I Have the Best Friends in the World

First of all, let me address this just to get it out of the way. In no other century in history has it been possible for me to be ripping open a package and reading the taunts from Michael Smith from across the Pacific Ocean and the reactions of the other fine folks who added to my box of randomness.

Facebook, I salute you.


In spite of the intensity of all the craziness of the last couple of months, today, I consider myself blessed beyond measure to have some of the best friends in the world.

No really, I do mean the world.

I'm thankful for the tweets from Yu Lin and Juan, nagging at me to take care of myself while I'm sick. More than ten years have passed since the beginnings of our friendship. Sure the course of these friendships haven't always been smooth. But today, I'm thankful I still have both of you gals in my life. And thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in Singapore.

I'm thankful for Pia who continues the poke war on Facebook. And for Jonas, who, though twelve time-zones away, still finds the time to harass me on Facebook chat once in a while to give me more German lessons. And Rhonda, who helps me celebrate the little things of living cross-culturally. It's been nearly two years since my Deutschland chapter. But today, I'm thankful for the little things that remind me of all the lessons I learnt from that chapter. And thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in Deutschland.

I'm thankful for my box of randomness from Emily, Jenny, Michael, Yoc, Jason, Wolfgang, Nate, Leslie and Josh. The little things that remind me of the times we laughed so hard about Glinda, beating up a TV or eating roadkill for Passover, rugby lessons and a last mad dash to Sno-Castle, or the Skype conversations to catch up. Seven years of major growing up made Anderson a difficult family to leave. But today, I'm thankful that sentimentality aside, I had people alongside who challenged me to open my mind to embrace new possibilities. And thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in the US of A.

I'm thankful for Josh, Chris and Steve, three crazy little brothers who not only make me laugh because of their ridiculousness but also let me know that they've got my (and each other's) back(s). Three guys who make a big mess in my kitchen but also clean up after themselves. I'm thankful for the Mama figures in PJ, Katherine and Helen who nag at me about going to the doctor and taking care of myself; for Auntie Enid who takes care of the Singaporean child in me; and for my big brothers and sisters, Kathrin and Stefan, and Chad and Diane. No buts. I'm thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in Aotearoa.

No really, when you have the best friends you could possibly have spread out across four different time zones in almost equal geographical distance between each, I think it's only fair to say I really do have the best friends in the world.

That's ok, you can be jealous.
As for me, I'm just thankful.

Sociological Overdose

The new flatmate/landlady had her sister-in-law over for dinner the other night. As it was my first time meeting Rachel, the sister-in-law, she had lots of questions to ask. Here's kinda how the conversation went:

Rachel: So what do you do?
Me: Umm... (Crap. How do I explain what I do without sounding like a total slacker?) I'm a pastor.
Rachel: Oh, cool!
Me: Yeah, I work with kids. I spend most of my time planning lessons and activities, and visiting with kids and their families. And we also do Bible clubs in the schools here. They're not overly-keen about us evangelizing, but they definitely want us to teach good morals and values.
Rachel: Yeah, that makes sense. But doesn't that make it hard for you?
Me: Well, not really. For me it's always easier to talk about everything else except God...

The conversation continued, but that definitely left me thinking.

What do I see my role here as?

If what I'm here to do is to teach good morals and values to the kids, then maybe it would be more fair to say I represent a social service organization than a church, wouldn't it?

I'm hearing MaryAnn Hawkins (in Biblical Foundation of Mission) talk about how the missio Dei includes several areas of study as categorized by academics, including both spirituality and sociology. While I approach the missio Dei more easily through sociology, it doesn't make spirituality any less important.

If I'm to be a pastor and a representative of the church, then it wouldn't be enough to simply do sociology, would it?

If we go according to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, if the sociological needs are not met, we may never get a chance to talk about the spiritual. But I think it's safe to say that for me, because sociological needs are slightly less awkward to deal with, I use that as an excuse to avoid getting into the spiritual.

But I'm not here to represent a social service organization.


As the WCF family continues this journey with the Hub, we'll be trying to meet more sociological needs in the community. I'm thankful that the other hands involved in the Hub have a slightly easier time holding the sociological and the spiritual needs in tension than I do--and even more so that we have this family to hold each other accountable to representing the missio Dei well.

Your Kingdom come,
Your will be done
On earth, as it is in heaven.

On Dinosaurs...

I had a dream not so long ago where I was, for some reason, involved in what appeared to be World War 3: Dinosaurs versus Transformers. I was the captain of an army of Transformers battling against the dark forces of the world. The most vivid memory I have of the dream was the scene where I kept shouting, "Don't hurt the dinosaurs! DON'T HURT THE DINOSAURS!!"

As unconventional as I am, or perhaps I should say, try to be, I love the dinosaurs. Blame it on AU, Park Place, Seminary or the forces of nature, but I cannot help it. I have a deep, deep love for tradition.

Which is an inconvenient passion to carry given that I weave in and out of cultures and geographical locations way too frequently.

Every Chinese New Year since the move to Anderson, the festivities have looked different, but I cannot move on with life if I don't, in one way or another, honour that tradition. Sure, some years the festivities have required a little more creativity than others, but that is to be expected, ay?

I take pride in my ability to converse with my grandmas in at least Mandarin, and if possible, also the dialect they speak, and the fact that just this week, I've found a new Hokkien conversational partner on the Peninsula with the Malaysian auntie who works at the $2 shop--even if our conversations conclude with her telling me to "slow slow find red hair husband" (the not-so-literal translation: take your time to find a white husband).

My day was blessed today when I walked in to St Paul's (the Anglican church that owns the building we rent) for their Ash Wednesday service because I got to connect with the wider Church through an ancient ritual--another tradition inherited with my Christian heritage. (The fact that I was the only one there below the age of 50, and that the only person in a robe this morning was a woman of course adds to the perks).

At SUPAkidz today, we joined the rest of Matipo Primary in observing two minutes of silence to mark the anniversary of the Christchurch earthquake. I have a feeling that is going to be another tradition that I would want to honour.

Growing up, celebrating Chinese New Year had always been a big deal. But I think it's fair to say that until I moved to a culture where it didn't matter to anyone, I kinda took those festivities for granted. In having to find new and unconventional ways to honour these traditions now, I feel like I've been forced to strip the festivities down to its heart to figure out what the essentials are. And when you have to do that, it kinda forces you to stop and think, and reflect on why we do the things we do.

Yes, I'm nerdy about traditions. I cannot help it. I love the dinosaurs.

But I love even more that the dinosaurs remind me to not take the Transformers for granted.

Imagine

I've started, paused, deleted everything and re-started this post several times now.

It's not that I don't have anything to say.

I've always been open and honest about my internal struggle between being jaded and hopeful.

But I'm afraid that if I write now, my jadedness is going to whip out its trump card and give me a good scare.


There are days when I appreciate being an NF (Myers-Briggs) because its familiarity helps me navigate the waters of life and ministry really easily.
And then there are days when I hate, and am utterly disgusted at being an NF because it comes with baggage.

In the last few weeks, I've felt a passionate hatred and disgust at being an NF that has also just been slapped with a $5000 excess baggage fine.


To be completely honest, I was slightly disappointed after arriving here that Te Atatu Peninsula wasn't closer to the city-center. I love cities because I thrive on culture, creativity, and... depravity.

And then slowly, one at a time, the layers of depravity on the Peninsula got peeled back.

Don't get me wrong. We live in a broken but beautiful community. Except lately, I've seen a lot more brokenness than beauty, and it's making me wonder, God, why? And how long?


Chad started a sermon series last week on re-imagining, in preparation for our campaign for the Hub.

Imagine what it would be like if Kingdom does come here on earth as it is in heaven.

I'm having a really difficult time with this series. Every week for the last, oh, good little while now, something else is happening to one of us in the whanau (Maori for extended family), and suddenly it's no longer praying Kingdom come for someone else somewhere else.

It's right here.
It's close to home.
It's family.

The only reason I haven't given up on hope is because somewhere, there is a God that is bigger than the hopelessness and the depravity. And if I didn't believe that hope still exists somewhere out there, even if it feels really far away at the moment, I don't think I can comfortably make the claim that I believe in a God that is bigger and stronger than my present.

That is a scary place to be.
I've never known life without God, and I'm not sure I'm ready to even entertain that possibility just because in the frailty of my humanity, I've found it difficult to believe.

Just because my small mind cannot comprehend at this moment, it doesn't change the fact that God is.
That God remains.


The more seasoned missionary friends are saying that these are sentiments that are not out of the ordinary for being on my fifth month here.

That this, too, shall pass.

I hope they are right.


And the pain falls like a curtain
On the things I once called certain
And I have to say the words I fear the most
I just don’t know


And the questions without answers
Come and paralyze the dancer
So I stand here on the stage afraid to move
Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must
On this truth that my life has been formed from the dust


God is God and I am not
I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting
God is God and I am man
So I’ll never understand it all
For only God is God


And the sky begins to thunder
And I’m filled with awe and wonder
‘Til the only burning question that remains
Is who am I


Can I form a single mountain
Take the stars in hand and count them
Can I even take a breath without God giving it to me
He is first and last before all that has been
Beyond all that will pass


Oh, how great are the riches of His wisdom and knowledge
How unsearchable for to Him and through
Him and from Him are all things


So let us worship before the throne
Of the One who is worthy of worship alone
- Steven Curtis Chapman

"It Was Good"

You made the world and saw that it was good
You sent your only son for you are good
What a wonderful maker


Week after week, I enter with a sense of dread
Another heartache
Another broken heart
Another disappointment
Another frustration
Another...

"It was good..."


Everywhere I walk, I see heartache
Another life-changing decision at the crossroads
Another trip to the hospital
Another pedophile
Another war
Another whose innocence was robbed
Another...

"It was good..."


Day in, day out, I feel like another disappointment
Another phone-call I should have made
Another e-mail I should have sent
Another visit I should have paid
Another lesson I should have done a better job teaching
Another thank-you note I should have written
Another hand I should have held
Another...

Another, Another, Another...

"It was good..."


No, it wasn't.
It was messy
It was chaotic
It was unrehearsed
It was painful
It was unpolished
It was ugly
It was...

Hope(less?)


Do You not hear your children crying?
Oh Lord, how long?

And
I knew I wasn't superhuman.
But I thought if I faked it long enough, I would be able to make it.
After all, You called me to this, so You think I have it in me to make it.

"But I didn't call you to be superhuman..."


Oh.

Was that the part of the conversation where I stopped paying attention because another need had arose, another hand needed to be held, another...


Another, Another, Another...

"It was good..."


Today I had another refresher of Constructive Theology I.
You made the world and saw that it was good.
You sent your only son for you are good.


You made it all, and said that it was good.

"The Lord builds up Jerusalem. He binds the outcasts of Israel." - Psalm 147:2


You were here before me.
You cared about your people before me.
Heck, you even cared about social justice before the term "social justice" was coined, and before I was even awakened to the call of your Kingdom reality.


You made the world and saw that it was good.
You sent your only son for you are good.



It was good.

On Writing...

I haven't written in a while, I know.

Since the last time I wrote, we've sent off the Beisleys. Lots of hugs and shed tears, but at least the last time I checked, they're somewhat settling back in St Helen's.

Oh, and I moved. Yup, I found a place on the Peninsula where the rent is decent, the landlady is laidback, and I'm still close enough to Kathrin and Stefan that I can still go back and harass them and create more mayhem from time to time. Who knew such a place existed, ay?

It's been 4 days since the move and I already miss their craziness. But it was time for a change. Time to put a bit more into my life so that it didn't revolve solely around Westside Christian Fellowship, which would have been hard to do since Kathrin and Stefan are a part of WCF. Not that WCF isn't good for me or anything like that, but too much of something can make one off-balance, ya know?

What else is new? Hmm... I've (surprisingly) kept up with the Bible reading AND the exercising twice a week. The birthday isn't too far away, and I actually have a pretty good feeling that I might be able to keep this up past the birthday this year. We shall see.

Oh, and I've also picked up Anne Lamott all over again. No, I didn't get very far into Bird by Bird the last time, and probably wouldn't this time either (not because it's a bad book by any means--it's more a reflection of my ADD). But even just reading the introduction reminded me of why I love writing, and made me pause to think of why I hadn't written in so long. Between Anne Lamott and reading the Goldmans' last newsletter last night, I figured out why.

Somehow I got carried away with trying to meet the expectations of my new role.

See, I write because I love writing. I love trying to find the right way to craft words so that they mean something more than just scrawly letters appearing across a page (or screen). I love giving a little more meaning to life than just reporting the events of the day-to-day mundane.

But as Dwayne and Kara wrote,

We realize that newsletters are typically glowing reports and newsy tales of success, and this has been a dilemma to us as we have wanted to write an update but felt the news wasn’t ‘good’ enough.

Because I had become a "missionary" by some awkward standards, I felt like I lost my voice as simply Jael. (Which, if you know me well, tends to happen a lot thanks to my chameleon/keep-everyone-happy/TCK personality)

I felt like I couldn't blog unless I had "glowing reports and newsy tales of success".

By any standards, I feel like I've messed up more than I've had successes. The messes were never beyond redemption, like the egg in the microwave or the ridiculous cheese-sauce experiment (story for another time), or getting way too involved in areas where I should have trodden more carefully. These stories of messes remind me of how much I need grace.

But ask me about successes, and really the only concrete thing I can think of is the tea-party we had for a bunch of the little ladies. But even that, I hesitate to call a success. Just because we've had an "impressive" showing of twenty-seven little ladies didn't make the event a success.

Any good student of ministry will tell you success isn't measured by numbers. I'm learning more and more that "success" is measured by God-sightings, and lately I've had a lot of those because of the messes I've created.

And all good missionaries should have good stories to tell. At least, that is the expectation. My stories are often silly, sometimes weird, and usually involve a heck lot of laughing or some bits of crying.

You see, life in Aotearoa has been anything but boring. And even though no one has vocalised the expectation for me to write good missionary stories, I've given myself the pressure. (did I mention I'm learning about grace?)

But I'm breaking out of the box I've put myself in. I may not have glowing reports and newsy tales of success, but I'm writing anyway.

Besides, what fun is there in writing if I can't take the mundane and craft it into something whimsical? :)