Ch'usok

While there were no hanboks donned by the boys nor rice cakes whipped up in our kitchen, our family celebrated Ch'usok (aka Korean Thanksgiving) in our own little way last Thursday evening. Leisurely we strolled to Vander Veer Park, marveling in the beauty of the full Harvest Moon as it battled the cloudy night. There was to be a picnic of sorts and we came armed with all kinds of typically forbidden goodies: Candy corn, suckers, sugared orange slices, and chocolate covered peanuts. Not quite traditional Korean delicacies but when you are six and three (or 34 and 37) and allowed unlimited access to sugar treats, free of guilt, who really cares? "I love the Harvest Moon," Russell continuously repeated. I did too, and I questioned why we had previously never gone out of our way to view the moon in all her splendor. Definitely a new tradition.

Perhaps the most vital component in celebrating Ch'usok is paying homage to one's ancestors. Friday afternoon after pulling together the remnants of what is blooming in our backyard into Ch'usok bouquets, the boys, Lucia, and I traveled to Arsenal Island where many of our friends and relatives, including Uncle Russ and Aunt Margaret and Jared's paternal grandparents, Leo and Norma, have been laid to rest.

A graveside service was being completed as we drove into the cemetery and we were given a first hand look at what occurs after mourners have loaded back into their cars and driven away.  It was sobering to observe something so sacred. A bystander watching men beginning the process of hoisting the casket containing the body of someone's loved one onto a metal apparatus, soon to be delivered back into the earth. But then within minutes, music stemming from bagpipes erupted and a lone man marched around the area where the casket had lain, playing song after song. Sad and beautiful all at the same time.

Honoring our Dead

May Their Memories Be Eternal!

Josephine

My sister and I always had a lot of cousins. Our mom was from a family with four kids; dad was from a family with five (or nine, depending on how you count). So, family get-togethers were always big and loud and fun. I don't remember the exact time and location, but I do remember the feeling of distress when Sarah and I realized that for the future generation of get-togethers it would just be us. I mean, we liked each other and all, but that sounded really empty to us. Fast forward a couple decades and few could say I haven't done my fair share to fill out our future family gatherings.

And now, to complete the formula, my sister has brought forth a Johnson cousin. And it was with great pleasure that I recently got to meet my newborn niece. She is absolutely beautiful, like her mother. It made me proud to see my "baby sister" in the blush of new motherhood and I had a wonderful time visiting with her and Dan. Thank you both for letting me spend time with your little Josephine Frances. She is an angel.

On Beauty
from The Prophet
by Kahlil Gibran

And the poet said, Speak to us of Beauty.
And he answered:
Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide?
And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech?

The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle.
Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us."
And the passionate say, "Nay, beauty is a thing of might and dread.
Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us."

The tired and the weary say, "Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit.
Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow."
But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains,
And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions."

At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."
And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say,
"We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset."

In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills."
And in the summer heat the reapers say,
"We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves,
and we saw a drift of snow in her hair."
All these things have you said of beauty,
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied,
And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth,
But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.

It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.


For more poetry, click here.

Substitute Teacher

Last week for school Thomas and I read the Grimm's fairy tale, The Valiant Little Tailor. We decided that sewing would be a perfect way to emulate our hero during the time set aside for handiwork but since I really don't even know how to thread a needle my mom stepped in. Thomas' little fingers went to work and with some minimal help from Grandma Swanson, they created one felt bean bag. Thanks again mom!

Take The Trouble To Pray

It is 4:27 am and this is where I am at, battling yet another night of waking and then insomnia. I have begun to dread going to bed at night. Sleeplessness has intensified all the ugliness of my personality and that which I can normally hide under a calm visage has surfaced during the day so that I reek of foulness. The anger. The lost temper. The unkind words spoken hastily. The feelings of discontent. The lack of prayer in my life. I could offer oh so many excuses but really there are none. Too much of me, too many desires and attachments, and not enough of Christ. Please pray for me. 

This is not really a poem but a prayer of Mother Teresa's which she prayed daily. "Take the trouble to pray," Mother Teresa said, because "prayer makes the heart large enough until it can contain God's gift of Himself." 

Poetry Wednesday

Deliver me, O Jesus,

From the desire of being loved,

From the desire of being extolled,

From the desire of being honored,

From the desire of being praised,

From the desire of being preferred,

From the desire of being consulted,

From the desire of being approved,

From the desire of being popular,

From the fear of being humiliated,

From the fear of being despised,

From the fear of suffering rebukes,

From the fear of being culminated,

From the fear of being forgotten,

From the fear of being wronged,

From the fear of being ridiculed,

From the fear of being suspected.

PS

If you have a minute, I found this post entitled "Wrestling," through a friend's blog during my time of being awake. Thoughts near to my heart. 

The Canticle of the Sun

While I could offer you a multitude of reasons why I am now just posting a poem for Poetry Wednesday, I won't bore you. (Though I must add, I am still in my pajamas and it is nearly 5:00 pm; I am pretending my black frock with gray t-shirt underneath is a dress.) And since homeschooling has awarded me the opportunity to completely indoctrinate my son in the thoughts of people and saints I adore and revere, I offer up an interpretation from St. Francis of Assisi's Canticle of the Sun, which is often heard throughout our home and which Thomas must endure every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday as he wiggles and hops in front of our icon corner (which I must add is extra festive with the addition of various vibrantly colored fruits reflective of the season on our icon table) before we launch into our daily work. Not quite the pledge of allegiance; I suppose we will eventually get there too. Enjoy.

From The Canticle of the Sun

St. Francis of Assisi

translated by Lawrence Edwards

Praised be God for brother Sun,

Who shines with splendid glow,

He brings the golden day to us

Thy glory does he show!

Praised be God for sister Moon

And every twinkling star;

They shine in heaven most bright and clear

All glorious they are.

Praised be God for brother Wind

That storms across the skies;

And then grows still, and silent moves

And sweetly sings and sighs.

Praised be God for Water pure

Her usefulness we tell.

So humble, precious, clean and good,

She works for us so well.

Praised be God for brother Fire

Friendly, and wild, and tame;

Tender and warm, mighty and strong

A flashing, flaring flame.

Praised be God for mother Earth

Who keeps us safe and well;

Whose mother heart, all warm with love,

Dark in her depths doth dwell.

Beautiful Day

It was a beautiful day. A day to linger. A day to spend at the Farmer's Market. A day to journey to an historical Iowa town and vicariously experience our favorite memories from Little House In The Big Woods. A day to relish a pot roast while sipping red wine. A day for gooey, rich, s'mores expertly cooked by my better half.

New Adventures

There was much coaching at the breakfast table this morning as my eldest son provided his two younger brothers with some crucial advice for their upcoming day. You see, today Russell and Elliot would venture out, independent of their older sibling, and launch into Miss Marie's Monday Music Class. The twins were instructed by their serious but kind tutor—a graduate of Miss Marie's—to above all listen to their teacher. Promises were made of hand stamps, ball playing, and possible treats like popcorn and marshmallows. And then with a wave and "I love you!" yelled from the basement, where Thomas was already scheming plans for his hour alone with Grandma, we were off. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous about our one hour music class, praying that there would be no scratching, biting, or hitting of other children. My tinies are incredibly sweet but are often like ticking time bombs unexpectedly exploding with less than desirable behaviors. But today, well, today they did great. True to character, Russell joined immediately in, singing some of his favorite tunes like "Twinkle, Twinkle" and "The Alphabet Song," eyes glued on Miss Marie; Elliot was more hesitant and less willing to stray far from my arms, insisting that he be held for much of the class. And perhaps my favorite thing about today's class: As I was removing the boys from their car seats, three vehicles filled with Asian children pulled into St. Alban's parking lot. Asian children in the class 8; White children 5.

The Wonder Twins

I would be remiss if I didn't add that immediately prior to this sweet display of brotherly love, I discovered R and E devouring Thomas' birthday Skittles and M&M's. Elliot is in the blue. And, well, Russell is the other one.

A Prayer for September 11th

O Lord our God, Who art Thyself, the Hope of the hopeless, the Help of the helpless, the Savior of the storm-tossed, the Haven of the voyager, the Physician of the sick; be all things to our land which nine years ago on this date was devastated by the cowardly and hateful acts of false martyrs; who imitated wicked Herod in his slaughter of 14,000 innocents, whose only crime was to be born at the time of Thine incarnation. For those who lost loved ones, grant the comfort you imparted to the Mary and Martha before you raised Lazarus and care for them as Thou didst care for Thy Mother from the Cross, putting her in the care of the Apostle John. For the survivors, grant them healing in every sense, as you strengthened and healed the confessors. For those related to and aiding the survivors and the families of the fallen, grant the strength and compassion Thou didst instill in Thy foster father Joseph, who was Thy guardian in Thine earthly youth. For those who died, grant them remission of their every sin in Thy great compassion; both those who like the wise servant and the wise virgins, constantly prepared themselves to enter the heavenly banquet at any hour; and those who emulated the Rich Fool, preferring to enjoy earthly pursuits and ignore heavenly ones. To the rest of us, instill in us the knowledge that while the devil still manipulates our Divinely-given free will to his own ends in this world, his power is fleeting and ultimately void, as Thou hast already crushed his dominion, leaving to him only those who freely choose him. Remind us that, while evil at times seems to win, and the death of the innocent seems to signal the destruction of goodness, the innocent are at peace; and while the God-fearing will endure a period of torment, those who choose evil shall endure eternal torment. For those who hate us, speak to their hearts as St. Procla sought to speak to her husband Pilate concerning Thee, and as Thou didst speak to Pharoah concerning the Hebrews, to soften the hearts of those who seek our destruction. Spare us O Lord, from all hatred of the murderers, and from prejudice toward those whose only crime is to be of their ethnicity and/or religion. Spare us, O Lord, from paranoia and rash acts by which we trample each other like rabid beasts. Spare, O Lord, those who protect us, those who serve in our government, armed forces, law enforcement agencies and all first responders, from despondency, disillusionment, and all things which would undermine their righteous calling to protect us in the manner of our Guardian Angels, and care for us in the manner of the Good Samaritan. All this we ask of Thee our all-powerful and all-loving Saviour, together with Thine unorginate Father, and Thine all-holy and good and life-giving Spirit, now and ever, and unto ages of ages. Amen.

This prayer was posted by the Right Reverend Bishop BASIL, Diocese of Wichita and Mid-America, Antiochian Orthodox Christian Archdiocese of North America.


Pictured above is New York City's World Trade Center and St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church, both destroyed on September 11, 2001.

KAMP 2010

Last August our family made our first trip to Cedar Falls, Iowa, to attend the final days of Korea culture camp a.k.a. KAMP, an acronym for Korean Adoption Means Pride. This year, with Thomas being kindergarten age and able to participate more fully in the numerous daily cultural activities, we journeyed a day earlier. It is always an honor to be in the presence of others whose families have also come into existence and grown through adoption. And it always gives me a deep joy and gratitude to see my boys surrounded by so, so many other children and young adults who share their ethnicity and heritage. As I sat in that little place we called home for four days, observing the room in which the boys slept, a room complete with two sets of bunk beds, one being three-tiered, I could not help but be reminded of Bertha Holt who after viewing a movie about Korean orphans produced by World Vision in the 1950s, experienced that still small voice in her heart. "More and more I found myself wishing we could bring some of the Korean orphans into our own home where we could love and care for them. I would walk from room to room thinking of how we could put a cot here...and another bed there. It even occurred to me that some of the rooms could be partitioned and made into two rooms without depriving anyone," Bertha wrote. Ultimately, Harry and Bertha Holt responded to that divine nudge with a resounding "yes," and at the age of fifty years, the Holts added eight additional Korean children to their family of eight. Thank you Harry and Bertha for your faithfulness. Thank you to all our KAMP friends for another blessed year. Truly we look forward to many, many years to come!

Elliot packing his hanbok.

The boys insisted on wearing their hanboks around the house before actually putting them into their suticases. "Where's my hanbok?" Russell kept inquiring. And just a note: These hanboks were gifts from the boys' foster mother, Ms. Yang. 

Thomas and his class.

Thomas and Thomas.

Demonstrating some Taekwondo moves.

Thomas and new friends Nathan and Seth.

And of course our little Ethiopian princess was fawned over.

Yes, since the boys own traditional Ethiopian clothing, I hoped to purchase a hanbok for little Lu but none this year so she is wearing the dress given to us in ET at Holt's farewell ceremony.

The cultural parade.

Thomas' class performing a traditional fan dance.

Thomas with his counselors Molly and Brandon.

Our friend Mary. Russell keeps asking still, "Where's my Mary?" Fortunately, she is only in Solon.

The three-year-olds.

Elliot and his friend Matthew.

Freedom

Freedom

Rabindranath Tagore

Freedom from fear is the freedom

I claim for you my motherland!

Freedom from the burden of the ages, bending your head,

breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning

call of the future;

Freedom from the shackles of slumber wherewith

you fasten yourself in night's stillness,

mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous paths;

freedom from the anarchy of destiny

whole sails are weakly yielded to the blind uncertain winds,

and the helm to a hand ever rigid and cold as death.

Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world,

where movements are started through brainless wires,

repeated through mindless habits,

where figures wait with patience and obedience for the 

master of show,

to be stirred into a mimicry of life.

Poetry Wednesday

Bonnie and Clyde