Go, Tell It on the Mountain!

[At left: Sam and me on top of the obelisk pedestal; Joe in the background.]

Ok, we're in a closed country, so we can't tell *that* on the mountain. [If you're familiar with the Christmas tune to which the title of this entry alludes, then you know what I'm talking about.]

When I first came to this small town four years ago, I asked the students what we could do for fun. Two answers constituted about 95% of the responses: "We can hike Nanqing Mountain;" and "Let's go to the Teacher's College." In truth, the "mountain" is really just a mid-sized hill. Still, with some very steep sections, ascending Nanqing Mountain provides some serious cardiovascular exercise.

The other principle source of diversion, the Teacher's College, may not sound like anything spectacular, and to many people it wouldn't be. The name isn't an ironic title for a raging club, a trendy bar, or some hidden eatery that only locals know about. The Teacher's College is--or was, rather--(just as its name purported it to be) a place where individuals from Liping County went to be trained in the pedagogical arts. As 'Liping City' grew in importance as the seat of the Liping county government, it saw a rise in the number of students. To accommodate this influx of learners, the school magistrate and other county officials decided to move "Liping Number One Senior Middle School," which provides instruction for the equivalents to tenth, eleventh and twelfth grades in the American educational system, from its old location to the Teacher's College. With it's larger campus and superior facilities, the new Number One Senior Middle School is able to house and teach more pupils than its old counterpart.

Consequently, the "Number Two Senior Middle School" has been moved to the old "Number One" campus; likewise, "Number Three" is now on the grounds of the old "Number Two." In all this shuffling, I believe that the Teacher's College has been abandoned altogether, which has introduced a conundrum of a different sort: there is now no place to train up new educators to provide instruction for all these new students, but there are many things about Communism that defy the understanding of those of us born under the banner of the free market.

[At right: Katie and me with our students at the oblisk on Nanqing Mountain. If you click on the photo to enlarge it, with some scrutinization, you will see that my clothes are completed drenched through from the water fight.]

Now that all my students are already at the Teacher's College, (aka "Liping Number One Senior Middle School"), the only recreational activity left is hiking the mountain. Accordingly, this year, as in all years past, the other summer English teachers and I made our requisite pilgrimage up Nanqing Mountain. We began the ascent in the late afternoon, with the worst of the day's heat passed, but with enough daylight hours remaining to guide us both up and down the mountain trails. The hike, though tiring, was enjoyable; nothing of particular interest transpired other than a water fight at the natural spring which bubbles out of the ground midway to the summit.

The energy we exerted was richly rewarded by a vista of the surrounding hills and the buildings of Liping down below. Better than that was a sublime (in an Edmund Burkean sense) sunset. Here's a view from the top [a movie that, by the way, I saw when I lived in Beijing. It falls into the strange genre of silly-but-possibly-life-altering comedies. Gweneth's character is spurred on by Candice Bergen to "fulfill your destiny."]:

Village People

It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A! It's fun to stay at the Y-M-C-A! You can get yourself cleaned; you can have a good meal; you can do whatever you feel!

...Oh, sorry. Wrong Village People. [Incidentally, I was looking at the lyrics to YMCA, and it is very nearly unfathomable that that song: a) became as popular as it did; and more outrageously, b) remains a cultural anthem to this day among basically every living generation of Americans. I have decided to call it this the "Macarena Effect." Basically, if you have a song with a hummable melody and a catchy beat, no matter how insipid the lyrics, and pair it with an easy-to-learn dance, you're guaranteed a place on the top 40. There is more to say about the Village People (capital 'V', capital 'P'), but they are not the focus of this essay.]

The village people on which I am focusing are actually from a village (unlike any of the flamboyantly costumed six band members). Today we took our requisite trip to a Dong village, the Dongs (侗族) being one of 55 ethnic minorities in China--the particular group that CACSO has adopted to study and preserve its cultural heritage. (The photo on top left shows two Dong individuals in traditional attire. They are performing a dance that meant to imitate the courtship between a pair of young lovers.)

The Dong are noted for their distinct architecture, in particular, their "drum towers" and "wind and rain bridges"; an example of the former below:

Perhaps what is most astonishing about their buildings is that in their construction the Dong employ no nails or other metal of any kind. The pieces of wood are carefully cut to fit together with great precision, thereby obviating the need for nails.

After enjoying the performances of several Dong songs and dances (accompanied by a small ensemble of traditional Chinese instruments), we hiked up a hill to the Dong museum, which catalogues the accomplishments of the Dong, and makes note of some of the particulars of their culture. Because the museum is on top of a hill, it was hard to resist taking the following photo:
Our guide and translator caught a dragonfly on the way up the stone paths. He handed it over to those of us willing to handle is (I was among them); we took some photos with it, carefully holding the insect by its hindwings. I noticed a group of children perspicaciously eyeing my prize as I approached the museum entrance. They looked so innocent and eager to play with the dragonfly that I handed it over to them to play with it.

I quickly learned that looks can be deceiving, even in a very modest, agrarian village such as this one. When I exited the exhibits, I saw the same children, playing with the same dragonfly--minus its wings! Those little barbarians had ripped off the dragonfly's beautiful, jeweled appendages, and it was beating its little stubs furiously in an effort to fly away, which, of course, was futile. I felt very guilty at having so willingly handed him over to such a cruel fate, but levied most of the blame on those little amputation-happy, sadistic savages.

On the way back, the breaks to our van were not working properly, and we waited for them to be repaired. When it turned out that it was not possible (surprise, surprise) to fix the breaks in the village, we had to find the next available bus to return us to the small town in which we are teaching English. Here's a momento of our two-hour wait for the bus:
Our group is actually composed of about three smaller groups: one that will be in China about two months, one that will be in China about one month, and mine, the two week group. Tonight the American couple we are visiting made pizza, to curb the gustatory homesickness that many of our team members are feeling after having ingested nothing but local food for the last several weeks. The act itself is, of course, magnanimous, but the irritating way the husband repeatedly joked, "I dunno: do you think the two week team has even been here long enough to deserve pizza?" made me all but lose my appetite. I am not generally a fan of having food treated as a "reward"--maybe it's just too Pavlovian for me--and I am certainly not accustomed to having the right to eat lorded over me in any way.

Perhaps it is my pride, or perhaps my resentment can in some way be legitimized. In either case, I resolved that no one should be invited over for dinner and made to feel that the meal need to be earned in some way. I don't think my response stemmed from my being among the group who hadn't been in China long enough for pizza; if I had been there two months, I would feel similarly: everyone should feel welcomed to dinner, or no one should, but there is no need to segregate (even in jest) based on the duration of one's stay.

So, my long, long day with the village people, in combination with my predisposal not to have pizza, inclined me to decline the "offer" and return early to the hotel for some much needed rest. Nothing is quite as relaxing as sprawling on one's bed, composing a blog entry, and feeling like a Macho, Macho Man.

Meant to be Broken

Oh dear...

Katie and I got in big trouble today with Danny. At night he gave us a stern talking-to, for having broken several rules in sequence. Had I been willing to plead our innocence, I would have countered that: a) the rules that we broke were rather equivocal, and the language in which they are couched really needs to be ironed out more fully to avoid misunderstanding; and b) our intent was truly noble, and we were acting in the spirit in which the rules were conceived--namely, that we were trying to engender a spirit of goodwill and friendship. However, my exculpatory enthusiasm was squelched by Danny's humility and the gentleness with which he reprimanded us. After our talking-to, I felt quite guilty, and had to apologize that our behavior had caused him so much distress.

To mirror my perception of what happened, I will give you a brief narrative of what happened, then explain how our conduct constituted a breaking of the rules. [Okay, so perhaps this isn't totally fair, because I was aware of the rules before I violated them. The actual application of the rules, however, can be murky, which is why I was a little surprised when I was reprimanded.]

CACSO, the organization through which we teach in China, provides funds for room and board for our students. However, not all students are covered, just the boarding students from the countryside; kids who live in the city are expected to eat and sleep at home (naturally). During class, a group of our students from the city asked if they could eat dinner with Katie and me in the school cafeteria. Partially because there always seems to be leftover food, and partially because it's hard to tell your students, "no, you can't eat with us," Katie and I acquiesed.

Cognisant of the rule that city students must pay (what seems to us) a nominal fee of 7 or 8人民币 (about $1), Katie and I collected the money upon our arrival at the cafeteria. We told Danny, but he said that we hadn't told the cooks, who need about 2 days prior notice to ensure they buy/prepare enough food. [And this is pretty fair; there were about 11 extra students with us; during a typical meal, I estimate about 80 people eat there.] Katie and I felt too embarassed to simply turn the students away at this point, since they had been friendly enough to initiate eating a meal with us, and we had already collected their money. So, after exchanging looks of distress and asking ourselves, "So...what should we do?", we agreed that we should still keep our appointment to eat with the students, but we would feast off-campus. This seemed the most reasonable way to spend time with them, while not overtaxing the resources of the school cafeteria.

After a short period of deliberation, our students recommended "sour soup," or something to that effect. Because Katie and I have little knowledge of the good eats in this small town, we were at the mercy of our students' designs. We arrived at the restaurant, which to my surprise, served hot pot. During the discussion about where to eat, I hadn't heard the term "火锅," the typical term in Chinese used to signify this dish; I guess they used local slang. On a day when the temperature is 90+ with the humidiy factor, boiling hot soup is about the last thing one wants to eat, and a small room with the body heat of 13 people plus two gas stoves is about the last place one wants to eat it.

The atmosphere of a sweltering inferno notwithstanding, the food was quite delicious, and we had more than our fill of beef, pork, mushrooms, noodles, fish balls, and a host of Chinese vegetables. When the bill was tallied (according to the number of skewers of food left), we found it a very reasonable $14 for 13 people. After returning the students' money, we told them the tab was on us, and they could treat "next time," (a trick my mom always uses in order to treat people, in hopes that when "next time" finally rolls around, they will have forgotten.)

Here's a list of rules we violated during the course of our dining experience:
1. We allowed students to come without 2 days advanced notice for the cooks.
[addendum: We DID remember to collect the money from the city students who wanted to eat.]
2. We took the students out on an excursion without permission.
3. We paid for their dinner, which constituted a "gift," and gifts to the students are strickly prohibbited, unless they are home-made.

I think after the lecture we received, Katie and I were "meant to be broken" (in spirit), and indeed we did genuinely feel remorse for giving Danny more problems by disobeying the rules, especially since he is such a soft-hearted leader. Even so, my co-teacher and I did honestly feel good about having had dinner with the students. "I'm sorry that we broke the rules," Katie said, "but I'm not sorry we got to spend time with the students." Our excursion felt like time well-spent, even justified, especially for Katie, who really hasn't had an opportunity to interact with the female students outside of class.

In true impenitent fashion, I am posting photographs of our misdeeds online as evidence of our crimes:


The girls' table, immediately adjacent to...


...the boys' table! Man that room was broiling!

Chinese Potpourri

7:00 am
This is the first morning since we arrived in China that I slept through the night until my alarm beckoned me from rest. I attribute my sound slumber to my having taught in the morning yesterday, then doing foamie crafts in the afternoon—exhausting!

9:04 am
After beginning class this morning, Katie and I discover that many of the students have migrated out of their assigned seats to sit with their friends. While I am sure from their point of view this makes class more fun, from our point of view it impedes learning, so Katie is dispatched to rectify the situation. When asked to return to the previous day’s seat, Sam (who is among our funniest, and certainly our cutest) student protests, “No, I did sit here yesterday!” Laughing, Katie returns to me and says, “He thinks we’re stupid.” I see that Sam is wearing a very attractive Johnny-collar white shirt with broad, multi-toned green stripes; discontent in my heart ensues, and I resolve to buy a shirt like it later in the day.

12:37 pm
I spot a very large black butterfly, then a large light blue one. Reminds me of a Chinese song that was very popular when I was living in Beijing, "两只蝴蝶." (Translation of the title: "Two butterflies.")

12:46 pm
Ambulating through the streets of the town in search of my own striped green shirt, I spot a little girl running after her father, who was ahead of her by about 10 of his paces (or 20 of hers). Walking backwards to face his daughter, he smiles and beckons her. She sees him, grins widely, and with a certain alacrity in her eyes runs towards him. About half way into her journey, she is distracted by something else on the street (what it was I’m not sure), and takes her eyes off him and stands still to survey whatever has captured her gaze. I consider how like the little girl I am, when my Heavenly Father beckons me to walk more closely with Him: initially I smile and run toward Him who will bring me greatest delight; I am soon distracted by some lesser, passing thing that catches my eye; and then I stop running altogether to enjoy it.

1:00 pm
Find the first of two shirts that I will buy today. This one is only 25人民币, or $3! It’s a white Johnny collar with blue and green stripes. Great deal!

1:19 pm
Find the second of the shirts. This one is on a manikin, so the store manager must remove it for me. Light blue, and made to look like jersey material via tiny holes in the fabric; fun, summer print of a sunset and palm trees in dark blue and white print across the top. Close inspection of the small writing (“softly in a white jacket, spots splao,”) reveals that it is from China. At 40人民币 ($5), it’s not as good a deal as the first shirt. Still, I justify the purchase with the fact that it’s better looking, and composed of finer material.

6:27 pm
Hang out after dinner with my Chinese buddy Hong-dao and some other friends. Envious of his very cool hair, and amazing sudoku abilities, I resolve to be more like him. In the minds of those with more integrity, this would approach idolatry, but I dismiss these Puritanical notions. I notice that Hong-dao has neat, hairless armpits, and marvel that many Asian males are so hairless; he confesses that this look has been achieved with the help of a razor, rather than a natural, genetically endowed trait. After an intense round of questions ("Does it itch when the stubble grows in?"; "Do you have problems with in-grown hairs?"; "How often do you need to shave?"; "Do you find that the upkeep is too annoying to be worth it?" etc), I begin to seriously consider trying this. Finally, ignoring some very practical concerns and legitimate reservations, I decide to put an end to the monotonous style my armpits have endured, and give them a fresh, new look.

7:45pm
Armpits shaved! (Day 1) Although I trim them regularly to avoid an uncomely, bushy look, entirely purging myself of underarm hair feels quite liberating. I feel smooth and silky—in a masculine sort of way.

Below is a photo of my new look, which, I am told my my china team members, very accurately depicts the complete elation I felt at being freed from the shackles that once imprisoned my armpits. It has also been suggested, according to this picture, that: a) Alvin is jealous, and wishes to have so clean a pair of armpits; and b) Peter is embarrassed at my enthusiasm.

PRC

Today is the day I leave for the PRC! Posts for the next 3 weeks may be sporadic.

Lessons from the Garden: Lesson Five

Lesson Five: To Everything, A Season

Solomon once famously remarked, "to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven;" later, the Byrds, perhaps more famously, added "Turn, turn, turn!"

My experiments with new crops in the garden this year have taught me that each vegetable and herb has its own season for harvest. The green beans were the first to offer up their fruits for consumption. Now it's a little too hot for the beans, and they've stopped fruiting. (I'm told that this is only temporary, and when the weather begins to cool back down they will resume production.) Some of the tomatoes are waxing red; a few have already been harvested. The eggplants, which are absolutely heat-loving and do not do well when even nighttime temperatures drop below the 70s, will be next. Once the squash plants begin their yield, they remain prolific throughout the summer and well into autumn, and remain as feracious as (insert joke about highly reproductive demographic-of-your-choice here.) Basil is perpetually bearing leaves, so its harvest season is basically all year in sunny southern Cal, but when temperatures get too warm the plants bolt (or go to seed). At that point they are more focused on producing seeds, and less intent on making leaves, so the leaves are both smaller and fewer. I have already pulled up many of the carrots, but have left several in the ground to increase and just "keep" there until I'm ready for them.

By extension, I have decided that people likewise each have their own seasons of life; it is as foolish to expect them to follow one another's life-schdules as it would be to anticipate green beans and eggplants bearing fruit coincidentally. Thus, it's okay not to marry when everyone else is getting married (it's even okay not to marry at all). It's okay not to be dating when all one's friends are dating, and it's equally okay not to be engaged when all one's friends are engaged. None is bound to a great cosmic timetable; none ought feel constrained to drink from his neighbor's cup. I think the vegetables are telling me to lay aside my neurosis about catching up or being "left behind" and take things at my own pace.


Moral of the story:

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
Atime to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

What I Need

"Everybody says they need just one thing, when what they really mean is they need just one thing more."

So say the lyrics of Rich Mullins' "One Thing," a song in which the singer/songwriter asserts his sole dependence on Jesus, and the dissatisfaction he finds in everything short of Him. In contrast to this view of the sufficiency of Christ, an extremely entertaining email arrived in my inbox this morning from Linda, via Christina. The letter instructs the recipient to go to www.google.co.uk and input his name, followed by the words "needs". For example, I would search for "JT needs." Here are some of the more diverting (if erronious) of my needs of which I was recently apprised:

"JT needs to slow down and keep his mouth shut."
"JT needs to spend a bit more time growing up."
"JT needs to get his ass kicked by hicks."
"JT needs to man up and get his balls back."
"JT needs places in the community where he is a 'regular'."

The task proved so fun, in fact, that I expanded my search to see what unknown necessities Alvin has been living without. Unlike mine, I found that many of suggestions for Alvin are actually befitting:

"Alvin needs more electricity to opporate."
"Alvin needs a family who will encourage him to do and be his very best, but most of all, who love him!" Poor Alvin, no wonder he always looks so distressed. [Actually, I think that one is from an adoption agency site.]
"Alvin needs to be fitted for an EBA--emergency breathing apparatus."

It was too fun to stop at Alvin, so I moved on to some of the other team members who will accompany us on our imminent trip to China:

"Peter desperately needs funds for a new attorney...Prison is a lonely place and Peter needs your support."
"The little boy Danny needs to remember that his parents loved him, that it's okay to be sad, to miss them, to be angry that they aren't here."

China team members aren't the only ones in need:
"Eddie needs Phil's friendship because it makes Eddie feel always superior." [If you know Eddie and Phil, commentary here is entirely superfluous.]
"Eddie needs to provide the ability to do standard editing functions, like CUT COPY PASTE." "Pam needs a sperm donor."
"Pam needs to have fun."
Strangely, I didn't find any mention of Pam's need for Daniel.

"Daniel needs good, nourishing meals to go with the loving care we give him daily at the Abandoned Baby Center."
"Daniel needs time and understanding that he has many feelings of grief, loss, and abandonment."
"Daniel needs to fix his damaged face."
"Daniel needs to move his Episcopalian show from NBC to HBO if he wants to deliver his sermons to an audience that has grown fond of his world."
And though Daniel, at least according to Google, requires reconstructive cosmetic surgery and a shift from a major network to cable, he, apparently, does not need Pam, either.

"Linda needs to be a part of a loving, committed marriage."
"Linda needs to drop by home and pick up her Congo drum to be refaced."
"Linda needs some help with her appearance."
"Linda needs to be renovated, badly."
[Why are Linda's all so desperate?]

In my need-finding fervor, I cut and pasted many of these to Alvin, who apparently, was still smarting from the insinuation that his family is unloving; in his acrimony he replied, "Stop talking about our friends behind their backs."

So, please try this little experiment and see what it is that your life has been lacking. If you find anything that might be of general interest, post it as a comment to this entry.

One totally unexpected result of this experiment on the indispensible was that virtually every name I tried (and there were many more than the ones I selected for this column) needed prayer. Maybe Rich was right after all.

Lessons from the Garden: Lesson Four

Lesson Four: Sharing is Caring!

(Contributor's Note: The sunflowers at the left are not actually the ones mentioned in this blog. Those pictured here are dwarf sunflowers; those of the taller variety are "Moonlight." For a look at the great, leaning sunflowers mentioned here, scroll to the bottom of this entry.)

While on top of the retaining wall behind my house recently, I noticed that the sunflowers I planted behind the wall bend to receive the most light. I planted them in a straight row, but if viewed from east to west, the sunflowers' 9' stalks can be seen bending alternately north and south. This leaning is symbiotic: each plant increases its own exposure to sunlight, while minimizing the shade that it casts on its neighbors. The sunflowers are so genious, so admirable! Rather than simply competing for more light, in their vegetative wisdom they cooperate, thereby allowing all to maximize their provision of light, a resource plentiful enough for everyone to enjoy--if they share. They could compete, and simply try to out-grow each other, but instead these sage flowers lean right and left to maximize the photosynthesis of all. :)

Moral of the story:
Enough! There is enough for all to share,
If share we do, and not indulge the drive
To lay a hold on more than what is fair;
Above subsisting, all the world would thrive.

The common good, to each and every one,
Is good, indeed, so why not it promote?*
It helpth all, while bringing harm to none:
"A rising tide will lift up every boat!"

The game of Life has not a 'zero-sum,'
For one's ascent dependeth not upon
Depressing one's own friend. Let us become
A people working toward a corporate dawn.

So help thy neighbors, help them, every one:
Divide your blessings, and their burdens bear.
In this, you'll find the blessings just begun;
Enough, enough: there is enough to share.

*For those not constiutionally savvy, this was an allusion to the Preamble, "We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America."

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

By the end of this year's wedding season (which, apparently runs from mid-spring to the end of summer), I will have attended six (6) weddings. So why, my astute reader will ask, is this piece entitled "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers"? The reasons are two-fold. First, there is the secret, possible engagement about which one of my Christian brothers has been thinking. This plan is tentative to the superlative degree, but I thought I'd count it for the purpose of creating a title for reason number two: "Six Brides for Six Brothers" doesn't sound clever, and it isn't an allusion to anything in particular, least of all a 1950s musical.

Before I continue any further, two facts need to be established to indemnify myself against potentially erronious accusations. These points are: a) I believe that marriage is highly esteemed in the Bible, and so I, too, esteem it; and b) I am very glad to celebrate the joinings in matrimony of all of my friends, and will joyfully participate (or already have participated) in their wedding ceremonies.

That being said, there are some elements to the modern wedding and wedding reception that I find distasteful. For example: the garter toss. Who REALLY enjoys that, except for the bridegroom, who slips his hand under his bride's dress--doing who-knows-what-else while we're all waiting? As for the actual tossing of the garter, married people don't participate, and I can't imagine that it provides much of a spectacle for them. People already engaged participate in a perfunctory role: they already know they're getting married soon, but are still technically single and must participate. Moreover, I feel that people dating but not near engagement must feel rather awkward having the thought of engagement thrust upon them. People, like myself, who are not dating at all...for those who are single and content, it's really a very ridiculous affair. I liken it to some sort of pagan ritual, in which we as guests are forced to collude. I tried long and hard to find an analgous situation, but after considerable cogitation, came up empty-handed. [One of my pagan friends found my use of the term "pagan" to describe the garter toss objectionable, so to all you pagans out there, I apologize, and did not mean to sully the good name of paganism by comparing it anything as ridiculous as the garter toss.] This led me to the conclusion that the garter and bouquet tosses are the last great bastions of practised superstition in modern America. And for those who are single and miserable, it's just pathetic. Let's face it: they're in there with the facade of non-chalance, but deep inside, they're rearing to go, ready to plow over any hapless three-year-old who gets in their way. "That garter is MINE" they murmer with bated breath, through clenched teeth.

Incidently, I DO have a friend who, in his garder-grabbing fervor, knocked over the five-year-old boy who had rightfully caught the lacy prize at a wedding last year. I will withold his name to spare him the opprobrium, but he knows who he is, and was deservedly shamed after that incident.

Then there's the reading of Genesis 2 at the wedding ceremony. "It is not good that the man should be alone..." Surely I cannot disagree with Scripture, but somehow reading this verse at weddings makes it sound BAD to be single, and I'm sure that's not what's meant by it. Plenty of influencial Christians have remained celebate (St. Augustine, Paul, Jesus). Besides, most people today cannot be said to be "alone" in the most salient manner in which Adam was "alone"--complete deprivation of human society. In the past 6,000 years we've experience a couple minor developments (the industrial and agricultural revolutions), that have enabled our species to grow from a population of one to 6.5 billion. I think we're pretty far from "alone". As much as I hear "And so it is good for man to marry, and he needs a help-mate blah blah blah", I never hear "yet it was also good for him to be celebate." And wasn't it good for the groom to be celebate? Or was God cursing him through two, three, or four decades of unbearable and lonely hermitage, until this one blessed day, the day of his wedding? Really, I think if there's going to be preaching from Genesis to substantiate marriage, it ought to be a more balanced and complete picture (perhaps even incorporating 1 Corinthians 7:8 or 7:16).

For the record, the Seven brides and brothers are:
Mr. & Mrs. Joseph & Salina Kim April 22. 2006
Mr. & Mrs. Ryan & Erin Dayala July 1, 2006
Mr. & Mrs. Wes & Kristin Gong July 15 (?), 2006
Mr. & Mrs. Scott & Lydia Eng August 12, 2006
Mr. & Mrs. Kevin & Katie Lee August 19, 2006
Mr. & Mrs. Andrew & Tiffany Ho August 26, 2006