Japanese Particles

Scanning - ugh.  I don't know if I can say enough bad things about scanning this week.  It wasn't just mindless, it was frustrating.  You had to scan a group of documents and then count them to make sure it matched with what you had in your pdf because the scanner was liable to skip pages.  And if it did skip pages you had to redo it and sometimes scan each page by hand.  It took hours and hours and hours and every time I got near an end, my desk would get piled up with more scanning.  I learned to work faster and faster but I also got more and more frustrated and so quickly descended to the point that today, I was doing nothing more than spinning in circles and jumping up and down to burn out my frustrated and nervous energy while waiting for the scanner to run through the pages.

During my healthier mental moments of scanning though, I used my time to study Japanese particles using a workbook I picked up at the library.  I've spent the last two or three years in my self-taught Japanese state thinking that verbs were the key to understanding Japanese properly.  I'm starting to change my tune - particles make a world of difference and understanding particles will help you progress from the ".... is" speech pattern to meaningful conversation.

Example:

Who did she/he kiss last night?
Kinou dare ga kisu o shimashita ka?

He/she kissed no one last night
Kinou dare mo kisu o shimashita.

She/he kissed someone last night
Kinou dare ka kisu o shimashita.

He/she kissed more than anyone else last night.
Kinou dare yori kisu o shimashita.

Ok, so funny weird made up examples (that may or may not be correct - but I think they're correct) but you can see how one word change can a person's dating reputation pretty quickly.

 But in all seriousness, I went from being able to say, "I bought a book at the store" (mise de hon o kaimashita) to "I bought a book called Persuasion at the store" (mise de Persuasion to iu hon o kaimashita) to "I went to the store to buy a book called Persuasion something or other"  (Persuasion to ka iu hon o kai ni mise ni ikimashita) I could keep going.  I feel like my narrative ability in Japanese has been thrown wide open.

The moral of this story then is this: scanning is not as evil as I originally thought before beginning this post.  :)

The Planting

Isaiah 61:1-2 - hands down, my favorite scripture. I like to think of it as "Christ's mission statement." This was the scripture passage He chose to read in the synagogue when He started His ministry.

"The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord..."

Preach good tidings, Bind up broken hearts, Free people from their personal prisons...if this was the kind of stuff Christ was doing - and it was - then I wanted to be a part of it. For the record, I'm pro-healing, pro-good tidings and pro-freedom.

Thus motivated, I dived in and worked and worked and worked. I spent one miserable summer a few years ago trying to repair broken relationships and help heal wounds. The result of my efforts was making everything I got involved with much, much worse.

Frustrated and worn out, I turned back to my favorite scripture and realized that the sentence doesn't end where I thought it did.

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified."

What I took from this scripture was two things. (1) Christ is the one who does the healing and the binding and the freeing. (2) My role is to be His tree.

What exactly, though, does that mean? To be the planting of the Lord?

After years of mildly wondering and wrestling with this question, one while while reading my scriptures, these words caught my attention: (Jeremiah 17:7-8)

"Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is.

For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit."

I love this clarification and the imagery.  I will leave you to draw your own conclusions.  

But let me add this:  I am well aware of the things I don't have in my life right now.  In case I ever forget, there are these three children I see and help take care of during church who never let a week pass by without going through the gamut of things a person my age should have.  "Do you have a car?"  "Do you have a husband?"  "Do you have a boyfriend?"  "Do you have any kids?"  "Do you have a house?"  Etc.  As far as these kids are concerned, I have nothing of any importance - I'm in a drought so to speak.  I am very grateful though for the people in my life who have helped me these past few months when I also didn't have an income.  My friends and loved ones have sustained me and helped me, have fed me and house me (literally) and encouraged me.  Can the plantings of the Lord do good and bring good?  From the receiving end, let me assure you: YES.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.  

I pray and hope that I may return the favor.  

Figured It Out

I've been away from Pretty Boy for days now.  I walk into the house and he practically runs towards me, shirtless, his face dirty from feeding himself and a recent fall on the sidewalk.  In fact the only spotless thing about him is that smile of his, a big toothy grin.  "Hi!"  He says excitedly.

I beam at him.  "Hi!"

Without missing a beat, he continues. "Ball?"

For weeks now, "Ball?" has been his usual greeting for me.  I could never figure it out.  His mother insisted that he knew that my name wasn't 'ball'.  He uses the phrase though in places like church or daycare or outside where no ball is readily available or in sight.  Always, the moment he fixes his eyes on me, he asks earnestly, "Ball?"

I'm sure it's taken Pretty Boy a while to figure me out.  I'm not his mother or his father but I see him on a daily basis.  I'm not an aunt or a Lovey (grandmother) but I find everything he does is adorable.  (Well, almost everything, the crying at 2 am is still not a favorite)  At some point, this little 14 month old decided that I was his friend, his playmate.  And so, of course, every time he sees me he asks about a ball.  It's the only way he knows how to ask, "Want to play with me?"

I'm always happy to oblige.


Today, while reading through his books, Pretty Boy's mom was going through the pictures of the animals and repeating them in French.

"Renard" (fox)

"Kangourou" (kangaroo) 

Then she got to the next picture and paused as she tried to remember the correct word.

Pretty Boy looked at the picture and then at her, before clearly stating the animal for her  "Owl..."  

His mother and I both laughed. 

Happy Friday

I found this video this week.


Funny thing is, I thought that Uchida hanging out on a farm in Bavaria with his team's mascot was completely normal... that is, until I sent it to a friend and she kindly pointed out the ridiculousness of the premise with the comment, "Well, that was random."

At any rate, it's awesome.  I can't decide which I like more, Uchida's adorable way of saying just about everything or the awkwardly energetic English translation that overlays it.  The juxtaposition of those two alone cracks me up.

But add to that Uchida's huge grin at cradling a real live chicken in his arms and his carefree laugh at the mascot and you have something that's sure to make any Friday a little better.

Let's Whistle While We Wait

I like this picture because, despite having a pretty bad camera phone, I think it captured the light and colors pretty well.

Pretty Boy decided to give me an early birthday present.  It was from the bottom of his heart (or his stomach) but for a 13 month old, that's pretty much the same thing.  

Wrong Audience

At work today, we played a team building activity called Two Truths and a Lie.  I'm bad at lying in this game.

I tried purposely to think of "non-nerdy" things to talk about.  These were the statements.

(1) I come from a family of seven kids.
(2) I once sat in an Indy 500 pace car.
(3) I met Chiang Kai Shek's bodyguard.

Everyone's responses?

BLANK STARES.

Apparently they thought the Indy 500 was NASCAR.  And they had absolutely no idea who Chiang Kai Shek was, even after I tried talking about the Civil War in China that resulted in Communism in China under Mao Ze Dong and Capitalism in Taiwan under Chiang Kai Shek.

Oops.

Meanwhile, my coworker Mark talked about taking his team to the Virginia State Football Championship while in high school and everyone else realized that they had actually attended the game.

A Story from My Childhood

My younger sister and I kind of lived our early life as a pair.  I was the elder (wiser) sister and she was the taller one.  Hence, everyone outside of our family either confused us or thought we were twins.

Every Christmas, she and I would get matching gifts from Santa in our stockings.  I'm sure it's a simple enough gesture to give two girls who spend most of their time together the same thing but different colors of that thing but somehow it always turned into a huge moral dilemma for us.  Or well, me.  I think my sister was just kind enough to go along with it.

The dilemma was this.  Often, I liked the gift my sister would get better - I either liked the color or the design - and would beg her to switch.  My sister, ever obliging (I don't think I ever forced her to switch) would exchange items with me and we'd happily cling to our new toys.  Then, the guilt would start to slip in - But Santa gave me the other one!  He probably specifically chose that color and design because he thought I'd like it!  I can't disappoint him and let him think that I'm ungrateful for the gift.  I'd look at the original gift and give my sister a look, "I feel bad for switching.  Maybe we should switch back."  She'd oblige me once again and switch back.  And then, the selfish part of me would jump in again and I'd switch back.  By the end of Christmas day, I would have no idea whose was whose.  Which was probably just fine, since we shared so many things anyway.

One year, for Christmas, my grandparents gave my sister and I identical huge stuffed Fievel dolls and I adored them.  (Fievel is my spirit animal)  Our parents decided to avoid the confusion of the toys by putting our initials on the tags.  As we sat in the den of our grandparents, I hugged my Fievel tight and decided to explore whether his big hat could come off.  In the process, I found that under the hat, on the top of the Fievel head, there was a rip in the seam and some stuffing was coming out.  I didn't want a faulty Fievel doll!.  Quickly, I called out, "Hey, let's switch Fievels!" My sister gave me a huge smile and reached to hand me her Fievel.  "Sure!"  But my parents protested, "We already put your sister's name on the tag."  My conscience started to tug at me, "I guess that's ok.  You know the real reason why I wanted to switch?  My Fievel has a split seam on his head and his stuffing is coming out."  My sister shrugged, "I would still switch with you."  I told it was ok and my parents laughed.

Retelling this story, I'm realizing a few things.  (1) My sister was far too kind to me.  (2) I have an overactive conscience so I'm guessing I never really took too much advantage of her kindness.  (3) That Fievel doll was awesome, despite his imperfections.