Switching over to Wordpress.com

Well, I've moved from xanga to blogspot and now I'm moving again to wordpress.com.There are more options and it's easier to use. Here is my new site: okraboats.wordpress.com

I write because I remember. And I treasure our memories.

Over the Christmas break I saw the movie, The War Horse, with my Grandma and then my Granny went to go see it as well.

Upon returning, my Granny was thrilled and said, "I felt like I was really there. With the surround sound I was ducking every time I heard a gun go off!" Seeing the movie brought about a serge of poems in her mind.

My Granny's brain is like a treasure chest of meandering thoughts, facts, poems, ideas, and stories. Somehow she remembers them all and saves them for just the right time when she might need them.

Watching the movie had triggered her memory of poems. I was sitting at the computer and she started spatting off lines to an old poem she once taught to her English class, "The General came in a new tin hat..."

I started typing it in the google search and found it right away. Before she could finish saying the second line I read it along with her. She was so amazed! She then, as she always does, demanded (but really was just asking) me to read the poem.

I began to read aloud... about half way through the first stanza I remembered that my Granny doesn't just play with poetry, she lives and breathes it. After all, she taught it for many years and she considers herself to be a poet of sorts. I grew up with her teaching me how to read poetry with enthusiasm. I'm not sure that I learned very well. But, it was always fun to have her teach us a thing or two about reciting poetry.

So, I read the poem, forgetting to be enthusiastic. She went along with me by memory... Then I said, "Till the Sergeant whispered, “Third-line trench!”" Not thinking about how to read poetry, I just read it normally. Then I heard my Granny shuffle and get ready for the next line and she whispered, “Third-line trench!”

I laughed out loud realizing that she was making a point-- the line was to be whispered-- to be kept in tact for its original meaning and impact. How disgraceful of me to not whisper! But really~ it is necessary for this poem when being read aloud!

She continued citing the poem from memory, adding emphasis and whispering when called to do so.

I'm not sure I have a point to this story-- except that reciting poetry with my Granny has always been something that is like a precious treasure. You never know when she will open up that treasure chest of hers and pull out some poem she has hidden away~ I'm not sure every grandchild can say that they spent time reciting poetry and catching fish with their Granny. I'm fortunate enough to have a Granny who has taught me so much about life-- the depths of life, the joys, the sorrows, and the humor of life.

If for anything, I write because I remember. And, I treasure our memories.

======

Here's the whole poem for reference (it's actually pretty funny):

Pershing at the Front

by Arthur Guiterman (1871-1943)

The General came in a new tin hat

To the shell-torn front where the war was at;

With a faithful Aide at his good right hand

He made his way toward No Man’s Land,

And a tough Top Sergeant there they found,

And a Captain, too, to show them round.

Threading the ditch, their heads bent low,

Toward the lines of the watchful foe

They came through the murk and the powder stench

Till the Sergeant whispered, “Third-line trench!”

And the Captain whispered, “Third-line trench!”

And the Aide repeated, “Third-line trench!”

And Pershing answered- not in French-

“Yes, I see it. Third-line trench.”

Again they marched with wary tread,

Following on where the Sergeant led

Through the wet and the muck as well,

Till they came to another parallel.

They halted there in the mud and drench,

And the Sergeant whispered, “Second-line trench!”

And the Captain whispered, “Second-line trench!”

And the Aide repeated, “Second-line trench!”

And Pershing nodded: “Second-line trench!”

Yet on they went through mire like pitch

Till they came to a fine and spacious ditch

Well camouflaged from planes and Zeps

Where soldiers stood on firing steps

And a Major sat on a wooden bench;

And the Sergeant whispered, “First-line trench!”

And the Captain whispered, “First-line trench!”

And the Aide repeated, “First-line trench!”

And Pershing whispered, “Yes, I see.

How far off is the enemy?”

And the faithful Aide he asked, asked he,

“How far off is the enemy?”

And the Captain breathed in a softer key,

“How far off is the enemy?”

The silence lay in heaps and piles

And the Sergeant whispered, “Just three miles.”

And the Captain whispered, “Just three miles.”

And the Aide repeated, “Just three miles.”

“Just three miles!” the General swore,

“What in the heck are we whispering for?”

And the faithful Aide the message bore,

“What in the heck are we whispering for?”

And the Captain said in a gentle roar,

“What in the heck are we whispering for?”

“Whispering for?” the echo rolled;

And the Sergeant whispered, “I have a cold.”

i don't understand

I'm not sure I could go through life without laughing. Or even a day.

I LOVE laughing and I espeically love people who make me laugh. Or movies or comics, etc. I'm glad that my roommate makes me laugh.

In Korea there are always things that make me chuckle, mostly because I don't want to be upset, because I don't understand it or it's just so different. Here are a few...

Korea is a night culture. Wake up early in the morning and you will not find any businesses open-- espeically coffee shops! They only open around 10am. Yup. Only after you need the coffee!

During the day, I looked out my window and all was quiet, and all was still here in our little neighborhood. Come the setting sun and suddenly there is bustling in every direction. Lights, sounds, movement. The night culture of Korea.

I call it the city that never sleeps. Because, really, it never does. But, it is most certainly more of a night culture than a morning or even day culture.

The pitter patter of children's feet in the apartment above you at ten to midnight is very telling... or the little children sitting at a restaurant or the GS 25 (a little convenient store with tables outside) at 10pm while their parents drink Soju (the korean alcohol)... or the Adjuma playing tennis with her grandchild in the park at 11pm... or the kids getting off of the bus after 10pm... And we wonder why the kids are falling asleep in class the next day... hmmmm.

I always laugh when we get the apartment announcements-- it's a little scary the first time you hear it. You wonder who is in your house and talking to you, but then you realize that it's over the speaker.

Or how about the fully covered women walking by the river-- not an inch of their skin is showing-- gloves, hat, long sleeves, pants, face mask... and even when you travel you can always spot the Korean with her high heels, umbrella and long sleeves by the beach (at least Semy and I could!^^)

Or the toilet paper freebie attached to a box of cereal. Free with purchase. Hey, it's weird, but I'll take free stuff.

Or how not washing your hands after you use the bathroom and sneezing and coughing without covering your mouth is acceptable but not picking up a piece of paper off the floor or wearing your shoes inside.

Or the pickles that come with the pizza... or the corn that is always mixed in with the sauce and cheese (and salads and sandwiches).

High heels all the time: ice, snow, beach...it doesn't matter.

It's okay to wear short skirts that almost show your butt, though it's not okay to show your shoulders or anything below your neck line.

Or how a simple thing like an oscillating fan can become a death trap. And that they're not even joking. Really, I promise I won't die if I sleep with my fan on.

Or how Kimchi some how prevents all sickness, including H1N1-- but only for Koreans.

Or how rain in the Spring can make your hair fall out.

And the 4th floor means death.

Or how you can NEVER change the menu (like asking for something extra or exchanging something for something else). The menu's perfect; of course we can't change it.

hmm,... the little idiosyncrasies of Korealand.

These are just a few of the things that make me chuckle, and sometimes ask, WHY?

I don't always understand the things that go on here or why they happen the way they do... but it does keep my day interesting at least. There is always something new to learn or witness.

"Smiling's My Favorite!"

I love simple gestures of kindness.

I always get so surprised in Korea when someone is kind to me. You see, I'm used to being stared at, told to "shhhsh", pushed around, nearly spit on, yelled at by Adjashis and Adjumas... It could also be because I'm a Southern Bell who comes from the land of manners and being sweeter than honey. I was never one of those "refined" types necessarily, but definitely more kin to manners than this sort of thing. I feel like a lot of my polished manners have become unpolished since being in Korea. Southern culture clashes with city culture and Korean culture all at once. It's been an interesting mingling of the two.

You see, manners are not viewed the same here. Good manners can be considered smacking when you eat to let people know you're enjoying your meal-- for example.

I guess you adapt over time to certain things. Some things you never grow accustomed to; you just learn how to tolerate it if you know you can't change it.

Well, I am always so happy when someone does something kind to me in this country. A lot of places love to do little things for "service". When I went to the Pharmacy yesterday, the lady handed me a warm bottle of herbal tea. Now, I know that she was giving them to everyone, so you could say that it really wasn't that kind, rather just the way it was done. But, nonetheless, it was nice to receive it.

I love when people offer their seat to me or do their best to speak English (even though I should be trying to speak Korean!). Or when people smile at me from time to time (a rare but precious occasion). One time when I was on the subway with Semy and Melody, coming back from grad school, there was this sweet old man who was just smiling so big at us, as if he was so pleased to see us there. It wasn't that uncomfortable stare or lustful stare that you usually get, it was a genuine, sweet stare and smile. Those are the kinds of gestures that make me smile and make me remember how much I love people.

A smile can go a long way. When I was running by the river a few years ago, this old woman smiled real big at me-- like she was so pleased to see a foreigner out running. It was during a time when I was hating Korea. That was just the smile I needed.

Sometimes I miss home where everyone smiles, even if you're a stranger. It just spreads joy. I wish people smiled more here. The wrinkle cream market in Korea would thank me. ;-)

Next time you're out and about, remember to smile at someone. One smile can go a long way.

As my good buddy , Elf, says, "Smiling's my favorite!"

Korea: not the land of prevention.

The meds I've been taking for the flu are making me higher than a kite. Not really, but it is the weirdest I've felt in a while. I've never done drugs, nor do I plan to. I've been told that I "lived a boring life" because I didn't have a rough past or a past party life. I suppose that's one way to look at it. I disagree strongly, however-- and feel sad for people that would say that or think that. I'm glad I'm walking in my identity and know that I DO NOT have a boring life.

Anyhow-- In Korea there is no concern for prevention on a lot of accounts. Any kind of prevention. Laws and protocols are only made once something bad happens. And even then, nothing might be done. Hence, why I am sick right now. There is no preventative measure for keeping sickness out of the school.

This week I had several students go to the nurse, were told that they have a fever, and then were sent back to class. Seriously? I mean, I know they believe in Kimchi being like a god and keeping you healthy...but come now. This is the 21st Century. Let's be real. If you're really sick, you shouldn't be at school or work. So, by Friday, I got sick. I don't get sick very often, but when your students come to school with a fever, it's hard to avoid-- especially when they are four years old and break all kinds of personal boundaries.

At my last school in Korea, there was one classroom that became infested with lice. Yes, that's right-- the creepy bug that lives in your hair and sucks your blood. Ewww. You could see live bugs crawling in the infected child's hair... yet, the school would not send the child home!! Instead, they came to class and guess what-- the entire class, including the teacher, got lice!(and if you haven't seen my video of a Korean mom picking lice out of her daughter's hair on the subway-- you should track it down-- I'm not kidding! it really happened!)

Also, at my last school-- when there was the H1N1 scare, the school shut down for a week (surprisingly!). The foreign staff was asked to be quarantined and stay at home because they "did not eat Kimchi so they could catch H1N1" (even though I ate/eat plenty of Kimchi) while the Korean staff was allowed to leave their home. Now, I'm no doctor, but that doesn't make any sense! Call me rebellious-- I left my house that week.

Or how about at my current school-- this is the first year we've actually had a real fire alarm-- and you know what-- it's all in Korean, even though we are an English speaking school. The first time it went off I thought that we were being invaded by North Korea. It did NOT sound like your typical fire alarm.Of course I thought we were being invaded on other occasions as well, like the time there were loud fireworks going off down the street from me for no certain reason.

When the country does it's routine drills just in case N. Korea invades, our school NEVER participates.

I'm just sayin'...

So, here I am, at home-- taking medication that honestly I have no idea what it is. Five pills in a little bag. It's amazing how much you trust simply because you don't speak the language. I will say, I LOVE the medical care system...it's easy, fast, and cheap! My visit to the doctor cost me about 4,000krw (or $4) and my medicine cost 2,800krw (roughly $2.80). I didn't have an appointment and I didn't have to wait in a long line! It's fantastic, really!

I'm thankful that it's so cheap and all. But I sure wish that I could enjoy my Lunar New Year without the flu.

O Korea... do your teachers a favor and keep your sick kids at home please!

O Wise, Silver Strand

How is it that different periods in our lives can feel so disjointed, almost as if they were in another life time?

I wonder what it will feel like when I'm old and have grandchildren or great grandchildren... Will I feel as though I have lived many lives or will it all seem as if life had passed me by quickly?

I think about how my grandparents are feeling now, as they are reaching their old age and facing the physical fate of consequence and time , a sad but real and in your face reality that sizes up to life choices-- and aside from choices, age and time are not on our side. Her mind is in tact but her body is slowly decaying.

I suppose that we are all slowly decaying, waiting our eternal fate on the other side of this world. It makes me think of when I am at the beach with my Granny-- she always says,

See the line where the sea touches the sky? That is where we walk over to step into eternity and meet God.

I always liked thinking about this as a child and even as an adult it's a nice image to ponder.

I had my first gray hair this year and it was a mild crisis. Yes, I know beauty if fleeting. But when you're still single and starting to get gray hair it makes you care a little more about just how fleeting that beauty really is! Haha Thankfully I'm one to value inner beauty more. Or so I hope that to be the case.

I was in the bathroom and saw it shimmer-- that silver strand of hard earned wisdom. I held my hair back and ran to my coworkers who were also working late that day. I was a little devastated. I'm not going to lie. I'm only in my twenties. Since when does your body start falling apart in your twenties? Yes, I'm being dramatic... but No one told me I would start getting gray hair and have back problems and struggle to lose weight in my twenties! Ha! I pulled out the gray hair and haven't seen any since (thankfully!).

But, that gray hair really made me begin to think about my life and how I'm living my life, where I'm headed, what I value, what I love, and what I stand for. Why am I in Korea? What am I doing?

You have a few forks in the road in your lifetime and the path you choose makes all the difference, or so one poet once said. And in your twenties, you have a few forks that help choose the path you'll go down in the next couple of decades.

I suppose we can always look back and wonder if we chose the right path. I wonder sometimes how I ended up here in Korea. The token white girl among Asians. In a land where being Asian is preferred. Where Kimchi is like a food god. Where pushing and not holding doors is acceptable. Where tall building overshadow the mountains. Is this what I imagined ten years ago? No way! But, I always look at the fingerprints of God and know that this has been a blessed journey from the Lord, no matter how challenging it has been along the way or may be in the future.

I have dreams. Big dreams. Sometimes I want to turn them in and choose something easier. But really, is there an easier way? Life is just hard sometimes. I guess we all want "easier" sometimes. I mean, it couldn't possibly be that I'm in the thick of grad school while being a working professional in a foreign country. No. That's not stressful at all. Haha

I mean, I wonder if people like MLK or Steve Jobs or Einstein ever considered not pushing forward. I'm not saying that I'll do something as amazing as them. Though, I could, maybe. You never know what lies ahead. God uses the commoner. God chooses the foolish to shame the wise. But, the truth is, we're all human and struggle with the same concerns, feelings, thoughts, and struggles at some point or another. Even Jesus asked his Father if there was any other way, if his cup could be taken from him. When he got the answer, he was faithful to walk out his calling.

Baby steps. I will take baby steps and trust HIM.

I'm not one to give up. In fact, I like the challenge. I like to laugh through the hard times (and cry of course). I know that there is so much to behold. This is not a cry for encouragement or a pity party-- rather a stream of thoughts provoked by one discolored hair. I'm just sayin'-- this one gray strand of hair really made me think. A lot. About life. About my future. About what I value. About my past. About who I'm becoming. About the legacy I'll leave. About the people I love. About my relationships. About the path I'm taking. About the promises I'm holding on to and believing. About the things I'm living for. About my relationship with God.

So the next time you get a gray hair or the first time you get a gray hair, just know that it's one hair closer to the other side of eternity. It's one hair more of wisdom. It's one hair closer to God.

...first world problems

So my roommate has recently been telling me about the latest tag line that is floating around on facebook and we have started to insert it into our own lives. I can't help but laugh and change my perspective on life when these three words are added to almost any complaint that I have.

I don't want to take out the food trash.... first world problems.

My internet is taking forever... first world problems.

I ate so much. I have a food coma. ....first world problems.

Oh I don't want to turn around to look at your picture. I just got comfortable.... first world problems.

The maid can't come today because she's sick. We need to do the dishes. ...first world problems.

There's not enough room for all my shoes in this closet. ...first world problem.

My nose keeps running. I need nose spray. ...first world problem.

The dvd won't play! My computer is the wrong region. ...first world problems.

All my chocolate is at school, not at home! ...first world problems.

Ugh. My iPhone just died. ...first world problems.

I just missed the subway. I have to wait two minutes for the next one and it's cold. ...first world problems.

Ugh. Facebook changed their format again! ...first world problems.

We just ran out of coffee and I could kill for a fresh cup right now. ...first world problems.

The printer just ran out of paper!!! ...first world problems.

The cafeteria has the same food-- and I just can't handle pasta day because the sauce is too sweet. ...first world problems.

I got a window seat and I really need an aisle seat on the plane. ...first world problems.

Suddenly, my life's problems don't seem so bad...

And so, I am thankful... for oh so much!!!!

Closing the Back Door

My dreams,
My passions,
Me.
My hopes,
My fears,
My way out.
OUT.
My freedom,
My rebellion,
My uncertainty.
My loneliness.
My backdoor; my escape,
My escape.
My journey,
My vision,
My way.
My lust.
My self-preservation,
My autonomy,
My future.

A battle rages within me.
Burning inside me, a call so strong.

To commit fully, wholly unto HIM.

A part of me must die. Be buried.
Make room for more of HIM; for HIS ways.

Commitment.

Vulnerability to lay it all down. For HIM.

Hesitation.

Called to be a forerunner.
To be set apart.
To be a part of something bigger than me.

The Call presses in deeper, stronger.

"Do not leave prematurely. Even a butterfly has to work his way out of the chrysalis to strengthen his wings so he can fly one day."

"Do not paddle your way out without the winds to carry you."

"Hold on and flourish."

"You're on the 'Freedom Train'."

"He is your compass; keep looking to HIM."

Laying down. Dying,
Only to be brought to a fuller life.
One of glory,
One of greater victory.
Greater hopes,
Greater dreams.

I closed the back door.

Put a ring on it.

Died to myself.

Laid it all down for YOU.

Commitment brings peace.
Freedom,
Joy,
Opportunity.
Order,
Certainty amidst the unknown.
And, more of HIM.

------------------------------------------

I'm sure there will be A LOT more dying to myself... sloughing off the flesh and growing in Christ my entire life...

-------------------------------------------

What has the Lord been asking you to commit to?
Maybe it's time to close the back door and put a ring on it.

Choose Tenderness

In each season of life we are always learning something. Of all the lessons I can learn in Korea, the one that I am finding I continuously return to is how to choose tenderness.

I was talking with my good friend today (Miss Sarah Brown^^) and, the wise woman that she is, was able to articulate so clearly what I knew I needed to do but could not express in words.

God always puts us in situations that we cannot handle without His grace. I am visiting so many friends with babies and in this season of life, God has given them the grace they need to love and raise their children. I've been living overseas and God has given me the grace and love I need to thrive in a place so different from me.

But in all of it, if we are not careful, we sometimes overlook the grace and put down bitter roots, blaming the Lord for our circumstances. In reality, the Lord loves us too much to let us stay stagnate and stunted. Instead, He allows circumstance to purge, prune, and shape us.

We can either point a finger and grow cold, or we can choose tenderness and draw near. This is not only so with God but also in relationships.(married folk, you know this is true^^)

I was watching the CNN news clips on my iPhone4 today (one of my unashamed addictions) and I came to tears as I watched the legacy of Nick Charles, a legendary sports anchor who recently died from cancer. He left behind his 5 year old daughter and wife as well as a legacy of love and words of wisdom. Days before he passed he was interviewed and said,

"I'm a forward looking person but also a living in the moment kind of person... so I wake up every morning expecting to have a good day.... but life as you get older is about 20% what happens to you and 80% how you react to it."

His words really hit me to the core. I have always thought about these things but the way he worded it made so much sense. He was a man who chose tenderness. He was a man who chose to live life fully each day and to not walk in his circumstances but to walk in joy regardless of what came his way. (Now, I didn't know him personally, but from the interviews with his close friends and family, this is what seems to be true and if he lived by his words, then I can assume this to be true).

I want to be someone who chooses to walk with a heart that is always postured with tenderness. Not weakness (as some might correlate tenderness with). A heart that is strengthened by and filled with the joy and love of the Lord, so that anything that comes my way will not cause roots of bitterness to take root or walls to go up, but rather, my heart would turn toward the Lord (or whoever) with tenderness, ready to forgive, be forgiven-- ready to love and receive love.

So-- in all circumstances-- choose tenderness.

"Put the Bait Bucket Down"

So, I was talking to my Granny, as it goes-- gosh I love talking to her. She is a born story teller with true wit and she just has this capacity to say what is on her mind and step out when no one else will. Maybe some people call her controlling or overbearing at times, but to me, she's just Granny. She's a woman who makes things happen. She has a mind of her own. Creativity is always at her finger tips and a love for life always fills the room when she is there. She's the woman who taught me about being outside and getting dirty. She taught me the important things in life, like peeing in the ocean, how to laugh at myself, how to wash up in the front yard (shampoo and all), to throw back the hermit crabs so they can be free, how to enjoy a sunrise with coffee and good company.

And she taught me how to "put the bait bucket down."

She's a counselor, you know. Naturally, she is good at asking questions, listening. She is a coach, so she always encourages you and challenges you. She is a teacher, so she loves to teach you even if she is "BSing it all." She is my Granny, so I am hers and the ocean is ours.

Today I called her and we chatted about life. As usual. She laughed because we were in the same time zone which meant one of us was not waking up to talk. She told me that I could borrow her car for a bit, "but don't be surprised if it drives you to the Coast because that's the only place it knows to go. It's not quite Ol' Blue (the tackle box on wheels), but she'll do." Smiling through her teeth she told me I could even make a sand castle in the front seat because there is so much sand!

This summer I am straddling family and friend time with grad school. I told her that I will be laying aside all obligations and responsibilities to take a week trip to Yellowstone National Park with some friends. Granny agreed, "Oh how wonderful! You're putting the bait bucket down. My ol' philosophy... you've been fishing too long carrying that bait bucket and your fingers are frozen and curled up. It's time to put that bait bucket down for a while. Then you'll fill 'er back up and start fresh, ready to fish again."

I never would have come up with that analogy on my own, but you know, it makes a lot of sense, at least to a fisherman. Being the granddaughter of a fisherwoman, I can say that I understand. And really, she has been teaching me this my whole life. There is a time and place for work and there is a time and place for play. I suppose we can't have one without the other.

So, this summer I'll be carrying that bait bucket, treading through grad work, but you can guarantee that I'll be putting that bucket down every now and then~ and most certainly when I find myself surrounded by the rugged mountains of Yellowstone.

Don't forget to put your bait bucket down, lest your hands cramp and your soul grow weary. Stop and rest a little while, have some fun and play! Or at least, that's what my Granny always says.

Process

Process. I love process. Maybe that’s why I am a preschool teacher.

Goals are wonderful. I'm quite goal oriented myself, but the process-- I've come to realize that if I only care about the goal then I would never understand the hard work put into a painting done by an uncoordinated four year old.

Without recognizing or enjoying the process, I might miss out on the beauty of waiting, trial and error, and having growing pains in life.

In preschool we love to paint. One of my favorite pieces this year is a blue blob with a brown spot.

He started with several brown, squarish blobs on the paper. After mastering his “buildings” he changed paint brushes and started drenching his canvas in blue.

Thick blue paint ran down the page, leaving a mess of streaks. Dark blue swirled around the canvas until his brown buildings were no longer in sight, save one.

I continued to watch as he put his final master touches to the painting. Twenty minutes passed in total.

“I’m done.”

“Oh yah, what is it?”

“Japan had horrible damage.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m glad that our Father sees the whole process. Otherwise, we might all just look like a blue blob of running paint. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I, too, am in process and it's all going to be okay.

Koh Samet

Here is something that I had to write for a faculty meeting (yes, a faculty meeting... we were practicing the writer's workshop from the position of a child)

==================================

The sun rays bounced off the water, creating beautiful ripples of shimmering glitter. Semy and I had come all the way to Thailand to relax over our New year's holiday. The warmth of the day had eased us into a state of relaxation and a mild sleepy coma. We waded in the calm ocean water—so clear I could count my toes.

As we floated in the water we could hear a jet ski off in the distance, skipping the waves at a rapid pace. It created a soothing, rhythmic sound interspersed with the crashing waves. The jet ski was driven by a man with dark, tan skin and with long dark hair. The image has been ingrained in my mind.

We conversed about nothing, completely enamored by the gorgeous landscape around us. We could feel its warmth to our core, as if the beauty itself was seeping into our bones. Our senses were overloaded: the people, the heat of the sun, the smell of sea water, the sand gritted between our toes, the sky so full and blue. My thoughts wandered about, mingled with idle questions like, "What's your favorite holiday?"

"Oh, I don't know. Probably Christmas," Semy mustered up. Our conversations usually remained simple when we were enjoying the waves. We floated in the water for hours, peaceful and content.

In the distance I began to see a jet ski—the same one I had spotted earlier. Only now it was coming toward me and this man was not slowing down. He came ten feet to the left of me so I was not that concerned, just perplexed at why he was entering the swimming area so quickly.

Before I had time to think, the man immediately turned hard in order to stop before making the shoreline. Terribly miscalculated, he turned right into me.

Semy saw me from a distance and winced as she thought I was going to have my head severed.

I did not have time to think—I believe it must have been an angel that pulled me under the water just in time—only to miss the jet ski fly right over me full speed.

I felt the water push down on me and then bubbles seeping up through the water, between my body parts. My heart felt as though it had leapt up into my throat and the pounding began only after I came up and gasped for air.

By the time I came to the surface, the man on the jet ski was gone. I saw his hair waving in the wind. He turned once to look behind him, but never thought twice about coming back to see if I was alive. He kept bouncing dangerously full speed on the waves.

A man in a Speedo who was relaxing on the beach stormed out to the water and shook a fist at the mysterious man. "Are you okay," he asked. I nodded, but remained speechless. A few locals on a boat nearby yelled something in Thai to the man. I imagine it was not a friendly word.

Semy and I were so thankful to both be alive and well. That frightful moment almost cost me my life! Soon, things returned to normal and the splendor of Thailand once again swept us away like the tide going out to sea.

This is from Melody's blog, but it's my story. Why rewrite something well told?

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“ANIYO!!!”

Posted on April 26, 2011 by melody

... But before that happened we had to celebrate Easter at school right? Thursday afternoon rolls around, and after I take my students to a nearby playground to gather cherry blossoms I can see the kindergarten and first graders out in the field finding eggs they decorated for an Easter egg hunt. Little did I know… (the tale as I interpreted it* from Ms. Wheat, friend and k4 teacher at my school):

Ms. N (a kindergarten assistant teacher) rushes up to Ms. Wheat right before they are supposed to head to the field. Ms. Wheat had just finished informing her four-year-olds that while they were in P.E. the Easter Bunny came and took their eggs (“Why would he do that?!” little shouts proclaim) and all he left behind was this giant carrot, which she produced from behind her back, for their class pet Ashes (a guinea pig). She then explained that he left them, “out there!” and dramatically pointed to the field, “So we have to go find them!”

“I don’t know what happened in the ten minutes that we placed all the eggs on the field and then came back inside,” Ms. N begins to explain to Ms. Wheat. “But an old ajhussi started picking up all the eggs, taking the youngest kids eggs out of their plastic bags (they had two eggs they painted in a bag to make it easier for them to find) and smashing them. When I got out there he had about 15 eggs in his arms and he wouldn’t give them back to me! I had to get a translator to come outside and make him give them up. So… some of your kids eggs got smashed…”

A slightly disheartened Ms. Wheat took her students out onto our private soccer field to find the eggs, smashed and unsmashed alike. When they got out there she saw two adjumas come onto our field, look down, and see some of the colorful decorated eggs. They looked delighted and started to PICK THEM UP.

“ANIYO!” Ms. Wheat yells NO in Korean and begins to wave her arms at them. They think she means for them to get off the school’s field so they begin to walk away, eggs still in their hands. Exasperated, Ms. Wheat has her teacher assistant (who thankfully, is Korean) run after them and explain that “No, they cannot take obviously decorated eggs just because they are Korean in Korea and everyone is one big family.” Well… she might not have said those exact words to the two ladies, but she did get the eggs back.

*I made up the dialogue from what I heard from Ms. Wheat

Conversations in K4

Here are some cute comments from my students...I think I'll add to this now and then..

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"Miss Wheat, I don't like Balentine's Day."

Really, why not?

"Because I don't like ballet." [note: one of my students was wearing a pink tutu that day]

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"Miss Wheat I want to marry Mrs. Yu."[he mentioned this several times]

[later that day] You know that Mrs. Yu is married, right? So I'm sad to tell you that you cannot marry her.

[a few hours later] "Miss Wheat, did you know that Mrs. Yu is married?"

Yes...

"Oh. Well, I was going to marry her because I didn't know she was already married." [looking down at the ground with big sad eyes]

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"Miss Wheat, she hit me!"

"I'm not a she! I'm he."

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"Miss Wheat, he won't play with me anymore."

Well, did you hit him?

"Yes."

....well....

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The first time that I set up a handwriting center at center time:

I made sure to state, "No drawing pictures at the handwriting center..."

Minutes later I saw that some kids were drawing on the whiteboards and papers..."I said no drawing at the handwriting center..."

My kids gave me with a puzzled look...

I walked over to the center and they were tracing their hands..."but you said handwriting..."

I didn't realize I had never used that term before~

=)

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not in class-- but one of my students:

retold by melody: One of my co-workers shared a most delightful story. His son had taken his shoes off in the car during a recent trip to the grocery store. “You have to put your shoes back on! You can’t go in the store with bare feet.” His mom told him. “But mom! I have kid-feet!” The boy replied.

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...more to come...

if only I could remember all their funny comments from the whole year...

Wildflower

She held the phone up to my ear and the sound of Texas began to play. No one more country than Dolly. She sang to me as if it were a spring day in the wildflowers of Texas.

Pinky's mom sat there so content, humming to the song. We had not spoken much since we had arrived in Manipur. Her spirit was heavy with grief, but when she sung there was a lightness about her. She coached Erin Unni on the sewing machine while she held the phone to my ear.

Being from Texas, I should have recognized this song, but it was playing in my ears for the first time. Listening to the words, I felt as though the Lord was giving me a glimpse of myself and how He made me. I felt nostalgic for home and yet, I was so happy to be living overseas and traveling in India.

The breeze blew gently and the sun-rays streamed onto the porch. I could not have been happier.

There was something special about that moment-- that moment when I felt this woman's grief and she felt my nostalgia. The Lord comforted us both.

The Lord showed me that day-- while on a porch in Manipur with a woman I hardly knew-- that truly, I am a wildflower.

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"Wildflowers" by: Dolly Parton

The hills were alive with wildflowers

And I was as wild, even wilder than they

For at least I could run, they just died in the sun

And I refused to just wither in place

Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow

So I ran fearing not where I'd go

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow

And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew

Were content to be lost in the crowd

They were common and close, I had no room for growth

I wanted so much to branch out

I uprooted myself from home ground and left

Took my dreams and I took to the road

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow

I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right

In a garden so different from me

I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone

So the garden, one day, set me free

Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend

I just let him decide where we'd go

When a flower grows wild, it can always survive

Wildflowers don't care where they grow

Stand UP

Suddenly a pungent odor entered the subway car, hitting my nose with alarm. No longer engulfed in the book I was reading, but interrupted by this smell of days old fish, I looked up to see the source of this putrid smell.

He walked in, filthy and undignified. He had to be-- it's how he survived. Walking from passenger to passenger, he held out a cup for donations and money, mumbling something in Korean, repeatedly.

They shifted in their seats, turned their gaze away-- as if their shame was better to wear than pity. For a moment I was glad he could not see. Though, the coldness in the air was thick. Some couples began to whisper and chuckle. Others held their noses. I have to admit, I nearly covered my nose.

I saw a lady digging in her purse, pulling out her wallet. She pulled out some money. The man had passed by already, so she tried to reach out to him. She hovered over her seat with her legs still bent, arm exteded. The overly sized purse resting on her lap and a bag between her feet kept her imobile. She thought for a moment to get up and hand the money to him, but perhaps as she looked around the people standing in front of her ready to lunge and take her seat kept her from following through. Instead she lowered her stance and sat fully on the subway seat once again, money in hand. The man passed into the next car.

Conversation started again and their eyes were no longer shifting. The smell slowly faded, though it lingered-- as if to remind us all of an opportunity to help a soul.

As I watched all of this my heart sank for that man. All at the same time I felt judgement rising in my heart. I knew that I had no room to judge, for I had been just as complacent as the others. Perhaps I said some prayers. Perhaps I intended good-- even had compassion. Yet, I too, remained seated.

I realize that it is impossible to give money to everyone. There are times that the Lord prompts us to do something. I cannot put such a burden on myself as to give money to every single person in need that I come across.

Though, I did learn a lesson that day. As I watched the lady who began to give the man some money, I saw her heart. I saw that she did indeed want to extend compassion. She wanted to help. In the end, it proved too inconvenient. She might have lost her subway seat. She couldn't reach. She couldn't even speak up to call his attention. Her bags were too big. Her seat was too comfortable to lose.

Isn't this how it is for so many of us. We want to help. We want to reach out. Our heart is there but then something prevents us. Whether it be our own selfishness, our own needs, time, resources, etc... we find ourselves only standing halfway, more ready to sit back down before fully standing and diving into another's need.

I also thought about what compelled that lady to stand... but didn't compel her enough to go all the way... When we reach out in our own capacity, it doesn't follow-through. We end up landing upon our own needs and wants.

In contrast, Christ's love is enough to compel us to reach out all the way. It's HIS love that is extended when we reach out. We become HIS hands and HIS feet. What causes us to have compassion and lend a hand, some money, a prayer... it must be Christ's love in us. On our own, we will only have enough in us to stand halfway and then sit back down. Christ's love never fails. It endures. It is faithful to the end.

I was very convicted that day as I watched. We need to be a people who are willing to go all the way. If our hearts are there but we only stand halfway, what good have we done? What good did that lady do?

Whatever it is that you have a heart to do-- have the courage, the stamina, the perseverance, the faithfulness, the selflessness-- and above all -- have Christ's love which enables you to stand all the way and complete the call.

Even if you lose your seat, so to speak, stand all the way.

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Hebrews 10:36 You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.

Acts 20:24 However, I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me—the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace.

2 Corinthians 5:14-15 For Christ's love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.

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Take note: The picture above is not the actual lady, but it was a picture I had that closely resembled the scene.