YANGPYEONG JOURNAL

Today is our first full day at Yangpyeong. I decided to keep a journal during our one month stay here. I will select a few entries to share . . . Thanks for reading.

We are finally here. Last year, before we left Korea, we arrived at a small dream of living and running a “healing stay” outside of Seoul for people to come and visit us, for people to discover their true self. As we were not ready to drop everything back in the US to pursue the dream, we decided that we would take a small step of embracing a one-month experiment. We planned what we could by taking reflective and methodical steps to finally arrive at an Airbnb in Yangpyeong, less than an hour drive (without traffic) from Seoul but feels like a world apart from the hustle and bustle of the frantic city. This is coming from someone (yours truly) that thinks that he would gladly live in the heart of frantic and energetic (I almost said, energized) Manhattan, NY while my wife would shrivel up and die out of sheer exhaustion.

Yesterday was a very fine day to arrive, full of generosity and provision, not to mention the unusually warm spring weather. A well-respected global missions leader, who retired at the ripe age of 65, kindly and generously drove us from the heart of Seoul to Yangpyeong. Though I thought this was an extravagant gift, I welcomed it since I always enjoy my time with him. The fact that he retired at the ripe age was considered by many as an almost scandalous and befuddling act. It is one distinct reason why I respect him. After lunch and coffee at a fine bakery (Haus Bakery, in case you want to know) where people drive out from Seoul and elsewhere just to enjoy the coffee and the pastries while taking oodles of Instagram-worthy pictures of themselves and the cafe, he let us shop at Hanaro Mart for essential groceries, as we will not have a car for a few days. Speaking of a car, one mission organization graciously offered their car for us to use for the entire duration of our healing stay. The wife of the leader who drove us to Yangpyeong gave us homemade Gimjang Kimchi which is traditionally made once a year in the late fall, enough to last the whole month of our stay. I grew up in a home where we made Gimjang Kimchi religiously. I remember the salted and the washed napa cabbages as high as my young boy’s length. So, I know the effort since I have seen the fanatic effort that is required to produce enough kimchi to last the winter and beyond for a large extended family. My first meal was instant noodles with this awesome Kimchi while my wife made herself a healthy salad. How is it that Korean cucumbers, tomatoes, and carrots are so sweet? How is that Korean ramen bought in Korea tastes better than the ones in the US? I do not know.

Our Airbnb is quaint and full of retro touches and accessories, the kind of familiar retro I grew up with. After meeting the host, it made sense, as she introduced herself as a busy body and a potter. As if to prove her passion for pottery, our Airbnb is filled with attractive handmade potteries in all shapes and sizes. While smiling, she complained that there is too much work to be done for a country house, as she lives right next door. A retired transplant from Seoul, she was decked out in a straw hat, work clothes, and a towel around her neck, ready for some laborious yard work. While not loosening her smile, she told us that her husband refuses to come to Yangpyeong, because he did not want to labor in the dirt and the never-ending work. I uttered to her that I would be willing to help from time to time but regretted saying that almost right away as I sensed the busy body aura from her. But it was too late. . .

The house also features a huge yard with a vegetable garden that is fitted for springtime gardening, a fire pit, a picnic table, and a grill. Firepit invariably will call my name and our guests since one cannot easily find a firepit among city life. When asked where I could get some firewood, the owner casually pointed to the steep hillside right behind our house and told me that I could gather as many dead branches as I want. Upon scanning the month-long and beyond supply of firewood, I muttered inside, “good deal.”

 Already, my favorite place is the roofed porch which is a thoughtful and inviting extension of the house, overlooking the yard, firepit, and garden. But the better view is the valley and mountain slope of the Yangpyeong countryside spread out before me. The mountain is budding with spring green leaves that is bright yellowish-green, a color that is foreign in Southern California, occasionally dotted with bursting snow white cherry blossoms and bright fuchsia azaleas. When asked, I was told that the color starts out bright almost fluorescent green to darker green as summer approaches. The only view I would delete if I could are the power lines, ruining the pristine view of nature. But I realize without power, I cannot enjoy the modern amenities. Realizing I can’t have both, I also know this covered porch is where I will read, write, meditate, eat, and mingle with people.

Today is our first full day. I started out the morning by sitting outside on the porch and practicing 20-minutes of silence. When I awoke this morning, I noticed a kind of quiet that was foreign to me. Except for the birds, I could not hear anything else. The silence was filled with a full symphony of birds singing, crying for food, or simply starting the day. The sound of birds of some nearby and some faraway sounded like an orchestra with a full choir. Occasionally, “base” sounds of owls hooting and crows cawing punctuated by freestyle beatbox-like sound by some bird provided a feeling of small awe and wonder. I know I am not “supposed” to think or linger on my thoughts during silence, but on a morning like this, I could not help but to meander and eventually land on Jesus’ words of “lilies of the field and the birds of the air.”

After making myself a cup of hand-ground coffee and sitting on the porch, I cannot help but notice the calming and assuring sense that I am released to be here, at such a time as this. Not before. Not later. Released by our loving and supporting cherubim (our four adult children) as well as both my wife’s and my mom’s relatively good health in their late years. . . Not to mention our organizational/communal support including our faithful friends and supporters now for decades. . . Even to a practical release of the Korean government waving the mandatory quarantine requirement of what would have been 7-days being locked inside a tiny hotel room. . .

Along with the sense of release and the divine Kairos timing, there is a strong sense of divine pull. God’s appointed Kairos moment of “I am right where I am supposed to be” is a rare watershed occasion which I am savoring now. And I have a distinct feeling that this savoring will last for a while. We are being pulled not knowing where we are headed. It is as if we are floating down the river not knowing where the river will take us.