Well, I Never was the Good-Enough Girl to Begin With

These last seven months in Korea have certainly taught me things I never expected to learn (and haven't taught me the things I did expect). As usual, I went into the new situation with a mix of anticipation and terror (perhaps in equal parts, I felt somewhat numb through the first few weeks). I had visions in my mind of what would happen. Most of those things have not happened. I got community, but not what I was expecting, friends, but not where I was looking, growth in things I didn't want to grow in. I've experienced manifold disappointments, largely due to how very real reality is. I've experienced a lot of joy, too.

Yet, still, there is one thing that has caused me considerable turmoil. It's really something simple, and I'm sure that there are enough people out there who will consider it trite. It's not trite for me.
I've found considerable joy in the company of my unbelieving male friends.
As someone raised in a conservative home. Trained in Reformed Southern Baptist churches. Advised not even to call men of the same faith lest things be misinterpreted or I prove myself lacking in character. As all these things, how do I reconcile the joy I find in spending time with them, in talking with them, in putting up with them with what I am? How do I reconcile their joviality, their openness, their...conviviality with the downright shallow and mistrustful attitude of most people within my faith. Confessions of believers are usually facile at best and edification is generally confused with criticism. We're cowards, we are. The lot of us.

How do I reconcile my general discomfort of being among other believers (namely because of that deep deep feeling of being at a masquerade and the way that advice often obfuscates a subject more than defines it), with the mandate to not abandon believers? How do I reconcile a general distaste for the deception that is required of me at church, the rigorous sanctimoniousness I feel is expected, with the Biblical saying that if you love God you will love the Church, you will love fellow believers? I love people, fellow believers I can hardly stand. How little does that mean I love God?

How do I reconcile that even more to the joy I have in hanging out with men who are not only unavailable for marriage, but also who are unbelievers? Who are like your friends.
I feel caught between a bus and razor wire. So maybe he's a bit Buddhist, and that makes me sad in a kind of deep ache because I care about him, don't want him to go to Hell, wish he could/would convert just to ease my heart, but he's my friend, and the real me is safe around him. Maybe he's about as pretentious and erudite as almost anyone I've ever me, but he's nice to me, and his pretentiousness entertains me more than it irritates me. He's layered. I like that. Maybe he's kind of scrawny, and drinks too much, but he's fun, and I like his accent, and talking with him is easy even when I hate everyone else in this stupid country. Yes, he's short, and a bit like coffee with too many shots of espresso, but he's genuine, a wears his heart on his sleeve type, and he's never afraid enough of something to let it stop him.

Yes, they curse. And sometimes they do truly stupid things. They annoy me. They've hurt my feelings a few times. But...it's worth it. It's worth it to see real people. I want to see real people. I want to be a real person. Not a real person inside, a real person everywhere.

You Know You're on Farmville too Much When...

I had a Farmville dream last night. Yes, I can't describe how surreal that is. I dreamed that the Farmville programmers had updated the program again. It was now a kind of interactive virtual reality. At first it seemed like my whole farm had been reset back to about level 15 and I was really bummed. A chicken pen with ten chickens and about 35 plots. Then it was that but the land seemed to stretch into the distance. Somehow I reloaded the page, though I was standing on the farm, and finally I saw my farm. It was amazing. The addition was a gymnasium, which I'd apparently recently bought to compliment the school. I could see farmhands working and people browsing the market with their kids in strollers. Kids running around, people walking through the newly opened gym. And, the bakery, open for business with fresh breads and pastries ready for sale. I stood there in shock, and had a really ironic moment where I thought 'oh my gosh! I'm rich!' Then my parents were there and I proceeded to give them a tour of the new facilities, saying I designed the place for the community.
The grass was green, and the buildings large and real. People in clothes with hair. All details there. The farmhands were shirtless, moving bales of hay. There was a large basketball court. My sister showed up and I showed her the new court. A place that stretched into the distance and I'd done it all, prepared it all, worked to build it up, and it was real, and I couldn't get my mind around it.
I wonder if this is my mind's way of saying I want things to be real, I'm tired of a 2-D picture. I want something I can show off.

Thinking of a Dream House

Yesterday I taught my gifted students the concept of a dream house. I certainly hope I'm corrupting them propperly. Though I'm not even sure that a 'dream' anything is Biblical. It was all girls so I got to use the example of a dream boyfriend, which, being 11, they picked up on quite well. Gotta love the tweens.
My favorite was a girl who designed a room just for her cats. She has 9 russian blues. I also liked the one that had cloud wallpaper.

All of that reminded me of when I was a girl and I would design my own dream house. I remember spending hours designing it. Really, it looked like a fleshed out version of the house my family lived in while we were in Idaho. It had an attic and a basement, garage, two floors, and a multitude of rooms. Why? Because it was a place for a family. Ever since I was a girl. All the way back when I thought my life would play out in this perfect plan, that there would never be any real detours.