Ruining My Childhood Movies

My husband is ruining all my childhood favorite movies.

It’s not his fault, not really. It’s not even something he does, or says, the majority of the time. (And when he does say something, it's insightful and right on.) He actually quite enjoys most of my movies and willingly sits down to watch them with me. But, the fact is, my amazing husband is Korean. (Well, Korean, Canadian, American, with a hint of Singaporean and Swedish... but Korean by blood). And so, by his very existence sitting next to me, he has changed the lens through which I see the films.

Take Christmas movies. In high school I decided that I’d watch certain movies every year, and bought them to take with me to college. I had no idea how helpful this would be in maintaining a semblance of tradition when I moved to warm North Carolina for my first teaching job, then tropical Tanzania with no snow in sight, and hot season in full force. These movies were an escape to a normal, a sense of comfort, a piece of sanity when everything else was different. 

Caroling in East Africa, finding and making "snow," and pretending it was cold...

And each place I went, I realized something new. References to North Carolina in White Christmas when there’s no snow, for instance. Or listening to Kris sing "Sinterklaas kapoentje" in Dutch after having missionary kid students from the Netherlands celebrating these same traditions in front of me. The added perspective made them more dear to my heart and the season I watched them in.

But, take Miracle on 34th Street. The version worth watching, in black and white, from 1947. Do you recall that the only non-white person in the entire movie is the cook/house help in the main character’s apartment?

Or White Christmas. Singing, dancing, Bing Crosby Christmas classics galore. How can you go wrong? But sitting next to someone who didn’t grow up with it, I saw a war that impacted his family and birth country in very different ways than mine. Questions of why something was happening. And again, every single person in sight is white. Because apparently in this part of American history, no one but white people were present. In the war, at the railway station, at the inn… anywhere.

We still watch these movies every year, and have added many others. (Elf, anyone?!?) But as we sat down tonight to watch Anastasia for the first time in years (me) and for the first time ever (SM), we weren’t just struck by the oddity of seeing it set in Russia with the recent (and on-going) global events. My designer-husband’s only comments were about the amazing quality of the animation way back when it was made in '97. But again, here’s a movie I watched numerous times with friends in high school and got lost in the story, the music, the drama. And now, after having lived overseas and grown in understanding of cultures, I find myself unable to simply get lost again. My mind analyzes and sees the story through a new lens. A non-American, non-white, less-naive lens. (And one much more grounded in the Bible - my, this movie is dark!)

A lot of the movies we watch together have all (or mostly all) Caucasian characters, and we continue to watch them. In part, because they’re what we call classics, they offer a perspective of American culture, and we both enjoy them. Little Women. Pride and Prejudice. Singing in the Rain. (Interspersed between the Mandalorian, Star Wars, San Andreas, Arrival, Abominable, and plenty of other favorites, of course!) There’s not a lot of options, unfortunately, from those years to watch that include races besides Caucasians. (Well, except for the kung fu movies my husband loves… but while I don’t mind a good battle in a movie, I also really appreciate a good story line somewhere along the way, too! ;). Plus, my mostly-mono-lingual brain appreciates movies in English. With happy endings.*) But, just like my search for books that represent multiple skin tones and perspectives and ethnicities, I find myself removed from being fully immersed in the stories of what I’d call the classics I grew up with.

In some ways, it’s sad to lose that immersive quality. Movies for me are often an escape, a chance to dive into a story that’s not my own and experience life from a different point of view. But honestly, the reason I’ve lost this immersion is because I now know too much. I can’t say I understand what non-Caucasian individuals experience in America. But I sure do know what it feels like to be the odd white person in an all-black culture. I’ve watched the racism my in-laws endure in Canada, and have seen the looks we’ve gotten in Vancouver as an inter-racial couple. Nothing that I wouldn't expect, sadly, but there none-the-less. I prep myself and pray for our beautiful mixed-heritage kids and wonder what life will be like for them growing up. And I know without a doubt that I’m thankful for the ways the world is slowly (albeit oh so slowly) working towards embracing people of different nationalities and skin colors not just in real life, but also on the screen.

 

*Have you WATCHED any Korean movies? I swear they find the worst, most depressing option for an ending and say “yay! Let’s do it” I finish every Korean movie with a list of 3 possible alternate endings that would make everything work out happily for everyone. But apparently that’s not important. I, on the other hand, am still American enough to want everything to work out. Because, did I mention movies are an escape for me? Who wants to escape to a dystopian? There’s enough tragedy in the real world to cover that perspective - I want to know sometimes things actually work out in the end. In addition to Revelation, of course!

The World Doesn't Need...

It's been... nearly 6 years since I last posted. A lot has sure changed since then, in my own world and in the world around us. And while I've written plenty of blog posts in Word Docs on my computer, I've been feeling the itch to start posting again. I'm choosing to stay on the same platform since the posts that come before this shaped my journey and made this blog - and this marriage, and family - possible. But the more I think about writing in a way that others can see, the more I realize...

The world doesn’t need another mommy blog. It doesn’t need another picture perfect home displayed, despite me wishing mine was just that at times. It doesn’t need more opportunity for comparison, or feeling like I’m not enough, or that everyone’s got this figured out and down pat besides me.

 

It doesn’t need me. It needs Jesus. I need more of Jesus. And incidentally, the way I tend to focus my heart and mind and thoughts and reframe my life to be more like Him is through writing.

 

So here I am. I welcome you to follow me on this journey of story-writing my days, my faith journey that often lacks faith. Or don't... I’m really ok with that. Or trying to be.

 

We don’t need more tips and tricks (unless you know how to get distracted preschoolers to eat… more than one bite every 10 mins…), and it doesn’t need more of “me” and my stuff and my ideas. But it sure does need Jesus. And if something I write happens to bless you in your own journey, I’m thankful that God has chosen to use this exhausted language-lost mama for His glory in some small way.

Crossing Cultures

Who would have guessed that moving to Tanzania and back again was only the beginning of my international life?

In the Amsterdam airport, on my way to Kenya for the first time, in college, 2005
Chacos on my feet, camera in my backpack... I was off to capture the world (and learn a ton along the way!)

I never. Ever. EVER planned on or even conceived of meeting and marrying a Korean. Ever. Especially after living and teaching Kids from around the world in East Africa for four years! But God has a sense of timing, wisdom, and humour that I have yet to figure out.

And so, while I was once worried about coming back to the States and to no one who could understand my weird Christian world-perspective or grieve and rejoice with me about events around the world, I've found my life to be anything but. And while cross-cultural marriage has its challenges (much less than expected, to be honest, in the case of these two crazy world-travelers!!!), the perks of joining with another international for life, and of having an incredible multicultural community in part because of it, makes my life richer and more thankful. Who knew I would have the chance with my husband to touch and shine light in the lives of people from every continent* around the world without setting foot outside of good ol' Dutchland, West Michigan?

I get to tutor kids from overseas and whose parents are internationals. I think missionary and third culture kids are some of the coolest kids out there. We're surrounded by cross-cultural marriages in our church and at our dinner table. 

Who would have guessed our wedding party would have people representing every continent* without even realizing?

Our wedding 'guestmap' :)

And then there are the (completely regular) days when I sit at our dinner table as the only "American," among a Korean, a French man, and an Egyptian straight in from overseas. Or with a Korean, Bulgarian, a Nepelese man, and a Malaysian. 

Notice the continuing Korean theme? Yep, this guy's pretty much my favorite. :)

Picture taken by Samara, budding photographer, age 10.

I've tried more new foods since returning from the Land of Tanz than I did while there. I know what celebratory Chinese New Moon cakes taste like, what traditional red bean tteok treats look like for Korean thanksgiving, and that Bulgarians make the best cheesy bread and salad on the planet. I know that Malaysia knows how to make some seriously cute wall-hangings of monkeys for the upcoming Chinese New Year's "Year of the Monkey," that Koreans say "Kimchi!" instead of "Cheese!" when taking pictures, and that little girls from Bulgaria, Iran, Mexico, Uganda, and Australia all equally love to sing the "Let it go" song with the same exuberant gusto and sweeping elaborate gestures as their American counterparts.

There are the days when I connect with dear-to-my-heart missionary friends from the Land of Tanz and my heat aches for the people I got to serve with there. I still want my kids to grow up overseas, if even for a short time, and I wish the country we live in wasn't so bent on individualism that we'd get excited for a neighbor willing to trade ingredients and share household items when needed.

But I have no doubt that this is where I'm supposed to be. That God's crazy, out-of-this-world plans were established for me long long ago, and that they are better than I could ever have imagined. And so we set out on our knees with prayers for wisdom, grace for ourselves and each other, and a lot of thankfulness each day as we cross cultures in our home and beyond... and know that none of these opportunities, connections, or relationships would be possible without Him.

*(minus Antarctica, of course!)

It's a Miracle!

Or is it just answered prayer?

I think sometimes God just likes to show off. It seems like I've had a lot of prayers being answered in big ways recently, and I'm a bit in awe of how He chooses to use His little, fallible child.

Do you ever, like me, get surprised when God answers your prayers?

Maybe I just lack faith. And sometimes, I struggle with that whole "pray continually" thing. (Ok, make that usually!) But then there are times that I actually put into practice what He commands... And He always, always blows me away.

You'd think I'd learn, right? Apparently, I'm a slow learner. But in those times when I pray fervently and seek God, He answers. Not always right away. I'm still waiting for prayers for healing for my horrible allergies... I DID wait 10 years after college before meeting the man I'd marry, and then there were those many weeks where our house kept getting broken into over and over in Tanzania when it seemed like prayer wasn't working. Or the time I prayed and prayed and funds didn't come in to go back to Tanzania for an extra. 3. Long. Months.

Except, looking back? It was during those 3 months that I had sinus surgery which helped relieve my allergies. God opened my eyes to the possibility of coming back to America to stay and serve here. Oh, and I also met my now husband.

Maybe it wasn't so bad after all?

But back to prayer. There's a verse in acts which always makes me laugh a little, about how God was doing extraordinary miracles through Paul. Which begs the question, were ordinary miracles so common that these particular instances had to be differentiated out?

And then I wonder... What distinguishes a "miracle" from "answered prayer," anyway?

Is it the longing behind it? The pervasiveness of our prayers, the seriousness of the issue, the delayed gratification of waiting and hoping?

The presence of God in the seemingly impossible situation?

And isn't that our every day? Our need for grace in every moment, the breath we have been given to breathe, the provision of a kind word when we most need it or patience to give that to others?

Regardless, it seems like what God says works*. And hopefully, this time, the lesson will stick...

*Surprise surprise, right?!

Thankfulness

 

I’m always amazed at what I take for granted… until I don’t have it.

In Tanzania, it was often electricity. Hot water (for a shower). Or clean water, even (the kind you’d be willing to use for a shower, not the kind you’d actually drink).

Picture from: Lyndy Henrickson

While I’m still amazed at the ability to get hot, clean (drinkable even!) water out of our shower faucet, and doubt I’ll take that for granted any time soon… most recently, I’ve been even reminded of some even more basic elements of life we take for granted.

Over Christmas, I got a stomach bug – the kind that won’t even let you drink a few sips of water without quickly ejecting them. I was beyond thirsty (although the kind nurse at urgent care didn’t think I was dehydrated, thanks to ever great-looking veins), and was at the desperate point of wanting to quench my thirst. I meditated on the story of Lazarus and the Rich Man (Luke 16:19-31) in a very real way, and understood the desire (in some small way) to get a single drop of water from someone’s finger into my mouth to help appease my need for fluid. So I got creative. If I couldn’t actually DRINK the water, I could at least put it in my mouth, right? Enter scene left: me standing in the bathroom pouring water into my mouth, holding it, spitting it out, and starting over again. It wasn’t quite relief, but it was certainly a good start until the anti-nausea meds kicked in and I could keep something down!

More recently (this week, in fact), a cold coupled with teaching Sunday School brought me to the point not just a head-cold, but no voice. While I’ve had students choose to “lose” the use of their voice – or leg – or arms – during Special Needs day in my classroom at school (to understand a tiny bit of what having a disability feels like - often with humorous and thought-provoking results), I don’t think I’ve actually ever lost my own voice to the point of a whisper.

And wow, has it been humbling. When handing off a package to a friend, I couldn’t properly (in my mind) explain why it had taken longer than expected to get them what they needed. And although I’m by nature a listener, I’ve realized in the last few days just how much I try to defend myself through words when I feel I’ve been wronged or judged… often with my husband (who is, in all reality, just trying to be helpful and loving). But when even whispering requires extra effort, and I have to choose between defending myself or sharing my thoughts on something else a little later? Suddenly priorities kick in and I’m just thankful for the few words I might be able to share about my day.

And so, in good ol’ Holland, MI, I’m reminded yet again in ways I didn’t expect of how to be thankful for what I have. Whether electricity, heat in our home, or a voice to ask questions over my ever-working smartphone… I am more than grateful for what I’ve been given. Especially for the people around me who love on and care for me even when I’m not as thankful as I should be!

Great FRIENDS and PHOTOGRAPHY... a win-win weekend for the Chungs!

Due to some unexpected opportunities to experience the stomach bug over Christmas, SM and I didn’t get to go to Texas to visit some dear friends of mine as we had planned. Thankfully tickets are much cheaper in January, and MLK day gave us an extra day to spend with them! So we hopped on a plane last Saturday and headed to (slightly) warmer weather, sunshine, and lots of smiles!

This family “adopted” me over furlough and gave me a “home away from home” when I needed it on those long months of masters classes, Partnership Development, and seemingly closed doors. I got to watch their girls when their youngest was born, and take pictures in the hospital. They welcomed me into their lives, and stepped past any unforeseen barriers into mine in a way I very much needed. They celebrated the joys and mourned the hardships that came along the way. They celebrated my last masters class (of the semester) being finished and walked around – and around – the neighborhood with me as I processed my desires to teach missionary kids, to connect kids in America with those around the world, and to be married someday.

When I finally made it back to Tanzania, and they realized I no longer had access to an English-speaking church, they started worshipping with me over Skype most Sundays (after church for them, Sunday evenings for me) and praying over me over the miles. I could say, “things are going alright,” and they would say, “So by ‘alright’ you mean that you're not sick at the moment, but half the parents are... that the students are driving you a bit nuts as you come up on Christmas... that you're wishing for some cool rain to make it feel like the holidays... that things are hard but you are making it through?" Yep, pretty much. They read between the lines and got it.

Screenshot of Skype Worship...

SM got to meet them before they moved down to Texas last year, and Joy was in our wedding. But it was high time for SM to actually get to KNOW this family that I adored so much (and talked about even more). Besides, who doesn’t want to take a trip to Texas in the middle of sub-freezing January temperatures in Michigan?

So off we went. We got to spend time with their four girls and I got to remember again just how amazing SM is with kids. He played games with them non-stop! We also went hiking/bouldering one day and saw some of the beautiful countryside in a local state park. And I enjoyed not only being “Aunt Crystal” once again with girls that love me, and a sister to a couple who exemplify Christ beyond their knowledge to all those around them… but also loved spending time taking pictures of the adorable cuteness of their kids as long as they would let me (which, by the way, was a LOT!). Here are just a couple of the pictures I captured along our trip.

 

 

New Traditions

When we talked about how to spend our first official married Christmas together, this isn’t quite what I imagined.

We talked about what traditions we’d want to start. (Ok, I talked about it. He asked for examples, since he’s basically been on his own for ages). I mentioned how I would love to spend the week before Christmas with people doing fun Christmas-y things, like making cookies with friends or watching Christmas movies together.

Which we did. We had lots of time for movies, more than I expected. And a Christmas cookie extravaganza with girls did happen, on the one day I was feeling 100%.

 

 

But spending this week-before-Christmas switching between bed and couch, trying to keep down liquids, wasn’t quite what I had in mind. (For the record, I was only sick-sick Sunday, then after a "normal" day Monday, ate something that disagreed with both SM and I, that put me back in sick mode and him in "discomfort" for the next few days. Blah!)

And no, I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant. Though for the first time in my life, it is a bit strange to realize that the possibility is actually real. More-so, of course, than the virgin-birth Mary variety.

And so we began our first Christmas together with sickness. SM pointed out today that last year around this time, I was heading out to dinner with his friends while he stayed home on his couch sick with a flu/cold… and this year he’s headed to the candlelight Christmas Eve service where we were supposed to meet friends, while I stay home on his (now "our”) couch and munch more toast.

Let’s just hope this isn’t a tradition we’ll keep!

Despite some unplanned events of the past week, however, we have both learned a lot. This is the first time either of us have been sick since we got married in August, and I’ve gotten to see a side of my husband that I “knew” was there but hadn’t yet really experienced.

The seriously caring, tender side that takes really really good care of me when I’m sick.

Ok, call it newly-wed-ism. Maybe it won’t last, just like everyone seems to say. But all in all, I married a really good guy.

A guy who hasn't just learned the importance of Christmas movies and that Elf is actually pretty amusing, but also one who got to experience someone else miserably throwing up and not keeping anything down including water for the first time ever just days before Christmas Eve. Who learned about the Urgent Care system and even got to navigate picking up his first-ever prescription on his own, all in one day. Who has figured out the BRAT diet and learned that sprite, crackers, toast, and ginger ale are all really really good things to have around. (Poor guy never gets sick! I -ahem- feel so bad for him. ;)

All in all, as I lay here typing, listening to a made-for-TV Christmas special streaming down from the apartment above, looking at a Christmas tree filled with lights and memories of Christmases around the world, with gladness in my heart for the amazing people God has surrounded me with over the years and for His unfailing presence and love... and when I think of the reason we’re here doing any of these things at all… I remember that the first Christmas probably didn’t go quite as expected, either.

No room in an inn.

No women to surround her... only an unexperienced husband pushing past cultural norms to be there for her when she needed him most.

No place for Mary to lay her newborn, except a dirty feeding trough.

Definitely no privacy, no glamour for the virgin-birth mother, just lots of unknowns of what God might be doing and trying their best to be available and be faithful in hard circumstances.

And I remember that Christmas this year, in a comfortable home with doctors and food and clean blankets and clothing and controllable warmth - despite a few hiccups - is actually going pretty well...