Siem Reap, First Thoughts...

Sunday, December 26, 2010 (Siem Reap)

Siem Reap, Cambodia

The only reason why I would be familiar with this name would be because of the history books. Known for its historical marvel, the Angkor Wat.

Being here is almost as surreal as standing in front of the Bonhoefferhaus in Berlin, Germany. The history nerd in me is in awe of the architecture, the historicity of a civilization forgotten by the world while the music nerd in me is distracted by the sounds of the whole-tone music played by a young child on the Khmer variation of a Xylophone that greeted us as we entered the hotel lobby. All at the same time, the cultural anthropological nerd in me is marveled by the cross of Buddhism and Hinduism in the Khmer culture, while the seminary nerd in me is trying to figure out what to do with the fact that the breakfast we had this morning cost each of us only US$2 and was being taken care of by our host who is up in the ranks in the Cambodian government but the average Cambodian will not be able to afford that.

But I digress.

Let me back-trek a little and explain what in the world I’m doing here in Siem Reap.

So for years now, my mum and her younger sister have been tutoring kids who came to Singapore from other Southeast Asian countries for education. My aunt’s sister-in-law was the originator of this enterprise that started oh, some fifteen years ago or something close to that. The kids lived with my aunt’s sister-in-law who would be their legal guardian here and both my mum and aunt would tutor them to teach them English and help catch them up with the school system here in Singapore. They came from Malaysia, Indonesia and mostly Cambodia, and had wealthy parents (which would have been the only way they could have afforded education in Singapore).

Anyhow, two years ago, some of my mum’s students from Cambodia asked if she and her family would go visit them in Cambodia. Their parents would host them and make arrangements for  touring and accommodations, so basically my mum just needed to take care of getting to Cambodia. Well, at this time, my brother and I were still in the US, and when I found out they were going to Angkor Wat, I was a little jealous. So when the students asked her again if she would come visit them this time around, we got to tag along.

And so here we are in a little resort in Siem Reap. Well, not little. They actually got a villa for the six of us, and from where I am sitting out here on the porch, I am well-shaded from the sun with a view overlooking the pool. All around, the architecture is very much Cambodian with the mix of Buddhist and Hindu flavours, but you can tell that they’ve studied well what the Western tourists are looking for in their little Asian getaways (I watched Eat Pray Love on the Frankfurt to Singapore flight. Just think of all the stuff Julia Roberts did in India and Bali to be counter-Western in that film and you’ll know what I mean).

Upon our arrival at the Siem Reap airport this morning, we were greeted by a sign with my mum’s name on it. We cleared immigration and customs without having to stand in line because of who our hosts were. Then we were ushered off in a van that took us to this villa where a young child was making what I would guess to be traditional Khmer music in the corner. At the other corner, there was a Buddhist altar similar to the ones in both of my grandma’s homes, except on a bigger scale. The Asian-ness is familiar, but having lived in the US for the last six years and all the other cultural and religious influences that have been a part of my life in the last six years, this familiarity is so welcoming… and refreshing.

So we check into our villa, a huge suite with two huge rooms, two huge bathrooms, a huge sitting area and kitchen space. I could spend the rest of our week in the country here and be happy. But something about that weirds me out just a little because I still think about my own life on the other side of the world where I know that 1) I will never be able to afford vacations like these by myself because of my vocational call, and 2) I feel a little guilty for this expenditure. I’ve already been processing the part about how the middle-class in Singapore is far better off in terms of quality of life than the middle-class in the US. But I haven’t quite reached the point of reconciliation with myself about if I want to do anything about that, or what that would mean yet.

Then after our luggages were dropped off in our villa, we were carted off again to breakfast Cambodian-style. They had the eggs, toast and coffee selection but they also had the Asian variation of rice and noodles (which reminded me of HT’s, “Thank you for bringing rice” comment when I brought Mum’s chicken porridge to our Biblical Foundation for Mission breakfast final. HT, by the way, is Korean) which was what we opted for.

It was at this point that Mum pointed out that the average Cambodian would not be able to afford the meal we were having, even though it was only US$2 per person. Our van-driver and tour-guide made about US$30 per month. The advocacy for social justice instilled in me by my good old Missions professor MaryAnn made me want to do something about it. But what would that be?

A lot of processing to do. But for now, I’m off to be social.

Merry Christmas!

It is 11:50 am on Christmas Eve here in Singapore where I am sitting in the bedroom I grew up in in my parents' house.

In Anderson, one of my other homes, it is 10:50 pm the day before.

Elsewhere in the world, some are asleep while others are just waking up. I never appreciated this until this summer when I was in Germany. It would be the middle of the day, and one side of my world was going to bed while the other one was just waking up.

I don't like being in a different time zone from my families in Singapore or Anderson - or now, Germany. But someone reminded me this just means no matter where in the world I go, no matter what time it might be, there will always be some kind of family awake for me.

And I think this is something new I am learning about Emmanuel, God with us.

Emmanuel knows each of our stories; the story of where we came from, the story of where we are now, and the story of where we are going.

Emmanuel that created us knew what we needed to help us with our past.

Emmanuel that redeemed us knows what we need to deal with our present.

Emmanuel that sustains us knows what we need to deal with our future.

As Christmas is about a day, or a few hours away (depending on where in the world you are as you read this), we remember Emmanuel that came to walk on this earth. Thank you for helping to make Emmanuel real to me this year through being a part of my big world-wide family.

God has been here since the beginning of time. May Emmanuel be real to you this Christmas.

Hugs,

Jael

My Two Worlds...

Before this past semester of seminary started, I remembered telling someone that I was glad John and Elizabeth were joining us in the seminary. And it wasn't just because it was them, but because I would really appreciate the exchange of insights from Asians whose theology was actually shaped by Asia and not half and half like mine is.

And I was right. Except I was once again surprised that this theology didn't show up in the classroom but instead in the day-to-day living.

Through various interactions with Elizabeth, I was reminded that for them, giving up the quality of life they had in Taiwan is a far bigger sacrifice than people in the Anderson circle can understand. Forgive me if I sound harsh here, but sure, the Kenyans and the Indians make their sacrifices to come over for this higher education. And they have to take out loans and have half their families sell off their possessions to pay for school and all that. But because they're from the "third-world," it's natural for people from the Anderson circle to pull strings for them to find odd-jobs, cheat the system and stuff like them to help them pay off school. It's natural for people from the Anderson circle to think about buying them dinners, paying for their groceries and stuff.

I'm by no means saying that this isn't necessary. But I'm just reminded that for those who have been used to a much higher quality of life like in Taiwan, or even in Singapore, the sacrifices to be in a small suburban town in the middle of nowhere America involve more than just giving up the bright lights of the city for the cornfields. It means birthday gifts for each other are less fancy now. It means giving up the once-a-week sushi and fine-dining for more home-cooked meals. It means watching friends from high school splurge on extravagant shopping sprees and overseas trips while we scrimp and save to pay off the phone-bill and look for cheap weekend getaways once in a while so that we don't have to take unpaid vacation days off from our minimum wage job. It means finding ways to stay content in the cornfields even though we know we could easily come back to this side of the Pacific and easily return to this quality of life that we gave up.

And I'm not writing this to brag because God only knows the only way I made it this far is because of the people in the cornfields who remind me it's easy to be content with the small things. And God only knows I made it this far because I have people on this side of the Pacific who have made their sacrifices to keep me on the other side. And I had time to ease full-fledge into what it means to live with the quality of life that I do in the cornfields.

But I guess the yearly trips back to this side of the Pacific mess with my identity crisis even more because, for 3-4 weeks in a year, I live the life of the daughter of an average middle-class person in Singapore with a quality of life that I never dare to dream of, knowing what lies ahead in my vocational future. And then I go back to being the seminary student trying to make ends meet, learning that communal living and making cheap meals in bulk to feed a big group might be the cheapest way to go about surviving those cornfields.

You know how they say, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God"? I've always only sort of understood that. I've never gone from being a wealthy individual into that poor college student; I've just reaped the benefits of my parents' occupations. So I understand it some, but it's never been quite so personal. But as I watch John and Elizabeth make these sacrifices to answer their call, it hits home again.

I know I've never been more content in the simplicity of the life I now lead, and I would never trade this for anything else in the world, even in the thick of the semester and the frustrations with God. But that's because of the community I've had on both sides of the Pacific who have helped to make it easier. And while I only have one semester left, John and Elizabeth are only at the beginning of their journey. And I already have a feeling their people on both sides of the Pacific will show up for them, as mine did for me.

Processing TCKness

Forgive the thought spillage here, but the last few weeks have been spent running from one thing to another, with a few minutes in between to stop and think. So tonight there might be a bit of verbal diarrhea, but we'll try to keep it contained.

It's that time of the year when the identity crisis of the third-culture kid in me hits its lowest point trying to figure out these transitions not just between one culture to another, but one home to another. You know how they say, you can be in a big crowd of friends but still feel lonely? Well, you can also blend in with a culture but still not feel like you belong anywhere.

Blending in is not belonging.

And maybe it's wishful thinking for someone with my vocational call to want a sense of belonging in some culture of the world considering the rest of my life probably entails continual transition from one culture to another.

Just thinking about sitting in the room tonight with a bunch of seminary friends that I know I've done a fairly good job of being intentional about being relational with. God only knows how much easier it would be for me to hide behind tasks so I don't have to deal with the risks of getting hurt by love. God only knows how much easier it would be to keep doing life in isolation as I have for so long.

And God only knows how hard it has been trying to focus in the here and now.
Sitting at a party with acquaintances, checking my phone every once in a while for updates on a friend's health.
Sitting in a room amongst friends watching a movie and trying to chill after an exhausting week, heart hurting for friends on one side of the world and trying to figure out how the heck I am doing with my own emotional health.
And getting antsy about that dreaded 30 hours on the plane, finally getting some down time, yet being afraid of having to deal with myself again this year.

And trying to figure out how the heck I've gotten so culturally messed up that others can relate to pieces of my story but not the whole deal.

I've always known my cultural adaptability and chameleon-like personality would come in handy with my vocational call. But at the same time, I really just long for community that would know the ins and outs of the story and still stick with me through the rest of the developing story, rather than hear the stories because they are fresh and fascinating and they've never met a more culturally messed-up person than me.

But I know community is hard. And my level of commitment to being community to others is my own, and I cannot hold others to my same standard.

And while I'm frustrated with life at the moment, I would never trade any of this mess for anything else in the world. Because it is out of my messed up cultural identity that I can do well with the post-modern, post-Christian world, and without the story that backs up this mess of cultures, I have no understanding or credibility in that world.

I'm frustrated. And I'm getting tired so I should end this one before more ridiculousness ensues. For whatever reason, I'm REALLY looking forward to my decompression time at that favourite place in the world this year.

Advent #2: December Came Too Soon

1:40 am, Sunday morning.
I should be asleep given all that has happened in the last 24 hours and all that will happen in the next 24 hours.

But 1:40 am came too soon.
Just as December came too soon.

"A whole 'nother year has passed," as the good folks of the Midwest will say.
And again, December came too soon.


I hadn't had time to process the disaster that the Spring of 2010 semester had been, and I found myself crash-landing in Germany.
And I fell in love there.

No, correction. I learnt what it really meant to love there.
No, no, I meant... I learnt the present-day translation of what agape meant.
The agape as it really was like in the Acts of the Apostles.
And what that agape translates to today.

The kind of agape that binds community as that Jewish Rabbi taught.

What was his name again?

Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.

Then I barely had time to figure out the mess I was in coming back from Germany.
And I was thrown into dealing with real life people.

People who weren't simply names out of those "holy" pages, like Priscilla and Aquila, or Cornelius or Stephen.
Real life people whom I was faced with the question of whether or not I wanted to intentionally choose agape with them and for them.

The same agape that that Jewish baby born in that manger intentionally chose.
Wait, what was his name again?
Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.


Then I barely have time to figure out the mess I'm in right now processing this agape.
And I'm about to be thrown back into that once-upon-a-time "only home I know" physical location.

Only to remember, after this December, it will no longer be anymore.
Bags will be packed with childhood memories, while the physical pieces probably tossed into a no-man's-land similar to that space that stood between the former East and West Berlin.

The same "no-man's-land" that that Jewish "Son of Man" dude referred to as "no place to lay his head."
Tell me again, what was his name?
Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.


Right.
That Jesus of Nazareth dude.
What business does he have with me anyway?
And why the heck should I give a rip about his life?
He's been dead and gone two thousand years.
What does he matter today?


Except he does.
Because he chose agape.
He chose agape for me.

He chose that manger not simply for a story to fill those "holy" pages.
He chose that "nowhere to lay his head" not simply so I can identify with that "no-man's land".
He chose that "Rabbi" not simply just to teach.

He chose that because he knew it would lead him to that cross on Golgotha.
He chose that because he chose agape.


2:09 am, Sunday morning.
I should be asleep given all that has happened in the last 24 hours and all that will happen in the next 24 hours.

But 2:09 am came too soon.

Just as December came too soon.

But that Jesus of Nazareth.

He came just on time.

Come, Thou long-expected Jesus

Thankful

It is nearly 5am.
I just turned in my last big paper for my second to last semester of seminary.
I should be sleeping.
But I'm wide awake with a heart full of thanks.

Thankful for the way God works to bring new people in to be family.
Thankful for the accountability to take care of myself over the last few weeks of sickness.
Thankful for honest, genuine, transparent conversations about life and things that have hurt us in the past.
Thankful for prayers and strength through the past weeks of physical pain.
Thankful for opportunities to do life together.
Thankful for second chances.
Thankful for the opportunity to watch new family members discover the blessings of doing life as family.
Thankful for reminders to not take the familiar for granted.
Thankful for the comfort that if I need anything at all, regardless of what time it is, there will be someone who will show up for me.
Thankful for family that are not afraid of the ugly, messy sides of life.
Thankful for the willingness to confront these ugly, messy sides together.
Thankful for a global family spread across all these different time zones that even when one side is asleep while I'm up writing a paper, there's another side to talk to to help keep me awake.
Thankful for prayers that kept me going this week.
Thankful for those who understand the depth of the spiritual warfare of this week.
Thankful for everything that made staying up till 4:30am writing a paper enjoyable.
Thankful for stamina to still care about this academic work even after the discoveries in Germany this summer.
Thankful for opportunities to do life and relationships to make this academic relevant.
Thankful for this couch to crash on after this night of paper-writing.
Thankful for you who are reading this.

And finally, thankful that I can now go to bed.
So blessed. So thankful for you.

Advent #1: Mary

So it's come down to this.

Nine months I carried him. And for what?
Thirty-three years he lived. And for what?

All those years I've endured being misunderstood. All I wanted was to be a good mother to my son, but because the father of my other children was not also his father, the other women never knew what to make of me.

Never mind that it didn't matter to the father of my other children that Jeshua wasn't his.
Never mind the divine revelations we received about his birth.
They didn't understand.
But then again, neither did I.

And all these years I watched him grow. From Bethlehem to Nazareth; from the manger to the temple. All these things he did, I never understood. But he was my son. So even while I didn't understand, I loved him.

But he was never really mine. Sure I carried him for nine months. But he came from a place that I never really understood. And the things he did in his lifetime were never really things I could understand. Turning water into wine, healing the sick, making the lame walk again...

But there was something else.
He loved.

He loved me. He loved his father.
He loved the women on the streets, those tax people, and even... even those people who brought him to Golgotha.

But why? Why would he love them? Why SHOULD he love them?

I loved him because I carried him for nine months. But he? He had no blood relations, no ties, no obligations to any of these people. Yet he cared. He owed them nothing; he did not have any reason to worry about the consequences of their life decisions. Yet he loved.

There are days when I wonder, did I carry him all that nine months just to watch him carry that cross? If I had known that this was what it was going to come down to, I would have asked for this yoke to be taken away from me. Then I wouldn't have to hurt because the man on that cross would have been someone else's son and not mine. And I could just watch from a distance and not get involved with the story.

But he knew. He knew even before he was in my womb. And he still chose this.

This.
This is love.
Love that is greater than I can understand
Love that gives all, demanding nothing in return
Love that expects nothing in return
Love that knew all the stories and the ugly baggage, but never withdrew
Love that saw the bigger picture but yet cared about the small details

I could have just been a bystander watching this all unfold. But he chose to show me the depth of this love when he let me carry him, even if just for a little while. He chose to let me understand the pain of this love that overwhelms my humanity.

This was a love that would have come whether or not I was involved. But it also came for me.

And this is the love that compels me to love with that same depth and intensity. But I'm not Jeshua. I don't have it in me to love like that. But come, Emmanuel. Come and overwhelm me with this deep, intense love again that I might love the way you chose to.

O Come Emmanuel

What do I Know of Holy?

You know the song that goes, "Break my heart for what break yours"? I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the songwriter had no idea of the magnitude of what they are asking for.

What do we think we're asking for when we sing that line?
Compassion for the poor and needy?

Not that I don't believe compassion for the poor and needy isn't a part of the heart of God.
But that comes easy, doesn't it?

Compassion? Does compassion drive us to do anything?
And even if it does, the poor and needy are distanced. We can invite them into our lives, but until they become the people that we do everyday life with, they still are our "projects".

So what happens when our hearts are broken because of a love that is far bigger than we in our humanity can understand?
What happens when our hearts are broken because we are asked to say, "I love you," even when we already know that person is going to walk away anyway?
What happens when our hearts are broken because the love that we have understood and been filled with is compelling us to love in that same way?

Do we know what we're asking for when we sing, "Break my heart for what breaks yours"?
What do I know of holy?


And what about that Child?
That Little One lying in a manger, here for some reason that he may or may not even understand.

Did he know this was what love was going to compel him to do?
Did he know this was the love he was born into?
Was he holy? Was he divine?

If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life "its" name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of holy?


I don't know a lot about spiritual things.
But I know they exist, and there's a realm of spirituality that I can only catch glimpses of from time to time.
And I have not traveled into enough parts of the world to know how this spirituality works in other parts of the world.
But I know I cannot disregard that spiritual things happen outside of my "Christian" understanding of this label.
And academia cannot and should never take away the spiritual.

And we are more spiritually connected than we want to think about.
But we like our distance, don't we?

Because distance keeps messiness away.
The messiness of ourselves.
The messiness of things we don't know.
The messiness of getting involved with others.

Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?




And then there's that Child.

That Little One lying in a manger, here for some reason that he may or may not even understand.

Did he know this was what love was going to compel him to do?

Did he know this was the love he was born into?

Was he holy? Was he divine?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of HOLY?

Lyrics from Addison Road's "What do I Know of Holy"

Sweet November; Life Together

Alright Blogger world, I did not mean to disappear for so long. But hey, life happens, right? And if life is about the journey where we'll just keep learning, then allow me for a few seconds to share about the things I have learnt in my disappearance.

You know how as the Sunday School kid, you kind of learnt that Jesus was the answer to everything? Then in youth group they tell you that you learn some nugget about God and then comes the time that you will be tested on what you learnt? I guess that has been the last few months.

The realisation hit a few weeks ago that I was finally getting into the deep melancholy of having left a place that took up so much of my heart for a few months. But this time I was surprised that, once again, it wasn't the "cultural transitions" that we typically think about. It wasn't transitioning back to communicating in proper English everyday instead of fragments of English and German.

No, it was missing being relational. It was missing intentionally spending time with people as my full-time job. Granted I know it's unlikely I'll ever have the opportunity to just do that as a full-time job again, I do miss having time to not just hang out with people, but actually do life and walk together with them.

And then along came people who, if left to my own choice, I would never initiate conversations with. And then I fall into their story. And we walk together. In my 6.5 years here, I've never had to take someone to the ER or the chiropractor. But I've also never been to a corn maze or carved pumpkins, or done any of the fall fun stuff.

But that all happened in the last month.
This is what doing life together is about, huh?

But it's also the willingness to stick around and fight the fights when we disagree. To apologise when we mess up. To step outside of our mess and realise that when we're stuck in the thick of the storm, whether intentionally or not, our actions sometimes hurt others.

These were all things that I read about in books. Oh, Bonhoeffer's writing is still so uplifting. But the actual living part of it is so much more painful and emotional. But so worth the while in the end.

No beautiful prose or fancy vocab this time that I'm coming out of hiding and re-entering the blogger-world. Just plain, simple, honest truth - at least, that's what I tried to do.

Love you all, and hope things are well - and if not, at least hopeful - in your world.

Variations on a Theme Called Agape

Love is only true when it comes out of the heart, not out of obedience to someone or some law. It is not a mandate but a choice. That is also the most painful kind of love.

It is the kind of love that needs no reason, it just is. It is called "I AM."

It is the kind of love that does not need explanation; the kind that has a capacity beyond human understanding.

It is the kind of love that does not need its voice to be heard.

It is the kind of love that is willing to hurt; the kind that will not let go.

It is the kind of love that can only be expressed after having experienced that same kind of love first. It is called "We love because He first loved us."
It is the kind of love that led to Calvary; the kind that chose to give itself to one(s) undeserving.

It is the kind of love that is called Agape, Yahweh, Christ, Spirit.

Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
God forgive me, for I don't have it in me to love like that.

Initial Responses to Newell Lectures...

How many translations do we need?

There are only 2 translations of the German bible

Traditional Luther and the modern translation

2 in Chinese

Traditional characters, simplified characters

7 in Spanish

Modern translations, separation from the Catholic church, regional differences in language

So why do we need 15+ translations in English??

Speculations…

German language: “mann” refers both to “man” and to the generic “one”

Chinese language: 2^nd person, any # is always masculine; 3^rd person plural is always masculine

English speakers/readers are bored?

Speakers of other languages are thankful enough that God cares enough to speak to them in their own language.

They don’t spend time debating over political correctness or what God really meant.

Do other cultures need to be “liberated” so that women can be considered equal to men in society?

What if men and women of other cultures don’t have an issue with the male image of God because that image works for their culture?

If Yahweh is for relationships, how will the theology of liberation in breaking societal hierarchies help maintain or destroy what matters to Yahweh?

Thoughts?

Morning Will Come...

She lay in the dark, her eyes shut.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she sees her face.
And it all comes back.
2 am nights of screaming because all other words fail.
A pain that seemed to penetrate through her guts.
Life so brief, kinship so deep.
And the deep darkness that settled because she was no more.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she hears that familiar tune.
And it all comes back.
Evenings of dreading the short walk between the bus station and home.
While the someones blasted that same familiar tune about... "evening"
Things, people, thoughts she wanted to avoid.
And the reminders of the ones who walked in, had their fun and left her empty again.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she sees their faces.
And it all comes back.
Evenings of long walks with her tiny hand in his.
And her tiny feet on his as they twirled around the room.
Years of innocence where nothing else mattered except the gentle giants in her life.
And how quickly that all ended as he was no more.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

But instead, she's confronted with herself.
And it all comes back.
The ghosts of yesterday.
And the joy she found, stolen yet again.
The mask of strength removed.
And frozen emotions stirred again.
Go to sleep, go to sleep.
After the sleep, morning will come.
And the ghosts of yesterday will no longer haunt.

Memories of pain.
Goodbyes said too soon. No, goodbyes she never wanted to say.
Hands she should have kept holding for the journey but pushed away because she was too used to being alone.
The longing for a sense of belonging somewhere - anywhere.
They all return to haunt when night comes.

Morning will come - she knows this in her heart.
Ashes will turn to beauty - she knows this too.
But the nights are cold and dark. And long.

Morning will come.
But how long?

So hold me Jesus,
I'm shaking like a leaf.
You have been King of my glory
Won't You be my Prince of peace.

Thoughts on Religious Harmony from the Culturally Mixed-Up Singaporean...

As a general rule of life, I avoid making any kind of commentary on religious or political scandals. But I guess there are always exceptions, and today is probably one of those.

The scandal that was supposed to unfold this weekend involved the whole deal of the Burning of the Koran by the pastor in Florida. This isn't the first literature burning scandal to be happening in my lifetime, so I was about to just shake my head and keep my mouth shut lest I get slammed by either sides.

But then I thought about my Muslim friends that I grew up with. Today, they celebrate Hari Raya Puasa (as it is so called amongst Muslims in Southeast Asia). Today, they celebrate the end of Ramadan, where they've just spent a month fasting as part of their faith tradition's call to identify with the needs of the world. And if it goes as the pastor in Florida had planned, tomorrow their sacred scriptures that call them to these acts of reconciling with the world will be burnt.

I'm sorry, they may not be claiming Christ. But are these not peaceful thoughts that Christ would preach as well?

So much more I can say, but tonight, I'm thankful for my Muslim friends and all that they've taught me about love. Oh, I could tell you stories of this love and this friendship, but words won't be enough.

There's a little magnet on our fridge that came in a care-package a few years ago. It reads:

Declaration on Religious Harmony
We, the people in Singapore,
declare that religious harmony is vital for peace, progress and prosperity in our multi-racial and multi-religious Nation.


We resolve to strengthen religious harmony through mutual tolerance, confidence, respect and understanding.


We shall always
Recognise the secular nature of our State,
Promote cohesion within our society,
Respect each other's freedom of religion,
Grow our common space while respecting our diversity,
Foster inter-religious communications,


and thereby ensure that religion will not be abused to create conflict and disharmony in Singapore.


I share this not to brag about the little island-city that holds my citizenship. But these are the values that we were taught growing up. And while not all of us get the big picture of the racial/religious harmony thing, at least we try.

And it kind of makes me wonder what my Singaporean friends are thinking of the Church in America. Or for that matter, what the rest of the world thinks now. It's sad, but the bad press gets out a lot faster than the good stuff that's happening...

Constructing Theology...

I once told the dude that eventually became my theology professor that I didn't care about theology. Even after two years of seminary, I still don't. At least, not theology that live in books and not in daily lives. In fact, I've made it my goal in life to, as much as possible, NOT sound like I'm a seminary student.

But maybe I need to go back to Constructive Theology I all over again. What is theology anyway, if it only lives in books? And lately, I've found myself landing back in the stomping grounds of Constructive Theology I with Dr. Strege again. We stomped, trashed and pulled apart so much of our previously constructed theology only to be left with what?

More questions.

So many people dying.
So many young people dying, killing themselves or being killed whether purposefully or not by someone else.
People who have sacrificed for ministry being called again and again to sacrifice even more.
Then there are the ones who sit around with money to burn.

How is God fair?
And what about life?
How does it have meaning if all of it is merely suffering?

So many questions.

We talked about so much of this in Theology classes. But yet when it's lived out it seems so much more painful.

And once again, I'm too incoherent to write clearly, but the wheels are turning too quickly in the head that I can't simply fall asleep.

The simple truth?
Jesus loves me, this I know.

And
We love because He first loved us.


Other than that, I don't know anymore.

If you're the praying type, say a prayer for your jaded friend here, aight?

Love you all.

Burning Party...

I recently had a moment of epiphany.

See, there's this big box of eclectic randomness that holds all my sentimentalisms from the last six years of life in Anderson. I've been thinking a lot lately about all the people whose paths I've been privileged to cross even for brief moments. So many have come and gone, but for each one that has left or that I've had to leave, there's always new ones coming in to fill the gaps left behind by the old one. And so my box of eclectic randomness gets fuller and fuller, just like my heart does.

Unfortunately, boxes of eclectic randomness don't travel well across the world. And the things is, I keep these people in my heart more than I do in a box of letters and other sentimentalisms. And so I've resolved to burn most of these things. Some of them for closure to chapters of my life that really should have ended a long time ago but I hung out for sentimental sake. Some of them I keep just because they make me laugh.

So today, I sorted through the big box. I read through letters and postcards, laughed at silly cards and shed a few tears over broken hearts. There were silly little things from kids from the youth group 6 years ago, a giant farewell card from the TK girls, a card my then-10-year-old sister. And there were Christmas cards from people I've lost touch with over the years, but there were also Christmas cards from former co-workers.

To each one of you who have given me something for that box, thank you. I burn these things not because I want to forget but because I keep these things in my heart now. And these ashes are not simply a reflection of the junk in my life, but a reflection of everything that I've grieved about letting go and how those tears of grieving have been turned into something even more beautiful.

So in all the ways I know how to say it,

Thank you
谢谢
Terima Kasih
Danke
Gracias
Merci

for being a part of my story.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

So today marks two weeks since I've been back in Anderson. Weird.

You know, these phases that I'm going to affectionately name "crash landings" always seem to happen at the most unexpected times. What do you mean by "crash landings," you ask.

Well, I can't say for sure that this happens to everyone, but every time I leave a place - or more specifically, a place with people I've grown to love - I have these crash landings where for a day or two everything crashes and all the emotional junk comes out. Sometimes there are a few days, maybe weeks, between each wave of "crash landing" and sometimes it all comes out at once and it's over.

Today was one of those crash landing days. I know, I should have seen it coming, right? What with the recent news and all. Nope, flew right over my head and smacked me in the face.

Nice, real nice.

I'm sorry, I'm really trying to buckle down and make this a serious processing entry, but for whatever reason, I haven't really been able to do that. I guess a part of the crash-landing today made me realise that for the last two weeks, all I had done was just exist - simply getting back till the next day or the next thing. Considering how I messed up the last semester of seminary before Berlin by being completely absent and drifty - AND not realising that was what I was doing - I guess we're off to a slightly better start this time huh?

So what brought the crash-landing this time, you ask?

Well, it started with one bad decision. During a slightly slower time at work today, I decided to take a quick break and check my e-mail.

Bad idea.

I ended up reading a few things that made me miss Germany really bad. And then I looked around me and wondered what the heck I was doing. How does one go from an experience like that and dive right back into an office job - especially after already learning how much I hate office jobs? For a few moments I wondered if (and why) I really hated being in Anderson that much. And then I realised that wasn't it.

What we were doing in Berlin - the whole hanging out and living in community deal - that we can do anywhere else in the world as long as there are like-minded people who are willing to commit to being community for each other. I think I was starting to understand that towards the end of my time in Germany. But for that to really take root and really change my life, THAT is the piece that would truly be a reflection of the impact that my time in Berlin made on me.

Tonight, I took a long drive after I got off from work to clear my head. But this time, the long drive wasn't completely aimless like it usually is when I get like this. No, there were cherry-tomatoes from one of my Anderson neighbours that needed to be picked and eaten. Their names were Ed, Heidi, Thad, Toby and Theo - neighbours who became like family the day Heidi force-fed us yogurt to make sure we had some kind of substance in our stomachs after we got news about Keren's family making the decision to take her off life-support three years ago. They've been family a long time now; it just took me this long to realise that.

And while I don't like being stuck in offices or classrooms all-day, I need to pay my dues. The best part is, the end is near.

Until then, I'll keep holding on. And hopefully I'll eventually land in Anderson soon. For starters, I'm even willing to settle for Starbucks where I am right now writing this, even though I'm craving one of Mr. Minsch's kaese kuchen.

And if not, don't wake me up when September ends.
Wake me up if you think I'm taking too long.


On a different note, even though I'm now back from Berlin, I have no intentions of wiping this blog off into non-existence. At least, not yet. I still have more re-entry stuff I need to deal with and write about. After that, I don't know what this blog is going to morph into yet, but it will probably still have the similar theme of enjoying the journey and holding on in expectancy of all that is to come.

Hey, if you're interested, feel free to stay tuned.
Love you all.

Tonight, My Heart's in Berlin

So I've been back in Anderson for almost 2 weeks now. I didn't mean to completely neglect this blog, but between trying to land more than just physically in Anderson but still keep up with the relationships in Deutschland, I guess that became the unintended consequence.

Anyhow, I just wanted to give a quick update on Justin, one of my friends whom I met at a cafe in Berlin. I just heard today that he had been doing well but this week, he found out he was HIV positive. He's asking the same question that I am... Why? Why is this happening to him now that he's decided to get clean and give his life to Christ?

No answers, but tonight more so than any other night since I've been back in Anderson, my heart's in Berlin. If you're the praying type, would you say a prayer for him?

Love you all. A longer re-entry post to come.

Airports = Home #3

Somewhere over the course of the last 6 years, airports have become like home to me. It’s one of my favourite places simply because I can people-watch. And it’s the one place that no matter what country I’m in, I know how to find my way around.

And so here I am at Flughafen Tegel, (Tegel airport) in Berlin, Germany. The last 2½ months have flown by way too quickly and now I’m heading back to Anderson, Indiana. And as I sit here and watch people again, I’m reminded of all the places I’ve been, the names and the faces that I will miss.

Like coffee, Nutella and Brezelbrotchen for breakfast. And the $0.69 shower gel from Schlecker that smells amazing. The Turkish market. And Schwarze Olive. Brandenburger Tor, Potsdamer Platz, Ku-damm and Hackescher Markt. Curry wurst and pomme frites mit mayo. And Bitter Lemon and Apfel Schorle. Wandering around Ikea and the Swedish meatballs for lunch. Cakes and coffee from Mr. Minsch. The little ice-cream places everywhere, especially the one just a couple blocks from Yorckstrasse. Oh, and definitely coffee. The beautiful Black Forest. And figuring my way around the S-Bahn and U-Bahn.

And Patrick, Jamie and Marco Nachtigall who are on their way back to Yorckstrasse having just dropped me off here – for accountability, for probing and asking questions, for the curiosity and interest in my life and the next chapters that will unfold.

The teenagers from Teenfreizeit whom I’ve just spent the last week with – I can’t think of a better way to end my time here, knowing that there’s a circle of people who love me not because of any reason other than simply because we’re in the same place at the same time. Ellen, Charlotte, Jonas, Anna, Daniel, Frederik, Torno, Pia, Salina, Elena, Johanna, Lisa, Lea, Elena – love you all.

And Jana, whom I met at Gastegottesdienst on Sunday – you’re so much fun.

The crazy mitarbeiters, for laughing at and with me, for teaching me German, for being the circle for me. Sarah, Jeffrey, Alfred, Lisa, Klaudia, David, Heidi, Stefan, Tekle, Adrian, Tillman – you guys are fantastic.

Yasmin, thank you for “seeing” me.

Sabine and Raffi - you guys are nuts, but I keep you both close to my heart.

The people I met at Fritzlar, for restoring my faith in community by demonstrating what it really means to live amongst a community that really cares. Birte, Maria, Judith, Sarah, Nabil, Sabestian, Rainner and Monica, Irene, Salina, and everyone else – thank you.

Pforzheim friends, for showing me that healthy churches are possible. And for all the new friends who remind me it’s ok to be a TCK, to not know what the future holds, and to take time for coffee, ice-cream and football. Manuel, Luzi, Natascha, Julia, Sanna, Jonathan, Kristine, Edgar – thank you.

Friends from Hannover, thank you.  For letting me into some of the broken places in your live, for reminding me it’s still ok to hurt. Siggi, Sanna and Amy – thank you.

The fun neighbours and people who are a part of the life in the Kreuzberg community, Ruth, Paul, Danitza and Atamarie, Jie Qiong, Rocio, Andy and Mariko, Herr Minsch, Mustafa and Banu, Nancy, Sascha, Suzann, Patricia, Micro, Svitlana, Astrid – you’re some kind of wonderful.

Simone, Leon and Rene Havlik, love you all.

And the Berlin team. For letting me into your lives, your team and your rhythm, for trusting me with your little ones, thank you, thank you, thank you. Adrian, Mely and Emilia, Ralf, Cymin and Samira, I leave pieces of my heart with you.

Aaron, thank you for being the fun brother I got to travel a little bit with, go football-crazy with and people-watch with. Bless you and Nicole.

Christian, you’ve become like the little brother I never had. I’ll miss you and your “chicken-butt” rubbish.

And finally, Kelley and Rhonda. For letting me into your lives, to share your space and your rhythm, for asking the hard questions and for walking beside me. No words but thanks.

And now I head back to good old Anderson, having left huge pieces of my heart in Deutschland, not only because of the food or the places I’ll miss, but the people. If there’s one main thing I’ve learnt from the last 2.5 months, it’s that just because I leave doesn’t mean the relationships are over. No, I’m looking forward to walking even further with these new friends – even if I only get small glimpses of the rest of their journey from time to time now.

I carry your heart.

I carry your heart in my heart.

Love you all.

Editor's note: This entry was written earlier today but I was unable to get online to post it when I was sitting at Tegel Airport.

Coming Around Full-Circle

So this past week has been spent getting ready for Patrick, Jamie and Marco to arrive, getting them settled in, then getting ready for Kelley, Rhonda and Christian to get home. And beginning the round of "auf wiedersehen"s... I'm going to try to keep this one short because my brain is fried by the sun and another overdose of German.

A Few of my Favourite Things
The last week spent with the Nachtigalls have reminded me of why I love "third-culture" people. I guess a part of it is because part of the Nachtigalls' cross-cultural life was spent in Hong Kong - a culture that reminds me a lot of home. Like being able to understand their Cantonese bits of conversation when they're trying to figure out how to politely excuse themselves from a party. Or Jamie's use British vocab like "biscuits" (no, they don't mean those bread-like things you have for breakfast - they're cookies) and "lifts" (instead of elevators). Or how they have Marco call me Jael jie-jie (the Cantonese word for sister), the way the Chinese (and some of the families we work with) do.

And just hanging out with them and the Philips now that they're home... Yes, please.

Breathing in the Berlin Air
Kelley, Rhonda and Christian were supposed to arrive in Berlin on Wednesday, but due to a flight delay, they didn't get in till yesterday morning. As a result, I had a day off with nothing to do, so of course I took the time to wander around, breathing in as much of the Berlin air as I could since I only have a few more days left here.

It started with the bike-ride to finish an errand, then to the Turkish market. It was the strangest feeling recalling the first time I was there. It was my first time heading out to explore by myself and knowing how directionally-challenged I am, I had to get very specific directions from Rhonda to be sure I didn't get lost. But now I know the back roads and the scenic routes thanks to Ruth. And even while walking around this time, I didn't feel touristy anymore. And the scents of the fish and the spices welcomed me like I was the 5-year-old going to the wet market in Singapore with my mum all over again.

After that was over, it was off to Hackescher Markt, one of the places that we hit when the AU group was here. Well, when the group was here, we hopped on whatever S-Bahn, U-Bahn or bus Aaron told us to, not paying attention to where we were going or what stop we were alighting at. So this time, having figured out where I was going, I still ended up wandering around the downtown Berlin area (on foot, with flip-flops - I hadn't anticipated my wandering spirit to be awakened, but it did and now my feet are not happy).

As I walked around, I was suddenly reminded of how it only took two months before Berlin went from foreign to familiar. And suddenly, I wasn't the seminary student here to do an internship on living cross-culturally in an urban setting anymore. No, it almost felt like I was back in Singapore over Christmas break, and it was the last couple of days I had left to finish up the last-minute shopping and just wandering all over the old haunts trying to breathe in as much of the Singapore air as I could.

Except with Berlin, I don't know if I'll ever make it back again, and if so, when that will be. But such is life now, I guess.

Tell Me The Old, Old Stories
And then today I got to visit with and catch up with the stories of some old friends.

Ruth...
The last time we talked about Ruth, we were at the dentist and she was marveling at the intricacies of the dental work and how nice the dentist was. Oh, and of course, the Deutschland game and playing Rock Band with Christian.

Well, on our way back from dinner last night, we ran into her again and she told Rhonda and I she wanted to talk to us some time. So we invited her over tonight, and spent the day today trying to figure out what it might be that she wanted to talk to us about.

She came over around 5 today and we spent a few minutes letting her catch Rhonda up on what she had been up to in the last three weeks that they were in the US. Ruth had been in training at a news-stand place for the last couple weeks to work there. Apparently, this news-stand place also "trades" second-hand books. To make the long story short, one of the books she found opened up things in her past and made her think a little bit more about spiritual things and some of the things she had walked away from. So her curiosity about Christ grew, and she decided she wanted to talk to us about it because she figured we knew about this Jesus deal. But now that she has processed that, she's starting to realise this is really all a process. The way she said it, it's like she's been sitting on a nut-shell drifting on a really wide river that she knows she will never get lost in. But now she's ready to dive in and let the river take her wherever.

I guess you just have to be there.

Justin
I was at the cafe again today where I usually run into Justin. Last time I saw him, there was so much hope in his story. I was REALLY bummed I didn't see him today since this was the last time I would be able to stop in so I at least wanted to say goodbye. The ladies who were working today said they haven't really seen him very much in the last couple weeks since the last time I was there. One of the times he was there, the guy overseeing the cafe was there as well and he took him out for ice-cream.

So I don't know what's happened in the last chapter of his story, but I'm really hoping he's staying strong putting one foot in front of the next as he keeps walking down that road. I left my e-mail address with the ladies at the cafe so I can keep up with what's happening with him. Hey, if you're the praying type, say a prayer for my friend if you remember. It's not the end of the story yet.

Gretchen
Gretchen's probably my favourite of all the people I've met at the cafe. I told her how happy I was to see her because this was my last visit and she said, "Oh good, then I'm glad I came in! We will have to sit down and talk."

So we did. And then I remembered the recipes she had promised. And she said oh, she had already brought it to the cafe days ago, and Patricia, one of the ladies who work there said she would e-mail it to Rhonda and I. And then we joked about how much I didn't want to be in a red dress for Ginny's wedding.

And just talked. And laughed.

Just before she left, I promised I would e-mail Patricia to let her know what I thought of the recipes.


These. These are the things I will miss most about Berlin. More than just Deutschland fussball, the apfel schorle, coffee with nutella on brezel brotchen, the $0.69 nice smelling shower gel from Schlecker, the wide variety of restaurants between Yorckstrasse and Bergmennstrasse, Mr. Minsch's erdbeeren kuchen, and all the other little Berlin things.

I will miss those things. But I will miss my friends so much more.

As I was sitting at the cafe in-between conversations, all I could think of was, "Two months ago, you were afraid of having conversations in this place. You didn't know where you fit in. You were afraid the language barrier could not be broken in order for friendships to happen. And look where you are now."

It's hard to believe a year ago when this little idea of coming to Germany first started, I saw it all as a little joke that will eventually go away. Now I'm leaving little pieces of my heart here in this city, and with each one of my new friends.

But I guess this is life now, huh?

Personal Notes...

#1
They say people in ministry don't cry. They're not supposed to.
Or maybe we just don't want to think they do or don't want to see it because they're supposed to be the strong ones.
But people in ministry are people too.
They hurt too.
They lose a friend, a sibling, a child.
They say a lot of hellos, but they also say a lot of goodbyes.
And how can they not cry when they keep leaving pieces of their hearts with people and places?

Hey, I know it's not October and not time for Clergy Appreciation month yet, but take a little time today to care for the people in ministry around you, will ya?

#2
Two years of seminary are over and done with now. How much have I learnt? Not much more than the extent of how much I don't know, and how much I will probably never figure out. Except for that one constant: love. All that digging, all that discussing, all that academia, only to come back to the simple truth: love.

As my dear wise friend Mike so brilliantly worded it, "Love is so simple and yet so profound. We study in order to understand the profound part. We "do" in order to understand the simple part. We need both."

#3
So quitting my job and coming to Germany may not have been the smartest thing to do given the way the economy is now. Even till the month before I left, people kept asking if I had really thought through this carefully.

Well, it may not have been the smartest thing to do, but it's definitely been the biggest step of faith I've taken, and boy what an adventure this has been. And life is about adventure, isn't it?

Before I came, I thought I had two years left of school - two more years to figure out what's next, or if I wanted to do even more schooling. But then I came here and my world got turned inside out and upside down all over again and I think I found/remembered even more of who I really am and not just who the Singaporean/American societies have wanted me to be.

And so, I'll finish school in May with one degree instead of two. In the meantime, I'm still looking for some kind of employment to help pay for this last year of school. The good news is, now instead of taking a full-load, I'll only need to take three in each semester to maintain a full-time status for my student visa - which cuts down on tuition AND gives me more time to either work or simply hang out with people. AND the other good news is that I might have my old student job at the Human Resources office at AU back for a while to tide me over till I find something else.

Big step of faith, eh?

Peter tried another angle: "We left everything and followed you." Jesus said, "Mark my words, no one who sacrifices house, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, land—whatever—because of me and the Message will lose out. They'll get it all back, but multiplied many times in homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children, and land—but also in troubles. And then the bonus of eternal life! This is once again the Great Reversal: Many who are first will end up last, and the last first."
- Mark 10:28-31

Then what's next? Well, I've already taken a big step of faith so another big step wouldn't hurt, right? Who knows. There are a few possibilities, but if you want to know, we'll have to go out to dinner... Or do it the German way - coffee or ice-cream.
 
#4
As I mentioned earlier, I think I've found even more of myself in the last 2 months. And now that my time here is ending, I'm still going to love with all that I am, can and have. But I also need to start preparing mentally, physically and emotionally to head back to Anderson.
 
When I left Anderson, I was in such a mess that I didn't even realise what a mess I was in. I can't say I've completely sorted through the mess, but at least now I see the mess. And now I'm returning to one of the "home cultures" again. I don't know if Anderson is ready for me - or I for them, but here we go. The countdown now stands at fourteen days. Or two weeks. Two weeks too little.
 
Hey, if you're the praying type, say a prayer if you remember, will ya?
 
Love you all

Me? A Missionary??

I know it's WAY too late for me to be up writing, much less to try to be coherent, but my brain is still hyperactive so just let me ramble for a little bit if that's ok.

Patrick asked me earlier today if I wanted to be a missionary. If you had asked me that question three years ago, the answer would probably have been an easy, "Yes, sign me up!" But tonight, it took almost everything within me to not laugh in his face and say, "Are you kidding me? I've worked alongside enough of you, and for a long enough period of time to know how stressful the lives of missionaries are. Do I WANT to be a missionary? Heck no!"

So what exactly do I want to do, you ask. Well, three years ago you asked me those questions, and three years later, it's still the same answer.

I don't have a clue.

Maybe the loftiest ambitions I have for my life are still overly simplistic because I haven't seen enough of the world to dream any bigger. But honestly, those dreams of working at a little coffee place, running a Bed and Breakfast style of a retreat space, and basically just hanging out, meeting people, listening to their stories and encouraging them to take time to care for their souls... Those dreams from three years ago, they haven't gone away.

If you consider that ministry, then yes. I want to do ministry.

And I know that no matter where I move to, I'm already too culturally messed up to really claim anywhere as my home base. So yes, I want to live cross-culturally - or rather, I don't really have a choice about that anymore.

And if you consider cross-cultural ministry being a missionary, then yes. I want to be a missionary.

But no, I don't want to write reports about how many people I've hung out with, making my new friends nothing but mere statistics, and their stories nothing more than just another project to be filed away in the "prayer request" drawers. No, I don't want people who don't know the stories of my friends' lives to tell me I should spend more time convincing them to share my beliefs just because I am dependent on those people for my meals and living expenses. And no, I don't want to read books or go to "training school for cross-cultural ministry" to learn what it means to live in a new city - I want to learn hands-on from my new friends.

And yes, I do know that this means I will take a lot longer to figure out where the heck I'm going to land after seminary because I don't want to merely conform to the system just so I can get the results. Honestly? Call me headstrong if you would like, or whatever word you can come up with, but I don't care about the results. I don't care if I have coffee daily with the same friend and I don't end up convincing them to share my beliefs.

Because if we think about it, Christ's agape is unconditional. We were created as an expression of his love: a love that existed before - and in spite of - us. And whether we respond to that love or not is our choice. He doesn't try to convince us one way or another - He just loves.

And we think of Hosea - a human example of unconditionally loving his prostitute wife no matter how many times she walked away again. And Hosea was human - how much more then, is Christ's agape? And so, in the frailty of my humanity, that is all that I could possibly offer - agape, not belief systems. Because agape is all that Christ gave me, not my belief systems - those are merely human constructs.

But I also know sometimes if I would just work with the human constructs (like perhaps a sheet of paper that says "Master of Arts"), the little agape has the potential to reach further distances.

And for that reason, I will stick around to work with the human constructs.

But me? A missionary?

You decide.

Fritzlar. And the Countdown Begins...

And so it's Saturday morning, and I find myself sitting in the Philips' dining room, having just had breakfast and now on to my second cup of coffee, listening to 陶喆, my favourite Chinese singer, and writing this. And the rest of today will be spent hanging out with Patrick, Jamie and Marco Nachtigall - some of my favourite people in the world, doing some painting for the Teenfreizeit (the annual teen camp for the Church of God in Germany) banner, and watching football, cheering on Deutschland in the 3rd-4th placing match tonight. Life can't get any better, right?

False. This all ends in 18 days and I'll be making my way back to the cornfields of good ol' Anderson, Indiana. I'll write more about this in a bit, but first let me tell you about my second adventure - to Fritzlar.

Fritzlar
So Fritzlar. It's a little German town southwest of Berlin, close to Wabern. It's a little bigger than Chesterfield, Indiana except it actually has its own downtown area that's like your cute little German town. I know we've talked about how much I love the big city, so you're probably wondering what brought me to Fritzlar.

Well, Fritzlar is where CB-F (Christliche Bildungsstätte Fritzlar) is located. This is the Bible school of the Church of God in Germany. I may or may not have mentioned this in an earlier entry, but a part of my internship in Berlin involves traveling around Germany, connecting with churches and pastors, and getting a better understanding of how what we're doing in Berlin fits into the greater context of the Church of God in Germany. My trips to Hannover and Pforzheim (and stopping briefly at Calw) made those connections with the pastors and churches. So Fritzlar was the piece that connected me with the ones in preparation for ministry, and Teenfreizeit in a little over a week would bring the connection with the younger generation of the Church of God.

So Fritzlar. It's a little Bible school that has a bit of a monastic feel to it. Birte, whom I had met a couple weeks ago when she was in Berlin, said there are currently about 18 students, and they basically live and have their classes in two buildings. One building houses the offices of the Bibel schule, the Klinners who are the ones currently giving oversight to the running of the school, the kitchen, dining room and community space, and on two separate floors, the single male and female students. For those of you who have paid your dues at Anderson University, this haus (building) reminds me a lot of Myers Hall. And in the other building that's owned by the church, there's the room where we've been watching all the football matches, and a few other community spaces. This is also where the classrooms and library are, as well as where the married couples live. Small setting, small school, so it's like Birte said, "we're all like a family."

So I arrived on Friday, and that evening we went out to the lake and had a game of volleyball. I was also "initiated" into the group with the Mate ritual, except it was cold lemonade instead of hot water. So much fun.

Saturday, of course, was the big game day. If I thought Berlin was crazy with the way they celebrated a football victory, I clearly hadn't been with the students at the Bibel schule. Families from the church came over to watch the game with us. Between the students, the kids and the black, red and yellow vuvuzelas, we were a riot. After the game was over, we walked up to the downtown area where the guys went crazy with their celebrations. As we were walking up, we were greeted by car after car honking and waving their black, red and yellow gear. One older couple had even made a sign that read, "Auf Wiedersehen! We cry for you, Argentina!" The battery for my camera had died by then or I would have taken a photo of it.

Sunday came around, and we went to the little chapel close to the school for church. That night, we also had a Bollywood party. A couple of the girls had just returned from spending some time in India and wanted to share that. Sunday was an interesting day for me because I was reminded again of how we who have spent some time living cross-culturally always have a strange knack finding each other even in a big crowd - and my "strange" interest for relating to people with stories like that.

That afternoon, I met Inthira for the first time. Inthira was born in Thailand to an Indian father and Burmese mother. After the tsunami hit in 2004, she lost everything. By some strange twist of fate, she and her sister somehow found a way to Germany. There she decided to give her life back to God by enrolling in the Bible school at Fritzlar. We chatted for a bit as we, together with Birte, Fabiano and Nabil made dinner together for our Bollywood party. I also got to practise a few words of Mandarin with her since she said she wants to start practising her Mandarin again as she's feeling called to China. If you know my call to ministry story, you're probably laughing because that same call to China was where this whole crazy journey started for me.

Then that night at dinner, I got to visit with Monica Klinner for a bit as well. Andrew Gale and Steve Rennick from Church at the Crossing in Indianapolis were there as guest teachers, and it was Fourth of July, Independence Day in the United States. So of course, I wished Andrew a happy Fourth, to which he got all excited because someone besides him and Steve remembered an American celebration. So he turned to Steve and said, "Here's another ... oh wait, you're not American..." To which of course I had to laugh because I was reminded again of my "Third-Culture-Kid"ness. So we then went over and wished Monica as well, who's American, but she's married to a German and had lived in Germany for so long that she sometimes forgets American celebrations as well.

Oh, I wish I had time to tell you all these stories, but I guess you just have to be there.

Hey, if you want to see pictures, you should click here

So the Countdown Begins...
And so it begins. Only 18 days left in this beautiful part of the world. Not that the other parts of the world I've been to are any less beautiful, but... you get the point.

I'm not about to get all melancholic about the last 2.5 months... At least, not yet. But my time here has been really good. Frustrating at times, nerve-wrecking at times, exciting at times. But in all, REALLY good.

Patrick, Jamie and Marco Nachtigall arrived in Berlin last night and I got to go meet them at the airport. As I manouevered my way around the city, I found myself being reminded - and surprised - of the fact that I've really only been here 2.5 months. I think anyone who knows me will probably expect me to come back different from when I left, but I think even I myself am surprised by who I've become in a short time.

Let me rephrase that. I don't think I've necessarily become a different person over the last couple of months. But I think I'm definitely finding more of myself - and how my personality of adapting easily to living cross-culturally means that I really don't conform to the molds of any mainstream culture.

I love the postmodern, post-Christian work we're doing in Berlin. But I also miss the traditional church.
I don't think I can live in Midwestern America very much longer because of its melting pot culture. But I will always defend my American "family" (that I can't completely claim to be my own either) when the bad misrepresentations of America rear their ugly heads.

And most importantly, I learnt that just because I don't completely fit in somewhere means that I should completely reject it or want to have anything to do with it. I would definitely feel a lot more comfortable in the postmodern, post-Christian world, but I still hold the traditional church with utmost respect.

So much, so much to process. But special thanks to Arthur, Armando, MaryAnn, Patrick and Jamie (and Marco) for long e-mails, asking questions, listening, poking and probing.

For Water...
Stumbled upon this verse out of our shared reading ...

"For whoever gives you a cup of water to drink because of your name as followers of Christ, truly I say to you, he will not lose his reward." - Mark 9:41

... and it made me think of each one of you who have "given me a cup of water to drink" regardless of whether or not you knew what I was doing, but simply out of knowing I was answering to my name as a follower of Christ. In these (unusually hot by Berlin's standard) summer days and living in a country that doesn't believe in air-conitioning, this whole "give you a cup of water to drink" idea took on a whole new meaning.

To each one of you who have given me a cup of water to drink so I can take one more step on this journey, thank you.

Love you all.

Adventures in South Germany

Alright, I know I'm behind on writing since I didn't exactly write about the entirety of my travels to South Germany besides the fact that I fell in love with the people at Pforzheim and now I'm already halfway through my trip to Fritzlar. So let me back-trek a bit. (Left: Beautiful, beautiful Pforzheim. Does this remind anyone of the Sound of Music?)

Pastor Manuel

So the Saturday morning that Rhonda and Christian left to go back to the US, I went on my first travel adventure by myself to Pforzheim, a more rural town in South Germany. Manuel Killisch is an old acquaintance whom I had known of during my undergraduate years when he was at the School of Theology. We didn't know each other all that well besides that we were both involved in music, some kind of ministry and that we had a lot of common close friends.

Anyhow, after he graduated from SOT, he served in Argentina for 2.5 years. As I recall what he told me of the story, he went first mostly just to live and learn the language and culture, teach seminars, and see what was going on with the work there. After about a year, he picked up the Spanish language. He was also invited by the church in Argentina to help revive the Bible school that his grandfather had started years ago. A year ago, the church in Pforzheim invited him to return to Germany to be their pastor. Seeing as the Bible school was doing well, he left and took up the pastorate in Pforzheim.

The Russian-Germans and a brief history of the Eastern European Church of God
One of the last things I got to do before returning to Berlin was to sit and have tea with the Baumgartners, an older couple who had lived in Uzbekistan for 33 years before moving back to Germany in 1989. During that 90 minutes, they gave me a crash course on the history of the Russian-Germans and the history of the Germany and the Eastern European Church of God. So here's as much of that history as I can remember from that crash course.

Way back in the 1700s, the Czar in Russia had opened up the country to anyone who wanted to come, promising free taxes and free land. Because of this, there was a mass movement of Germans flocking to Russia. The Baumgartners (this was way back when, not the couple I had tea with), who had been amongst the first to come into contact with the Gospel Trumpet Company and had been involved with starting the movement in Germany, were amongst some of those who moved to Russia. When they got to Russia, they took the work with them.

However, what the Czar promised, she did not keep. Life was hard for the Germans but still they stayed on. Before long, the Marxist regime took over and life got even harder. Then when the World War happened, the Russians were afraid that the German migrants would be in cahoots with the German military. So they were treated even more harshly and some of them were forced to leave their homes with as much as they could carry in their hands - including their children and all. They were then sent to work in the communes of mass production in areas like Uzbekistan and Krygyzstan.

The Baumgartners that Manuel and I had tea with, he is from Uzbekistan and she from Kazakhstan. (Or maybe it's the other way around, I don't remember...) In 1989 after the fall of the Berlin wall, they returned to Germany for the first time. All their lives they had been looking forward to the day of returning, full of dreams of what the motherland would hold, and always wondering why in the world did their forefathers leave? And upon the return to Deutschland, they realise that there's nowhere that is perfect - there will always be problems anywhere.

This. This is the way to learn history - with homemade cakes and pastries, and a good cup of tea from Uzbekistan.

The funny thing is (and all you feminists out there would enjoy this) - at one point during the conversation, he knocked the cup of tea over and she just shook her head and said, "He's not a woman, that's why he makes a mess." But also, Manuel said she's just a feisty lady to begin with. Some weeks ago, she called to tell him she had some homemade cakes for him and asked him to stop by to pick it up. He was busy that day so he didn't make it over. He got another phonecall the next day... It was her again, asking him to not be lazy and come pick up the cakes. At the door, he was greeted with a slap on his face saying, "You need to not be so lazy."

I guess you just have to be there.

Lovely Folks...

And of course, I have to tell you about the people.

Manuel had asked me earlier in the week if I would be willing to share my story at Youth on Saturday evening. Well, Saturday afternoon when I got there, he told me that Youth that night had been cancelled because there were two bachelor parties going on and others traveling out of town. (Just a quick FYI: In Germany, "Youth Group" refers to the young people 17 and above. The 13-16 year-olds are the Teenies). So instead of the regular youth meeting, we went over to the Church of God nearby in Calw, about 20 minutes away, to hang out at their special youth service. The students from the Bibel Schule in Fritzlar were there that weekend for the special youth service on Saturday night and baptism on Sunday.

That night, I met Maureen (whom I only found out yesterday that her father was the pastor in Barcelona, Spain, whose name I've heard a lot because of my job at Global Missions) and Veronica. As it turns out, Maureen wasn't about to be the last of these cross-cultural people I was going to meet. (Left: Maureen)

Before we left Calw on Saturday night, Manuel introduced me to Sanna who was going to be my host and translator while Manuel was being Pastor the next morning. Sanna's parents were amongst the group of Russian-Germans as well. As were Luzi, who hosted me the few days I was there, and her husband. And Luzi and I got along great. Her father was one of the pastors in Pforzheim but had "retired" fairly recently and now focuses on ministry with the older generation, especially those like the Baumgartners. Oh for the record, you heard me right. Paul (Luzi's dad) is retired, but if you know anything about ministry, you probably already realise you never really retire until the day you're lying 6 feet under (unless of course, you live in Singapore, to which I mean "until the day you're stuck in an urn in the wall somewhere"). [And while we're at it, before you ask me anymore questions about Arthur Kelly, yes, I know he's "retired" to Oregon, but no I have no idea what he's doing besides hanging out with John and Gwen. And yes, "hanging out" can be ministry too, thank you very much.]

Sorry, I got distracted.

Because Luzi grew up as a Pastor's Kid, she understood what I meant when I started talking about wanting to work with missionaries and their families. [If you want to know more about this, you're going to have to buy me coffee or dinner and be willing to sit down for a while.]

And then there was Jonathan and Kristine. Sunday after church, and after the Family Day, we stayed around for lunch and fellowship, and then the big football match against England that afternoon. The thing that impressed me was that church was over at around noon, but the match didn't start till 4pm. Any other church I've been to, people would have stayed around for a bit of fellowship and of course, have lunch. If they were interested in watching the game at church, they would probably go home and have a quick nap or change before coming back to the church. But no, at this church, people ate, hung out and had cake and coffee until it was game time. (Above left: Watching football)

Well, during this time, I got to hang out with Jonathan, Kristine and their kids, Jamie and Kian. Jonathan's originally from Oregon but had moved to Germany after high-school. I don't remember where everything fits, but somewhere on the timeline, he and Kristine got married, he went to Fritzlar for a couple years in answering the call to ministry, then went back to Warner Pacific for some time so Kristine could get the study-abroad experience as well since she was going to be an English teacher back in Germany, and then served as the pastor of families in Pforzheim for a few years. It wasn't too long before he got burnt out with ministry and left the church in Pforzheim. I don't know if it was merely coincidence or if again, Manuel had told them I was going to be there, but the Sunday I met them was the first time they had been back at the church for two years. Beautiful, beautiful family. (Above right: Jamie and his Opa playing volleyball with the youth group and Pastor Manuel)

And then there was Natascha. Apparently Manuel had told her to get connected with me while I'm here, and that I would be sharing my story at youth that Saturday evening. But since we ended up going to Calw instead, Manuel found her at half-time during the Germany-England game and told her if she didn't talk to me now, she may not have another chance. I was bewildered because I didn't know what Manuel thought I had to offer her, especially because I don't know half of what I'm doing most of the time either. But we chatted for a few minutes and she said she was bummed I wasn't going to stick around till the next Saturday so she could hear my story at the next youth meeting. So instead, we went out for coffee and ice-cream on Monday.

If there's something I've learnt from the Germans, there's NEVER a bad time for coffee or ice-cream. May I always remember that... Not so much for the coffee or the ice-cream, but for the stories I get to join with even for just a few brief moments during this time. Come to find out, we have so much in common with our stories, being at similar crossroads and trying to figure out what's next in our journey.

Alright, I'm tired of writing, so here are a few more silly pictures...

We went out for ice-cream after the game on Sunday and this was the madness that ensued after that. You can't see her in the picture, but one of the girls is playing My Heart Will Go On on the piano accompanied by Luzi (far left on the chair) with her son and Pastor Manuel on the viola.

And this is Julia's victory dance after Deutschland defeated England.

And just in case you wondered if I've disappeared into the words on my blog... No, I'm still very much alive.

Love you all.