My Mother's Funeral Eulogy

These are long, and I won't be upset if you don't care to read it, but they’re important in my story. If you want to discuss anything I said in here, feel free to leave a comment.

Eulogy For (J B) J Ouwehand

delivered September 11th, 2005

At 12:15 in the afternoon, on September 8th, 2005, J Ouwehand passed to glory. Her husband R and her four children were gathered around her bedside. As we sang the last verse of “How Great Thou Art,” about Christ coming to take his own, J’s eyes opened wide for the first time in three days. Her eyes looked heavenwards, as if she could see Jesus reaching out to take her home, and as her family sang, “Then sings my soul, my saviour, God, to thee, how great thou art!” she took her last breath.

Mom had a way of listening that made you forget she was there. She’d pay close attention, and care, without ever judging. Her ability to listen and keep a secret made her a magnet for people’s trust. With patience and unending love, I saw Mom open up even the most guarded and defensive people. She didn’t give advice, but she didn’t NEED to give advice, because she’d find a question that cut through so much of the extra, unimportant fuzz that the clearest solution, or the plainest truth, was suddenly obvious.

My brother Dan mentioned something, and I was surprised that I hadn’t already included it in my eulogy, but here it is, now. Mom had a smile that never quit – everybody in Agassiz knew her for her smile. But her smile was more than just a smile. It didn’t come from mere happiness, like most smiles – happiness comes from being in good circumstances, but circumstances can change. Mom’s smile came from joy, and joy comes from a place inside a person that circumstances can’t touch. Mom’s joy came from the peace of knowing Jesus, and that peace beyond all understanding made it possible for mom to smile even in the most difficult circumstances. All last year, Mom never lost her smile. Even as she slowly weakened, she still found joy in knowing that she belonged, body and soul, to Jesus.

It’s difficult for me to realize just how much Mom did for me when I was small. Only another mother knows how much work and sacrifice it takes to raise good kids. One of mom’s greatest joys was always in her family. In reading her last year’s diary, the phrases that keep coming up again and again are “I really love Rudy, or Rebecca, or Deb, or Rob, or Dan, or the in-laws, or the grand-kids. . .” and “Rudy is so good to me, Deb is so good to me,” and so forth. Anyone who talked to her knew how proud she was of her family, and how dearly she loved us. She was never happier than when all of us were together laughing.

Mom didn’t just love her family, though. She saw God’s image in everyone she met, and loved them accordingly. Every person was precious to Mom, because she couldn’t help but love and respect all God’s creations. Mom was an amazing encourager, and she knew when and how to help someone take heart. Her hospitality was just as open and generous as her love, and each of the children have stories about Mom opening up our house to a friend in need, sometimes with amazing results, for example, the thanksgiving when Deb, then in her first year at Trinity Western University, phoned home saying, “Mom, there are some guys in this dorm who don’t have anywhere to go for thanksgiving. Can they come to our house?” and Mom said, “Sure. How many?” We had an amazing weekend, and one of those boys was a certain Bradley Jarvis, Deb’s husband now for four years.

Relationships were always Mom’s top priority, and those who knew her could go for hours telling stories about the ways Mom encouraged and helped the people around her. I’ve never met someone who spoke ill of her. Even the people who knew her best could never come up with anything worse than affectionate criticism of small, silly things. “Well, she really doesn’t have a photographer’s eye at all.” “She’s hopeless with a remote control in her hands.” “She gets Star WARS confused with Star TREK.” Those things just weren’t important enough for Mom to bother – there were people to encourage, and somebody out there needed some kindness; why on earth would she waste time finding out the names of the songs on the radio? Mom’s gifts were in other areas.

Mom’s greatest gift, the thing that will stay with me forever is, without any doubt, her love. 1 John 4:7-8 says “Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.” Mom was like a huge human mirror, reflecting God’s love to everyone who came near her. I know for a fact that people saw God’s love in Mom: several friends have told me exactly that, including some who don’t personally know God themselves. Mom has always had an amazing capacity to give love, not just to family, but to everyone she met. Mom loved freely, and generously, without requiring you to meet a standard first, without threatening to withdraw if you didn’t measure up later, and without ever trying to get something back. Even on her death bed, Mom spoke words of care and encouragement to her visitors and family, and made sure everyone knew they were loved and appreciated.

It’s strange that a woman so good at giving love, worried for years whether people really appreciated her and liked her, but she did. Whether from rejections long in the past or imagined slights in the present, Mom somehow managed not to notice how well loved she was by the people around her. This worry was partially answered in Mom’s first ten years in Agassiz: she was never happier and more fulfilled than here in Agassiz. However, that insecurity was finally, completely put to rest in the last year of her life, when all the love that Mom gave out during her lifetime came back to her in a tremendous show of support and help. This outpouring made it obvious just how truly and sincerely people loved her. While it isn’t right for someone to die as young as Mom, I’ll say that it was at least appropriate that such an amazing love-giver ended her life surrounded by so many people who loved her. Mom kept a journal this year that she allowed her family to read after she died, and the most often repeated theme is how loved she feels, and how much she loves those around her. About a week before her death, I asked Mom what was the best thing she had learned from her last year. She said that she learned how much people loved her, but, more than anything else, she was overwhelmed by the depth and tenderness of Dad’s love for her. Dad’s love for Mom has been amazing and humbling to see, and I don’t think any feeling human being could watch Dad’s devotion to mom in these last few months without being truly touched.

Cancer is cruel, and it is only in a hurting, broken world that a woman as young as Mom should already be called home to heaven. On a day like this, the question why is impossible to answer, and honestly, even if we DID have a complete, perfect answer to the question “Why?”, it would only satisfy our minds, and it still would not quiet the ache in our hearts. Asking “Why?” can’t change anything; it only makes us focus on our own pain. Instead, I propose a different question, one that I think Mom would prefer us to ask: “how, even in this, was God’s name glorified?” This question will not end the ache in our hearts either, but at least it turns our eyes to God, instead of focussing on our own pain. Here is an incomplete list of the ways J’s life, and especially its end, brought glory to God.

An entire church in Germany, and another in Korea, was touched by Mom’s grace and courage when she visited. A girl joined the church in Korea on Mom’s invitation, and recently was baptized into God’s family. Dozens here in Agassiz saw, through Mom, that God’s promises REALLY CAN bring hope and peace, even in the shadow of death. Our entire family, on both sides, in all generations, have grown closer than ever before, and we have strengthened each other so much. The church in Agassiz has been like a tiny model of the Kingdom of Heaven, in the many, many different ways they’ve supported and sustained our family.

Many prayers were answered: Mom had enough time and strength to say all the important goodbyes she wanted to say, and visit each of her children and her family in Ontario; Mom survived Dan’s wedding, allowing that day to be a joyful one; the coma at the end was fairly quick; she got to see each of her kids one last time before she lost consciousness; amazingly, she had barely any pain as she fought cancer in her abdomen – an area of the body that is usually very sensitive to pain.

I asked Mom if there was anything she wanted me to share in particular in this eulogy, and she asked me to mention Philippians 2:14-15: “Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.”

Mom pointed out to me that the way to shine like a star, to become blameless and pure, is simply to “do everything without complaining or arguing” and Mom was a model of that. She might be the least self-pitying cancer patient ever. She never complained or questioned, but instead, she lived out the end of the life God gave her gently and humbly, and she truly did shine like a star in the universe. Mom’s peace and serenity, and especially her trust in God, set an example for everyone else involved in her sickness. If she herself could suffer through this time without self-pity or anger, then we could certainly do the same. Yet even as others saw Mom’s peace and serenity, Mom wanted to give the glory to God, and point to the source of her peace: tucked away in her journal was the simple sentence, “I hope the story of ‘me’ doesn’t grow out of proportion” – she saw the way people were impressed by her story, and her attitude, and worried that the glory and attention would point to her, instead of to God. Even in her own fight with cancer, Mom humbly wanted to be sure that all the attention went to God.

That is J Ouwehand’s legacy. It is a legacy of humility, love, and trust in God. Mom has left the earth, and all that remain are her footprints, but those are powerful footprints. Those footprints are deep on my soul, and every time I give someone the benefit of the doubt, every time I am gracious and generous, every time I carry my own burdens without complaining, I am living out Mom’s legacy on earth. Really, every time I choose to live more like Christ, I am honouring my mother, because she was an example of a humble life patterned after Christ. Though her treasure is in heaven for living like Christ on earth, our lives bear the earthly fruit of her life. When we face difficult times with courage and peace, when we keep faith in people and love the unlovable, when we look to serve without attracting attention to ourselves, we honour Mom’s memory. By these things we prove that, without a doubt, death has NO victory in the story of Mom’s cancer, for even in her death, the kingdom of heaven advanced on earth, through the lives she touched.

To My Friends in Korea (August 2005)

Hello my friends in Korea.

I wrote one letter to my Korean friends, and promised
I will write more. Then I forgot to tell you more
about my summer. Some of you haven't heard from me
for a long time. I'm sorry.

This letter is in very simple English, because some
people on this list are learning English, and I don't
want my letter to be difficult for them.

My summer was interesting. I am surprised when I
think that I left Korea five months ago! Some good
things happened. I saw some of my very good friends,
and our friendship is strong. I travelled to my
brother's wedding in July, and I travelled to my good
friend's wedding in August.

My brother got married on July 2, and I was the Best
Man (I stood beside my brother when he got married.)
His wife is named Caryn, and she is a wonderful,
funny, interesting, sweet girl. I travelled to Dan's
town two weeks before the wedding to help him prepare
the last details. I met most of Dan's good friends,
and I really like Dan's friends and his church. There
are lots of good people in his life, so it was really
fun to see him with his friends.

My mom's stomach cancer slowly got worse and worse.
She couldn't eat much, so she got thinner and thinner.
She also got weaker. In July, she was too weak to go
to Dan's wedding. That was very sad. However, many
relatives (uncles, aunts, cousins) came to Dan's
wedding. It was AMAZING to see so much family there.

The wedding day was full of serious times, where
everybody thought about Dan and Caryn's love, and
about God's love for His people. The wedding day was
ALSO full of joy and laughing and funny times. It was
an incredible, amazing, wonderful wedding. I will put
some pictures from the wedding in this e-mail.

After the wedding, many uncles and aunts came to my
town, to visit my mother. She was very happy to see
so many people who loved her.

My time in BC has been good. I've learned a lot about
love, by watching how my father and mother love each
other, and watching how the church in Agassiz loves my
family. The church really really helped us a lot.
People came to visit, and brought food, and cleaned
our house, and did many many small, very useful
things. I'm amazed and thankful that God's people are
so good at helping each other. I think that the
friends and church people are like mirrors that show
God's love for me. God took care of me this summer by
sending loving people to me.

I also learned about love from my friends, because my
friends have been really good and helpful to me. My
friends in Canada, and also in Korea helped me stay
strong, so that I can be strong enough to help my Mom
and Dad. Thank you for your love, my friends!

Since Dan's wedding, mom slowly got weaker, and the
cancer got stronger. Now she stays in bed usually,
and last week she suddenly stopped eating very many
meals. Before, she ate three small meals every day,
and some snacks. Now she eats one meal (sometimes)
every day, and only has drinks, but no snacks. I
can't say if she will still live one or two or three
weeks, but she probably will not live much longer.

After mom dies, I might spend some time travelling in
Canada to see all my important friends, but then I
will come to Korea again. Thank you for being my
friends in Korea. I'm excited to see you all again.
I have missed Korea a lot (especially Exgirfriendoseyo, my
church, and my wingman, Matt, and Korean Jimjilbang,
and samgyetang).

These weeks are going to be my most difficult weeks,
so I appreciate your prayers and thoughts, and thank
you for all the prayers you prayed all summer for me.
They really did help: Mom has a lot of peace in her
mind, and she doesn't have much pain from the cancer,
and that is amazing: usually stomach cancer is VERY
painful.

Sorry I didn't write more e-mails, and sorry this
letter is a little bit long. Thank you for being my
friends in Korea.

Rob Ouwehand

March 23rd 2005

Well, it's quiet today: last time I wrote a letter
like this, I was sitting in a sauna in Seoul, hoping
my ears wouldn't get blasted out of my head by the
earthquake-loud dance music playing nearby. This
time, I can hear a clock ticking, and wind blowing
outside the window. The air smells like carpet (an
extreme rarity in Korea: almost all floors are tile or
plastic cleverly disguised to look like light wood
paneling). I also smell cypress trees, growing things
(happy beginning of spring, all), and . . . nothing
(no car exhaust, no street food, no cigarettes). This
can only mean one thing: I am back in Canada.

I finished working on the 28th of February. My
Kindergarten students graduated to first grade (I have
really cute pictures) on the 25th, and I'm proud as
punch of them; Exgirfriendoseyo ALSO graduated from university
on the 25th of February, unfortunately at the same
time as my students, so, lacking the time to develop a
working duplicater safe for human use, I had to miss
seeing my girlfriend graduate. The conversation
went/may have gone like this:

"I wish you could be here to see me graduate, Rob."

"Oh Exgirfriendoseyo -- I wish I could be there! I'd scream
'That's my girlfriend and I love her!' as loud as I
could as you walked up to get your diploma!"

"But I guess it's OK that you can't come. Have fun
with your Kindergarten kids!"

for some reason she wasn't too upset.

I stayed in Korea until March 14th -- two extra weeks
after I finished working. Matt F, my best friend in
Korea (and the newest member of my pantheon of best
friends in the world), let me stay at his house for
two weeks, in his guest bed. This was really great of
him (especially after I figured out that the window
panels were improperly lined up, and THAT'S why the
room was so cold at night.)

The reason I stayed an extra two weeks was so that I
could end my time in Korea on a series of high notes
with my different friends and communities, rather than
on a frantic, rushed, "I still have to finish
packing!" note, like in 2003. Also, I wanted to spend
a LOT of time with my wonderful, beautiful, sweet,
funny . . . (she knows all the other adjectives that
go in this space) . . . warm-hearted and all-around
fantastic girlfriend Exgirfriendoseyo.

After my last day of work, (and before), I had a real
blast winding down my time in Korea. Matt took me
dancing one night (something I'd missed doing since we
were in Japan), I lost money playing poker with the
old coworkers, and I spent a lot of time with Exgirfriendoseyo.
A lot. In fact, just about the only time I DIDN'T
spend with Exgirfriendoseyo, was spent either packing, or
preparing some kind of gift for Exgirfriendoseyo, or travelling
to meet Exgirfriendoseyo, or sleeping, or with Matt. The number
one goal of my extra two weeks was to solidify the
relationship Exgirfriendoseyo and I have had since the end of
July, and make sure that it's built solidly enough to
last, and grow, during my time in Canada. It will be
a difficult time, and distance is never easy, but the
extra two weeks seemed to be exactly the right amount
of time to get everything really working well.

My next goal is to get her to come to Canada. We're
working on a strategy for talking to/asking her
parents, that includes a formal invitation from my
parents and stuff like that. Here's to hoping. My
mom really wants to see Exgirfriendoseyo again (and Exgirfriendoseyo wants
to see my Mom), and I think we can make it happen.

Now that I'm back in Canada, I'm starting to look for
work, and I'm writing a lot. This is a good thing. I
hope that I'll be able to do a lot of work on poetry
and stories, and hopefully, even be able to start
sending poems out to magazines and such. So if
anybody reading this is a magazine publisher, and you
need a poem to fill in an empty space, just give me a
shout! Beyond that, my main goal is just to be around
the house, making myself useful to my mom and dad as
Mom gets weaker, and Dad feels the strain of caring
for a sick wife. It's really the least I can do.

One thing I've learned over the last six months is how
important family can be. Mom and Dad have been
supported by their church family these months, and now
I'm in Canada to do what I can. Often, the best
things families do for each other aren't spectacular:
your uncle doesn't have to save you from a burning oil
refinery to be your hero, and your friend doesn't have
to carry you down a mountainside after you break your
ankle, to prove (s)he's a friend for life. Usually
love shows itself best in small ways -- a touch of
compassion, a compliment, a hug at the right time.
Right now, to be here for my mom and dad, it's all
menial things -- carrying in the groceries, mowing the
lawn, cooking dinner because mom loses her appetite if
she cooks, cleaning bathrooms because company's
coming. But, the sum of those things is not the
trivial nature of the work I'm doing, it's the way I
can show my love for my family right now. I'm lucky
enough to be in a position where I can do that, and
I'm so glad that Mom has someone to carry in the
groceries. (I think she is, too.)

Mom gets tired more easily. In October, when she came
to Korea, she managed to out-last both me and my dad
as we toured around Seoul. Now, she rests most of the
day if she's going out in the evening, and she falls
asleep at 8 pm if she's been active in the afternoon.
Sometimes she eats well, and sometimes her stomach
just rebels, but she is amazingly peaceful. She is
happy to see the people who come by, and she has an
attitude as positive as anybody I've met (which is
totally in character for her, but that only makes it
more remarkable). Dad sometimes feels the strain, too
-- he gets headaches and such sometimes, and every
once in a while he has a really emotionally exhausting
day, so please keep both of them in your prayers.

The Thursday after I arrived in Canada, my brother in
law had a birthday party for my sister. Her birthday
is January 1, but since New Year's Day is already a
party day, he decided to throw her a party on a
different day, so that her birthday was a special
occasion of its own. Unfortunately, Mom, Dad and I
had been told everything about the party but its
location (I don't think that's what was intended when
Brad said a surprise party), so we only managed to
find the party at all because I had stuck our
cellphone in my pocket, and forgotten it was there
when we drove out to Langley. Deb called us and we
found our way to our friend Sarah's house.

Then, on Saturday, my Uncle Tony and Aunt Marianne
came from Thunder Bay, Ontario, and on Monday my Uncle
Hugh and Aunt Heather (both Uncles are Dad's brothers)
came by from the Okanagan in BC, in order to help us
celebrate Mom and Dad's 30th wedding anniversary.
This was a pretty big, exciting thing. About 80
people from the Agassiz community came to and open
house in our church building, and gave their best
wishes to Mom and Dad. My uncles and aunts played
guitar, sang, and told jokes, and everybody ate,
signed the guest book, looked through Mom and Dad's
wedding album, and took pictures of the happy couple.


My uncle Tony reflected how an anniversary like this
celebrates the idea of marriage and commitment, as
well as my Mom and Dad's marriage, and it reminds
everybody to hold onto the ones they love. Doing this
takes a lot of different things: sometimes one is
needy, and sometimes the other. Sometimes, the main
thing that holds a marriage through a hard time is
stubbornness, and sometimes relationships only survive
by luck, or sheer grace, by the hope that things will
get better through commitment, effort and humility,
by the hope that the stubbornness will be worthwhile,
and give the grace a space to shine. Through all this
celebration, the main feeling, I think, was
thankfulness -- Dad thanks God for Mom, and the time
he's had with her. Mom thanks God for Dad, and the
love she's been able to give and receive. I thank God
that Mom met Dad, because if they hadn't, I'm not sure
how I'd be able to send this letter (and they swear
they're glad I was born, too). My parents have
touched a lot of people in their lifetimes, and will
touch more people in new ways before they're done, but
the anniversary celebration was a great way to note
how much good can come out of two people deciding to
build a life together, to make love an important part
of their life. I've always thought love is like a
muscle: the more you work it, the stronger it gets,
and the stronger a muscle is, the more work it can do,
and the more people it can help.

I'm not sure how long I'll be in Canada, but I hope I
get lots of opportunities to exercise love, and to
grow stronger because of it; the people around me in
Canada (and the US), and the people waiting for me in
Korea, deserve the strongest, most loving Rob I can
be.

Take care of yourselves.

If you live near Agassiz, give me a call: I have lots
of free time right now, and I'd love to catch up. If
you don't have my number, just hit the reply button
(delete the text of the rest of my letter) and ask for
my digits.

with love:
Rob Ouwehand

Christmas 2004

Greetings everyone.

Hi. Merry Christmas (in case I don't have a chance to
otherwise greet you for Christmas). It's getting
colder, plastic evergreens are springing up like
flowers in May or acne the week before prom night, so
it must be December. This Christmas feels more like
Christmas than last year, because, I suppose, of the
music: last year the only Christmas music I got to
hear all December was that elevator Christmas music
you get on the radio, which is usually not the kind of
holy, meditative Christmas music that puts me in the
holiday/Advent spirit, but this year I have the
antidote: I have place my Handel's Messiah in the CD
case that I carry around to work and home, so whenever
I want it to start feeling like Christmas, I just pop
some Handel into the tape player in each classroom,
and have the Messiah as the background music for that
class. The Messiah being the one thing that readies
me for the holidays more than any other thing, I'm
feeling much more Christmassy this year, even though I
haven't so much as smelled egg not, tasted a candy
cane, or even seen a nativity scene.

Korea has its beauties, even in winter -- the trees
are finally empty of their various colours, which
means I can see the mountain more easily. (**one
single white male: tall, sensitive, articulate,
seeking a silver lining to various clouds; if
interested call 0** *** **** after business hours.
Serious inquiries only.**). Unfortunately, as
beautiful as Seoul winter can (HONESTLY!) be, I've not
been able to enjoy it for the last week, because I've
been feeling sudden urges to fall asleep, cold sweats,
and a bad cough. That's right, yours truly is sick: I
get funny tastes (and sometimes colours) in my mouth
when I cough, I wake up with headaches and am
constantly thirsty. Sometimes I sneeze fifteen times
in two minutes for no apparent reason. I even took
Wednesday off to rest. I'll get better, of course,
but it's a pain being sick and having a bedtime of
10:00 pm.

Let's get this over with quickly:

you all know now (unless you've forgotten somehow)
that my mother has terminal stomach/liver/other places
cancer. This means I will be going home for
Christmas. That means I had to purchase a plane
ticket home for Christmas, which also meant I now have
no money for Christmas presents (sorry everyone -- ask
again on a year when my mother isn't dying. Believe
me, I wish I had the choice to spend my December
paycheck on books CDs and hobby accessories for all my
friends, too.) It means I will be in Canada, in
Agassiz, specifically, for the week between Christmas
Day and New Years' day, but it also means that my top
top tippy toppest priority is to be with my family
this Christmas as (here come the waterworks) it
may/probably will be my family's last Christmas with
my mother in the mix. All this is to say no, I can't
spare a whole day (out of my five, one of which is
lost to jetlag) for you; no, I can't drive out to
Langley or Vancouver or Red Deer or Manhattan to swing
by your new pad (though I'm sure it's really cool).
However, if you want to come out to Agassiz to see me,
I'll make sure that Mom and Dad have lots of tea and
crackers on hand, and you can drop me a line and I'll
send you directions to my house.

But unless seeing me is deathly urgent, or I am
"please become godfather to my children" level close
to you, here is some reassuring news:

I'd asked my boss if I could extend my contract for
three extra months so that I had three more paychecks
before I came back to Canada, and I could properly be
my brother's best man in July when he gets married,
having worked until May, I'd be able to live in Red
Deer in June and sort things out for him. My boss,
for whatever reason, decided she'd rather hire
somebody else next March, and has decided to reject my
offer to stay for three extra months. Maybe the
uncertainty of my family situation was part of her
rationale, but in the end, I'm not too fussed. She'll
be able to bring on a new teacher at the beginning of
a semester (which is nice for her), and maybe hire a
couple (which is cheaper for her), and I don't have to
bust my groove thang for 10 and a half hours a day for
an extra three months. And (here's that silver lining
I advertised for earlier:) now I'll be coming home at
the beginning of March, so that's not too far off
after Christmas -- barely any time at all, the way
time keeps passing faster and faster!) so I can be
there for my parents' 30th Wedding Anniversary! I
hadn't thought about this, but that's pretty exciting.
And, suddenly I've gone from having about five more
months at this school, to having just over two more,
and that, my friends, is a nice feeling, considering
the level of workaholism the administration has begun
to ask of its teachers.

The downside (and this is big) is that I'm gonna miss
my girlfriend the now, retroactively renamed Exgirlfriendoseyo.

A lot.

















A lot.

As she will me.




but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

of course that part won't be easy. she's really been
a rock for me, and I'm so grateful and lucky/blessed
that she's in my life right now. Everybody in my
Church (where she's been attending weekly), just
adores her, and asks about her caringly when she's
absent because of a test or a paper.

She's doing exams and papers right now, wrapping up
her final semester, so I'm trying to be a steadfast
support for her, and encourage her in her studies.
Last night I cooked special, Rob-style spaghetti and
brought it, in a plastic container, down to the school
where she was studying, and surprised her with dinner
there. That was fun -- but we're trying to find the
balance between relationship maintenance and diligent
study, but right now I feel like diligent study is
winning by a longshot, and I miss her sometimes. Of
course, this, too, shall pass, and the reunion (of
sorts) when she has leisure time again, will be
wonderful, but for now I'm trying to be a solid
support and encourage her as much as I can.


A few weeks ago I got this one: the opposite of
YESterday is NOterday.

I've been having fun with my kids; I've learned how to
speak Konglish really well -- English with TOTALLY
Korean pronounciation, and that always cracks up the
kids, but the best laugh one of the kids dealt to me
came a few weeks ago.

I was teaching the word "Statue", and I mentioned that
often we see statues in churches and temples. Eddie,
one of my sweetest Kindergarten students, made the
finger gesture that the Buddha often makes in his
statues -- thumb and middle finger touching as if you
moved the "A-OK" sign down a finger, as if he's about
to flick something with his middle finger. Then he
asked "Teacher, do you know why Buddha is making that
way?" (making that gesture)

"Why, Eddie?"
now I have to explain a game of rock scissor paper
that korean kids play (they LOVE variations on rock,
scissor paper, and it's the ultimate argument settler
in this country; it's universally recognized as fair).
In one of the variations, the winner of the game gets
to flick the loser in the middle of the forehead.
This flick is usually done by the index finger or the
(strongest) middle finger. Eddie explains to me that
Buddha is making that gesture because. . .
"Buddha and God play rock scissor paper. And Buddha
win, so Buddha can do this one" (makes flicking
motion) "to God".

I didn't find this a bit blasphemous, of course -- it
was just a kid living in a culture where Buddha and
God are about equal influences on the religious
preferences of people around him, trying to make sense
of it all. It made me laugh, and hey, the dude wears
the virgin Mary around his neck two days in five, so
he'll grow up to understand more about it all, I hope
in a way that's as lighthearted as that, down the
road. It's a lot nicer to be able to chuckle about
the way religions can live alongside each other than
the two girls in another class who have been known to
feud in class because of has Christian parents and the
other has Buddhist parents (I learned about that one
from my teaching assistant). It saddens me that kids
so young are already building walls and being nasty to
each other over religion, which (from what I've
gathered) is (if nothing else) humanity's attempt to
figure out how NOT to be nasty to each other.

I explained counting syllables to a class by using
words that had lots of syllables, that I knew the kids
wouldn't know, to show that you don't have to know a
word to sound it out or count its syllables. The
words I used were "detrimental" and "extraneous",
which I repeated several times in class, until one kid
put up his hand and asked "Teacher, what's
excremental?"

My girlfriend sends me messages on my phone, and she
keeps making adorable spelling mistakes -- and somehow
her spelling mistakes ALWAYS turn into different
words; they never just turn into nonsense. She spells
message wrong, so she regularly says things like

"thanks for that massage. it made me laugh"
or "i'll send you a massage later"

yesterday she said "I told my mom that you brought me
spaghetti. "She was empressed" (I don't know what the
emperor's wife has to do with my spaghetti OR her mom,
but it make me smile)

and unfortunately, since she'll recieve this letter, I
guess that massage mistake's gonna stop now, but it's
been fun.

so that of course leads to the question "When your
Korean friends' chronic English errors are really
cute, is it still your responsibility to correct
them?" -- one lady at work always says lunch "lonchee"
so that the word lunch almost rhymes with the word
"raunchy" -- and do I need to correct that, when it's
so cute? She's the same one who told me, when I went
to the doctor's, that I have to get lots of lest.

My name regularly becomes lobeuh (which is how Koreans
say "Love" in Konglish), so I'm Love teacher to some
of my kids, and to others, I've told them about the
Lobster nickname, so I have a few kids who won't stop
calling me Lobster, Love, or Robot, which I don't
mind.

Matt's brother Joel is here, and he's cool. And I've
started making spaghetti again, after almost a
two-year hiatus. This is really nice -- it'd been so
long since I'd made spaghetti, it's nice to get back
into practice. Also, especially during a time that's
particularly emotionally challenging, with a
girlfriend who's unavailable because she has to study,
making spaghetti is (I realized) a REALLY comforting
ritual for me. Making it makes me feel almost as good
as eating it. Plus, afterwards, my house smells SO
good afterwards.

Anyway, I should probably go. I'll see some of you
this coming Christmas, and the rest of you in March.
I miss you and I love you, Korea's still good, life
and God are still good -- it just sometimes takes some
looking to find the silver lining. Like when your mom
sends you an e-mail about how "it's getting more
difficult to do everyday things -- I had to take a nap
in the middle of a meeting with some church families"
-- but then, it's also my mom where I take my cues,
and where I learned, to look for a silver lining. I
remember her saying "well, you know, surgery's not an
option, but on the bright side, I get to keep my
stomach and eat food with flavour," and "I try to
think positively -- I've lost a lot of weight, but hey
-- I fit into everything in my closet now! And I
don't snore anymore!"

Way to go, mom. Everybody on this list could learn
from you. I'm not sick -- I'm just staying home from
work to watch movies and sleep. No less than Hamlet
himself said, "there is nothing either good or bad,
but thinking makes it so", and John Milton agreed that
"The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make
heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven." and, to
paraphrase Proverbs 17:1: "Better a dry crust with
peace and quiet than a house full of feasting", I'll
say, "better a sick mom full of love and joy and
wisdom, than a healthy mom who's the subject of all my
trips to the counsellor" I wouldn't trade you for the
world, Mom.

And to all the rest of you:

well, I like you all, quite a bit, too.

God Bless

Rob

Mom' Cancer Announcement

I don't know if I have room, or heart, to comment more
than what my father wrote. Here's the e-mail I just
recieved.
*****
December 1, 2004
Dear Family,
Thank you all so much for your prayers during this
past week. Jane has had
a great week, filled with hope and expectation. We
have both felt very
much the support and encouragement of all of our
friends and family during
this anxious time.

God has answered all of our prayers, though not in the
way we had
hoped. Our prayers during this time have been that
above all, God would be
glorified by whatever happens. And we are sure that
the events of today too
are in his control and will work together for his
glory and our benefit.

Yes, as you've probably guessed by now, the news today
was not good. Jane
had her surgical examination, and the doctor found
cancer in many different
places. Jane will not be facing the major surgery of
having her stomach removed.

It seems in some ways that we are now back to where we
were last October
after the first CTscan. Cancer seems to have a way of
keeping us on a
roller coaster ride for some time. But now we know
for sure that Jane's
cancer is not operable or curable by human or medical
means.

This does not mean we no longer have hope! Of course,
initially, and
always, our hope is first and foremost in the Lord!
We have every
confidence that our lives are securely held in his
hands, and we know that
he will lead and guide us in ways that may seem
mysterious to us, but that
reveal his wonders at work in and through us. We have
experienced this
already as we have seen how the Lord has used this
time of illness to be a
blessing to many whose lives Jane's life has touched
over the years.

We will continue to strive for fullness of life as
Jane uses the means the
Lord shows us and as we keep our hope fixed on him.
How much time Jane,
or, for that matter, any of us have left is still not
in our hands. And we
pray that God will spare Jane for as long as he needs
her to be a blessing
to others and to reveal his glory though her. We also
pray for strength,
comfort and grace for each member of our family in the
trying times in the months ahead.

Please continue to remember us in your prayers, as you
have been doing.

Please feel free to send this email to others you
think might be interested
and willing to join us in prayer.
God bless you all,
Rudy

Eventful. . . A Little Too Eventful.

So a lot has happened since my last letter. I
remember writing in my journal a few months ago, "what
does it mean that my life has been so peaceful lately
-- does the lack of opposition show that I'm off
course from my life goals, or what?"

Calm before the storm, friends. Calm before the
storm.

To summarize (as if I EVER summarize). . .

1. As I described before, my nephew was diagnosed
with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, a particularly nasty
kind of degenerative muscle disease.
2. (This was an awesome part -- a ray of sunshine, if
you will): My brother got engaged to his girlfriend in
Red Deer, Caryn Siler, who's a grate humman beign.
(Sorry about that spelling, folks. A little inside
joke action there.)
3. My grandfather has been in and out of the hospital
more frequently again in the last few months, which
leads to all the worries and concerns I've discussed
in previous letters.

4. (Hold onto something: this is the big one.) My
mother has been diagnosed with stomach cancer --
gastric adenocarcinoma of diffuse (signet ring cell)
type ('cos I know you'd be curious, Dr. Dave). It's
about the nastiest form of stomach cancer out there.
Since the diagnosis, we've found out that it's spread
to her liver as well, which means that surgery is not
an option, and because of the kind of cancer,
chemotherapy won't cure it; they've opted not to use
chemo because it might give her an extra two months,
but only at the cost of making her other remaining six
to twelve months miserable.

You know how serious it is when Dad writes an e-mail
about test results, and spends as much time talking
about heaven as he talks about what the doctor said.

So let's just say it's been a difficult time -- I
wrote after I learned of Matthias' muscular dystrophy
that allowing yourself to love someone always opens
you up to the possibility of loss. This takes that a
little farther again, as this time, the one touched is
my mother, someone I never allowed myself to love --
someone whom I love as naturally as breathing, who's
been part of the bedrock of my life since before I had
a heartbeat.

I found out on Friday the 15th, talked to Mom and Dad
that Saturday morning, and have yet to make the rest
of my rounds on the phone. Deb, sorry I haven't
called you yet. I love you.

The upshot is that my mom and dad have come to Korea
to be here on my birthday, and the week after; once
Mom had the diagnosis, that was the first thing she
wanted to do, and my uncle bought my mom and dad
tickets to Korea, while my aunt got on the phone to
raise funds so that both parents could go. Dad's
church graciously gave him another two weekends off
(they just got back from a trip to Germany to see my
other sister, Rebecca), to send him to Korea as well.
I've been surprised at the suddenness, but it's so
good to see my mom and dad again.

It's been a tearful weekend, and a week of great joy
and great sadness, with joy outweighing the sadness,
but a few main impressions have come out of it:

1. I am surrounded with good people -- the coworkers
really stepped up for me on the Friday I found out
with compassion and understanding, and also with
enough humour to make me feel like things can continue
at least somewhat normally. Matt has been a rock for
me, and Lina (my Korean girlfriend) has proven her
quality and compassion in a really amazing way.

Meanwhile, my church has really banded together in
support. I feel really surrounded by love, care and
prayer (as does my mom). People have helped me find
cots and bedding for my parents, and even picked them
up at the airport when I was at work! Last Sunday,
mom and dad came to my church with me and my
girlfriend, and all three newcomers had a wonderful,
warm welcome, and on Wednesday night we went to a
church family's house for dinner, and on Friday we'll
have a farewell potluck dinner at another's.

2. My mom is surrounded by good people. My mom's
church has answered the news with so much love,
support and generousity, that I want to go back there
and give every single one of them a hug. Christians
like to talk about community and the unity of
Christians, but Mom and Dad's community have really
shown that it's more than words.

3. I've been really amazed by my Mom's reaction -- it
seems like she's handling this whole thing better than
anyone else. She's said that the whole thing so far
has made her realize how many people there are who
care about her. She has a level of peace and trust in
God that helps to keep me from flying off the
handlebars with my own anxiety. My Dad, too, has been
really solid, but please remember them both in your
prayers, and not just my mom. I think Dad is the one
who has the hardest role. Pastors are not usually the
ones who ask for emotional support; usually, they're
the ones who give it, so it's a hard place for him to
be. Mom has the hope of heaven staring her right in
the face -- she'll even tell you that she's not afraid
of going home -- but Dad's the one who will remain,
bereaved, after she's gone.

4. It's so good to be around my parents. It's one of
those instant comfort buttons. When I'm sitting
around a house with my folks, it's not exciting. Most
conversations happen at night around bedtime, and the
rest of the day is mostly quiet, in Korea as in
Canada, but it's just a good atmosphere -- having
their presence here is really nice, and mom and dad
have really been game to try out foods and go places
as far as their stamina will carry them. (Their
stamina's diminished -- Dad by a cold and Mom by her
stomach.) We had a great weekend eating different
kinds of non-spicy Korean foods (mom loved Korean food
-- both parents were real sports about trying new
tastes) and seeing the Han River, looking over Soul's
skyline from the tallest building in Korea's, walking
through a palace, buying Korean-style clothes in the
traditional market (that was my thanks-for-coming-out
gift for my parents), and meeting my church family.
We spent the whole weekend with Lina, my girlfriend,
and she really got along well with Mom. She even came
to church with us on sunday and really enjoyed meeting
the people who've been helping her care for me these
few months.

My mom loves people so easily that it makes people
love her, too. Lina really loved meeting my folks. I
loved seeing her be accepted and loved by them. Most
of the weekend, Lina walked around with my mom,
holding her hand, and she sent me a message (hopefully
teasing) that she misses my mom more than she misses
me when she can't see us during the week.

In other news, I went to Japan during the five day
weekend that was Korean thanksgiving. It was really
interesting to see how two countries can be so similar
in some ways and so different in others -- just a
different feel on the streets, a different aesthetic,
a different (much lower) noise level. A different
twinge in the shapes of faces and eyes and noses, a
different fashion sense -- it was interesting going
back to knowing NONE of the language, after reaching a
point where I can survive fairly well in Korea with my
Korean.

They have better urban planning, though. Quieter and
more peaceful -- but sometimes oppressively quiet.
Expensive. Really expensive. We spent the whole time
visiting and staying with friends Matt had made while
travelling in Cambodia and Thailand, which was easily
the best way to encounter a new country -- we didn't
see the touristy spots, but I think we got a real feel
for the people and the country. One night, a friend's
father actually took the day off work so that he could
buy ingredients, and then he (a sushi chef), prepared
sushi for us like you wouldn't believe. It didn't
stop coming, and there were so many different tastes
and textures. He spoke barely any English -- "You
like me sushi. I happy," but we had a great time, and
Matt's friend Kuru translated. Matt got out Kuru's
guitar, and sang a song by a Canadian folk singer
named Stan Rogers, and he and I sang a song we've done
together a few times, with harmonies. Then Kuru's
father said, in Japanese, "I'm not a good singer, but
you shared Canadian songs with us, so I want to sing a
Japanese song to you."

The man -- my father's age, and unable to speak
directly to us -- sang a song to us, and opened a part
of his heart, in the ragged voice of a man unfamiliar
with singing. It was one of those moments of
understanding that can't quite be conveyed. Then he
sang a second song, called "Sukiyaki" which some of
you might recognize; it was a hit song in the 1960s in
America, and a version, translated into English, got a
lot of radio play in the mid nineties, enough that I
knew the words. I sang the song back to Kuru's father
in English, and he was totally amazed and surprised.

All this to say I had some really cool connections,
and made some friends that I hope I will see and hear
from again.

Japan was great. Expensive, and too many coins
(everything up to 500 yen ($5 equivalent) was a coin
-- start lobbying NOT to get a $5 coin in Canada. So
many coins is just maddening), but beautiful in a way
that Korea isn't, because Korea was so busy trying to
grow faster that they didn't take as much planning or
aesthetics into account. Tokyo is a very carefully,
thoughtfully, and beautifully designed city. I
enjoyed that part a lot.

But, coming back to Korea has only reminded me how
much I love Korea. Koreans are warm and expressive in
a way Japanese aren't; just seeing a mother give her
daughter a hug on a street corner here was something I
didn't/wouldn't see in Japan. It's quiet and peaceful
there, but Korea is just plain fun, and more exciting.

So I loved Japan, but it reminded me how much I love
Korea in the same stroke. I'm glad I went to Japan
though.

The students, as always, are hilarious -- one girl,
because she didn't know the word "garlic" when I told
her about eating garlic spaghetti, immediately accused
me of eating "garbage spaghetti", and you know you're
with kids when you hear somebody singing classical
music with weird voices, culminating in one of my boys
doing Beethoven's piano piece "Fur Elise" in a roaring
monster voice -- his voice and the melody being about
as opposite as a message and its mode can be.

Work has been a soap-opera involving backtalking,
gossip, miscommunications, accusations, couples on the
rocks, supervisors who feel "uncomfortable" talking to
the people they supervise, and directors who talk to
everyone else on staff instead of the one with whom
they have a problem. It's been interesting. I'm
getting along better with the staff these days, and a
few of the other wrinkles (a co-worker's constant
complaining, and a few other kinks) are getting worked
out -- to the extent that I'm enjoying the staff room
more that I have. . . since my last workplace, really.
The mix of personalities is just starting to mellow
and gel.

At my church now, I'm teaching Sunday School for the
younger kids -- four Koreans with low degrees of
English, and two native English speakers from South
Africa (one of whom has on occasion corrected details
in my stories, and has also made requests: "Why don't
you tell us about David and Goliath?" I have a man
who's volunteered to help me with interpretation when
I need it, but they want me to do most of the sunday
school in English -- English Sunday School would be
quite a draw for a certain kind of parent to bring
their kid to our church.

I'm going back to Canada for Christmas to be with my
family. I will be spending most of that time with
family, though -- this just seems to be a Christmas to
be home. I'm glad about that -- the jetlag will be a
stinker, but having just had my parents in Korea, and
remembering what it's like to be around the family,
there's no place I'd rather be.

Autumn in Korea is the most beautiful time of year --
Mom and Dad managed to come at the perfect time; the
two best times are during cherry blossom season in
April, and autumn leaves week in October, and Mom and
Dad hit the Autumn leaves square on the nose. It's
light jacket weather with cold evenings, cool enough
to enjoy a warm drink for a little more than just the
taste. I managed to bring them around, thanks to the
Seoul City Tour Bus, to a lot of different areas of
Seoul, and they saw one of the major markets, some old
stuff (palaces and a folk village) some pretty stuff
(some walking trails near my place and the Han River
at night on a cruise), and some fun stuff (middle-aged
ladies dancing along with the stage shows at the
sauna, kids staring). We wore our Korean style
clothes around a number of times (especially mom), and
it was amazing how many smiles and approving looks we
got from Koreans (especially older ones). Ask me to
show you my outfit when you see me next.

Having Mom here's been an interesting perspective --
she has a remarkable peace about her cancer, and
seeing her courage, and her trust in God, has really
given me a lot more peace about the whole matter as
well. It's started a lot of conversations with my
friends about her faith and her trust in God, as well
as the hope of heaven, and helped a lot of my friends
to understand what I believe. On the bus home from
the airport to drop my Mom and Dad off, I explained to
the now, retroactively renamed for privacy, Exgirlfriendoseyo, my girlfriend, what that hope of Heaven means
for my family, and even my Buddhist-raised girlfriend
agreed that the idea of going to heaven to be with a
creator who knows and loves you sounds more pleasant
than ceasing to exist and eventually having your
memory die as well, only to reincarnate and go through
the grinding-wheel of a flawed world where sorrow is a
necessary counterpoint to joy, again. Maybe the best
perspective I've heard yet -- and Mom, sorry for
stealing your story -- was from a conversation my mom
told me about having with my nephew Matthias, the
five-year old who's been diagnosed with Duchenne
Muscular Dystrophy and who isn't expected to live past
age 25.

Matthias asked my mom,

-Oma, is it true you have cancer?
-Yes, it is.
-Why do you have cancer?
-I don't know why. Only God knows why.
-So you might die, right?
-Yes, I might die. And then your mom and dad, and
your Opa (Opa and Oma are the dutch words for
grandfather and grandmother), and your uncles and
aunts will be very sad.
-But I won't be sad if you die, Oma.
-Why not, Matthias?
-Because then you will go to heaven and be with Jesus,
and one day I will go there too, and then God will
give us bodies that don't have a problem.
-That's true. And in Heaven, we can praise God
forever.
-But Oma, we praise him already!

Way to go Matthias. I'll be so glad to see you one
day in a body without a problem.

If I haven't learned anything else from such a trying
time, I've learned how deep my own roots go in the
Church -- to my church, my bible, and my Lord were the
first places I went (along with my best friends, in
Korea and in Canada) when I heard the news, and that's
where I've found the most peace. I apologise to any
readers of this letter -- some of you aren't
churchgoers and aren't down with the things that have
brought me comfort -- who might feel preached at by
all the "religiousity" of this letter, and I hope I
didn't beat you over the head, but if you take nothing
else from all this God talk, at read it and know that
you've learned something about your friend Rob and
what things, deep down, form the bedrock of his
character and his family. It's steadied me in this
time, and whether you believe it or not
philosophically, it's a part of my story personally,
so I guess it was bound to find its way into these
letters eventually.

To everyone on this list: thanks for being an
important enough part of my life, in whatever respect,
that I felt like you ought to be part of this news and
these events in my life. I'm glad to be so surrounded
by people who know, care for, and understand me in all
the different ways you do.

So thanks again for your care, prayers, and concern.
I'm glad to know you all, and to have you around at a
time like this.

Much love

Rob

June 14th, 2003

There are two girls in the PC room near where I'm
sitting; they're playing with webcams and laughing
hysterically. It's really cute.


Hello everybody. Thank you for waiting so patiently
for another update.


But now, it's late Saturday night, I'm listening to an
excellent new CD, I had a great weekend, I've heard
some good news from a few of my friends
(congratulations, Melissa, Jon and Anna, and all the
people who graduated/are graduating this spring).



Friday the thirteenth was a good day for me. I must
backtrack. In March I was promoted from teacher to
foreign teacher supervisor at school; part of my job
is to help communication between foreign teachers and
the Korean bosses, and the other part is to help with
interviewing prospective employees. We had four
positions to fill between now and September, so I had
lots of recruiting/interviewing to do. On Friday, I
told my boss that the people I phone interviewed on
Thursday should be hired, and on Friday a fellow from
England accepted our offer and filled our last open
position.



So this weekend I have quite a load off my shoulders
concerning staff for the upcoming months.


I was tired, so I decided to go out with my roommate
and visit a jimjaebang (sauna).


In the subway, before the train came in, I noticed one
of the cutest little girls I've seen since I arrived
here. She had on a finger-paint purple outfit and
hair ribbons (pig-tails, of course) and she had these
huge, friendly eyes. We made eye contact and waved,
and a few funny faces later, when the train arrived,
she and I were playing hide and seek around one of the
pillars on the subway platform. On the subway, I was
standing halfway across the car and she ran up to me
and gave me an almond and a stick-on tattoo. I doubt
I've ever had a child warm up to me as fast as this
sweetheart who didn't even speak my language. Before
she got off the train she came up to me and said
"Ajashi annyong" which means "sir, goodbye", and waved
at me through the window as the subway pulled away
from the platform.


In Canada, if I were that friendly to a strange child,
her parents would probably watch me like a hawk (and a
suspicious hawk at that) until I left their kid alone.
I love this country. Being a foreigner has its
perks.


In the jimjaebang, there was this booth with a water
jet spraying water down into a pool in such a way that
you can stand or sit under the powerful stream. The
force was so strong that as soon as I stood under it
the entire world disappeared and all that remained was
the air I breathed, the bone-shaking sound of a
waterfall, and this amazing, splattering pressure on
my shoulders and head. I turned my face toward the
stream and it was so forceful that when it fell
directly on my nose, I could feel spray flying around
in my closed mouth. After the sauna/shower/water
jet/hot tub/mud bath room, you put on a pair of shorts
and a shirt and go upstairs to the hot and cold rooms.
The hot rooms are up to 90 degrees celsius. They are
too hot for the bacteria that makes sweat stink to
survive, so the air smells salty. The room is so hot
you have to put a towel down because it hurts too much
to directly touch the floor. Then you go to a cold
room and let your sweat-cleansed pores fill with cold
air.


Wonderful. Also, massage chairs. Mmmmmmmm.


I was in one of the lounges, writing in my journal,
when eight Korean university students made a
game-playing circle. They asked me where I was from,
and invited me to join them, and even asked me to
teach THEM a game! We talked and played until four in
the morning, and it turns out most of them are
studying English in some form or another. At four or
five AM, some of them went off to rest, and I sat and
talked with one of the girls until seven in the
morning, when people started waking up. I gave her my
e-mail address and I hope she writes: I'd love to hang
out with these people again. They seem like the kind
of crowd I'd hang out with if I were a Korean
university student.


Between them and a group of Seoulites I met during a
weekend trip to Pusan (far southern tip of Korea), and
one of my students, whose mom invites me out to
different museums and art galleries and palaces on
weekends, I'm managing to develop a decent social life
involving of Koreans, rather than just foreigners who,
as soon as you start really liking them, decide to go
home. These folks are really sweet, and there are a
few that I think I can even talk to (albeit in simple
language) about complex ideas like cultural gaps and
Eastern vs. Western mindframes.


So I'm making friends. I also have a church I like
now, and I am involved in their drama team. I haven't
been on stage yet, but I'm going to the small group
meetings.


It's a strange country though. Some people are so
sweet, and then others flash you dirty looks because
you're white; some kids make friends like a
thunderclap, and others point at you and laugh. Today
I was in the Hongdai area -- near an arts university
-- and I started juggling. A crowd gathered, laughing
when I dropped a ball, and clapping when I finished,
and then, five hundred steps from where I managed to
draw an appreciative, friendly crowd, I saw a stage
where a protest was beginning. Two people on stage
were singing a protest song where the crowd shouts
"F***ing USA" at the end of every line, and I drew
hateful glares from people who thought I was American
(because many Koreans assume all white people are
American). I'm sure every city contains such sharp
contrasts -- I think of the intersection in downtown
Vancouver where on one side there is a rich business
area, and on the other side is East Hastings, home to
aids-infected junkies, hobos and prostitutes. But
maybe being an outsider makes those kinds of things
much more noticeable.


Thanks to those of you who faithfully write me
letters; I really love getting them, and, as I said
before, if I am slow to answer, send me a reminder and
I'll get to it. I had a few weeks where I was
actually homesick, but I'm still glad I'm here, and,
as I wrote in my journal on the second day I was here,
"it's OK to miss people -- it'd be weird if I DIDN'T
-- but it's NOT OK to let missing them wreck my time
here."


This last month was especially hard for homesickness,
because (for those of you who do not already know), my
father was diagnosed with the early stages of prostate
cancer. It's not severe or life-threatening, but it's
still cancer, and I'm still in Korea, and that's
frustrating, because I can't be there for Dad and Mom.



Also, one of my best friends had a baby who I'm not
going to meet until next January, and I really wish I
could meet him sooner. But, as I said to my brother,
this is life, and this is how we grow up: one little
thing at a time. A friend gets engaged, someone gets
sick, I'm presented with a choice of who to hang out
with, etc.. Stuff happens, and some of it I can't
control. But it changes me, and I'm a different
person now, because of things I choose, and because of
things that aren't mine to choose. Every person who
receives this letter is also a different person than
the one I remember from my time with them, but that's
all right, because this is planet Earth, and on this
crazy planet, full of crazy humans, there aren't many
things that are the same yesterday, today, and
forever.


Anyway, that's what's been filling my days, and what's
been on my mind lately.


I hope, long as it might be, that this was worth the
read, and worth the wait.


Thanks for caring enough about me that you took the
time to read the whole thing.


Rob

Update May 2003

Hi everybody. This is personal news, but I'm writing
a bulk (ish) e-mail (note the streamlined "to" list)
because I don't think I could handle writing each of
you a personal letter about this, but I want each of
you, specifically, to know so you can pray about it,
and know about it.

This morning I got a phone call from my Mom and Dad;
Dad had prostate surgery a little while ago to remove
a bunch of stones (I hope this isn't an overshare . .
. ) and today (I guess it's probably yesterday by now)
they saw the doctor for an update, etc..

The doctor told him that of the stones they removed, a
certain amount of them had cancerous cells in them.
They caught it in an early stage, and it hasn't
spread, which is excellent: prostate cancer is one of
the least threatening cancers after skin cancer, if it
is caught in time and dealt with appropriately. They
caught this one really early, so the prognosis is
really good (as cancer prognoses go), but even though
my nurse aunt says that this kind of prostate cancer
comes out fine 99% of the time, it's still the "C"
word, and it's still my dad, and that's a little
distressing: it's the first time cancer has struck
anyone in my family closer than cousins I've never
met. And whatever the success rate of treating this
kind of cancer or the other, it'll still be unpleasant
having his prostate removed: he'll be on his back
and/or limited in movement for 6-8 weeks after his
hospital stay, and, you know, he's my DAD, and I'm in
stinkin' Korea where all I can do is call regularly
and e-mail.

So pray for my Dad a lot: it's only been in the last
few years that I've really grown to know and admire
him, and see how much of him is in me, and pray that I
would be the best son I can from where I am, and that
my Dad's condition would neither wreck my stay in
Korea, nor that my stay in Korea would make me a poor
support during my Dad's hard time.

Still love it in Korea, etc. etc., but. . . I dunno,
this is the first time I've REALLY been frustrated
that I'm here instead of there, and I can't just drop
everything and spend the weekend at Mom and Dad's or
something.

Thanks for caring, and being the kinds of people I
care about enough, and who have cared enough about me,
that I want you to be the first to know news like
this. I'm blessed and lucky to have such a long list
of addresses in my "To" box for news like this: I
thank God every chance I get for having supports like
you.

Love you all
Rob