Entitled

I’ve been having a severe sense of entitlement lately.

Perhaps this unfortunate sentiment is exacerbated by the materialistic society in which I’m dwelling—a culture focused on appearance and fashion and accumulation of possession and accolades—but a large portion of the problem stems from myself.

I am naturally an incredibly selfish person. I think of myself before I consider anyone else, and the majority of my sentences yearn to begin with “I” and end with “me.”

Walking down the street or navigating the aisles of the supermarket or turning a corner or commencing a stairway, always I object to another’s presence. He or she or they are in my way. Their person is blocking my path and hindering my progress. My schedule is frustrated along with my nerves.

How dare another person be so audacious as to invade the same sidewalk, aisle, pathway or stairway as me! How dare she push her cart onto the moving ramp at e-mart and thus force me to stand idly behind her for the agonizingly slow 30-second ascent between floors?

How dare this pair of men shuffle up the path with their hands folded behind their backs while I vainly attempt to circumnavigate them and continue at my much brisker pace?

How dare this driver turn the corner without stopping so I might cross the road without stopping?

How dare anyone make me wait! How dare anyone hinder my plans! How dare the world not cater to my every whim and caprice!

These egregious offenses to my person are only the unspoken rages, a small part of the entitled attitude that often make me grind my teeth and clench my fingernails into my palms.

These are just the selfish thoughts that occur nearly every time I venture outside my apartment.

In the apartment I also experience such struggles: occasion when the water heater does not quickly enough provide steaming water for a shower; when the washing machine beeps the “tangle” alert, so I must pull apart my sopping knotted clothes and restart the machine to finish its spin-cycle; when the electric kettle takes a longer 60-seconds than usual; when drawers won’t close or boxes topple, when I clumsily drop something and spill liquid or rice grains all over the floor; when the wifi requires restarting or when Netflix stops streaming.

Any of these infinitesimal inconveniences at the wrong time can trigger a Hulk-Out moment, when I stomp my foot or slap my palm against some surface in agitation, grumbling against the immense struggles of my life.

First-world problems.

The other first-world problems plaguing me are even more shallow, of the severe materialistic nature.

Always I am looking for the gaps in my wardrobe, the barrenness of my floor, and the empty spaces in my passport.

When next I’m in a department store, or a dinky dollar-store, or worse, one of the innumerable corner convenience stores, I see things to add, to amend the gaps and spaces.

I see the mortar to fill those cracks, to further crowd my cozy apartment and bring me long-pursued happiness.

I want this and I want that. I want what certainly I do not need.

I want and I want and I want.

I will never have enough.

Like everyone, I suffer from the vacuum in my soul, forgetting at frightening frequency the only Satisfaction to be had is from Christ.

And this natural disgusting tendency of entitlement is heightened by my status as hagwon (private institute) teacher.

Last term was my first 6 AM schedule, and rife with challenges. Beyond the less than ideal necessity of rising before the sun and getting to work before 6, three of my four classes tested my patience with their poor attendance.

6 AM, most surprisingly and impressively, was the class with the best attendance. Consistently there were students present and ready before 6:00, seated with their books open before them before I even entered the classroom.

Although some arrived tardily, there were always students there to greet me and be greeted, every day.

At 7, 10 and 11, however, this was not always the case.

7:00 proved to be the most poorly attended class, and often had me tapping my foot as the minutes ticked by, postponing the start of the lesson in hopes that students would arrive.

Often class began, with the eventual arrival of a few students, at 7:15.

11:00 was the same way. After one student dropped the class, two ladies remained, and were always late.

Just like the wonderful woman who serves as my English-pupil and Korean-teacher, and my faithful friend, the two ladies seemed simply incapable of coming on time.

Having always been a severely punctual person, this tardiness offended me.

I could understand being late a few times, or perhaps in the beginning of term when adjusting to a new schedule.

But to be late every day, well after becoming accustomed to the commute and routine, such behavior was an affront.

How dare these students mar my timeliness!

Just like my dear Korean teacher, however, at these students I could not retain irritation.

For one, both were extremely eager to learn, and extremely impressive in their English capacity.

With them I could easily hold a conversation about any topic, and I would forget English was not their mother tongue.

More than once we diverged from the textbook to simply discuss: religion, politics, women’s rights, discrimination, social activism, men, marriage, art, history…

Although we did not agree on all things, particularly as one was a Buddhist and one uncommitted to any religion, teetering on Christianity, we certainly had good rapport, and they were always attentive to what I had to say.

More than once they complimented me on explanations of grammar and the Bible, saying that I was the best Biblical explicator they had yet heard, and our grammar lessons were thorough. (Praise God!)

They were very good tardy students, in short.

Also in their favor was the generosity.  I lost count of the number of occasions that one of these ladies brought in treats in place of timely arrival.

She brought chocolate, lollipops or caramels, cookies and doughnuts.

After a day-trip to a historical village, she presented me with a beautiful pin and bracelet of silver and pearl.

One day after ensuring that second-hand clothes did not offend me she gave me a well-packed canvas bag of clothes she deemed too tight or too “young” for her, none of which showed the least evidence of wear.

And she ceaselessly complimented me on my dress, accessories and general appearance.

In my other classes, I was gifted with treats occasionally as well.

Usually these were in the form of snacks, but I’ve received some pretty knickknacks as well, always unexpectedly and without particular occasion that I could tell.

On our final day of term, which is often referred to as “Party Day” and involves socializing over snacks rather than studying the textbook, I brought in muffins and tangerines, uncertain whether any students had intended on contributing to the communal grazing.

At 6 AM my ever-dependable three gentlemen were present, and after I’d directed us into a circle around the central desk of muffins and tangerines, my most diligent K brought forth a bag packed with pastries and sweet macchiato coffee-pouches.

(This is the student who had perfect attendance and was ever first in the class, despite a forty-minute commute to school. After class he went to work. Despite not scoring well-enough to pass to the next level, he retains remarkable good-humor, and studies incessantly.)

At 7 AM on Party Day after the usual ten or so minutes of delay, three students arrived, as promised. The first shared a bag of warm drinks, because it was cold outside, he said, and the second left us gaping as she pulled forth sweet treat after sweet pastry: expensive candies, a signature Korean treat (essentially donuts in small, square candy-form); two Bundt-style cakes made with rice flour and raisins, cheesy star-shaped cookies and brownie-like chocolate-filled cookies. This abundance was added to the previous class’ pastries.

Later that morning at 10 AM two ladies arrived to the classroom, both with contributions. One had packages of Pepperidge Farm cookies and one cartons of little walnut-bread. These are minute pastries with the texture of a pancake, moist and chewy, filled with sweet red-bean paste and a walnut. They are molded after a walnut shell.

One carton was to share. The other she presented to me. “This is for you,” she said, “Just for you.”

By the end of the morning my desk looked like a bakery—positively filled with left-over treats and sweets that would be impossible to consume alone.

The day before one of my 6 AM students, a dear and adorable older man, D, who should not have passed to the Level 3 class of which he was part, had requested we have lunch together.

He said he wanted to take me and the two teachers he knew taught at that time—I agreed.

That night, the night before the last day, I was miffed to learn from a co-teacher that my Level 5 students, the always tardy ladies, had invited her to lunch with them, along with some other students and another teacher.

“They didn’t invite me to lunch,” I said in surprise.

Afterwards I found the news annoying—how dare they not extend me, their teacher!, an invitation!

The fact that we hadn’t discussed plans for the following day at all did not really forefront in my mind, nor the fact that most likely I was invited regardless—my focus was only on, shockingly, myself.

(The next day we all grouped together, four teachers and six students, and my Level 3 student D paid for lunch for all of us.)

Entitlement.

I felt it.

I feel it.

Constantly.

In this materially minded world, I value my possessions far too much.

I worry excessively over the state of my bank account and begrudge every won spent, or rather every bit of won spent on something not my immediate gratification.

Entitlement.

It is as though I expect some beneficent person or being or perhaps my employer to pay for everything, to compensate every moment of my time and every minute expense.

And therein lies the problem: my time.

Time is not mine.

Nothing in this world is mine—not even my body.

All I’ve been give in a gift with which I have opportunity to use for good purpose.

At the commencement of this latest term we received two new teachers. Most new teachers face the struggle of stretching their funds until that triumphant first paycheck. We arrive, spend ten to twelve days in Orientation in Seoul, then are sent to our assigned schools and work for approximately three weeks before being paid. That accumulates to five weeks with no income, and three weeks living expenses of meals, possible furnishings or toiletries for a possibly barren apartment.

Money can become extremely tight.

To assist in this challenging transition, common practice among teachers is to cover a meal or two without thought of repayment, perhaps buy some odds and ends of necessities, school supplies or small amenities—this is the cycle. Most likely someone aided us in our uncertain beginning, and so we aid the incoming in turn.

These past few weeks we have all contributed to Zak and Bien. Zak, the returning teacher, was assigned role of coordinator, without his foreknowledge. Thus he has additional duties beyond teaching: he also has a daily religion class, overseeing and approving paperwork, and is representative between foreign teachers and Korean teachers, the Main Office, and the director. He is also responsible for Mission Day once a term and Reading Club on Saturday mornings.

Some of these duties are usually shared between other Missionary Teachers, teachers who are Seventh Day Adventist, but our branch hosts no others—Zak is the only SDA. This is clearly unjust.

Since my arrival in July I have been helping with Reading Club. I attended every Saturday whether I was leading that day or not, helping to explain or prompt discussion among students. Last term there were three of us to share the responsibility of procuring an appropriate article and leading the group. Now there are just us two.  

Recently I was feeling burdened under this bother, this accumulation of entitlement and bitterness. Always I seemed to be giving, always giving time, effort and money, and resentment began to flourish. Envy at the seeming lack of responsibility of my co-workers plagued me, and instead of serving from love, I felt I was serving my time and effort out of (grudging) obligation.

Certainly Christians have a duty to serve additionally, above and beyond what the world requires or expects, but we ought not to be serving with such resentment or sense of self-righteous martyrdom. But I felt these wretched things.

One morning I cried out to God to save me, because the bitterness was eating me from the inside-out. I was horrified at my own selfishness, and the idea that I was utterly bankrupt of love.

I was a miserable clanging cymbal.

“If I speak in the tongues of men and angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge and if I have a faith that can move mountains but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames but have not love, I gain nothing.”

~1 Corinthians 13:1-3

How fortunate that God answers prayer, and blessed me with participation in a small group Bible study on discipleship. One lesson of following Jesus is understanding the cost; that cost may be physical wear or financial bankruptcy. It definitely entails occasional humiliation and rejection by the world, and continuing to give when all seems exhausted.

Because with this continuation of giving comes faith: growth of our own and proof to the world of its existence.

James reminds us practically that faith without works is dead, of no use to anyone. We cannot merely wish someone well, promise prayer, and take no action. “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes or daily food. If one says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well-fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” ~James 2:15-16

Similarly, we ought not solely give physically but pray earnestly and share the Good News, telling the reason we give. Perhaps a person can be generous on her own, perhaps some persons are move giving than others, naturally, but with Christ, we can overcome the fear of giving “too much,” and give with abandon.

Yesterday I was late to service at SDA, and missed the beginning of the sermon. But the part I did attend was of Mary, sister of Lazarus, pouring oil over the feet of Jesus as he dined. The surrounding party judged her, dismissed her as a sinful woman unworthy of the Teacher’s attention, but Jesus considered her action beautiful, and an excellent use of her money and emotional expense.

“When a woman who had lived a sinful life in that town learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, she brought an alabaster jar of perfume, and as she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them.” ~Luke 7:37-38

Some claimed that she ought to have donated the money she spent on such expensive perfume, providing for the poor. Some deemed her display unfit for the public: she ought not to make a scene before strangers.

Jesus dismissed all of these condemnations as petty. “She has done a beautiful thing to me.” ~Matthew 26:10

He said she had done right, and given a better gift than his host in her intimate washing of his feet: using her tears and hair and this exquisite perfume.

Pastor said that we ought to break our alabaster jars, to pour out our perfume on the feet of Jesus.

We’ve been given a variety of gifts. We all have time, talents and finances with which to be generous. Let us not hoard them, he said, not hold them close, but give with abandon.

Giving is not often easy. Sometimes we feel there is nothing left to give, everything has been expunged and we are empty.

But God always restores joy. He is there to fill our hearts with joy and love just as He filled water jars with the choicest wine.

“Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” ~Luke 6:38

Entitlement will ever be a struggle, particularly in this egregiously materialistic world where we are ever convinced we need the next fulfillment, the next assurance of our completion and happiness. But we will never be sated by products, technology, clothes, adorable shoes, spectacular meals, even magnificent vistas, adrenaline-pumping excursions, and the dearest relationships. Not by others’ praise or admiration will we find lasting comfort.

However, there is hope in giving. Giving beyond what the world expects or perhaps others consider healthy.

These past five months in Korea I have witnessed God’s provision again and again, and have always been treated with generosity, expected or unprecedented. How dare I not do all I can to pay forward the generosity and selflessness I have known, and in turn feel God restore joy to my heart.

And there, instead of entitlement, we are blessed with contentment.