This week was rather eventful, but I wanted to start by thanking the people who wished me happy birthday, and especially those of you who mentioned the fact that you are praying for me. I am sustained by those prayers; I minister out of the power of those prayers; I teach Bible out of the Spirit-led insights which are sparked by those prayers; and I live and move and have my being because of the God that hears those prayers.

I am now 28 years old. I have been a Christian for eight of those years, and it is a good thing to say that over a quarter of my life has been spent in the greatest relationship I could ever have…a relationship to which no relationship on earth can compare, nor should it. Even if I were to get married, I know that that relationship is but an appetizer of the unblemished joy that will be mine when I see my savior face to face. I really hope that if you do not know Christ in that way, you would simply open the Bible to the Gospel of John, start reading, and let God meet you where you are.

I have gotten to the age where my birthday is just like any other day on my calendar, and so, if people forget it, it doesn’t phase me. I like that attitude because when an outpouring of celebration happens, it really catches me off guard.

I take you to 7:50 AM on Tuesday, which was October 23 in Korea. I was sitting in my room, getting notes together and firing up the projector. In the hallway, I heard a group of people singing “Happy Birthday,” and getting louder every second. I looked toward the door as roughly 20 people were pouring into my room and standing in the hallway, singing Happy Birthday to me. They finished, I thanked them, and then I had to turn around quickly to compose myself because I was about to lose it.

I’ve known these kids for two months. And there they were, standing in the hallway, singing “Happy Birthday” to me.

School started, and as custom, we had the announcements. Then, at the end, a bunch of the guys that I’ve had the privilege of mentoring decided to rap “Happy Birthday” over the loudspeaker. They got cut off, but the meaning was still there.

I looked out on my first period class after the announcements, mouthed “Thanks…for everything,” and then started to feel the lump in the throat happen. I stopped talking, and since we pray before every class, we moved to prayer. As I prayed, I thanked God for all the wonderful students that I get to teach every single day. I thanked Him for the joy of being able to enter into the lives of these kids, and with the guidance of the Holy Spirit, to lead them into a deeper relationship with Christ.

The day went on, and each class sang to me; some kids brought cards and a doughnut cake, while others brought a tin of brownies. I went home with much exhilaration.

I recently heard a sermon on singleness, since, well, you know, I’m 28 and all and I still don’t have that helper suitable…and the wonderful thing that came out of that sermon is that I can still be a father in a spiritual sense. I can raise young men and young women who, after graduating International Christian School Pyongtaek, are loosed on a world that desperately needs young people to share the redemptive power of the gospel of Christ.

And so, imperfectly, I go forward to do just that. Single, married, whatever…my vision for my life is to leave this world in such a manner that when old Eric Zanger breathes his last and goes to glory, Satan doesn’t applaud because there’s a mob of kids who have been placed in my life who pick up the torch and keep going.

I love what I do. I wouldn’t trade what I do for all the tea in China…or all the kimchi in Korea.

This past week was Spiritual Emphasis Week. We invited a group called Station2 to come to our school to lead us in worship through song and through worship in the Word. There is something uniquely powerful about having a chapel every day with the same group or the same speaker every day.

Station2 is 2 people, named Dave and Travis, and they are a wonderful live band—they use looping techniques and through it, these two people sound like a full band. It’s quite an experience. Check out their website and their Myspace, and be blessed.

Anyway, much prayer went into this week; much fasting went into this week; and God answered big time. The Spirit was moving in an electric manner, and by Tuesday, when Travis talked about hiding sin, we watched as people were broken, sitting there weeping at the end of the chapel, asking God to come into their lives and cleanse them.

On Wednesday, it happened again, and then, as if all the walls that had been up fell in a great big boom, on Thursday, it started to explode. After chapel, I had the privilege of sitting and talking with four guys for about an hour and a half about Christ and how he cleanses sin and how he forgives even the hardest sinners.

Then, I had the pleasure of sitting with another guy for another hour or so, and heard about his life, and shared Christ with him, and God moved, and the brother looked at me, and asked to pray, and in my classroom, prayed to receive Christ in his heart.

I mention this not because I’m anything special. 2 Corinthians 4:5-7 states, “For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” I mention this because the vessel, or the one being used, is not who is important. It is the user, it is the message giver, it is God who is important in this equation. And I give Him all praise and glory and thanks that I got the opportunity to be here to watch all this happen.

Today, it was even more powerful. People were crying out for unbelieving parents, friends, and other family members. People were giving their life to Christ, and Christians were repenting of neglecting the call to share; repenting of living a false life; repenting of trying to live two lives. It was amazing. It made a 27-year-old man weep in the back. Not tears of sadness…no way! But tears of overwhelming joy. Revival is happening, and how sweet is it that I get to be the Bible teacher who gets to fan that flame!

I mentioned to another teacher that my life is finally starting to make sense. That all the sin and all the messing up I’ve done in my life is so that I can look into a teenager’s eye and say, with a clear conscience, “Brother, I’ve been there. I’ve struggled too. I’ve sinned just like you’ve sinned. However, the only difference is that I have a wonderful savior who has taken that sin and wiped it away, and now, I live in freedom.”

I do not believe in coincidences. I believe in the absolute sovereignty of God. I believe that God orchestrated everything that happened in making me leave Wheaton Academy and to come to, of all places, a small school in the middle of rice paddies in Korea so that I could be here to watch this. So that I could be here to be part of it. So I could be here so that God could use me to fan flames.

I am here because in the Great Physician’s insane asylum, this move to Korea is my therapy. This is my cleansing. This is my awakening to something so much bigger than what I thought was important. This is His freeing me from what I thought I needed to be happy. In short, I came to Korea to be a blessing; I now realize that I have been the one who has been blessed.

David Livingstone and Hudson Taylor both said, “I never made a sacrifice.” Each of those individuals were giants in the cause of global missions. Each of them faced much difficulty, much persecution, much sickness, and much loneliness. However, the joy of the Lord filled them so much that all of the bad stuff was erased by the love of the One who had called them and the One who had kept them.

Oh, how I long for the day to stride into a pulpit in America, or to tell anyone when I get back in December, that yes, it was hard; yes, it was lonely at times; yes, I missed some of the creature comforts; yes, I felt homesick; yes, I felt strange at times; and yes, in the eyes of some, what I’m doing is foolish. However, I have drawn so near to God, who is so completely satisfying; who is so amazing that He uses me to help people; who is so great so as to bring me around other teachers that I absolutely love; who is so good to me to bring me into the lives of teenagers who have taken me in and that I love to teach; who has given me an outlet for an unquenchable fire that I have for Him; and who has satisfied every need I’ve had since I’ve been here.

I never made a sacrifice.

“All about Aj, Part II”

With the way that my blog works, you’re going to see this post first. I implore you to scroll down to the next one, which is written on the same day, and read that one first. Then, come back to this one.

If you ever visit Korea, make sure you look up when you’re walking down the street. In America, it seems like every retail establishment owns street-level property. For instance, in the strip mall down the street from me in Oak Brook, there is a Container Store, a Loehman’s, an Office Max, and a Borders. America is known for retail establishments that occupy land in a horizontal way, and if they are part of a building with more than one story, they own the entire building, or at least the first floor. This is not so with Korea.

For instance, at a major corner in Songtan, there’s a McDonald’s. Above the McDonalds is an office for something (I don’t know Korean quite yet.) Then, there’s a health clinic on the third floor. There’s a gym on the fourth floor. That’s as far as I went; I was interested in the gym. In the strip downtown, a Burger King graces the street level and a Chinese Restaurant has the second story.

It took me some time to realize that most of the good places to eat are in basements or on the second floor above another restaurant. So too is a hair salon I went to to get my first haircut.

The hair salon is called Miss Piggy’s. It’s called that after the Muppet who bears the same name, as there are several pictures of the stuffed pig in the hair salon.

I went on the recommendation of a couple of the female members of staff, and considering that Miss Piggy had done a good job with their hair, I decided I would go check it out.

I walk in and one ajumma is lying down on a bench, sleeping. In the back, there is a bed, which made me wonder if the hair salon also doubled as the pen in which this Miss Piggy lived.

Another woman comes out of a room that is off the main room, and says to me, in pretty good English, “would you like a haircut?”

Given the fact that I looked like a 70s retread, I said yes, and she sat me down.

While I was getting my haircut, the ajumma who was sleeping on the bench woke up and moved her act to the bed, which I thought was somewhat appropriate and really strange. Moreover, another ajumma came in, started talking with the woman who was cutting my hair, sat down, and started counting money. It didn’t take old Forrest Gump here to rifle back through my economics classes to realize that the woman doing the counting was probably the infamous Miss Piggy, and the woman cutting my hair was but a little Piggy who was working for the Big BossPiggy.

The three of us start talking, and I tell them that no, I don’t work for the Air Force; no, I’ve never been on base; no, I’m not a defense contractor; no, I’m not a special agent; and no, I’m not Jack Bauer. I tell them that I’m a teacher at an International Christian School, and that I teach Bible.

As the haircut drew to a close, the hairdresser gave me a massage that actually hurt more than it helped—it involved less massaging of tense shoulders and more pounding of the center of my back.

As I was set to go, BigBossMissPiggy took a once over of me, then looked at me, and as plain as day, said, “Hey, you’re pretty cute.”

SIDEBAR:

BigBossMissPiggy probably was tipping the upper end of her 60s. I had never been hit on before by a woman, let alone one who is older than my mom.

END SIDEBAR

She proceeded to ask me if I would be willing to come teach them English.

SIDEBAR:

Here was the problem facing me: On one hand, I really liked the haircut, and considering my vanity, I wanted to be able to return to get my hair cut monthly, and I didn’t want to offend them by saying “no.” On the other hand, I started to get very nauseous at what “yes” might mean.

END SIDEBAR

Not realizing what I was getting myself into, I said, “yes.”

She then told me, “Cutie, please write down your number.”

It was at this point that expediency took over. I wrote down the number and high-tailed it out of there, absolutely freaked out at what was happening.

Here’s what I imagine happened the next day, say, at bingo with her other friends…

“Ladies, do you see this? I just got the number of a 27 year old. Miss Piggy’s still got it!”

All ajumma hilarity aside, I really am thankful to be here. I really love the other staff, I love my church, and I love my kids. Yes, they are my kids. I feel like a father to 83 students that I get to spend time with every single day. I have found that obedience has brought such a tremendous blessing in my life.

Thank you for praying and for the emails of encouragement. I’ll be back in December, and for those of you around Chicago, I’d love to see you when I’m back.

Well, it’s been awhile. A long while. Nearly two months while. I know I’m in trouble when people that I live with in Korea are telling me they would like me to write. Most of them have shared the same experiences with me; y’all in the States haven’t. For that, I apologize, and ask for grace.

I’d like to start by introducing a Korean term called “ajumma.” Ajumma is a blanket term used for any older woman, especially one who is married. The range can be from 25 on up, with the major prerequisite being marriage. However, the term, when used among Koreans, conjures up an older lady.

Not in a way that mocks the culture, a couple of us have created a term of endearment when it comes to our older ladies here on the Korean peninsula: “The Aj.”

So, with that by way of introduction, were I to give this blog a title, this would be called, “All about Aj.” English teachers, marvel at my alliteration.

I need to spend some time writing about Sorak, which is where a bunch of teachers spent Labor Day weekend.

Dear Mr. Zanger,

You’re worse than us when it comes to meeting deadlines.

Sincerely,

The Airbus A380 Team

Yes, I’ve been lazy. I’m also the Bible Department; I’ve been a little preoccupied.

One of the highlights of my trip to Sorak was our trip to Mt. Sorak National Park, where I was told that I must hike to the orange steps, walk up the orange steps, and therein get a breathtaking view of the Pacific and other mountains. The hike itself was grueling, and seven of us made it to the base of the orange steps.

According to Lonely Planet, “To reach the 873m summit, you have to climb up an 808-step staircase. It takes 45 minutes and is hard going but the reward is a spectacular view from the top.” I didn’t bring Lonely Planet with me, so I was unfamiliar with the severity of the staircase. Nor did I see the top, as a fog and rain had rolled in.

By the way, I am afraid of heights with such a passion that I got into the fetal position at the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

So, we started ascending the stairs—led by two high school students, followed by two female teachers, followed by two male teachers, and I took up the rear, going as slow as a snail up the steps. There were three flights, then a place to rest. So, I went up the first flight…no problem! The second was at a much steeper angle, and…no problem! The third was tougher…the angle was fine; however, the stairs, which are see-through, are hanging over a cliff. I somehow made it up to the rest area, then died when I saw a) the angle of the next set of stairs and b) the cliff over which they would go.

The high schoolers were high tailing it up the next set of stairs, and the ladies were close behind. However, the guys had waited for me, and then I committed cardinal sin for anyone who is afraid of heights—I looked down. And, as quickly as I could, I became a rock hugger. I hugged that rock like it was a teddy bear. Plastic wrap had nothing on me. Knowing I would not reach the top without a helicopter or a sedative, I told the other guys to go on without me and that I would go down after I had composed myself.

They stayed to make sure I wouldn’t pass out and fall off the cliff, and I insured them that if I had to go down on my butt, I would make sure that I would get down. They went off, and I was left with myself and my thoughts.

Now, the same orange steps you use to climb to the top of Mt. Sorak are the same orange steps you climb to get off the top of Mt. Sorak, so as I’m sucking my thumb and trying to find my happy place, group after group of people are flying down the stairs, looking at me with great wonder, and going down the last three flights.

I finally got up the nerve to allow myself to go down, and as I looked up the stairs, I saw that nobody was coming, so I started to go down.

I went down as if I was 107 years old. Here I am, a 27-year-old man, white knuckling the rail, and going down, one step by one step, with my body as far away from the rail as possible. I’m sure I looked like an inverted “L”.

Anyway, as I am going down at a slower pace than I had gone up, I look behind me, and here comes an ajumma.

SIDEBAR:

Now, this isn’t a 30 year old, just-happens-to-be-married ajumma. No, this is an older lady, with many wrinkles. I’m guessing she was in her mid 70s.

END SIDEBAR

She is hauling down the steps, and the contrast couldn’t be greater. Here I am, going inch by inch, and she’s almost going down two steps at a time.

She gets to me, and, in one great move, moves to the left of me, and keeps going down at a breakneck pace.

I stop going; instead, my eyes lock with hers as she passes me. I’m looking for some consolation, for some “atta boy, just a few more left, you can do it.” Instead, she looks back at me, stops, laughs at me, and keeps going down the stairs.

I made it down the stairs, let out a huge sigh of relief that my feet were back on solid ground, and went and sat upon a rock to wait for my party to ascend, take pictures, eat lunch, and descend.

While I was on the rock, I had a view of the greenest valley I had ever seen. The darkness of the green, in contrast with the wispy clouds that rolled through, took my breath away.

At that moment, the humiliation in front of ajumma was assuaged by a God-given picture that was meant only for me.

When my compatriots came back to my position, I walked down the mountain with the group in total peace, for my mind had been totally cleared as I looked upon that sight.