Can't Pour Your Own Soju

.

I have been on the Korean peninsula for forty-eight hours now. Thirty minutes before that, I was spilling orange juice onto me and the longsuffering guy next to me; an hour before that I was reading American Shaolin in Japan (great read); thirteen hours before that I hugged my parents good-bye; and an hour before that I spent a heartening morning with three of the people I love best in the world.

I am very blessed.

Sometimes it’s almost like I can feel peoples’ prayers on my skin, like bug-spray warding off the mosquitoes. Maybe that’s not the most flattering metaphor, but I have a healthy respect for the efficacy of both prayer and DEET. So, thank you for your sticky prayers, everyone! They are doing their job.

Despite a healthy dose of jet-lag, I’m still on my feet and figuring things out piece by piece here in Korea. My first night, I was indoctrinated into Korean culture with my first glass of soju (Korean vodka, basically) and the killing of two cockroaches in a friend’s apartment. Yesterday I got a Korean phone and extracted Korean won for the purchasing of all things foodlike. Today I lost my Korean phone and stopped by the hospital for some required blood work and to provide the resident Koreans with entertainment and concern (more on that later).

Tonight I enjoyed theological discussion with my fellow teachers over Costco pizza, before calling it a day. I hope to write more tomorrow. There is much to tell, even more to process, and jet-lag to conquer.