies?
We are victims of our own paranoias. Think about it. The thing that makes your skin crawl, the thing that makes your heart palpitate, the thing that keeps you up at night, or, conversely, wakes you up from a dream so real that you are bathing in a slick of your own sweat...who created these fears? Not I, said the victim. And it can't be God, because no fault can be found in him. So it must be our enemy, the thief of our peace, the anti-comforter: that Devil.
A friend of mine has recently joined me in Korea and, as an only child, fears the prospect of life in a single apartment by herself. Outrageous! said the oldest of two younger brothers. A life spent in an apartment, without friend or sibling or friend in the world, is heaven. A pure and blessed respite from a life spent in constant communication and interaction with other human beings, whether voluntary or otherwise. But my friend's fears should not be minimilized. For her, the fear of an empty apartment, without roommate, is real. The fear is internal, is believed, is BREATHED in, and is invicible to logic. I can attempt to calm her with promises of copious visits, wall hangings, and my own abode as refuge, but the fear remains: I am alone.
" There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear..." (1 John 4:18, NIV), or, my personal favourite, "There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling..." (the Message translation). There is no ROOM in love for fear? That means that it is full to capacity. The type of love that Psalm 23:5 talks about, "...my cup runs over..." Superfluous love. Love that is almost unnecessary in its excess. But absolutely necessary in the fact that we, as humans, are riddled with our petty fears.
I have a fear of bats. Why? Because I spent one night, just one night, in a room alone in Panama when I was twelve with a bat who spent the hours between midnight and daybreak making numerous swoops at my face. It was most likely curious. I have a fear of underwater. Why? Because I flipped through a National Geographic magazine when I was young and saw images of glow-in-the-dark sea creatures with underbites that terrified me. Now, I can appreciate that these creatures were created by God, beautiful in their own way, and they glow in the dark, for crying out loud...that's beautiful. I still have a difficult time with the thought of skuba diving. And my friend, my dear friend from Toronto, who can't stand the thought of coming home to a delectable two-room apartment (while the rest of us make do with studios) fears every moment she spends there because she grew up devoid of siblings. She believes in the thought that she is alone. I belive in the thought that bats will swarm me in a darkened cave.
God's love casts out fear and yet, as Christians, "filled" with God's love, hold on to their fears as familiar territory. Even as I write this I realize that I am, once again, stating, in print, that I "have" a fear of bats and a fear of deep sea creatures when really I am only chosing to accept that fear into my life. The fears seem real because we have adopted them. They have been a part of our reality since twelve years of age or since childbirth. God's love should be enough, IS enough, but perhaps we don't access this love.
The Love that speaks simple truths, such as, "You are not alone." and "Bats will not swarm you." is absolutely pivotal to our spiritual walk. To say the words, "I was petrified of _______, but now, because of God's all-consuming love of me, I have been freed of that fear. I live my life devoid of unfounded fears because I feel that God understands my littleness and comforts me enough that I can face life uninhibited by them." makes your testimony real. No one can console you in your most fearful hour, just as no one can argue the fact that you live a live outside of fearful hours entirely.
" You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." (Psalm 23:5)
A friend of mine has recently joined me in Korea and, as an only child, fears the prospect of life in a single apartment by herself. Outrageous! said the oldest of two younger brothers. A life spent in an apartment, without friend or sibling or friend in the world, is heaven. A pure and blessed respite from a life spent in constant communication and interaction with other human beings, whether voluntary or otherwise. But my friend's fears should not be minimilized. For her, the fear of an empty apartment, without roommate, is real. The fear is internal, is believed, is BREATHED in, and is invicible to logic. I can attempt to calm her with promises of copious visits, wall hangings, and my own abode as refuge, but the fear remains: I am alone.
" There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear..." (1 John 4:18, NIV), or, my personal favourite, "There is no room in love for fear. Well-formed love banishes fear. Since fear is crippling..." (the Message translation). There is no ROOM in love for fear? That means that it is full to capacity. The type of love that Psalm 23:5 talks about, "...my cup runs over..." Superfluous love. Love that is almost unnecessary in its excess. But absolutely necessary in the fact that we, as humans, are riddled with our petty fears.
I have a fear of bats. Why? Because I spent one night, just one night, in a room alone in Panama when I was twelve with a bat who spent the hours between midnight and daybreak making numerous swoops at my face. It was most likely curious. I have a fear of underwater. Why? Because I flipped through a National Geographic magazine when I was young and saw images of glow-in-the-dark sea creatures with underbites that terrified me. Now, I can appreciate that these creatures were created by God, beautiful in their own way, and they glow in the dark, for crying out loud...that's beautiful. I still have a difficult time with the thought of skuba diving. And my friend, my dear friend from Toronto, who can't stand the thought of coming home to a delectable two-room apartment (while the rest of us make do with studios) fears every moment she spends there because she grew up devoid of siblings. She believes in the thought that she is alone. I belive in the thought that bats will swarm me in a darkened cave.
God's love casts out fear and yet, as Christians, "filled" with God's love, hold on to their fears as familiar territory. Even as I write this I realize that I am, once again, stating, in print, that I "have" a fear of bats and a fear of deep sea creatures when really I am only chosing to accept that fear into my life. The fears seem real because we have adopted them. They have been a part of our reality since twelve years of age or since childbirth. God's love should be enough, IS enough, but perhaps we don't access this love.
The Love that speaks simple truths, such as, "You are not alone." and "Bats will not swarm you." is absolutely pivotal to our spiritual walk. To say the words, "I was petrified of _______, but now, because of God's all-consuming love of me, I have been freed of that fear. I live my life devoid of unfounded fears because I feel that God understands my littleness and comforts me enough that I can face life uninhibited by them." makes your testimony real. No one can console you in your most fearful hour, just as no one can argue the fact that you live a live outside of fearful hours entirely.
" You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." (Psalm 23:5)
Monday, September 19, 2005
A Pale Moon Rises...
Do you ever have a visceral feeling that life is much grander than you can comprehend? It happens to me when I'm listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack, or hiking in the woods (which I like to refer to as "walking" as hiking sounds too premeditated), or reading the Bible. I have to stop, lift my head, and breathe it in: life is huge, God is huge, truth is huge...and I'm very puny.
Recently, my future plans were, *ahem*, altered on my behalf by the Almighty. Being an event coordinator, I had coordinated the events leading up to September of next year (yes, that's 2006...I was really prepared) when, suddenly, unexpectedly, almost rudely, the rug was pulled out from under my event coordinating self. Flailing in the refuse of my dreams, I pulled and clawed at many typical paranoias. "Well, what am I supposed to do NOW, huh? Can you answer me that? I have NO plan now. NONE. I could do this... Or I could do that... But what about finances? What about my desire to travel? And then, on the other hand, what about my calling? Where is this GOING, exactly? Are you going to ANSWER me or something?" There was a tear-soaked pillow at one point, and a heavily scrawled journal entry, and a few conversations with friends.
As I floundered for the week or so that it took me to remember that I know how to swim and, to be honest, I haven't had an orthodox path to tread for a while, I tired and gave up. I flipped my pillow over and went to sleep. There isn't anything I can do about a canceled school, or a shift in the wind, or a sneeze. There is only God. There has only ever been God. There only ever will be God. He is Alpha, He is Omega. He created musical geniuses who write orchestral songs for movies about elves, He created Soori Mountain in Pyongchon, He breathed life into the scriptures. He is love. And if He's writing my story, then whom shall I fear?
It just occurred to me that someone that balks at the idea of participating in a premeditated "hike" should probably learn to chill the heck out about coordinating life's events.
"Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see.
All of your fears will pass away.
Safe in my arms,
you’re only sleeping.
What can you see,
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
a pale moon rises.
The ships have come,
to carry you home."
- Into the West
Recently, my future plans were, *ahem*, altered on my behalf by the Almighty. Being an event coordinator, I had coordinated the events leading up to September of next year (yes, that's 2006...I was really prepared) when, suddenly, unexpectedly, almost rudely, the rug was pulled out from under my event coordinating self. Flailing in the refuse of my dreams, I pulled and clawed at many typical paranoias. "Well, what am I supposed to do NOW, huh? Can you answer me that? I have NO plan now. NONE. I could do this... Or I could do that... But what about finances? What about my desire to travel? And then, on the other hand, what about my calling? Where is this GOING, exactly? Are you going to ANSWER me or something?" There was a tear-soaked pillow at one point, and a heavily scrawled journal entry, and a few conversations with friends.
As I floundered for the week or so that it took me to remember that I know how to swim and, to be honest, I haven't had an orthodox path to tread for a while, I tired and gave up. I flipped my pillow over and went to sleep. There isn't anything I can do about a canceled school, or a shift in the wind, or a sneeze. There is only God. There has only ever been God. There only ever will be God. He is Alpha, He is Omega. He created musical geniuses who write orchestral songs for movies about elves, He created Soori Mountain in Pyongchon, He breathed life into the scriptures. He is love. And if He's writing my story, then whom shall I fear?
It just occurred to me that someone that balks at the idea of participating in a premeditated "hike" should probably learn to chill the heck out about coordinating life's events.
"Why do you weep?
What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see.
All of your fears will pass away.
Safe in my arms,
you’re only sleeping.
What can you see,
on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea,
a pale moon rises.
The ships have come,
to carry you home."
- Into the West
Saturday, August 13, 2005
It lived under the sink...
I have been taking a course called Cleansing Stream with the local church that I attend here in Korea, and one of the books I had to read was entitled "Ridding Your Home of Spiritual Darkness" (Chuck D. Pierce & Rebecca Wagner Sytesma). The book covers a variety of objects including how the spiritual laws work and rule in a home. I was profoundly impacted, again, by how simple the concept of spiritual darkness is: sin = stronghold = years, even generations, of negatively affected people. Applying the Biblical truths to an unwelcome situation at home (confessing, repenting for, and renouncing the sin) is likewise a simple and efficient solution to what sometimes poses as a very complex problem.
A good friend of mine had visited my apartment a day before and mentioned that the place had a "funny smell". I had noticed said "smell" since before my habitation here, when the place was owned by another teacher friend of mine. Unsure of what it was, I lit a few sticks of incense to mask the smell and my friend and I laughed it off.
After finishing "Ridding Your Home...", in a spontaneous fit of housekeeping, I decided to take out my garbage - a habit that has become more and more frequent since the hot, humid, muggy weather of July and August hit Pyongchon. A few of us in who share the same building have had problems with fruitflies but, in my case, not only the adult fruit flies but also their colonies of disgusing, fruit fly larvae crawling all over my garbage bags prior to take out. Although I had increased garbage removal duty to three times a week and had copiously cleaned and disinfected the cupboard area under my sink, the garbage was always well-occupied with maggots.
Nauseated and frustrated, I began yet another cleaning bout and this time made sure that I scrubbed the area where the cupboard meets the floor. During vigorous scrubbing, the false-front of the cupboard came loose and fell down, revealing...goodness knows how many years of THE MOST FOUL KITCHEN DETRITUS I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED. The only explanation for (some of) it was that someone at sometime (circa 1890) dropped a pot of something on the floor. It may, at one time, have been eatable (perhaps circa 1890), but had since turned into a putrid mass of swill. I gasped. I gagged. I actually uttered the words, "I did not want to be exposed to this information."
And then God spoke. I realized that the whole situation - my friend noticing a smell in the apartment (one that I had become used to by climatizing myself), the reoccurring (and very tenatious) fruit flies and their spawn, the never-ending cycle of cleansing and recleansing (to no avail), and the disgusting (but necessary) revelation - was a mirror of what I had just read about the spiritual forces of the enemy. Someone, at sometime, made a mistake. Through years of omission, ignorance, and laziness, nothing had been done to right the wrong. Now the misconduct had bred creatures which, having found a snug home under the counter, were not deterred by my superficial cleaning because they could so easily regroup and repopulate. The root of the problem was not the smell, nor the maggots, nor the garbage, but the spilled "something" UNDER the counter which was the source of all these manifestations. A spill that I was not at fault for, yet I had the responsibility and authority to take care of.
I snapped on a pair of gloves, sprayed half a bottle of bleach-based kitchen cleaner into the crevice, waited a few minutes, and wiped the past away. I am happy to report that my apartment now smells quite delightful.
A good friend of mine had visited my apartment a day before and mentioned that the place had a "funny smell". I had noticed said "smell" since before my habitation here, when the place was owned by another teacher friend of mine. Unsure of what it was, I lit a few sticks of incense to mask the smell and my friend and I laughed it off.
After finishing "Ridding Your Home...", in a spontaneous fit of housekeeping, I decided to take out my garbage - a habit that has become more and more frequent since the hot, humid, muggy weather of July and August hit Pyongchon. A few of us in who share the same building have had problems with fruitflies but, in my case, not only the adult fruit flies but also their colonies of disgusing, fruit fly larvae crawling all over my garbage bags prior to take out. Although I had increased garbage removal duty to three times a week and had copiously cleaned and disinfected the cupboard area under my sink, the garbage was always well-occupied with maggots.
Nauseated and frustrated, I began yet another cleaning bout and this time made sure that I scrubbed the area where the cupboard meets the floor. During vigorous scrubbing, the false-front of the cupboard came loose and fell down, revealing...goodness knows how many years of THE MOST FOUL KITCHEN DETRITUS I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED. The only explanation for (some of) it was that someone at sometime (circa 1890) dropped a pot of something on the floor. It may, at one time, have been eatable (perhaps circa 1890), but had since turned into a putrid mass of swill. I gasped. I gagged. I actually uttered the words, "I did not want to be exposed to this information."
And then God spoke. I realized that the whole situation - my friend noticing a smell in the apartment (one that I had become used to by climatizing myself), the reoccurring (and very tenatious) fruit flies and their spawn, the never-ending cycle of cleansing and recleansing (to no avail), and the disgusting (but necessary) revelation - was a mirror of what I had just read about the spiritual forces of the enemy. Someone, at sometime, made a mistake. Through years of omission, ignorance, and laziness, nothing had been done to right the wrong. Now the misconduct had bred creatures which, having found a snug home under the counter, were not deterred by my superficial cleaning because they could so easily regroup and repopulate. The root of the problem was not the smell, nor the maggots, nor the garbage, but the spilled "something" UNDER the counter which was the source of all these manifestations. A spill that I was not at fault for, yet I had the responsibility and authority to take care of.
I snapped on a pair of gloves, sprayed half a bottle of bleach-based kitchen cleaner into the crevice, waited a few minutes, and wiped the past away. I am happy to report that my apartment now smells quite delightful.
Friday, August 05, 2005
That's the sound of the men working on the chain gang...
What are your thoughts on participation in and commitment to church ministry?
I have recently found myself involved in several areas of Christian training/missions and suddenly am neck-deep in fundraisers, team get-to-know-yous, preliminary meetings, real meetings, and wrap-up meetings.
After being asked to get on board with (yet another) fundraiser I felt it important to pray about whether I should a) agree or b) decline, and risk offense. God gave me a rather creative method of rejection, one which the team involved was able to understand, and He confirmed the increasing desire to recharge and "come away" with Him.
As a natural-born Yes Person, I'm not sure if I would have been able to set up the necessary boundaries had God not stepped in and taught me about them. Or, I would have performed an evasive maneouver on my own and felt quite guilty about it.
"With the crowd dispersed, he climbed the mountain so he could be by himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night." (Matthew 14:23)
I have recently found myself involved in several areas of Christian training/missions and suddenly am neck-deep in fundraisers, team get-to-know-yous, preliminary meetings, real meetings, and wrap-up meetings.
After being asked to get on board with (yet another) fundraiser I felt it important to pray about whether I should a) agree or b) decline, and risk offense. God gave me a rather creative method of rejection, one which the team involved was able to understand, and He confirmed the increasing desire to recharge and "come away" with Him.
As a natural-born Yes Person, I'm not sure if I would have been able to set up the necessary boundaries had God not stepped in and taught me about them. Or, I would have performed an evasive maneouver on my own and felt quite guilty about it.
"With the crowd dispersed, he climbed the mountain so he could be by himself and pray. He stayed there alone, late into the night." (Matthew 14:23)
Monday, July 18, 2005
The slippery slope into virtual reality...
Does the average human being require an email address, a website, AND a blog? No. I merely figured that I would be more prone to update a blog then type out a forty-paragraph update on my website every three months or so. This seems more reader-friendly.
Stay tuned.
Stay tuned.
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