A Korean Blessing

A Korean Blessing

A little over a week ago, I was included on email between an old friend who works for Passport camps, my pastor, and a Korean church in Goldsboro NC.  They were looking for someone to drive a youth group from a Passport camp in Greensboro to the church about 2 hours away.  

Being unemployed and willing to do anything to fill my days, I volunteered.  I picked up the 11 passenger rental van and arrived at the college as the camp was ending for the week.  I was introduced to the group, 8 Koreans students and their leader Debora.  I falsely assumed that Deborah was their American guide, but later learned that she was originally from Tanzania, now lived in Korea and was visiting the United States for the first time herself.  

      Their luggage filled the entire back row of the van. The kids hugged their new American friends goodbye, and piled into the van.  I plugged the address into Google maps, and noticed something a little unusual.  Our destination, was an airport access road and as best I could tell, there was nothing except a few warehouses there.  

We left Greensboro, and the kids laughed and reminisced about funny camp stories in Korean.  I had expected to converse with Debora, but most of the time she was chatting in Korean with the kids. Eventually we made polite, if stilted,  conversation and it became clear that although she spoke well, English was not her first or second language.  

     It turns out that they had arrived from Korea just a week previously and had drove from the airport to Greensboro College where they attended the week long camp.  I asked where they were going next and she told me Washington DC and then New York city.

    Only a few years ago, I was scared to go to New York city and I have a pretty decent command of the English language.  I couldn’t imagine being in a strange country, relying on the kindness and hospitality of others to get me around.  I asked the kids if there were any American celebrities they wanted to see in New York.  “Brad Pit “T”, Bruno Marrs, and Will Smith.”  They asked if it was okay to take a picture with a celebrity.  I suggested asking permission first.

    The kids played music like all teenagers do. Theirs was a mix of Korean Pop, songs learned at camp the week before, and American hip hop.  They sang along phonetically, and I winced a few times when the “N” word would came up, but since no one seemed to know what it meant, I wasn’t going to explain it.  The one song I did recognize and sing along with was “Play That Funky Music White Boy.”

    It was unanimously decided where we would eat lunch.  When in Rome do as the Romans.  When in America, eat at “American McDonalds”.  They all took selfies flashing peace signs in front of the Golden Arches, and raved about the delicious Big Macs and Fries.

    After lunch, I asked Debora if she knew who was meeting us.  She told me that “The Wifi is no good so  I can’t call.”  I panicked mildly when I realized that I might get to to airport industrial park with 9 Koreans and not actually meet anyone.  In a “worst case scenario” I thought, “What will I do if the people I am supposed to leave them with look shady?”  

   The kids were all half asleep when I turned on to our destination’s street.  There was a small church with a sign in Korean out front.  The kids woke up and cheered.  In a fake serious tone, I said, “Now guys, I don’t know if this is the right place.  That sign is in some foreign language and I can’t tell what it says. “  They laughed and insisted “No! Stop! Stop!”  

   I parked and went inside where two small Korean ladies looked at me quizzically.  “I have some students for you?” They nodded and went out to welcome the kids.  They had been preparing a meal in the kitchen and the whole building was filled with exotic smells of meat and spices.  

    The kids who were half asleep, their internal clocks thinking it was still two in the morning,  minutes ago came alive.  It was in that moment, I was reminded of a passage from “The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

    The barman looked at it and then looked at Ford. He suddenly shivered: he experienced a momentary sensation that he didn't understand because no one on Earth had ever experienced it before. In moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal. This signal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from the place of his birth. On Earth it is never possible to be further than sixteen thousand miles from your birthplace, which really isn't very far, so such signals are too minute to be noticed.

    I felt for the first time the subtle but perceptible feeling of how far they were from home.  How just seeing their language on a sign, smelling their native foods, and being greeted with Korean hospitality changed the vibe of the whole party.  

    I helped them unload their bags and was about to depart when Debora told me they wanted to get a picture and pray for me.  We posed flashing our peace signs and then they got in a circle and held hands. We all bowed our heads and Debora prayed “God thank you for delivering us safely here and protecting us.  Be with Matthew as he returns home to his family.  Bless his family and help him to find the job that is right for him.  Thank you for his church who took care of us.”  The prayer continued but I was distracted by the tears rolling down my cheeks.  I didn’t know why I was so moved, but I was helpless.  I knew that the prayer was not some magic incantation that would somehow change the minds of people who decide if I would be hired for a job.  I was caught off guard by the sincerity and gratitude they showed to God and to a myself, a stranger.  

    I thought of the word “Blessing” and how this moment would forever define the word for me.  

    I also thought about how quickly our roles had reversed.  For a short time, I was their host.  I was worried for their safety.  Despite being in a strange country and relying on the hospitality of strangers and the providence of God, they had the audacity to intercede on my behalf.  

    I held it together, said my “Goodbye”, and watched them enter the church to enjoy the feast that had been prepared for them. (Not sure that it could live up to the American Big Macs enjoyed earlier in the day.)  They gave me a gift, a glass display with what I assume is the 23rd Psalm on it in Korean.  Either that or “Play that Funky Music White Boy”  I prefer not knowing.