Some might say . . . ."Well, its about time!!"

Here I am at the beginning of my fifth semester of teaching at Handong.  When I first was thinking about teaching abroad, (more than three years ago) colleagues who had done so strongly urged me to make the most of my experience by learning the language of my host country. 

But, I've never been very good at learning, and even worse at speaking, modern languages.  Give me Koine Greek or Classical Latin -- you know, those dead languages that no one speaks any more!!  "Semper ubi sub ubi!!"  I still remember that maxim from my high school Latin teacher at St. Paul's in Concordia.

So . . . I've resisted the counsel of my colleagues and the advice of my loving spouse, who, by the way, started her language lessons within two weeks of arrival here in the Spring of 2010.  Within one semester, she had already excelled far beyond my "An yong ha se yo" and "Gam sa ham ni da!" -- which have been my main stays for the past two years! 

I've resisted that is, until now.  This evening, I experienced my first lesson in Korean!

And while I've been told that Korean is one of the most difficult languages to learn, and even with my built-in, hard-wired, left brain-right brain-disability with language-learning (primarily, I would contend, because I'm a visual rather than an auditory learner) I found my lesson this evening to be exceptionally fascinating as well as intellectually stimulating. 

Korean is a very "scientific language" -- that is, the formation of both the consonant and vowel sounds follow a very rational, logical progression.  My tutor demonstrated how the vowel sounds progress from those made with the mouth wide open to those made with it increasingly closed.  As I saw the sounds being produced and heard them expressed, they began to make sense even to this lingua-dumbie!  

Now, I must confess that I find other Asian languages, such as Chinese and the Chin language of Myanmar, to be much more melodious.  But, the precision of Korean is beginning to rival what I had previously believed to be only the province of the ancient classical tongues.

There was, however, one very disappointing discovery.  I say disappointing, but it was also a very enlightening insight into how language shapes our view of the world.  I asked my tutor to tell me the Korean word for "dove."  The word is 비둘기 (pronounced "bi dool gi").  It means "pigeon."  

There is no separate word in Korean for "dove."  So if I were to quote the Song of Solomon to my beautiful wife telling her that she had "dove's eyes" (see Song of Songs 1:15), I would say  in Korean, "You have pigeon's eyes."  Not as romantic as Solomon's words to the Shulamite.

So, in this case, it might not work for me to advise my young male Korean students to master the poetry of Solomon as they make their preparations to woo the woman of their dreams.  Well, so much for Korean as a language of love; at least that is, in translation.  

I hear, though, that I still have much to learn both about and from the Korean language, which admonition I readily accept and yield to.  So . . . . off to start my homework! It is indeed about time that I started!

Last Days

I find myself now living in the last days of my sojourn here at Handong.  When you know the date of your departure, the last days seem to lengthen. I finished the reading and marking of my last set of student exam papers and have now submitted my student's grades for the semester.  I'm nearly packed, but I still find myself wondering whether I'll forget something or whether I'm trying to take too much back to the States.

I have distributed out to others nearly two-thirds of the books I had shipped over last August.  I invited my students and colleagues to stop by my office over the past two weeks and select two or three books that they had an interest in reading.  Some students asked me to write a personal inscription in the book they chose.  Others (colleagues on whom I had placed no limit) just took arm-loads. The few that remained were donated to Handong's library.

During these last days, I have also enjoyed the fellowship of both students and colleagues alike who have invited me out to a dinner.  One group of students (several from my Law & Advocacy study group/debate team) treated me to a meal at Hyoam Restaurant last week.  In the course of our dinner conversation, one student asked if he might be permitted to pose a personal question.

Without hesitation, I encouraged him to fire away.  He asked me a question that is often put to students at Handong by their professors.  The answer that is expected, here at Handong, usually involves the description of a long-term plan for addressing some pressing global need that the student believes he has been called to fulfill as his contribution to changing the world.

His question:  What is your vision?  The answer I gave, though, did not fit the expected mold.  I did not have a grand vision of establishing 300 universities around the developing world (this, however, is an example of the scale of vision that students have come to expect from their professors).  Instead, I expressed my desire to be willing to do God's will whatever that might be in the coming days I am given upon this earth.

I admitted that I really did not know, with any degree of confidence, what was lying ahead of me.  I believed that for now, at least, I am to return to my home in the States and continue to fulfill the callings that God has upon my life as a teacher, husband, son, father, grandfather, and student.  I trust that God will lead and provide me with the grace and strength to do what he wills for each day.

I expressed my aspiration in the words that the Apostle Paul used to describe the life of King David.  I said that I will have fulfilled my vision if it can be said by others of me at the end of my life that I "served the purpose of God in my own generation." (Acts 13:36). 

As I now come closer to the last of my days here in Korea (for the time being, at least), I am realizing in a deeper way, I trust, the importance of keeping a willingness to do his will as my singular vision.

Hahoe Village -- The Williamsburg of Korea

One of our last opportunities to experience the wonder and beauty of Korean culture was provided to Sandy and me when my Teaching Assistant, Mr. Mok, and his girl friend Narang, treated us, a few weeks back, to a day of touring in Andong -- one of the most traditional cities in Korea.  The high-light of the trip was the our visit to Hahoe Folk Village.  Hahoe is one of the most well-preserved traditional villages in the entire country. 

The decendants of one family -- the Ryu's -- have lived in this village for over 600 years.  Although they have added some modern updates -- electicity and plumbing, as well as automobiles and tractors -- the homes and other structures within the village are authentic.  As we walked toward the village on a path through the surrounding wooded hills, I realized that we were about to enter the "Colonial Williamsburg" of Korea.

Just inside the primary entrance to the village, we came upon this example of a traditional home.  This is actually just the front gate entrance to the family's compound.  It consists of retored and updated structures owned by the CEO of a large Korean corporation.  Our guide told that the reconstruction costs were in excess of $5 million US.

Here's Sandy and our guide, Young Ju, walking down a typical street in Hahoe.

Each of the established (wealthy) family homes is actually a compound of several buildings enclosed by a stone wall. Within the walls there will be a main dwelling for the women of the family, another dwelling for the men, dwelling for the servants usually built onto the interior side of the surrounding wall.  Most of the family compounds will also have a Guest House like the one pictured above.

Within the walls of the next family compound, this calligrapher had set up a tent and would gladly write a word of phase of your choosing.  I asked him to write the name that my department chair, Profressor Chi, had given me:  高 德

Situated at the very center of Hahoe Village is this 600-year old zelkova tree which the villagers call "Samsindang".  The name means "shrine for three gods."  According to traditional animistic beliefs, the tree is worshipped as a spirit. On the 15th of every January (by the lunar calendar), the villagers perform a ritual at the tree to pray for the peace of the village.

When I was walking back along one of the paths, this little sparrow caught my attention.  It reminded me that no matter where you go in the world, you always find sparrows.  And when I remember what Jesus taught.  Not one sparrow falls to ground without the Father's knowledge. And as God cares for the sparrows, you can be assured He cares for you.  You are worth more than many sparrows. 

Yangjindang, one of the oldest houses in Hahoe Village, belongs to the head of the Ryu clan in the P'ungsan area. It is one of the Korean national treasures. Ryu, Seong-ryong (1542-1607), a famous court minister who helped protect Korea from the Japanese invasion of 1592, lived here.

This is a picture of the interior of the large meeting room within Yangjindang.  I made the grevious mistake, though, of stepping-up on the wooden deck structure that surrounds the outside of the building.  The sign warning against stepping-up was written in Korean only.  I should, however, have asked our guide before stepping-up and taking these pictures.  My offense resulted in one of the other Korean visitors (who had observed my disrespectful conduct) giving me a sound chewing-out as I was later told by our guide.

Just a few kilometers down the Nakdong River is located Dosan Confucian Academy, one of the oldest in Korea.  At the top of these stairs is the entry gate to the shrine within the academy's grounds that was built to house the memorial tablet of Yi Hwang (이황). Yi is one of Korea’s most celebrated philosophers.

At the end of this very full and inspiring day, our guide, Young Ju Choi, asked another visitor to snap this photo.  We thoroughly enjoyed our visit to the "Williamsburg" of Korea.

Two Weddings and a Talent Show

Earlier this month, Sandy and I were invited to attend the weddings of two teachers from the KEBS Sunday School class that we help to teach at The Joyful Church in Pohang.  Pictured above is our friend Samuel and his new bride.  Their parents stand together on each side of them as they are presented to their 500+ guests as husband and wife for the first time.  Korean weddings are very elaborate affairs.  Both of the weddings we attended (one on Saturday and the other on Sunday afternoon) were held in the Grand Ballroom of the Philos Hotel -- the biggest hotel in Pohang.

In between these two formal events, we were invited to serve as judges that Saturday night for the University's International Student Union "Open-Mic" talent show.  Our trainer, Aleksey, was among the many contestants.  As a graduating senior this semester, he sang a parting song that brought tears to many of the young ladies' eyes.  I was happy when the other five judges agreed with me that Aleksey was clearly one of the top performers of the night.  He won second place!  I was called upon to announce the winners and hand-out their prizes.

We enjoyed a full weekend of celebration and quite a bit of fun!  There was a striking similarity, though, between the weddings and the talent show.  All three were very much staged "productions."  At both weddings, special songs were sung by friends of the bride and groom.  The second wedding even featured a singer who is well-known in Korean popular culture.  The weddings themselves were performed in the midst of banquet tables at which many of the guests had already begun to eat and drink even as the ceremony was occurring. 

The weddings were, however, distinctly marked by the honor given to the parents of the bride and groom in Korean culture.  At the point in the wedding ceremony when American bride's and groom's would give roses to their mothers, the newly wed Korean couple is instructed by the presiding minister to turn first to the parents of the groom and bow.  The bride bows from the waist so that her upper body is at nearly a 90 degree angle to her lower body.  The groom, however, goes down on his knees and then bows with his arms extended out in front of him along the floor and with his face all the way down to the ground.

After bowing to the parents of the groom, the couple comes across to the parents of the bride and the same bowing ritual is performed in their honor.  The value and respect such actions showed to the parents of the married couple was definitely the hallmark of the ceremonies and what -- in the midst of a fun and entertaining weekend -- we will remember most from these two weddings and a talent show.

A Red-Letter Day

The 5th of May is a national holiday in Korea. On every Korean calendar the date is highlighted in red. Its Children's Day. Everyone gets the day off from work to spend the entire day with their children.  Here on campus all classes were cancelled, and even the weekly faculty meetings that are ordinarily held every Wednesday were post-poned until next week.  Most of the faculty members plan outings with their families at the local park or hikes into the foothills of the surrounding mountains.

A few of my Law & Advocacy Study Group students had learned that May 5 was also my birthday, so they invited Sandy and me to a brunch at Hyoam Restaurant.  I wasn't exactly sure what would be on the bunch menu, but I was looking forward to an enjoyable, leisurely morning with some of my brightest students.  When we arrived at the Restaurant, though, I was a bit confused to find that none of my students had shown-up. Koreans generally tend to be somewhat late to events, but when students plan a meal for their professor they usually arrive well in advance to make preparations.

The owner of the restaurant must have noticed that I was puzzled, so he suggested that Sandy and I should wait in the special dining room and assured me that my students were "on their way."  About ten minutes later -- as we were considering putting out a call to the study group leader -- the doors on both ends of the dining room opened, and my students processed in singing the traditional Korean birthday song to a guitar accompaniment.  The song was followed by the presentation of a beautifully decorated cake sporting one, tall and thin, lit candle. As I accepted the cake, the whole group together sang "Happy Birthday to You" in English.

At the end of the song, they all encouraged me to blow-out the single candle.  They explained that, while they knew this was not my first birthday (by a long shot, a 50-year long shot), it was the first of my birthday's to be celebrated in Korea.  They wished for me to celebrate many more birthdays here at Handong in the future.  Some already knew of our decision to return to the States this summer, but they were still attempting to use their influence to persuade me to stay longer.

Next, I was presented with a rice paper scroll from Prof. Chi, the chairman of the School of Law, on which he had hand-painted in Chinese calligraphy the characters Ko Deok (shown below) which one student translated for me as "high character" or "practicing the highest good".  It is the name that Prof. Chi has given to me. 

Another of my students then presented me with a gift box (about 8 inches x 8 inches x 5 inches in size) in which I found some 50 small pieces of orange paper all rolled-up in scrolls. I later unrolled each of the orange scrolls to find a special individual birthday wish written by my students.  Some expressed their wishes in their language and provided me with a translation, others even drew pictures. 

The final gift was presented when we all took our seats around the tables.  I had cut the cake for everyone to enjoy, but just before I could take a bite, Ms. Han -- the leader of my student study group -- placed in front of me a bowl of traditional Korean birthday soup that she had prepared herself.  It consists of a broth with a healthy amount of seaweed, an excellent source of nutrients, topped with a small portion of beef.  Along with the soup, a bowl of rice is also served.  The soup is an expression of everyone's wish that the one celebrating his birthday experience a long and healthy life. I ate nearly all of it before moving on to the less-than-health-enhancing (but delicious) cake.

Needless to say, I was quite overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness and kindness of my students and fellow colleagues.  It will be a birthday celebration that I will long remember -- a true red-letter day!

Set Your Seal

There are many things that fascinate me about Asian culture.  I believe my interest in Asia, in general, and in the countries of China and Korea, in particular, dates back to my elementary school days when my father was member of the local Rotary Club in Boonville, Missouri.  One of the regular events that dad's Rotary Club sponsored was a series of films shown at the high school auditorium called the Travelog. 

Each month a different film would be shown about places around the world that folks from Boonville had never heard of and would be even more likely to never be able to visit.  I recall several films over the years that featured China, Korea and other exotic countries of the East.  One film documented life in the small Himalayan country of Hunza.  It is located near Tibet and is one of those countries that many travelers believe may have inspired stories about Shangri La. 

I imagine that those stories and films of Asia were the earliest seeds that grew my increasing interest in this land over the years. In particular, I have always been intrigued by Asian calligraphy. I remember once when I was a teenager purchasing a wall scroll at an Asian imports store in Columbia, Missouri, located next door to the health foods grocery where my parents would frequently shop. I don’t think I realized at the time that the scroll I had purchased was written in Korean Hangul.

The Hangul alphabet, as well as the intricacies of Chinese characters, continues to fascinate me. On our recent trip to Seoul, I discovered several hand-made paper and stamp shops in the Insadon traditional shopping district. One of the customs of Asian writing is to sign one’s name with a special seal that is always inked with a particular hue of red. I asked my faithful teaching assistant, Mr. Mok, to order a signature stamp with my name in Korean Hangul. That’s the stamp in the upper right corner of this post. It reads: 코(Ko)델(Del)슐(Schul)튼(Teun). 

Now, I can “set my seal” in Korean upon any document I write. This is one of the many Korean customs that I will bring back with me to the States. These months that I lived here have definitely had a formative impact upon me, and I trust that the forming that has and is taking place is for the better -- as my thinking is broadened and my experience of life deepened.