I was adding some links to my blog and suddenly my font size got huge. I have no idea why. I didn't touch the font attributes! hmmmm...annoying. Maybe it will just go away. Do they seem big to you?

It seems like an eternity since I last posted. I'm sitting here in my dimly lit living room while the rain complains outside my window trying to process the fact that the final exodus from Handong Global University has begun. HGU our warm womb, our still pasture, our quiet remote sanctuary. We are being spit back out into the real, wild world. Yes, the time has begun. I'm speaking, of course, of Sandy leaving Handong permanently yesterday. The four Pohang girls are now beginning to officially disband. (Joanne just seemed to be temporarily absent since she visited a couple months after her departure)

I've also just finished grading and feel a little bit misplaced with out a ton of essays stressing me out. It's like I've finished with all the stress (or most of it...I've still got to screen phone calls from grade-obsessed Koreans once they receive their grades) and now I'm looking out at an ocean of uncertainty and ambiguity as far as my next step goes. However, even while I say this I'm excited for what God's going to do because I know that as I follow Him one step at a time He's going to lead me.

There's a lot more I would like to say about all these things but for now I will leave you with my current inspirational thought:
Don't say to God, "Where..., who..., when.., how...?" but "Show me, God, one moment, one day at a time and whatever You say I will do it."

Ok, now I'm finding something. Remember my child prostitution crisis a month ago. (May 3rd if you want to look it up in my archives) Well, now “the answers are coming, Neo.”

Check out these sites about organizations that are doing something about the problem:
Worldvision

Justice for Children International

My Last Class at Handong Global University...
I walked into my slightly muggy office after saying good-bye to all my dear, cute Freshmen, turned on the fluorescent lights and looked out the window at the rainy day that was coming to a close. Then it dawned on me that this was the last time that I was going to go through this routine. I sat down on the dirty little couch in my office and began to read some of the comments the students wrote on a poster they gave me.

"I don't speak English well. But I feel your kindness and faithful."

"Thanks for your passion to us and I hope you achieve your vision. And thanks for your kindness also."

"I miss you. You are my first foreign teacher. I remember your ability and love."

And the sweet messages go on. Reminding me once again what a beautiful, mysterious thing teaching is. Maybe it's kind of like being an older sibling in the sense that you only get glimpses of the impact you have had on your younger bro or sis in special moments. I think it's the same way in teaching. I've been reminded of this as students that I thought were indifferent towards me were on the edge of tears as they said good-bye.

As I gaze at that bright yellow poster covered with imperfect English expressing their love I can't help but think of grace. Despite my selfishness and frailty, I was still actually able to touch another human being's life. Grace. Grace lovingly protected me in Europe. Grace rescued me from myself. Grace brought me to Handong despite my own willfulness and apathy. Grace gave me the job of my dreams. Grace gave me a coveted position for which I was technically unqualified. It was grace that knew what I truly wanted and needed. It was grace that gave me more than I could think to ask for. It was grace that gave me the greatest fellowship of my life. Grace believed in me and made me great despite the truth that both Him and I know. That I'm just a small, weak child in the hands of a powerful Magician. That anything great in me is mostly an illusion and the power really comes from the great gracious Magician that holds me in His arms.

Until my last class I had been in "get the semester over with" mode. But when I walked into that class and realized it was my very last I knew I had to thank God for the love and grace he had shown me through these last two years at Handong. So I prayed the longest prayer I had ever prayed in a class and I thanked God for pouring out His blessings on someone who really hadn't deserved it. I stood in front of that class full of Freshmen and together with them thanked God for His beautiful...

grace to this child.

well, it looks like I've changed my template. It might be a while though before I put links and comments up because i tried but it didn't work. So that means it's going to take some brain power to figure it out and i doubt i'll expend brain power on anything but grading/essay stuff for the next two weeks. But Ro feel free to break in and try to figure it out if you get the inkling.

escape from myself...
i remember looking out my classroom window at what seemed to be a bright picturesque painting. serene, inviting... out that window there seemed to be nothing but rolling green hills, plush pine trees. it seemed to be so close, so all-encompassing. i've been haunted by the same urge that i felt that day when i was looking out that window.

i want to just step into that painting. put my toes on the sunny ledge of that window and just step into that peaceful, green scene. all my self-loathing and self-doubt would evaporate as I was absorbed into that ethereal, pastoral landscape. i long to just disappear into that clear blue sky...

i've been listening to so many lies lately. i'm being beat to the ground by the accuser. who's the accuser? me or satan? probably both. I have no idea.

please help me, God. i want to be free of the walls that close in on me, of the limits that bind me...

I'm high on a yummy overdose of Cinnamon cappuccino, so hyper with ideas it's hard to type and totally wired from an amazing time with my small group. On top of that my emotions have just been extreme lately. I've had the urge to vent anger, frustration in exaggerated, sarcastic ways lately. (mostly in poetry or blogs) Today I was listening to Alanis Morrisette's angry emotional song, "You Oughta Know" and longing for that kind of venue to let out frustration and pure unadulterated emotion. To just be able belt out at the top of your lungs your hurt, your shame, your anger to an awesome beat. Can you feel it? Doesn't it just make you want to go into a forest where no one can hear you and just shout your brains out?

Recent inspiring thought: "I'm most myself when I'm walking in the Spirit because I was made for fellowship with God." a rough quotation of Pastor Young-ho

I've been under such a weight this last week. Mostly feeling pain over how my job has become something to get done instead of a way to love and serve people. I came back from the church B-B-Q and took a nap perhaps trying to avoid facing this load of sadness. But when I got up I knew I finally had to face it...what kept me from really plowing through it earlier this week was the excuse, "It's too much to work through right now. I'll pray about it later." That excuse just causes more problems and it seems to be a frequent excuse of mine. So after my nap I spent a couple hours journaling and praying. I think I worked through it to a pretty satisfactory point. I really wanted to cry though because I know I needed to. But for some reason I wasn't able to hit close enough.

I think I've decided that I hate writing essays for grad-school applications. I suppose it shouldn't be but it's so mind-numbingly boring. Yes, that would be one of the key words I would use to describe my day: tedious, boring and inefficient. I've been sitting here in my living room all day trying to type out my vocational goals in a coherent and professional manner. What's so hard about that!!!! I have no idea. Please give me a call if you know. Because it takes me stinking foreverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! I suppose I have about two paragraphs more to write for it but this is just my rough draft and it needs a lot of work. *very annoyed sigh* The bummer thing about this is that I could have written this essay a long time ago had I realized during my winter vacation that I would be this serious about Biola. It makes me wonder was I just not listening to God? I remember being close to filling out the Biola application but then I thought, "na, I'm not that serious about that program". It also didn't help that at that time I was in work visa HELL trying to work out the very strange, elusive problems with my work visa. Well, whatever the case I have come to feel very sure that SIT is not the right program for me and as far as I can see Biola is ideal.

It seems I always get inspired to write poetry at the most inopportune moments. I often become pensive and over-flowing with emotion when I'm grading or doing office work. Countless times I've scribbled poems all over the back of some student's old homework or an old department notice as I work. Ironic-isn't it? That I get inspired while I'm doing something I despise and that is totally contrary to my nature. I'll be working away and then unexpectedly I start sinking into some emotion that I haven't had a chance to dig into. Then suddenly there's a direct line to my heart and I can try to squeeze the juice out of that feeling while it's in me or I can go back to correcting grammar. So often I end up grabbing a piece of paper and jotting down what comes out. Case in point. Here's today's spillage from grading boring paragraphs...

E G H
I once knew a man
what a conundrum
a stern, illegible face
unflinching stability
the absence of emotion

but in his eyes you could see the secret
eyes that smolder like coals
giving away an intensity well-hidden
under layers of cold, sheer rock

a fountain of surprises
perched in his tower
surrounded by ever expanding green rice fields

can you see the warm light flooding out of his round window?
he's pouring over his books late into the night, no doubt
grasping for his image of stability, of approval, of success
with his unquenchable, quiet passion

can I climb the never-ending spiraling staircase
up and up to where you are?

there you are in your white tower
studying in the golden light of your womb
immersed in the black ink of the sky
in your solitary tower

putting out the fire that burns in your soul
throwing sand on the unpredictability of who you are

you are E G H

oxymoron, contradiction, paradox

the one I always wanted to reach
but still I stand alone
in the echoing darkness of the rice fields below you
always outside your tall tower
gazing up at the warm light of your window

So many things have happened lately that it's like holding back a flood writing here. Where to begin? It looks like I've totally changed directions as far as where I'm going to grad-school. I feel the Lord has led me away from SIT and I'm applying to go to Biola in the fall at this very minute. (That’s actually what I should be doing right now.) Another big change is that I've decided to change from a MA in TESL to a MA in Intercultural Studies with an emphasis on TESL. The last week and a half has been a whirlwind of anxiety, prayer and relief. Many times this week I've been suspended in uncertainty looking down upon my once stable, certain career plan. But you know, I'm growing to welcome that. May all my dreams come to ashes, that His dreams may be birthed and bloom from that death! The most recent phrase on my lips has been, "Whatever you want, Lord, I'll do it! Just show me!" By the way, that's a great phrase to constantly repeat and adjust your heart to when you're seeking your next step.

It's also looking like I'm going to be going to Central Asia again on another missions trip. This is totally God's idea. I'm wishy-washy about it but I think it's what He wants. So here I go again on another challenging adventure. The two main thoughts driving this latest mission trip are, "Do you only attempt for God what you can do in your own ability or do you attempt things that only God can do?" and "Dream His dreams, live His love".

more to come...

I'm so excited and enthralled right now I'm actually drooling. (ok, not really but I am really excited right now.)

1. I've been finding a lot of "old school" blogs lately. Blogs of people from my college and/or my past. This is an extremely pleasing discovery for me because for quite a while it felt like all of my friends in the US were completely out of touch with the online movement. (blogger, on-line journal...duh!? What's that?) My on-line community consisted of friends I've met in the last two years (who I adore, of course) and just a couple "old school" friends. (Ro and uhhh...Ro) Which was sad for me because one of the things that caused me to be interested in this form of communication was that I was so often living in different countries, thus always separating from friends. It's also so amazing to hear these voices and places from the past come to life once again through the written word. Before the blogs I usually randomly clicked on(links on other friends' blogs) were results of someone else's past, someone else's friendships. But when I click on multnomah blogs like these (Hutch,Tre), I'm reminded of my own past even though I might not know some of these people. There are people that come from a background similar to mine actually on-line! Wow.

2. Speaking of "old school"!!!! I've found David Johannes' on-line journal! David Johannes, David Johannes... Wow, the memories he brings back. The last time I saw him was during the summer of 1997 at Carrie and Ryan Miller's wedding. We were both in the wedding party. Man, we had a blast goofing around and playing the guitar while Carrie's family was frantically preparing for the wedding around us. I still have a pic of Dave and I jumping in the air while kicking our heels together "Irish jig" style. At that time Dave had a passion for China, if I remember rightly he was taking Chinese classes even at that time. He had brought this Belgian non-Christian guy with him to Carrie's house that he had met in his Chinese class. I remember we had interesting talks with that Belgian guy. I also vaguely remember Dave mentioning a girl that also had a passion for China and now I just found out they're married.

But I can go back even further than that. I remember the first time I talked with Dave. Was I his phone counselor at Teen Mania? I can't remember exactly. But I'm sure that I first met him over the phone. I was a 95-96 intern at Teen Mania and he was going to be a 96-97 intern. He was preparing to start the internship in January, so he was probably calling to ask some questions. All I remember from that conversation was that I was supposed to encourage him but he ended up encouraging me more than I encouraged him. And he wasn't even in the internship yet! Then I remember clearly Dave passionately pacing up and down with the phone glued to his ear as he prayed for teenagers raising money to go on summer missions trips with Teen Mania. Yes, Dave and I worked in the good ole' call center at Teen Mania where our job was to basically function as telemarketers for Teen Mania. A job that many interns easily got discouraged by because of its monotonous non-stop calling pace. But I truly remember looking over at Dave's eager, intense face and being challenged not to give up.

Now I've found this voice from the past once again on-line and once again I am challenged and encouraged by his life. Today he's blazing a trail in China with his wife and I'm so excited to once again be connected to his ministry.

I love on-line journaling...

random question: Why do people tend not to comment on serious entries (myself included) like the entries before this one but people easily comment on light, goofy ones (like the entries I usually write)?

"As unimaginable as it seems, slavery and bondage still persist today. Millions of people around the world still suffer in silence in slave-like situations of commercial sexual exploitation from which they cannot free themselves. Trafficking in persons is one of the greatest human rights challenges of our time. It is, as the International Labour Organization (ILO) points out, the "underside of globalization."'

Why?

"Traffickers exploit the aspirations of those living in poverty and those seeking better lives. They use dramatic improvements in transportation and communications to sell men, women, and children into situations of forced labor and sexual slavery with virtually no risk of prosecution."

A perfect example of this "no risk of prosecution" is Mr. Tom Peters of the documenatry "Easy Prey". He is the British man that I refered to in my May 3rd entry that was doing unspeakable things with young boys in Romania and using them as a sex business for Westerners. But when the documenary came out he wasn't arrested but easily traveled to another country and was just put on a "sex offender" list. Read this very informative report from the U.S. State Department. Don't just turn away but be informed about "the underside" of our riches: one of the greatest human rights challenges of our time.

I had a feeling this was going to happen. This last week I had started to doubt if it was God's will for me to go to SIT this fall. I started to question this because I started to get the feeling that I wasn't going to be accepted. I had interviewed with one of the faculty three and a half weeks ago and had still not heard any response concerning my acceptance. I had been told by the faculty member that I would hear from the school within 2 weeks. So for the last couple days I had been really praying and asking God for his direction. Just a couple days ago I read in the "Experiencing God" workbook, "If you've been praying about something and God answers your prayer in a different way then you expected then follow God in that and adjust your life to God." When I read that I thought, "that's about SIT". So from that point on I started thinking in the back of my mind that I wasn't going to be accepted.

Then last night I was praying and thinking about grad school this fall. I read again in "Experiencing God" this great advice, "If you are in a time of decision pray this prayer as you seek his will 'Lord, whatever your will is I will do it. I make this commitment even before you show me your will.'" Last night I realized that even if I am accepted to SIT that maybe I need to give that up. I realized that I need to step back and ask for God's direction about grad school again. I wish I could just know where I am going and what my next step is. I'm tired of giving people ambiguous replies about my next step. However, I realized last night that this part of faith, trusting God in that time of indecision. So last night I entrusted it to God again and said I was even okay just not knowing. Then this morning I walked in to my office and checked my email. There it was. The acceptance email from SIT. So I've been accepted but now I'm not even sure if I'm going.

Last night I thought this might happen....

It's 1 in the morning and I can't sleep. Sunday night I stayed up until 4 in the morning making two tests for Monday's classes. Before I had started making the tests, I had watched that child sex trade documentary. So as I was making the tests, I was totally preoccupied.

Then when I went sleep at 4 am, right away I started to dream about the documentary. I was still dreaming about it when I was woken up by my alarm clock.

In my dreams I was there somehow with those boys telling them that "he" the trafficker was going to get caught, that there was hope for them and that they should get away from here and on and on.

While making my tests, I decided that I had to do something for them. I had to take action somehow. So I decided that I would fast for them on Monday. I wanted to fast for them as a symbol of my grief and hope for them. A symbol of their plight and a symbol that I'm not looking away from this situation. I also felt that prayer is one of the most powerful weapons at my disposal.

So today I fasted (juice fasted) for them and I was delirious. I was so tired because of both the lack of food and sleep. However, I didn't care I said to myself this is a reminder of what they go through everyday. This reminds me of what it's like to have no safe place to sleep and no food in your belly.

Specifically in the case of the Romanian child sex industry it's the homeless children that often get forced into it because if they cooperate with these Westerners they suddenly have food in their stomachs, money in their pockets and a place to sleep. Even though they don't want to degrade themselves, this can start to look attractive after months of wandering the streets hungry.

I couldn't get these children (actually young teenagers) out of my mind all day. I kept seeing scenes from the documentary and hearing quips from the children.

At one point the director treated a group of these homeless Romanian boys that he had been interviewing to a movie. After the Harry Potter movie, he asked them how they like it. One boy about 13 said he liked it because Harry Potter wasn't afraid. The director asked him if he was afraid. The boy said, "a little" with a sheepish expression.

This particular boy had been forced into a room by a German man and then for some reason the police busted into the apartment so the German man threw the boy out the window. The German man wanted to get rid of the "evidence" that he had been breaking the law.

Another scene from the documentary that haunts me is the footage of one of the Romanian boys sniffing glue, crying and mumbling in his high delirium by the side of the street with the voice of the narrator in the background saying, "this life is destroying him".

Before I broke my fast, I lit a candle for them as a symbol that I remember them and prayed my last prayers of the fast for them. After this I decided to mark May 3rd in my calendar as the day that I remember and pray for all the victims of the booming sex trade industry in the industrializing world.

I'm writing this because I can't sleep. I'm hoping writing this down is going to enable me to go to sleep. Actually, tonight I went to bed at 8 in the evening because I was so exhausted. I later woke up at 10 pm and I haven' t been able to sleep since then which makes me sad because I'm going to be super tired again tomorrow.

good night....

Dear sicko child sex trafficker,
I hope you burn in hell forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever. But before you do I hope some how miraculously you receive a heart of flesh instead of that black, pus-filled heart that you have right now; so that you'll writhe in pain over the precious lives that you used like some sex toy, exploited and then threw away. I hope you suffer as these children did. These children that you stripped of dignity and humanity in the midst of their blossoming, uncertain youth. These children that you found in their poverty and instead of helping them in their weakness; you used them in the most degrading way possible then you made money off them. You're not worthy of hell! I hope there is somewhere special for sickos like you!!

Dear children,
Words can not speak to your pain and to the anger you must feel. But the truth is you may be beyond caring, so hardened and programmed to see it as acceptable that you just numbly live your life. All I can say is, "I am sorry." I'm sorry that so many people turn their head away in apathy. I'm sorry that the Western world turns their head away from the unjust economic systems that they often help create and foster. But I will tell you this I'm not turning my head away. I'm grieving with you today. I'm weeping with you today. I see your pain and I will not forget it. I'm laboring for you in prayer today. I'm fighting for you. I know that there are many others that hear your cry and are fighting for you. Don't give up...

Tonight I watched a special CNN documentary called "Easy Prey: Inside the Child Sex Trade". One particularly troubling part was an undercover filming of discussions with a British man who ran an illegal website with pornographic pictures of young boys in Bucharest, Romania. He actually lived there in Bucharest and slept with all these boys then would advertise on his website for other Westerners to come on "child sex tours" in Bucharest. It was disgusting, especially, because at the time he thought he was speaking to a "customer" which was actually an undercover reporter. To hear him talking about these boys in such an inhumane way, like they were some kind of product. It has literally made me feel like throwing up off and on for the last couple hours.

I've just posted some new poems on my poetry page. Don't get depressed when you read them. :-)

I've been meaning to put this up somewhere. It's not quite a poem so I thought I'd put it here. I just wrote this on a scrap of paper one day when it hit me simultaneously that I had wasted a lot of time but that I was also sure that I never wanted to live like that again. The game was over. No more of that. Just total surrender from this time on.

All the time I wasn't with You
I was just wasting time

I see that now

I wasn't with You so I wandered
I lacked clarity, a steady direction

I see that now

My recent obsessions...
A soft petal of a boy at the orphanage where I volunteer and Rene Magritte's painting Lovers. My students have been working on an essay in which they should react to a photograph or painting of their choice. One of the girls in my class calls me over to ask me about one of the sentences in her essay. Her essay is about blind love among other things then I glance at the painting to better understand what she's trying to explain. I'm suddenly struck by this painting. I feel the meaning of this painting instantly. It transcends words, its feeling is absorbed into my mind. I'm in shock because I've never been impacted by a painting this way. This painting is about the nature of knowing, about intimacy, about being close and yet being so far away. At that moment I started to share with the writer of this essay and her student editor some of my thoughts. They told me, "Oh, we have a proverb about that. It's a Chinese proverb." They went on to quote it in English, "Two people in the same bed. (Still) dream different dreams." I walked around the rest of class in a haze. This painting echoes something in me I can't explain at this moment. Since then I've downloaded the painting onto my computer and have gazed at it daily wanting its meaning to turn into words in my mind.

Then there is my boy at the orphanage. I remember the first time I met him. I was helping a first time university student teach one of the classes at the orphanage. I know this class well. They are a group of wild karate chopping 2nd grade boys. I would often come last semester to help E-han try to control them. They are smart but you have to be extremely entertaining to keep their attention. There they were whirling around, jumping off desks and yelling like crazed indians as usual. But my boy was sitting silently holding his knees as the Korean university student translated for me, "Joyce teacher is going to do a review. You all were here last semester-right?" He yells out, "I wasn't!" in Korean. Later I realize he must be new to the orphanage. It seemed like he was checking out how things work. He hadn't learned yet that when the university students come from Handong you can run around like a maniac. I think when I fell in love with him was at one point in the lesson when we lost control for a spell and all the boys started running around. I looked over and he was laying on the ground with his hands under his head staring at the ceiling with a sad-dreamy look on his face totally unaware of the chaos around him. At that moment I knew he was feeling pain in the way children do. This kind of pain is too deep and profound for their tiny hearts to hold or understand. It's the pain of a loss so basic it can't be comprehended at 7 years old. The loss of simply not being loved by the two people that should have loved you most. I know this because I also was left by my parents. I went over to him and just laid beside him. We later became hug buddies. Later that night before I left the orphange he came over to me and just held onto me for a while. Since then every time I come to the orphanage he walks up to me and gives me a big minute long hug. He has now acclimated to orphanage life. When we come he runs around like a crazy man easily hitting and threatening other children. But when he turns to me he is still the sensitive, kind boy I remember the first day I met him. I'm often praying for him, worrying that all the kindness is going to be crushed out of him in that survival of the fittest atmosphere at the orphanage. I often scheme about how I'm going to adopt him knowing all along it's foolishness....

Yellow dust, oh yellow dust*
why do you coat my desk and my monitor?
go back from whence you came
from the coast of China you flew in a giant yellow cloud
over many black heads, speaking languages unsaid
you flew over dirty streets and over asian style rooftops
through hills and rice fields
but you couldn't resist stopping at a university nestled in the hills by Hung-hey**
you had to spew your fine yellow sand all over a way-guk's*** desk

*yellow dust-some kind of environmental problem that causes yellow dust to be blown over from China to Korea every spring

**Hung-hey-small fishing village near my university

***Way-guk-foreigner in the Korean language

There has been a lot of political buzz on blogs lately. Understandably so. I've been thinking about the war and terrorism a lot lately, too. I'm planning on talking about that later. Hopefully, I'll get around to it. Speaking of political buzz. This a journal of a girl one year younger than me that has been doing humanitarian work in Iraq. Her passion is beautiful. I also recently read on James' blog that he's being sent to Iraq. (You're in my prayers James) The reality of that struggle just came one step closer.

Well, the real intention of this entry is to let you know some of my Uzbek mission trip pics are up, so take a look. :-)