Miracles Part II

February in Seoul, and the days are short. Aboard a bus from Incheon, I marveled at the Christian branding that consumed the city as theskyline was dotted with neon crosses. And the Korean (or Korean-American) brand of Christianity was much better than what I'd left behind. And I suppose it made sense... if Korean fried chicken was better and Korean Pizza Huts were better... then why wouldn't Korean early morning prayer be better?

Occasionally, I experienced that "mysterious" stuff that white people crave in Asia as Korean grandmothers told me stories about dangerous shamans cursing children. But like most white people encountering that "mysterious" stuff, I listened respectfully while mentally concluding that a heritage of superstition was influencing their interpretations of the truth.

According to Van: symbolic of the fear-based
belief system today is the cremation site of Pol
Pot (Cambodia's brutally violent atheistic
dictator) is now a shrine for people to pray for
happiness, protection, and good fortune.

I felt similarly when in Cambodia, several people asked me questions about my Jesus with fear and trepidation. One man, Van, asked me if I feared a spirit (the Holy Spirit) possessing me. Van too told me stories about witch doctors, seeing family members cursed before his very eyes, and the corrupt monks that had influenced his religious views to be a sort of defensive atheism. It was the oddest form of atheism I'd ever heard of: if he denied the spiritual then the spirits that had attacked his family could not catch him. 

When I returned to Korea, a great deal of odd things began to happen... including seeing demonic manifestations in two boys on separate occasions. I recounted the stories casually with some of my skeptical friends, hoping that I could share in their doubts and... I suppose... embrace that odd form of atheism that my friends in Cambodia chose. But the doubts proved irrational, and I was tired of being afraid. Truly, if I believed in Jesus, as I'd claimed... then truly, I knew how to access power over fear. So yes, I turned to prayer.

Now, my prayers before this had usually been quasi-meditative thoughts projecting goodness towards those I loved and seeking wisdom for myself. They were a natural graduation from my cute childhood prayers facilitated by my grandmother after a peppy bedtime story, and a cozy tuck-in. But when I learned how to pray again, I prayed boldly... I prayed intimately... I prayed loudly... I prayed quietly... I prayed all day until I began to see a shift in my environment... and it was powerful!

The prayer meetings I began to attend were full of those "fringe" people who believed in speaking in tongues, faith healings, and a whole bunch of other things that I was still on the fence about. I was ruined the day I was prophesied over... like genuinely, truly, authentically prophesied over. This guy I'd never met before, put a hand on my head, and spoke specific things over me that I'd never shared with anybody. (Incidentally, this was the night I met my husband. =D)

From there, things just got weird... to the point where I don't even want to take the time to write them all out, because I still have to come to terms with all that happened. But, one particularly interesting instance was when I heard God verbally tell me to take a homeless woman out to dinner. I'd seen her before, given her a few rolls of kimbab, but my non-existant Korean made me wonder whether or not inviting her to dinner would be productive.

As we sat down to dinner at a Japanese noodle shop, I felt disoriented... but I understood every word that the woman was saying. I felt as though I was speaking gibberish, but every word she nodded at and responded with something relevant. I understood when the waiter told me that my Korean was good for a foreigner, and the experience was so surreal that I texted a friend to pray for me. The odd thing was that I ended up texting her in Korean, using vocabulary and slang that I'd never known before. Incidents such as these began to mark my life, but I still didn't believe in the "gibberish" tongues that charismatics love so very much.

However, after a year after being prophesied over... and experiencing the bizarre and the supernatural all around me... I went to another prayer meeting where a woman spoke of my husband over me. Unfortunately for my theological convictions, as I began to worship God... my soul began to involuntarily speak in that "gibberish" language that I didn't believe in. At that point, I figured... why the ruse? I guess I'm one of those tongue-speaking, church-dancing, miracle-seeking, slain-in-the-Spirit weirdos that I always feared becoming. And you know what? It felt amazing!