Cultural Differences: A Rose is a Rose is a…Crazy Person?

Cultural differences can create some interesting misunderstandings.

Case in point:

In America (and as far as I know, in the West in general), females of every age, from little girls to not-so-little women, wear flowers in their hair to express (or give off the impression of) their femininity, beauty, and innocence.

In Korea, only crazy people wear flowers in their hair.

One day, my friend from Korea saw a girl in my school with a flower in her hair. Numerous people kept telling the girl all throughout the day how beautiful she looked with the flower in her hair, but my friend wondered why the girl was adorning her head with an accessory generally favored by the mentally unstable in Korea. She later realized this practice was considered beautiful here.

When she told me the story, I couldn’t stop laughing.

I really enjoy discovering the origins of words. Or at least thinking I discovered the origins of words.

“Indeed” is a word we now use for emphatic purposes. When we say “indeed,” we mean, “really.” But while writing a paper, I realized that “in deed” actually means “in action” because deed=action. So the original meaning of “indeed” probably meant, “This thing that you are talking about is so significant that it should not simply be talked about; it must be acted on or acted out.” Isn’t that cool?!?*

*This theory is based totally on my observations, so there’s a chance I could be seriously mistaken.

*Whether or not, my theory/conclusion is correct, I think the evolution of words is fascinating.

“Then the Lord God made a woman…” (Gen 2:22)

Being a woman is a pretty emotional experience.

And as confusing as it sometimes can be, I think I quite like it.

On that note, if you are female, understand Korean, and are in the mood to melt, this song may be of some assistance: http://blog.naver.com/PostView.nhn?blogId=rlawlgns8977&logNo=140127664267

Eyes

I like looking into people’s eyes. The experience is akin to reading a book, except in this case, the book is a soul.

You can learn a lot by looking into someone’s eyes.

Peace, fear, anxiety, confidence, uncertainty, shame, joy, despair, sorrow, hope, a walled-off heart, an open heart-the eyes convey it all.

And as much as I enjoy singing about Jesus’ eyes in Jon Thurlow’s songs, I’d like to literally see His eyes one day. Preferably sooner rather than later. I’ve heard they are “liquid pools of love.” I obviously have no idea what that means (I mean I do conceptually, but I think these sorts of things have to be experienced to really be understood), but I would like to find out. Again, Jesus, sooner rather than later, please 🙂

When in need of a dose of reality (i.e. humility)…

There’s nothing quite like family to help you see the real you. Not the pretty, clean, put-together person we wear when we go outside, and the person we sometimes fool even ourselves into thinking we are, but the real, raw, hair-on-ends us.

Thank God for family.

Go for it.

I’m so tired of being afraid. I’ve spent my entire life trying to prevent myself from making mistakes.

I’ve made a ton anyway.

I don’t want to tip-toe around life forever. If I’m going to make mistakes, I might as well make them while reaching instead of ducking.*

________________________

*Just to clarify: I don’t believe living boldly and fearlessly is synonymous with living recklessly and irresponsibly. I know Wisdom is needed for the former. Don’t know what that looks like, but looking forward to finding out!

 

Waiting

How ironic.

In January, I wrote a song with my friend Spenser about acknowledging the validity and treasuring the beauty of the waiting seasons in life instead of tossing them aside in favor of the ever-elusive moment when our life “really begins”- whatever that even means. As we pieced the song together, a sense of exhilaration welled up inside of me as I realized I had finally learned how to approach the Lord in my own waiting seasons; those unhappy rascals had traditionally been a source of confusion (mixed in with a hearty dose of despair) but were becoming huts of encounter with the love of God as He met me in my waiting-so much so that I could slap and mold my newfound knowledge onto paper as lyrics! I was over the moon.

I really should refrain from doing things like that-writing or talking about topics I think I’ve finally understood or conquered when I actually have very little idea what I’m referring to. Of course, right after the song was completed, the Lord would usher me into a new waiting season. I’m sure the fact that I sang about the beauty of the waiting season at my own inauguration of this particular Waiting Season amused Him to no end.

So anyway, here I am again: Round 2. Waiting. Again.

He’s stretching my heart, hurling his spades into the callouses of my spirit so fountains of living water can come forth.

I’m sure it’s going to be glorious, but quite frankly, in the moment, all I can do is marvel (and occasionally flinch) at the way His sharp spades chisel into the thick, hardened flesh just so. He’s a good, precise surgeon, He is.

I’ll Admit It

I used to pride myself on being the kind of person who knew what she wanted.

Other than the universally correct answers (God, love, etc.), it turns out I have very little insight into what I want. I’m finding that some of the things I thought I wanted aren’t what I want at all. It’s easy for me to cling to the expressions of what I think I want, and to allow the haze of my obsession to obscure my vision. Do I really want this new sweater or do I want to feel confident? Do I want to date this person or do I want to know I’m loved? Do I want to be a control-freak or do I want to feel safe and know that I can trust? Do I want to be someone else who seems cooler or do I want to know that who I am brings joy to the heart of God?

SM, MJ, TK, DH (initials, people, initials)

“Age is just a number.”

Yes and no. Today, I’m focusing on the “no.”

Years in life aren’t supposed to be a waste of time-they’re supposed to be the soil for growth.

I’m in my early 20s and I have very little figured out. This seems to be a popular sentiment for people my age, so I don’t say it with a particular amount of pride or shame (well, maybe some shame)-it is what it is. But I hope it won’t always be this way.

Recently, I’ve been hanging out with a lot of older folk-people in their late 20s and early 30s. They seem so practical, responsible, wise, and mature, with their feet on the ground and their hearts in love.

They give me hope. When I grow up, I want to be like them.

Juuust Kidding…

After stumbling across several entertaining Facebook statuses written by high schoolers in the throes of their melancholy angst , I remembered crafting my own highly emotional and mysteriously cryptic (or so I thought) Facebook statuses and Xanga entries in high school in an effort to convey my usually-unrequited love. You know what I mean, posting the sad bits of your favorite songs on Facebook to inform the world in not-so-nebulous language that you are “falling apart/barely breathing/with an open heart.”*

Well, I congratulated myself today on outgrowing that embarrassing stage of life. Until I thought about the types of things I’d written in the last two years in emails and blog entires, and had to admit that traces of my high-school tendencies remained. I (nevertheless?) fall into fits of laughter whenever I read present-day 15 year old girls’ Facebook entries that seem to have been copied and pasted from my past. Girls are so funny!

*Lifehouse’s “Falling Apart.” (Also a fictional example. I wasn’t quite<em> that</em> emotional.)