It's Battle of Trenton Time Again

So what else do I love better than a spirit rousing, underdog victory to vanquish evil oppression and establish freedom to worship God in peace?  Honestly, not much else!  It's time for the Battle of Trenton Day, the day that makes a whole lot more sense than Christmas, which is definitely NOT the date of Jesus' birth. If you want to learn the details, Michael Medved has a very cool and comprehensive explanation about the whole holiday (for a price) on his website right here.

England during the time that the first American colonists settled in our country, celebrated Christmas as a drinking day, an excuse for excess and immorality. It was something Christians did not do.  So when the first settlers established the American colonies, no one even considered celebrating Christmas.  That was a British thing, not an American one, and especially not a Christian one.  Of course, times have changed...

But one fateful night of December 25th does make me love that date.  It was a major turning point in the Revolutionary War against the British. General Washington and his young, ill-equipped, rag-tag army of farmers and merchants who joined the fight to be free of British rule, were about to die in the freezing winter in Pennsylvania.  Over 90% of the volunteers Washington once had, had deserted after a number of bitter defeats earlier that year.  It looked like all hope was gone that America would ever be an independent nation.

Liberty or Death was a note Washington had scribbled to himself, which was later found by one of his officers after launching, what to all accounts, was a suicide mission.  It was to take his tired, sick and starving army across the freezing Delaware River in the dark into New Jersey, hike nine miles through the snow to attack the outpost in Trenton where the British and Hessian troops were garrisoned.  Many of his soldiers had no boots, only cloths wrapped around their feet, trailing blood in the snow as they marched.  Water had seeped into their gunpowder, the freezing weather jammed their rifles.  They'd have to fight with bayonets or hand to hand combat.  This was a do-or-die mission.

Historians say that the Battle of Trenton was one of the most pivotal of the entire Revolution.  Their enemies slept in comfortable tents and barracks with plenty of food, an arsenal of weapons, the finest uniforms, boots, coats and well-fed horses.  Their enemies had also been celebrating Christmas all that day, drinking, feasting, relaxing, and certain that such a scrawny army like Washington's were too pitiful to even consider a threat.

Washington's troops marched right in, barefoot, freezing and audaciously bold, and overwhelmed their complacent enemies in a surprise attack.  In a short period of time, with few deaths and hundreds of prisoners, Washington's men finally had an amazing victory to celebrate.  Days afterwards, news spread over the colonies and men from everywhere began to volunteer to join the revolutionaries.  Morale shot through the roof - they would be on the winning side, and victory after victory followed. Other tough battles had to be fought, but none as desperately as Trenton's, and the rest is history.

December 25th is a day of inspiration for me - a day that I plan to fight in prayer for so many people I know who are living under oppression, to be in our church all day, to counsel, help and reach out to anyone who is willing to be helped. Our world is so full of evil and innocence is being snuffed out - not only in the big news stories like the tragedy in Connecticut, but in ordinary every day occurrences.

And for those who want to celebrate the birth of Jesus on this day, wasn't that a day when His battle against evil really began?  He was born into poverty, humiliation, rejection and already on the hit-list of King Herod.  He was born for the cross, to win a massive victory against Satan.  I'd rather honor Him by fighting as well.

A disclaimer to my dear friends in Great Britain: Hey, you win some, you lose some:) Love y'all!

Are you smarter than a toddler?

We all used to have this type of reasoning when we were their age - I remember my kids thinking this way as toddlers too.  It's cute and makes us smile, but how many adults get their perspectives twisted when it comes to faith and what is more important in life?  Sometimes we think what God asks us to sacrifice is so huge and impossible to give - while we allow negativity to rob us of so much more than He asks.  The best thing about kids is that they're teachable.  Their faulty perception its just a result of their young minds that need to develop.  What excuse do we have?

Porn stars - the new standard of quality?

I just came across what must be the most biased manipulative article based on recent "research" that I have ever seen.  The research was done by what is known as a scholarly journal of over 100 women involved in the pornography industry, who are compared to the same amount of women who are not.  It based its claims on what the women had to say about their feelings and opinions about various aspects of their lives.  The conclusion of this journal was that these "actresses" have a better quality of life than the ordinary woman not involved in pornography.

One question was to rate their level of self-esteem.  Porn stars seem to love themselves and think very highly of themselves in comparison to the rank and file of other women.  They claimed to have happier lives because they earn well, they get more sleep (less work to earn a paycheck, I suppose) and have frequent sexual encounters.  Duh.

The journal came up with this study to debunk what they consider to be a myth that women in this industry are damaged individuals and victims of childhood abuse.  Their goal is to tout a new, revolutionary concept that this kind of career is actually healthier and better for you.  Porn stars damaged?  Why, no!  They are the new standard of quality!  And because these women say they're happy, therefore they are happy - why would a porn star lie?

After 26 years of counseling and caring for families, couples and women, in particular, from all over the world, I can categorically say that this supposed research is baloney.  Not only that, but it was done purposefully to encourage more degradation to women, to marriage and indirectly to everyone.

Why would they say then, that they are so much happier and content with their lives?  Women who have been deeply wounded and deprived of a loving home as they grew up can easily fall into this trap of seeking out affection through promiscuity.  If they are surrounded by enough people to praise and glorify what they do, they can easily fool themselves into believing that this is what they really wanted all along, that this is their way of self expression.  They desperately want to be happy and valued, so if it's offered them through money and the adoration of others, no matter what the motive, they'll take it.

A woman in our Rahab group in England was once a prostitute for very high-end clients in London.  She told me about the money, the jewelry, the clothes, cars, expensive gifts, hotels and restaurants that she would frequent, and how she and the others in her brothel boasted about their great lives, compared to those pitiful ignorant wives of the clients that they entertained.

"But you know," she confessed, "None of us were really happy.  Everyone felt lonely and disgusted with themselves, and that's why so many turned to drugs and drinking to deal with the emptiness.  No one was a true friend.  We hated ourselves, so how could we care about anybody else?  All that big talk about how happy we were and how much freer and luckier we were was just talk to hide our real feelings.  I'd see some of them break down and fall into suicidal depression, but others just kept up the act and got tougher and meaner.  When I finally left that life, no one cared and in fact they were glad to have me out of the way..."

This is the reality that I have seen with the women I've known caught up in this kind of life, from strippers to prostitutes to even "actresses" of this nature.  And what do actresses do best?  They pretend to be what they're not.  Good actresses in theater and film can leave their character behind when they go home, but the poor women involved in this industry often cling to a fantasy life, pretending to be happy to mask their emptiness. They've found a way to make a comfortable living off of being damaged.

One young man I counseled was convinced that the girls he saw on those illicit videos really liked what they were doing.  No, I told him.  You are participating in abuse, in degradation, each time you watch this.  Don't believe their smiles or their boldness - it's an act to cover their shame.  If you pretend you're not ashamed, does that make the shame go away?  These girls hope it's true, and keep trying to drown it out.

God created us to enjoy - not just confine ourselves to, but enjoy - purity, respect, and love for His ways.  The fact that there are so many unhappy women who are not in the porn industry doesn't mean that they are living the way that God intended, otherwise they would be much happier.  Women, men, anyone who lives in the power and presence of God finds far more happiness, success and fulfillment than those who don't.  The world, even with all of its problems and evil, becomes a brighter, more joyful place because you are always in His light.  Romantic relationships are intensely more pleasurable because they are based on honor, sacrifice, faithfulness and commitment, and they grow and develop as years go by.  Children grow in strength and wisdom because they witness a stable, loving home where both mom and dad are present every day of their lives.

So we have a strange phenomenon.  Women who have brainwashed themselves into believing they enjoy being paid to be abused and objectified, while others who choose a conventional life dislike themselves and feel unfulfilled.  What this says to me is that the entire world has drifted so far from God's original plan, that it's time for a radical overhaul.

Radical pilgrims and the 40 Day Project

But isn’t Thanksgiving all about turkey, football and family?

Not for those who started it all.  For the first settlers on American soil, their Thanksgiving feast was the result of hard won battles against the powers of their time, against two months at sea, raging storms and the ravages of nature, against disease and cold and against their own fears and doubts.  It was a victory that came at a price of great personal sacrifice.  Their feast of celebration could only happen after a year of steadfast, stubborn faith in God’s leading.

Edward Winslow, one of the 53 pilgrims who had reached the new land on the Mayflower and survived that first horrible winter wrought with death and disease, wrote a letter to the Christian believers back in England about their first meal of thankfulness to God that they shared with the Indians that November.  These are his exact words in the old English of 1621:

"our harvest being gotten in, our governour sent foure men on fowling, that so we might after a speciall manner rejoyce together, after we had gathered the fruits of our labours ; they foure in one day killed as much fowle, as with a little helpe beside, served the Company almost a weeke, at which time amongst other Recreations, we exercised our Armes, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and amongst the rest their greatest king Massasoyt, with some ninetie men, whom for three dayes we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five Deere, which they brought to the Plantation and bestowed on our Governour, and upon the Captaine and others.  And although it be not always so plentifull, as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so farre from want,  that we often wish you partakers of our plentie."

There was nothing luxurious about that Thanksgiving, nor was it a day of indulgence or selfishness.  But one thing they shared was a sense of awe, humility and true thankfulness that the God of the Bible that they believed in had not only spared their lives, but had given them an abundance of blessing through their crops and their friendships with the native Indians.  They had fought hard against all odds, believing in a God who kept His word to those who acted by faith - and they saw the results of that faith before their eyes.  From that moment on, the group grew in strength and numbers and has evolved into this beautiful land we live in today.  Four centuries later, the blessing of God on these simple people of faith continues to spill over onto us.

Now that's a Thanksgiving we all could use!  

God is looking for more steadfast, stubborn and radical people to believe that He can take them to a new and better life.  As our lives change, we change those around us and those who come after us.    

In the true spirit of Thanksgiving, we celebrate the beginning of The 40 Day Project to fight for our own freedom and that of our children.  Not through politics but with faith.  Not against people, but against the problems that tie us down to a life we no longer want. 

Thanksgiving Day, November 25, fittingly launches the first day of our challenge.  40 Days of making incremental changes in our habits, our thought processes, and our faith.  We will battle the ravages of all the negativity that bombards us every day, and with a true and stubborn faith in God, we will bring in the New Year as renewed and strengthened people.   We will gather together in SiLC for a dedication service to begin the journey that will only end on New Years Eve – exactly 40 days long.

Who's ready to be a pilgrim?

The story ends with a meal and a moral or two

(Continued from last post...)

Just to explain: the exact time frame and specifics of what happened are, of course, filtered through emotions and the fuzzy memories of 35 years ago, but this is my account to the best of my memory.  There are plenty of other details that I bet could add much more perspective and flair and comedy to this story if all of us girls could get together and remind each other of what happened and how each experienced the same events through their own eyes.  I'm so pleased to know that my old (not so old) pal Barbara who was with me on the trip has been reading these posts and enjoying them, so Barb, or Beth or Rachel or any others of you who might be reading this, if you have any new insight to add, please do so!! Also one correction, this happened in May of 1978, not 77 for those of you who might care...:)

So now the morning of our last day dawns and we are ready to head home.  But not quite yet... The local police chief wants to meet and greet us in his office in town.  We are to be escorted off the temple grounds and taken to see him, and we have no idea why.  We cook our very last breakfast over the campfire of blueberry pancakes from an American mix that someone was able to buy at the US Army post exchange back in Seoul - a real treat!

By this time we had all become good friends, not just friends because we went to the same school, or friends because we'd known each other for so long.  We had a bond that came from sharing something unique and difficult that forced us to pull together and work as a team.  Among us were really popular girls, jocks, cheerleaders, brainy girls and just regular ones that didn't seem to fit in anywhere, but now we all belonged to an elite group.  We were the girls that had just gone through the most absurdly weird, trying, hilariously funny and yet sweetly insightful camping trip ever, and came out friends.

So as we left the beautiful mountainside that we had called home for a week, and walked into the police station to meet the most honorable police chief, we were laughing and as relaxed as ever.  Much like our afternoon with the head monk of the monastery, we were smashed into his office and sat on sofas lining the wall.  Glasses of coke were brought out for us and we sat around waiting to see why he had asked us to come.  I had thought he wanted to question us more about the robbery, but instead we discovered that we were to be a part of some PR stunt.  Newspaper photographers were there and we were lined up to snap pictures with the smiling police chief and his officers and we guessed we'd show up in the papers the next day.  They took a few different angles of Coach Gustafson shaking hands with the police and all of us grinning to the camera, and who knows what they reported about us later? I've wondered if I ever came across that police station if I'd find my 16 year old smiling face hanging on a wall somewhere... who knows?

Time to go yet?  Nope.  We were now to be the honored guests of the honorable police chief at a local Korean barbecue restaurant that served the country's famous beef pulkogi, grilled at the table over hot coals and eaten with white rice and spicy kimchi and plenty of other spiced and flavored vegetables.  To feed a huge bunch like us must have cost the police department an arm and a leg, but they insisted, and we didn't complain!  To be honest, the beef was a bit tough, and we had all eaten better, but compared to food out of a can for five days, this was great!  The police officers who were chosen to join us were happy to indulge their appetites, and we munched away until we couldn't eat any more.

With many thank you's and much bowing and handshaking, the very dirty and tired bunch of us boarded our train to head back north to the capitol city of Seoul.  One distinct memory I have is going to the back of the train with Barb.  There was no caboose, just the very last train car that opened up to the tracks that were rapidly flying by.  Obviously this would never be allowed on an American train these days with all our stringent safety regulations, but that was rough and tumble Korea, still recuperating from a war just 25 years before, and under the oppression of a dictatorship.  People were poor, humble, trusting, and abundantly friendly - and safety was not much of an issue, just like indoor plumbing and sanitation was low on the country's priorities.  We took turns sitting at the back opening and letting our legs dangle over the speeding train tracks, leaning against the rail and watching the countryside whiz by at 80 miles an hour.

What had God shown me in this extraordinary trip?

• That no matter how ashamed you are of your failures, just persevering and pushing through is an act of faith that God can use to turn failure into a blessing.  By the end of the camping trip, I even got praises for my little orange tent as others began to complain about theirs.  Who woulda thunk it?
• That I had become comfortable with living among those who didn't know my Lord and Savior - too comfortable.  I needed to see these people who had become ordinary and mundane, through the eyes of someone else (Coach Gustafson) who felt sorrow for the spiritually lost so that I could question how real my faith was, and how much I cared about the lost myself.  
• That God's creation reveals who He is - that His hills and mountains and the beauty of His starry skies overhead are all a way for Him to call out to us to tell us how deeply He loves us and wants to be an intimate part of our lives.  The day that we finally climbed all the way to the top of our Narnia mountain was an experience so deep that I felt the presence of God speaking to me through His creation.  As the Swiss love to yodel, the Koreans loved shouting, "Yah-ho!" to mountain climbers.  (Not yahoo, yah-ho!)  And as they shouted, smiled and waved, and as we shouted back, it was as if we were all proclaiming, "Isn't God amazing?  Look at His beautiful handiwork!"
• That in times of danger and fear, God comes through even when we are weak - God also may choose the most unlikeliest of people to answer us when we are in need (e.g.. num-chuck monks!)
• That if anyone tries to tell me about the superiority of eastern religions, Buddhism in particular, I know by experience, that those who were deeply committed to that path were also quite ready to leave that path to enjoy laughter, singing and American top 20 music.  That their leader had no real answers when asked about what he believed or why anyone should want to follow their path.  He seemed a bit unsure himself.  What we had - though we were not necessarily the greatest testimonies of our own faith - was still something sweet and attractive to them, something that they wanted to be a part of.  (It had to be spiritual in nature because God knows we sure didn't smell very sweet or look all that attractive after days without bathing!)
• That boldness, strength, assurance and faith are built through pushing through tough times, not by just praying for these qualities to appear.  That God honors those who try, who stick with it, and who seek to find Him at work in every situation.

So late at night, we disembark at Seoul Train Station and go our separate ways, to see each other again in school on Monday.  I have the furthest to go, gotta take a taxi to another bus station and then another hour and a half ride north to my house in Tong-du-cheon. I finally stumble into the doorway with my ragged clothes and backpack.  My mom smiles and says, "Oh, you're home!  Did you have a nice time?" and then proceeds to walk out of the room to attend to some other business.  I follow her and try to tell her everything that happened but she's in that zone of nodding her head and saying, "Uh huh, that's nice..." and I  know she isn't hearing a thing.

"Mom!"  I followed her into another room,  "Weren't you even worried about me?"

"No, I know you can take good care of yourself, and I was praying for you anyway.  Tell me all about it later, I've got things to do..."  And off she went again.

Oh well, God knew exactly what had happened, and He knew that this would somehow form who I would become today.  That was the final lesson of that trip - that if nobody else knows or cares what God is doing inside of you, He knows and He'll use it to impact your world if you let Him.

Finally, I've told the whole story - now to get my mom to hear it 35 years later!

Singing, laughter and practicing what one preaches

(Continued from previous posts...)

Well, here we are in the wild outdoors at the southern tip of Korea, trying to have a normal camping trip, but nothing is going according to plan, while everything has become weirdly funny and unpredictable.

After breakfast, a visitor comes to our campsite, not our young martial arts friend, but a police detective and a few uniformed cops march up our hill.  Nancy and Beth speak the language the best, and the detective squats down to chat with us and get all the important information about the guy robbed our campsite the day before.

It becomes apparent that the local police department is very worried about gaining a bad reputation.  They want to know all the names and nationalities of our fathers, their phone numbers and who they work for.  They even ask the impossible question of our dad's passport numbers - how are we supposed to know that?  I guess the fear that one of us is a daughter of some foreign ambassador or a high level businessman would cause them to feel compelled to do some damage control.  Even though most of us had missionary dads, I guess just the fact that we were Americans was enough to cause worry.

We are told that from now on until we return home, armed police guards will be posted to watch over our campsite day and night.  Though we appreciate the VIP treatment, we're not too thrilled with the idea of having strange men hovering around watching everything we do.  But when the detective leaves, the uniformed officers leave with him and we wonder if we had heard right.   Oh well, time to get back to business of camping.

We plan another excursion into the further mountains to get a close up look at our own Cair Paravel of Narnia, and then hear that we are officially invited to tea at the head monk's office in the monastery nearby.  Was he coerced into this by the police who were afraid of any negative fallout from our robbery, or was he just doing his charitable duty as a good Buddhist?  We had no idea, but it seemed that it would be wrong to deny ourselves the adventure of sipping tea with someone who was elevated to the position of an almost Buddha, no matter what his motives were.  Our police guard appears, and looks not too happy to be given the job of watching our stuff, so he squats in the grass behind our tents and lights up a cigarette.  Well at least we know our things will be safe and we can all leave for our tea time as a group.

We are incredibly unsanitary, our hair has been shampooed so infrequently and our legs are all unshaven, and our deodorant is having to work overtime.  We have climbed mountains and hills and sweated and slept under the stars for days now, and all our clothes have been smashed into backpacks that are now half full of dirty laundry. But we are having the time of our lives... thief or no thief.  No one notices how dirty each other is since we're all in the same boat, and when the time comes, we march down to the monastery to meet our host monk.

We are ushered into a room by a very humble looking maid. It's the head monk's office filled with books and scrolls and ancient paintings on the walls, part of the 300 year old structure of the temple and monastery.  Giant beams of old tree trunks hold up the ceiling, and instead of the traditional wax-papered floor that is heated by coal in the winter by underground channels, he has a more western style concrete floor with actual sofas and chairs.  He is sitting in his serene splendor, bald, double-chinned, chubby and silent.  It's a regular American style chair, but he is sitting on it cross-legged, meditation style in his grey robes.

We file in and take our seats on the sofas against the walls, looking at him.  Nancy and Beth and others who speak Korean well, greet him and he nods and says a few words.  Then, it's silent.  No one talks.  We have no idea what to say.  Coach Gustafson, our leader, feels the need to strike up small talk and asks a few polite questions that have to go through translation.  His answers are short and he asks us nothing back.  Coach realizes that in front of her is a leader in a religion that she feels is deceived, that leads people away to God, not to Him. She'd like to evangelize him, to engage in a discussion about faith and asks him what he believes.

His answers are vague and all about finding peace and harmony.  Do you believe that Jesus was God? she wants to know.  Everything has God in it, according to him, so yes, he doesn't mind saying that Jesus was God, just like you or I could someday become God.  Coach asks if it bothers him that we are Christians and don't believe in his religion.  Absolutely not, he says, all religions lead to God, so if we are happy as Christians, then he sees no problem with it.  He doesn't want to save us from our deceptions, he doesn't want to convert us, he doesn't seem to care about teaching us anything about his own faith at all.  Coach is frustrated.  She was hoping for a good debate about the Lordship of Jesus, but all she gets is a passive fellow who would rather meditate silently on harmony and inner peace.

So in a matter of ten minutes, there is absolutely nothing to say.  We stare at him, and he stares at nothing.  Eventually the maid brings in trays of hot herb tea that we sip and stare and wonder how long this is going to last, and why he even invited us to visit him in the first place.  Coach comes up with new questions to ask from time to time, but his answers are odd and he has no interest in talking.

So as it goes with teenage girls, we start to just look around and find things to whisper to each other, and giggle, and eventually whispers turn into low murmurs, and more giggling, and in time we're just talking to each other as if he isn't even there, because he has zoned out into some zen-like state.  In fact, he's pretending to be in a zen-like state as I catch him smiling at times, enjoying just watching us interact with each other.  It seems that the poor guy who isn't allowed to watch movies or TV or have any worldly influence, but just spend his days in meditation to attain Buddha-hood, is finally getting some fun in his day to have his office packed with very worldly girls.  Dirty and disheveled ones, but something new and different to spice up his emotionless days.

He really seemed not to mind that we were ignoring him, so we started to discuss the odd paintings on his walls.  They must have been hundreds of years old, and I'm sure that now they'd be worth a fortune, but they were meant to be there, not in some fancy auction house or museum.  One very fierce looking warrior painting caught my eye.  He was wielding a sword and had a pot belly and all the hair on his chest was parted down the center.  The longer I looked at it, the more hilarious it was.  I pointed it out quietly to the other girls, and as each noticed, we started giggling, and then laughing to the point that we were crying and holding our stomachs.  The warrior was supposed to be deeply spiritual and fearsome, but he looked so ridiculous, we couldn't hold it back.

In the middle of our laughing frenzy I looked at our serene head monk, and low and behold, he was chuckling too.  He had no idea what we were  laughing at, but just the sound of laughter was contagious to him.  I began to wonder if he really believed all that he was taught by his religion that denying the pleasure of family, marriage, laughter, strong feelings or convictions, even modern amenities and having to live in a sparse austere way, leads to true spirituality.  I looked around his office more, and saw that he was wearing a watch that was quite expensive, and in the back room, I saw the antennas of a TV, a radio and a heater.  He obviously was not practicing the religion that he preached.  I wondered why he had chosen this way of life if he found he would have to secretly compromise, whether he was truly happy - but then of course, happiness is not something that a good Buddhist is supposed to want.  But this Buddhist, with his chuckles shaking his chubby frame as he sat cross-legged on his chair was really having a happy moment.  He may have had to pay penance for his unspirituality later with months of fasting and sleeping on the cold ground,  and we may set him back a couple of years in his pursuit to attain enlightenment, but he sure was having a good time and didn't seem to mind.

"Well, I guess we're about done here," said Coach, and we thanked our host, and filed back out of the monastery to head back to our campsite.

Evening came and we knew that the next day will be our last, heading back on the long journey north to Seoul.  Dinner over the campfire and the brilliant stars shine through the clearing of trees on our hill. We wondered about our num-chuck friend and how he did in his competition, and before we know it, three shiny bald heads appear in the moonlight.  More miscreant monks have snuck out of the monastery to get a closer look at the American girls.  Word must have secretly gotten around that we were friendly, and they saunter up all embarrassed and curious.

"Hello, how ah you?" They practice their English, and we invite them to have some Oreo cookies which they gladly accept.  We ask them their names and they eagerly strike up a conversation with us.  They ask us to give them English names, so based on their Korean names they are transformed into Joey, Wally, and another name I've forgotten like Petie or something like that.

"You came from America?"  Yes, we answer.

"You know Elton John?"  No, we've never met him, but we know his songs, we laugh and they ask us more.  Do we know John Travolta?  John Denver?  Olivia Newton John?  The Bee Gees?  (Remember, this is the late 70's when disco was king.)  Obviously these guys have been secretly listening to radios, and they want us to sing with them some "Stayin Alive" and "Good-bye Yellow Brick Road," which we all try to sing, but none of us know all the words.  We find out that the song they love the best is John Denver's, "Country Road Take Me Home."

So we all burst into song around the campfire.  Even the police guard joins us for some Oreos and we sing:

"Country road, take me home to the place I belong,
West Virginia, mountain mama, take me home country road..."

Hilarious Korean accents murder the lyrics, and they want to sing it again and again, along with as many other top 20 songs that we know.  In the ancient hills of Korea, not far from the East China Sea, among Buddhist black belt monks, accompanied by an armed officer, we sing songs of West Virginia at the top of our lungs into the moonlit night.  It was surreal to say the least.

Tomorrow, we finally head home, but the adventure is still not over...

Monks to the rescue

(Continued from yesterday...)

The afternoon came and we decided that it was time to finally get somewhat clean.  We took soap and shampoo and towels and headed down to the stream at the base of our hill.  We looked up and down and saw no one around, and cautiously started trying to bathe as discreetly as possible.  The guard who had seen us the first night had checked on us earlier that morning and told us that this was a safer place to camp since on the other side of the stream, behind more trees, were the high walls of the temple monastery where the monks lived and trained.  They were high ranking martial arts monks who competed with other Buddhist monasteries around the country and were well known for their expertise.

Wow, real Shaolin Monks!  I thought that kind of thing only existed in cheesy Chinese movies, but sure enough we were right next door to champion black-belts! He told us that if we needed anything we could call on them and they'd help us out.  Well, we had no intention of needing Bruce Lees of any sort, and we really had no intention of bathing in front of monks either, but knowing that monks had made a vow of celibacy and forswore all worldly temptations, we probably wouldn't see much of them anyway - they were too busy praying, fasting and chopping cinderblocks in half with their bare hands.

At night we rustled up a campfire, cooked our dinner, roasted some marshmallows, and slept under the bright shining stars surrounded by a peaceful forest and the ground seemed much less lumpy and my little orange tent much less pitiful than the night before.  We were all getting along well, and adjusting to life in the wilderness.

The next day after breakfast and prayer and cleaning up in the stream, we decided to go for a hike through the woods and up one of the closer hills.  It was fun and we wondered what we would do in the afternoon to entertain ourselves.  Lunchtime came and we were all feeling pretty good.  My swollen arm was slowly turning from bright purple to greenish-yellow, and I was handling the pain much better.  We had been pretty vigilant about making sure that someone was always at the campsite to watch our things if others went off to wash or hike.  But this time we were in such good spirits, and didn't want to give anyone washing-up duty.  We decided to all go down to the river for each to wash her own plates so we could get it done quickly.  We hadn't seen anyone walk by since we pitched camp there, so ten minutes at the stream wouldn't be a problem.

I was the first to finish washing and head back.  When I came up the hill, I saw a head of black hair bent down behind one tent.

"Sandy?  Sandy is that you?"  I asked, knowing that I had just seen her at the stream a moment ago.

Up popped a face from behind the tent.  A Korean man was staring at me, and I froze.  Then I began to shout.  He tore off running into the woods and I didn't know whether I should chase after him or run for help.  He obviously was up to no good the way he had run off.

"Hey guys!! There was a man at our campsite!  Guys!!"  I ran back to the stream shouting for everyone to come.  They scrambled back and Coach Gustafson told everyone to search their things and see if anything was missing.  Sure enough, about $50 worth of Korean money was stolen from one girl and a camera from another.  Apparently there had been a thief watching us the whole time, just waiting for the moment he could move in and take what he could.  It was a horrible feeling.

So now what?  The monks!  The kung-fu, sunmudo, taekwondo monks!  Beth and I raced over to the monastery to tell them what happened, but just as we got there, we found them in their afternoon prayers.  We waited around, and waited and wondered what the protocol was for interrupting Buddhist prayers.  We didn't want to seem disrespectful, but we had an emergency!  Eventually after a long wait one of the other girls were able to let them know what happened, and our neighbor monks were incredibly helpful.  They told us not to worry, to interrupt them during prayers if we needed anything.  (For future reference, in case any of my readers are in the position that they might need to interrupt a Buddhist at prayer, just go right ahead.  It's okay. Really!)

As fast as a flash, a group of monks gathered and called all of us to split up and follow them to run through the forest and see if we could catch the thief.  Without having a chance to think, I tore off after one who ran like a cross-country racer over rocks and boulders, leaping and climbing and leading me through winding pathways as if it was something he did every day.  It didn't take long before I was gasping for breath, I just couldn't keep up.  I was scared that if I lost sight of my monk, I would have no idea how to get back to camp.  He saw me lagging behind and felt sorry for me.  He gave up the chase and turned back to lead me back to the others, who were also panting from their excursions into the forest as well.

No luck finding the guy, they would have to send someone down to the local town to contact the police.  They had no phone at the monastery - too worldly, I suppose.  So off ran a young monk to report our robbery.  They apologized and were truly sorry for what had happened, and blamed themselves for not having kept a closer eye on us.  We didn't tell them that we didn't really want anyone's eye on us, but we appreciated their concern.

Well after the drama of the afternoon, the sun was preparing to set and we built another campfire to cook our dinner.  As the shadows grew longer and the stars started to appear, no one wanted to go into the bushes to use the bathroom for the last time.  What once had been a very private thing, was now something that we all wanted to do together, holding hands!!

"My gosh, this guy must have been watching us the whole time!  Gross!"

Well, no one can hold the call of nature forever, so we all fearfully did what had to be done and ran back to the campfire as quickly as possible.  As or fire slowly went out, we all bundled together in a tight circle on the grass.  What looked like peaceful trees last night were now menacing arms of shadowy monsters ready to snatch us.  Our imaginations started to go wild.  Where was this guy, is he coming back?  Will he attack us in the middle of the night?  What did he see when he was here?  Does he have other thieves that are conspiring to do worse?  We prayed, but none of us had peace that our prayer would do any good.  Our emotions were far too wild to use faith at that time.

As the fire went out, we huddled closer.  The night was so dark, and the shadows around us were swaying and menacing. No one wanted to go into their tents.  We smashed together.  We were one solid blob of trembling teenage fear, and our fearless coach was just as scared as we were!

And then, all of a sudden we heard a sound.  It was coming from the bushes on the right.  We heard it again, and again.  And then footsteps.  And the noise grew louder.  It was a violent sound, like something slashing through the underbrush.  At first we thought we were imagining things, but the closer it got, there was no doubt about it - there was something or someone coming straight for us.
With one terrified voice, we screamed!

We saw the bushes knocked from one side to the other as he stepped out into the clearing, carrying his long bamboo pole.  It was one of the monks.  Instead of the normal robes, he had on a white tank-top and the traditional grey pants they wore under their robes tied tight with a cloth belt.  He saw how scared we were, and bowed and apologized for frightening us.  He introduced himself politely and asked us if we wouldn't mind if he showed us some of his martial arts skills with the bamboo pole since he was about to compete at another monastery in the morning.

A friendly monk with a weapon?  Ready to entertain us with martial arts on our own hillside?  Of course!! We all shouted yes, huddled together, and enjoyed his performance.  He took his position at the bottom of the hill and we marveled as his bamboo pole twirled and swung around him and up in the air with ease and skill.  We asked him why he wasn't in his monastery, and discovered that he had snuck out past his curfew, dying of curiosity to see the American girls and show off his prowess.  He was the youngest of the monks there.  Well, we didn't want him getting into trouble on our account, but we sure were thankful that he had shown up!

"Would you like to see me with num chucks?" He asked eagerly.  He'd brought those with him too, and we cheered him on as he whirled those around with amazing speed.  Korean martial arts do not traditionally use num chucks, but somehow he had gotten some.  I guess he used to watch plenty of cheesy Chinese movies too - before he became a monk! That was the first time I had ever seen them used and we were all deeply impressed. We clapped and thanked him and thanked God for sending him to us to alleviate our uncontrollable fears.

He finally ended the show and had to sneak back into his monastery without being caught, so we reluctantly said good night, and felt a whole lot better about going into our tents to sleep.  We had prayed for God to protect us, and out of the wilderness, He brought forth unto us... a monk with num chucks!  We'd been so emotional, I don't think we had a lot of faith at the time.  I'm guessing that the protection of God had more to do with our moms and dads praying for us back home than anything else, but God took great care of us nonetheless.

So still with a bit of trepidation and worry, we slid into our sleeping bags and fell into deep sleep.  It had been a very eventful day.  And more eventful days were still to come...

More tomorrow:)