I Didn't Catch You Name....

(I want to preface this week's story with the excitement of approaching my 3,000th blog site visitor! Thanks to all of you who read me regularly!)


Leaving Walmart, I was hungry. I decided a quick hamburger from the in-store McDonalds would do the trick. But then I reconsidered. That wouldn't do. The plan changed.


I’d go up the street one stop light to the one up Beach Blvd. But as I pulled out of the parking lot, I suddenly decided I should to go to the one four miles away – on the far side, two miles beyond home.

I know it sounds stupid. Why not just go to the closest one?! But I’ve learned over the years not to question. When I start getting those “you need to go here” feelings, it’s for a reason, so I try to always just go.  There is usually a reason for them.

Well the drive through line on Brookhurst was too long and I didn’t want to wait. But as I turned to leave for home, I decided instead to go inside. Surely the line was shorter and I could get it to go. (And I typically never EVER would go inside.) 

But then I decided to sit down to eat. Only one table was available, and I took it. Instead of sitting with my back to the only man at the other table (who was reading his newspaper), I uncharacteristically sat facing him.

As I finished my burger, he closed his newspaper, slid to the outer edge of the table and stood. Then he came over to show me a political cartoon in his paper.

This Korean gentleman, reading a Japanese newspaper, showing me a Greek cartoon - interesting. He pointed to the Japanese subtitle and read it to me.

I enjoy political cartoons, so I smiled at him and thanked him for showing it to me.

He said, “I saw you noticing me reading the newspaper. You are probably wondering why I am reading a Japanese newspaper.”

To be honest, busy at work in my own head, I’d only noticed a man and a newspaper. Nothing more. I didn’t think of it any further than that –

especially to wonder why he chose that particular paper to read.

But he continued to explain, yet again, the cartoon and the Japanese characters.

It was clear to me that wanted to talk, so I said, “Please, have a seat.”

He eagerly folded his paper – which had only been an excuse to talk, I am sure – and sat down. 

And for the next hour, he sat and told me his life story, while I listened.

He spoke somewhat haltingly at first, sometimes fishing for words in English. But as he talked, it came more easily.

Born to a poor family in Korea, he moved at an early age to China with his family for political reasons.

The Japanese had ruled Korea since 1910, and in 1937, they banned the Korean language, literature and culture. 

Refusing to become Japanese, his family left for China.

He had to learn Chinese and was often picked on – even beat up – by his Chinese counterparts. 

His parents eventually decided it would be smarter, more advantageous, to send him to Japanese school in China.

There, he was exposed to English – sort of... The extent of his English was their teaching of Shakespeare. Nobody in the class learned anything about the English language that way.

When word got out the government was looking for interpreters, he quickly applied (along with thousands of others) for a position. He spoke Korean and Chinese and Japanese as well (thanks to his parents’ forethought.)

He got a job translating, and was appointed to a West Pointe graduate who saw great potential in him. And soon was involved in Korean secret intelligence too. His English improved dramatically as he worked with his American boss from Tennessee.

In his spare time, he hung out at the news stand and cultural learning center trying to learn English by reading what English language papers he could. But it was extremely slow going.

A man there suggested he learn English the way the Americans taught it.

So he set out reading the likes of See Jane Run and Humpty Dumpty.

He slowly became a self-taught reader of the English language.

At the end of the war, he managed to get a visa to come study in the U.S.

His American boss got him a scholarship to a college in Washington state, which turned out to be an all-men’s Catholic college. And he couldn’t understand why the men all laughed at him when they first heard his spoken English.

Only much later did he appreciate the humor of a Korean man from China speaking English with a Tennessee drawl!

He went on to tell me of the real American dream of Asian immigrant men.

Yes, they all wanted a good education and then higher education and a good job and a nice home.

But the real goal was to find a blue-eyed, blonde haired wife!

And he continued to tell me about his awkward pursuit of his dream woman, and the sometimes hilarious twists and turns of their courtship with its cultural differences.

He told me about his great joy when he married this blue-eyed German-American love of his life, Nancy. And how he’d been happily married to her for forty years.

Only she had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Did I know anything about multiple sclerosis? (And here I felt a greater irony in our meeting.) It broke his heart when he had to put her in a nursing home because he could no longer care for her himself.

At this point, he seemed to finally become acutely aware of the late time and that he’d been talking for over an hour, and said he had to go.

We both went to refill our drinks before we left, and I couldn’t take the suspense. I cautiously approached the uncomfortable subject.

Whatever happened to the love of his life who had come down with MS? Was it long ago? Was she still alive? Was she gone now?

This eighty-year-old man hesitated and my heart plummeted, wishing I’d never asked. But then he smiled wistfully and then sighed. She is still alive. And he still goes twice a day to visit her and take care of her at the nearby nursing home. In fact, he had lost track of time talking to me and needed to head back for his afternoon/evening visit.

We walked out to the parking lot together and stood for another fifteen minutes while he got in his last chance to talk and be listened to intently – something sorely missing from his life, alone now without his beloved wife.

Then we parted ways. 

And I felt a loss as I pulled out of the parking lot. I wanted to go back and make an appointment to meet him another time to visit. To say, “I didn’t even catch your name…”

It wasn’t a coincidence that I had a sudden craving for McDonalds as I left Walmart. Nor that I thought of, and then decided against two other McDonalds before quitting the drive-through line to go inside and sit alone in this one. I was sent. I know. It happens often to me.

I was sent there.  I believe if you leave yourself open to the Lord's leading, he will send you where he needs you, when he needs you. Even it if's to sit for an hour or more in a grungy McDonalds and listen to the fascinating life story of a lonely Korean man who speaks Chinese and reads Greek political cartoons in a Japanese newspaper (with a Tennessee drawl!)

So I guess my thought for today is: open your heart. Listen to that little voice. And take the time to smile at a passer-by, or a stranger who approaches you to show you something in his newspaper. There is very likely a much deeper need that can readily be detected (and met) than if you hurry on by, lost in your own world.

"A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another."
John 13:34,35

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling. Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ.
1 Peter 4:8-11

Mistakes

Mistakes

When I first became a single mother, I promised myself that despite that and the hardships it brought, I would make sure that my children got a bigger picture of the world. We would travel places and see new things.

So that first summer (or maybe it was the second one – my memory gets foggy at times) we took a road trip through all of the western states.

For weeks, or likely months, before we left, my eight- or nine-year-old Nick and I (and the girls occasionally and for brief periods) poured over the large Rand McNally atlas book I’d purchased for this reason.

We looked at different routes and discussed the benefits of each and the sights we might see with each. Should we go the shortest route straight up Highway 5, or should we sidetrack and go through San Francisco to see the Golden Gate Bridge?

Then should we go back to the 5, or should we take the much longer and slower route up the 101 and see the northern California coast and the redwoods?
.

And during the trip, I actually let Nick be our navigator as we drove – telling him what junctions were coming up and asking which route we needed. 

And I’d ask him which route to take, and did we need to go east or west or whatever.

And he got us where we needed to go: all the way from southern California to my sister’s in northern Idaho.

Well, on the return trip, as my brother was driving, we approached a junction and my young navigator in the back seat announced that we needed to take the road to the right.

My brother, being the adult, ignored him, saying he was wrong, and took us to the left. And half asleep in the front passenger seat, I ignored the short dispute and assumed that the grown-up knew best.

Before you know it, we’d driven 50 miles in the wrong direction and were not just lost, but in a completely other state than we should have been in!

Nick looked at the map and told us how to get back on track, and my brother angrily grabbed the map from him saying he didn’t know what he was talking about. Then he conceded that Nick was right, and we got back to the road we should have been on. Mistake corrected.

 

But in our adventure into the state we’d never intended to explore, we got to see sights and scenery that we’d never have seen, so all was not lost.

Then if you will stay with me while I shift gears, you will see that it is all connected in the end….

As always, I loved it as we sat around the table at lunch last Saturday - our family of friends. We are a hodge-podge group that most would probably think peculiar, were they to be a fly on the wall: 

Four of us (three women and a man) are in our 50s – a risk management guy, a teacher, an accountant and a retired teacher/wanna-be writer.

Then there are, oh, probably about ten of us at various times around the table in their 20’s (and I think a few just turned 30.) 

A med student, a social worker, an accountant, one in hotel/services business, one in investment banking, an architect, a few college students, a few currently unemployed and still living at home, and a few whom I sure I forget.

 

And then Abuelita – the 83-yr-old grandmother. (For those who are non-Spanish-speakers, “abuelita” is “grandma” in Spanish.) And though she’s only actually the grandmother of three in the group, all affectionately call her “Abuelita.”

That is the core group, and there are a few others that come and go at various times. And we get together every Saturday at John and Betsy’s house.

We are a pretty rowdy bunch as we squeeze around Betsy’s large table that seats twelve, and overflow, if necessary, onto the patio (or the card table if need be.)

And the topic of discussion ranges just about as far afield as our various ages and walks of life.

We talk about the Lakers, what was on the latest episode of “Lost” or “The Office,” or occasionally politics or party plans. Sometimes the P90X exercise program that many of them are doing.

Sometimes it wanders into bodily functions, or sex or any number of topics one would not expect to discuss around the dinner table, or with your elders – especially your grandmother!

 

But we are a very close-knit and comfortable group. So you never know what to expect, but we always have a great time and laugh a lot.

Well, we were chattering loudly last Saturday when one of our group quietly said (as he passed some food to his right), “Oh and [his wife] is twelve weeks pregnant…”

It was hilarious that none of us were sure we heard him right...or if he said anything at all...and if he had said anything, was joking (as we joke around a LOT.)
 

Several of us looked to him to see if he was joking. But he has the best poker face I’ve ever seen, so you couldn’t have told anyway by his expression.

I looked at him, as he quietly went about eating as though he’d said nothing. And I thought I must have heard it wrong or imagined it.

 

So I looked to the others for some indication that they’d heard it too. But they were looking around just like I was. It was an oddly silent moment in our usual noisiness.

 

After several moments we realized that he actually had said it, and he actually had meant it. And he grinned from ear to ear.

Then, of course, we were all filled with jubilation and everyone stopped their eating to go around and the long table to hug the parents to be.

And being the very open group that we are, someone said they were surprised as the couple was only newly married (eight or nine months ago), and then asked if it was planned.

The father-to-be blushed a little and thus let us know it wasn’t planned. And this turned into some teasing, very funny (okay, even silly) discussions of birth control and sex.

But my focus today is not on our Saturday lunches, but on the “mistake” factor of the unplanned.

As many of you know, my older daughter (also very newly married), is also expecting her first child – my first grandchild. And by the sounds of it, this also was unplanned and unexpected.

And it makes me think of my youngest child – my younger daughter, Erin – who was also unplanned. (I could never really think of her as a mistake though!)

When I found out I was pregnant with her, it’s silly, but I was actually afraid to tell my husband. Because ‘screwing up’ (pun intended) was a capital offense in our household, and of course, the unplanned pregnancy was something I had done all of my own!

But when she came into our lives, we were changed forever and I cannot imagine our lives without the joy she brought. 

Each of my children brought such a beautiful dimension to the landscape or our family that I could never imagine life without any of them.

So I’ve affectionately told many people that Erin was the best “mistake” I ever made.

And as my friends around the lunch table, and my older daughter will undoubtedly find, sometimes “mistakes” bring a joy you’ve never yet known.

So my thought for this week is that sometimes the ‘mistakes’ in our lives can become the most beautiful part of our journey. 

And instead of beating ourselves up, or being fearful to ‘fess up’ to our mistakes (as I was with the third pregnancy), we should embrace the unexpected side-journeys that come our way and see if they don’t bring a new dimension to our lives that we never expected.

For sometimes the ‘mistakes’ in our lives, where we think we got off the path, or into the land of unplanned, can actually be right on the path that God intended in the first place and we just didn’t realize it.

And if not, and it was just a big mistake, He can get you back on the right path

.

Liz Rosas

19 March 2010

LORD, you have assigned me my portion 

and my cup; you have made my lot secure.

You have made known to me the path of life;
you will fill me with joy in your presence,
with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

                                         Psalms 16:5, 11

Show me your ways, O LORD,
teach me your paths;

                                         Psalms 25:4

Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make your paths straight.

                                          Proverbs 3:5,6