The Care of Strangers

How many people does it take to get Tamara from point A to point B? Sometimes it takes several, usually it takes at least a few. Each day as I travel by subway and bus around South Korea, I am constantly asking for help to make sure I'm getting on the right number train, that it is going the right direction, that it isn't going to skip my stop, etc. This is a multiple step process as I make transfers on the subway. My first week of work, I knew how to get to my university but somehow didn't realize that I should think about how to get back home. On my bus ride back to my apartment, I wasn't sure when to get off the bus (Give me a little grace, I had just moved in less than a week before!). An umma (Korean for mother) noticed I looked lost (perhaps, a common look on my face, which thankfully, often elicits empathy and help!). She asked me something in Korean, and I told her the name of my bus stop which I was relieved I remembered how to say in Korean. She hand gestured to me (pointing to her chest emphatically many times), which I gathered meant she wanted to help me. I thought I heard my bus stop called so I stood up to get off, and she turned around and scolded me, again pointing to herself. I realized, I need to trust this umma. When the bus reached my stop, she signaled for me to follow me and she guided me off the bus and waited until she felt I knew where I was going from there.

Today, I was going to an unfamiliar place and asked the bus driver in my broken Korean if this bus was going to stop where I needed to go. He seemed confused because my pronunciation was off. A man with a suit on the bus asked me in English where I wanted to go. Hearing English is often such a beautiful sound, especially when you're afraid you're lost. He said he was going to the same place, so I didn't need to worry. He walked with me even up the stairs leading to the building and I found out he was a professor at the university nearby.

Tonight, when I entered the subway to ride home from work, I anxiously looked around to see if I might get lucky and get a seat. Getting a seat is like winning the lottery when your trip home is over an hour. Sitting and standing is whole different experience (the latter being very tiring). As I quickly scanned the subway car I had entered, a haraboji (Korean for grandfather) signaled to me to sit next to him, pointing to the open seat beside him. Actually, I shouldn't sit there, as there is a designated seating section in each subway car for the elderly, handicapped, and pregnant women (indicated by a picture of these). I don't fall under any of these categories, so it is not considered good manners to sit in this section, especially in a society which highly reveres the elderly. I shook my head and said, gwanchanayo, meaning, "it's ok."  But he pointed again to the seat next to him even more passionately this time and said in English, "Sit here." It would also be rude to not listen to an elderly person's words, so after refusing again and him insisting, I thanked him and sat down. Mercy for the foreigner. I was very surprised that he spoke English, especially since he appeared to be in his mid-80s. I asked him with a smile, "You speak English?!" He said, "Yes," and "high school teacher." I gathered his high school teacher had taught him some English and he remembered. I read my kindle for a little while and he kept glancing over at it. I saw that he was wearing a Brazilian soccer team jacket and I asked him if he liked "football." He said, "yes," and smiled. I said, "me too." Then he asked me, "Where are you going?" and I told him my subway exit. He nodded confidently and smiled. I sensed this meant, "I know where you're going; don't worry." When it was my exit he tapped me and I thanked him.

Sometimes I feel discouraged and frustrated by how much help I need everyday to get basic things done. However, I also feel so blessed. When you ask a Korean for help and they indicate they will help you, they really mean it. They will not just give you a flippant answer and go on with their way. If they respond to your request for help, then they take the responsibility upon themselves to make sure you reach your destination. I only shared 3 examples here, but I could share countless...During rush hour, when the subway is absolutely nuts, like human bumper boats as people push and shove to squeeze more people into the subway, I've had young teenagers signal to me when to get off. I've had people open their phone aps and search the way for me get to where I want to go. I've had a halmoni (Korean for grandmother) give me a plastic bag from her purse when she saw I was going to put my dirty banana peel directly in my purse.

I've seen true hospitality to the stranger. Korean culture understands this biblical truth. The Bible teaches that we should not oppress the stranger (Exodus 23:9), and many of us would say, "Well, I don't do that!" But it doesn't stop there. God instructs us to not only not hurt or push down the foreigners among us, but also to love them (Deuteronomy 10:19). This is an entirely different story. How many of us love them? And God goes even further than that. He says, "Accept them as your native born" (Leviticus 19:34). Basically, accept them as your family. This is a much deeper command. (and I don't think it's not a suggestion either). Why does God ask this of his people? I believe it is because God wants us to care for those who do not have power. Living in a foreign land naturally strips you of your power. Objectively speaking, I probably have a considerable amount of power in Korea. I am a university professor, which is a revered position in a society notably "obsessed" with education. Also, there are not negative stigmas against me because of my ethnicity here. Nevertheless, when I am off the university campus, I immediately feel like a child. My best friend and her parents sometimes lovingly tease me that I'm the "family baby" or the "grandchild." I need help to do so so many daily tasks that are so difficult for me on my own, yet so easy for me back home. What comes to mind are the words of a Tanzanian pastor I taught back in the U.S. He said, "I left my country as a leader, and now I'm a baby." I'm so thankful for the many strangers who daily care for me, who are patient, try to understand my attempts at speaking Korean, and who genuinely help me. This experience, even after just 7 weeks, has given me even deeper empathy and conviction for caring for foreigners when I go back to teaching in the U.S. In the way I treat them I want to give them a sense of dignity, as it is not easy to live in a foreign land where the language and customs are so different.

In honor of my father

“We can't be afraid of change. You may feel very secure in the pond that you are in, but if you never venture out of it, you will never know that there is such a thing as an ocean, a sea. Holding onto something that is good for you now, may be the very reason why you don't have something better.” ― C. JoyBell 

I've always been afraid of change. I typically associate it with loss. Yet at the same time, I have always had an adventurous spirit. I have always had an unquenchable desire to learn, to grow, to experience the world, the diverse people in it, and their different ways and expressions of life.

2013 was a year heavy with loss and pain. I lost two of the most cherished people in my life, my dear Grandma Elsie, and just a few months later, my precious father. My courageous mom battled breast cancer and beat it. I broke free from personal cages that were binding me and my wings are ready to fly again. It was a year with dark clouds, a stormy season with few days of sunshine. And, yet, out of this dark season new hope has been born.

Today is my father's birthday. March is my father's month. For the last several years, my dad's birthday has always been a challenge...what gift could mean something to him when he was so limited by the afflictions of his disease? What joy could we bring him when so much was robbed from him? Yet we always managed to make the day special, giving him DVDs of his favorite shows, reading heartfelt cards, playing games in which he could answer through simple looks of the eye. 

This week as I am living in South Korea right now my heart has been heavy. How can I celebrate my father's birthday this year? How can I honor his life? Floods of memories, some filled with joy, others with deep pain came over me this week as I sought to connect with my dad somehow. I wanted people in this country who I can hardly communicate with in my basic level Korean to know that today is my father's day; on this day an amazing man was born. I want to tell everyone about him, about his strength, about his love, about his dry humor, about his adventurous spirit, about his faith and his life. I want the world to know that a great man lived and is now gone and my heart aches and I want the world passing by to know. It feels like life is always full of juxtapositions. Christmas lights twinkling as carols were ringing, cars gathered and families huddled together in entertainment as my family and I stood hearts heavy, broken, exhausted as my dad left this world to be with God. 

Today I am at a beautiful beach called Haeundae, in Busan, South Korea. I am thankful to be here and to have the ocean waves soothe my heart and the sunshine beat on my face. I wanted to find solace here, to find peace away from the busy city life of Seoul. My dad loved the beach. I have a lot of memories of my father at the beach. When I was a child we would boogie board together and I loved the safe feeling of his arms around me as we held on together. My dad often chose a rock we hardly could see far out in the ocean that he said he was going to swim to. Then he'd be gone for a few hours and I would watch the small wave of his arm hitting the seas and hope he'd come back soon. He always did and he was happy although he had made us anxious. I remember walking and talking at the beach, playing paddle ball and trying to beat our score, throwing a football, eating sandy food, watching fireworks from my grandparents house in Capistrano, and being proud of my dad body surfing in San Clemente. 

Happy Birthday to my dearest Dad. I miss you and love you so much. This year you celebrate your birthday with your creator...our family king with our heavenly king. I trust you will have an amazing day beyond anything I can imagine. Thank you for everything, Dad--for your fight, for your legacy, and for your love. Love, T

Birthday Roses (I had delivered to my mom's house)

My bedroom (roses in honor of my dad & a pic of us)

Haeundae Beach