Dear Keren,
At student group yesterday, Amy came up to me and asked for ideas of what she could get for a Chinese friend who was turning 18. She went on to explain that this friend had arrived in New Zealand two days after she did, and so she was her first friend, which made the friendship special.
It made me think of our first days at AU. You were my first friend too, but it wasn't until years later after you died when I was processing with Jenny what "home" means to me, that I realised you were also my piece of home away from home. Sure, there were lots of great memories made especially in the summer months when the campus was quieter, but I think what made our friendship special was that you made it ok for me to feel displaced. You were my home in that displacement, and you helped me made sense of so much of what eventually became a part of my identity as a Third Culture Kid.
Dear Keren, today I thank you for being that friend, and for helping me find a piece of home. If you were still around, I'd want you to be a part of this new thing I'm starting next year because you helped me become good at navigating these transitional waters. Nonetheless, I carry our friendship with me as I begin helping these international students find their place of home as they arrive in New Zealand and begin a new chapter here.
Dear Keren, thank you.
Arohanui,
me
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dreams. Show all posts
14 September 2013
11 September 2013
Kiwi Birthday Reflections
On the drive home tonight, I heard a song on the radio that, for the first time in a long time, didn't make me cry. There were memories attached to that song that dates back about ten years, and healing had finally come full circle to that part of my story. But it also made me reflect on where I've come over the last ten years, where I am, and where I could have been.
Ten years ago around this time, I had to make some decisions about school that altered my whole life course and took some unexpected turns that led me to the cornfields.
Ten years ago around this time, I started blogging. Granted they were angsty teenage rants, but it was the very beginnings of a journey as an honest, and not-very-politically-correct writer.
Ten years ago around this time, I was falling in love with a boy barely seventeen, but he was the first to help me believe I had anything worth saying that people would want to hear.
Ten years ago around this time, I had a dream. I didn't know this dream was a revelation of what the next ten years of my life would be, but around this time last year, I finally wrote it down here.
There were parts of this dream that I still didn't understand as I was writing it last year, but it's all beginning to make sense now.
Two years ago today, I jumped on another flight, not knowing what I was getting into. Two years later, I'm celebrating what I've come to call my second "Kiwi birthday".
Two years ago today, the people of Westside Christian Fellowship welcomed with open arms another stranger into their midst. Two years later, we reflect on a journey that has seen tremendous joy and grief.
Two years ago today, I honestly didn't think I would make it this far. I had arrived in Auckland having accepted the role of coordinating the children's ministry, but having limited experience working with children myself. The church needed someone to tide things over in their children's ministry for a while, and I had said, "Here I am; send me." And so I came.
I've never been crazy about kids--still am not--but I didn't like them any less than I liked grown-ups. Little people are people too, and in the last two years, they've blown my mind and taught me more than I could possibly ever teach them. They've challenged me and given me permission to be more creative than I've ever been. They snuck into my heart and whispered stories that made me laugh and want to be their advocates at school, in church, and in society in general. They shaped my understanding of a balanced ecclesiology and made me want to fight the grown-ups that don't take them seriously.
Two years later, I cannot be more thankful today for the church that gave me permission to learn and experiment, and be a little bit crazier than crazy. And as the calendar year is drawing to a close, my time with my little people will soon end as well. It's hard to not fall in love with these kids, as rascally as they can be.
But the dream from ten years ago is beckoning. And just as I was responsible for being faithful to my role at Westside, I now have to be responsible for being faithful to the calling of the dream. This probably all sounds a bit frou-frou at the moment, but I promise I will write about the rest of the dream and what this will look like in time to come. Sorry Kiwi mates, but I'm still hoping to hang out in Auckland.
And I hope you will stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.
As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
Me
Ten years ago around this time, I had to make some decisions about school that altered my whole life course and took some unexpected turns that led me to the cornfields.
Ten years ago around this time, I started blogging. Granted they were angsty teenage rants, but it was the very beginnings of a journey as an honest, and not-very-politically-correct writer.
Ten years ago around this time, I was falling in love with a boy barely seventeen, but he was the first to help me believe I had anything worth saying that people would want to hear.
Ten years ago around this time, I had a dream. I didn't know this dream was a revelation of what the next ten years of my life would be, but around this time last year, I finally wrote it down here.
There were parts of this dream that I still didn't understand as I was writing it last year, but it's all beginning to make sense now.
Two years ago today, I jumped on another flight, not knowing what I was getting into. Two years later, I'm celebrating what I've come to call my second "Kiwi birthday".
Two years ago today, the people of Westside Christian Fellowship welcomed with open arms another stranger into their midst. Two years later, we reflect on a journey that has seen tremendous joy and grief.
Two years ago today, I honestly didn't think I would make it this far. I had arrived in Auckland having accepted the role of coordinating the children's ministry, but having limited experience working with children myself. The church needed someone to tide things over in their children's ministry for a while, and I had said, "Here I am; send me." And so I came.
I've never been crazy about kids--still am not--but I didn't like them any less than I liked grown-ups. Little people are people too, and in the last two years, they've blown my mind and taught me more than I could possibly ever teach them. They've challenged me and given me permission to be more creative than I've ever been. They snuck into my heart and whispered stories that made me laugh and want to be their advocates at school, in church, and in society in general. They shaped my understanding of a balanced ecclesiology and made me want to fight the grown-ups that don't take them seriously.
Two years later, I cannot be more thankful today for the church that gave me permission to learn and experiment, and be a little bit crazier than crazy. And as the calendar year is drawing to a close, my time with my little people will soon end as well. It's hard to not fall in love with these kids, as rascally as they can be.
But the dream from ten years ago is beckoning. And just as I was responsible for being faithful to my role at Westside, I now have to be responsible for being faithful to the calling of the dream. This probably all sounds a bit frou-frou at the moment, but I promise I will write about the rest of the dream and what this will look like in time to come. Sorry Kiwi mates, but I'm still hoping to hang out in Auckland.
And I hope you will stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.
As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
 |
| Little treats for the 2nd Kiwi birthday. Because stopping and remembering is a necessary part of the journey. (Clockwise from top left: Tim-tams and L&P. Lamb dinner because lamb's never been this affordable until now. Tim-tam slammed in milo. And of course, paua from my first Kiwi birthday thanks to Amber and Jess.) |
Me
31 January 2013
Calling Time-Out
Most Western parents would be familiar with the phrase, "time-out". It is used when a child old enough to rationalise with continues misbehaving and is usually followed with the phrase, "go to your room."
While I don't have kids of my own, because of the nature of my job, I often find myself in discussions of behaviour management--more specifically, figuring out what we need to include in our programming to support behaviour management both at home and at school. In one of those conversations, a parent shared that sometimes, it isn't the kid that needs the time-out. It's the adult.
"Sometimes when there's just been so much else going on in my day, all it takes is a little bit of a whiney voice for me to snap. That's when I realise I need to send myself to time out, take a chill pill before coming back to be with my kid."
This week, I sent myself into time-out. Or in a different translation, "sabbath".
I could list the 101 ways I had snapped before I finally went into time-out, but I'd rather not remember those. I cringe every time I think, "Urgh... I did THAT?"
But no, I didn't go to my room. I didn't go out to a countryside and spend 2 days in a quiet cottage meditating. I didn't even go to a monastery as I thought I would like to do.
I went to Wellington instead.
"Wellington? Are you mad? I thought you needed time-out (read: quiet space to think)?"
To be honest, I don't know why Wellington. All this while I had been quietly researching (with some help from Helen) monasteries to go for my time-out, but yet it was still Wellington. Maybe it was the thrill of booking a flight. Maybe it was the thought of airports and being in planes. Maybe it was because Wellington was the cheapest place to fly to, and I already knew a little bit about getting around the city.
What I didn't realise was that back in the heart of the city, my very, very parched soul was about to be quenched again.
"What did you do in Wellington?"
To be honest, I don't know. All I remember was that I sat and stared. A lot. No, really. I stared so much that this guy in the next table, whose conversation about what we call Grid Iron here in Kiwi-country (better known as American Football or the NFL) I was eavesdropping on realised I was staring.
It got awkward.
No, I mean really awkward. Because I stared again, even after that awkward moment. Like I did with the middle-aged man sitting across the lounge at the backpacker moving to the music. It was the first time I actually witnessed "dance like nobody's watching," and it moved me almost to tears.
Or staring at the screen while Bilbo journeyed to his decision-point of not quitting the team--and listening to the quiet sniffles of the man in the row behind as Bilbo made his commitment to help the dwarves reclaim their home--and struggled to keep the tears in myself.
Or staring at the houses on the walk up to Mt Victoria, realising some dreams are still alive even as I continually try to shove them away into neat boxes to pretend they don't exist so I can get on with the busyness of life.
Or staring into the waters surrounding the heart of the city, remembering what a simpler life was like in the days where I loved the water--the days before I grew afraid of drowning.
Or staring at quaint dining places, and colourful personalities, and all the possible stories to collect if time only allowed and social boundaries weren't drawn so neatly and fearfully.
Or staring at the pages of history, and finally understanding how a treaty intended for peace and protection became so misunderstood in the mad rush to appease the human obsession with "the ego" (or in my very loose interpretation of Luther and Bonhoeffer's theology of sanctification: "the self").
Or simply staring at how humanity come together--perfectly strangers--to cheer each other on, to help locate a missing tennis ball, to say hello to a puppy.
But more than staring, for once in a long, long time, I listened to myself.
And I heard.
I heard those dreams again.
I heard the voices of those cheering me on again.
I heard my innermost desire for community that understands my need for wide open spaces, possibilities, and dreams again.
But most importantly, I heard the voice of the most loving Creator saying, "Just sit and stare, and watch me do my work." Anne Lamott calls that showing off. But if all that the Creator is showing off is Love, why not?
John and Jodie once said, "Once you can't simply laugh at the crazy anymore, you know it's time to take a break." Time-out isn't about being in trouble. It's about learning to sit and stare and listen to yourself and think again--and finding sacred spaces to watch the Creator atwork play all over again. I wouldn't recommend colourful Wellington to just anyone needing a time-out, but those 48 hours were precious in creating that sacred, sacred space in the midst of all the hustle and bustle to find that inspiration all over again.
Special thanks to the cheerleaders from the sidelines who followed up whenever I checked in on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks also to the ones who gave me space for minimal interaction in those 48 hours.
Most importantly, thank you to that lovely bunch of you who sent tea, a sabbath read, and comfort sugar. It made all the difference as I finally, finally allowed myself to mourn the transition away from that safe community that understood even before words were spoken or tears were shed. So thank you, Jen, and Joe and Gwynne, and Shannon and Brett, and David and Tara.
Have I reflected during this time-out? You bet.
Have I learnt anything? Definitely. (Staring can get REALLY awkward, for starters)
Have I made decisions about how to behave differently now? For starters, I will write again. Not because I have anything good to say, but because I've missed it. It's my safe place to go to. So I will write. It will not be fancy, but I will write anyway.
I think it's safe to say, time-out mission: accomplished. Ready to head back to real life.
While I don't have kids of my own, because of the nature of my job, I often find myself in discussions of behaviour management--more specifically, figuring out what we need to include in our programming to support behaviour management both at home and at school. In one of those conversations, a parent shared that sometimes, it isn't the kid that needs the time-out. It's the adult.
"Sometimes when there's just been so much else going on in my day, all it takes is a little bit of a whiney voice for me to snap. That's when I realise I need to send myself to time out, take a chill pill before coming back to be with my kid."
This week, I sent myself into time-out. Or in a different translation, "sabbath".
I could list the 101 ways I had snapped before I finally went into time-out, but I'd rather not remember those. I cringe every time I think, "Urgh... I did THAT?"
But no, I didn't go to my room. I didn't go out to a countryside and spend 2 days in a quiet cottage meditating. I didn't even go to a monastery as I thought I would like to do.
I went to Wellington instead.
"Wellington? Are you mad? I thought you needed time-out (read: quiet space to think)?"
To be honest, I don't know why Wellington. All this while I had been quietly researching (with some help from Helen) monasteries to go for my time-out, but yet it was still Wellington. Maybe it was the thrill of booking a flight. Maybe it was the thought of airports and being in planes. Maybe it was because Wellington was the cheapest place to fly to, and I already knew a little bit about getting around the city.
What I didn't realise was that back in the heart of the city, my very, very parched soul was about to be quenched again.
"What did you do in Wellington?"
To be honest, I don't know. All I remember was that I sat and stared. A lot. No, really. I stared so much that this guy in the next table, whose conversation about what we call Grid Iron here in Kiwi-country (better known as American Football or the NFL) I was eavesdropping on realised I was staring.
It got awkward.
No, I mean really awkward. Because I stared again, even after that awkward moment. Like I did with the middle-aged man sitting across the lounge at the backpacker moving to the music. It was the first time I actually witnessed "dance like nobody's watching," and it moved me almost to tears.
Or staring at the screen while Bilbo journeyed to his decision-point of not quitting the team--and listening to the quiet sniffles of the man in the row behind as Bilbo made his commitment to help the dwarves reclaim their home--and struggled to keep the tears in myself.
Or staring at the houses on the walk up to Mt Victoria, realising some dreams are still alive even as I continually try to shove them away into neat boxes to pretend they don't exist so I can get on with the busyness of life.
Or staring into the waters surrounding the heart of the city, remembering what a simpler life was like in the days where I loved the water--the days before I grew afraid of drowning.
Or staring at quaint dining places, and colourful personalities, and all the possible stories to collect if time only allowed and social boundaries weren't drawn so neatly and fearfully.
Or staring at the pages of history, and finally understanding how a treaty intended for peace and protection became so misunderstood in the mad rush to appease the human obsession with "the ego" (or in my very loose interpretation of Luther and Bonhoeffer's theology of sanctification: "the self").
Or simply staring at how humanity come together--perfectly strangers--to cheer each other on, to help locate a missing tennis ball, to say hello to a puppy.
But more than staring, for once in a long, long time, I listened to myself.
And I heard.
I heard those dreams again.
I heard the voices of those cheering me on again.
I heard my innermost desire for community that understands my need for wide open spaces, possibilities, and dreams again.
But most importantly, I heard the voice of the most loving Creator saying, "Just sit and stare, and watch me do my work." Anne Lamott calls that showing off. But if all that the Creator is showing off is Love, why not?
John and Jodie once said, "Once you can't simply laugh at the crazy anymore, you know it's time to take a break." Time-out isn't about being in trouble. It's about learning to sit and stare and listen to yourself and think again--and finding sacred spaces to watch the Creator at
Special thanks to the cheerleaders from the sidelines who followed up whenever I checked in on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks also to the ones who gave me space for minimal interaction in those 48 hours.
Most importantly, thank you to that lovely bunch of you who sent tea, a sabbath read, and comfort sugar. It made all the difference as I finally, finally allowed myself to mourn the transition away from that safe community that understood even before words were spoken or tears were shed. So thank you, Jen, and Joe and Gwynne, and Shannon and Brett, and David and Tara.
Have I reflected during this time-out? You bet.
Have I learnt anything? Definitely. (Staring can get REALLY awkward, for starters)
Have I made decisions about how to behave differently now? For starters, I will write again. Not because I have anything good to say, but because I've missed it. It's my safe place to go to. So I will write. It will not be fancy, but I will write anyway.
I think it's safe to say, time-out mission: accomplished. Ready to head back to real life.
06 October 2012
The Nine-Year-Old Dream
It started about nine years ago. I was still in high school the day I came home and barely even had time to put my school stuff away when Mum came and hurried me off to bed.
"Get some sleep. You're leaving to study overseas tomorrow," were her words.
"But where? And what about my stuff? Is it packed? What about goodbyes? And don't I get a say in this?" The thoughts in my head flew.
"Don't worry about it; everything's taken care of. Just make sure you get some sleep since you're flying off tomorrow."
The next thing I knew, I was crossing the overhead bridge that would take me to the train station closest to school. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I had some errands to run before I caught the plane. Halfway down the steps leading to the train station, I saw her. Auntie Audrey went to our church. We weren't related, but in Singapore, everybody who's in your parents' generation or older is an auntie or an uncle. I knew Auntie Audrey only as Mum's friend, so of course I was surprised she had come to see me off--and at the overhead bridge close to school, no less. I wasn't supposed to take the train home from school because it costs more than taking the bus, but it was what I did to spend that little bit of extra time with my friends who caught the train (Mum never found out, or at least, I hope she never did). I wondered why she was there, but she didn't say anything except to drop a few coins in my hand. I remembered looking at the coins trying to figure out what currency they were, and if they were for the right country I was going to even though I still had no clue where exactly I was going to study.
And before I knew it, I was at the departure gate at the airport. I remembered feeling sad it would be a while before I would get to see the plants at the escalators leading up to the second floor of Terminal 2 of Changi Airport. And then I saw the girls. They were all there to see me off. I didn't remember who exactly was there, but I knew it was that collective group of girls--all of them except Hui Ting. I was upset that she wasn't there, but I understood she probably felt awkward being around the rest of the girls since we had all just gotten into a massive fight about something stupid the day before. We all knew it was stupid, but nobody wanted to admit it. When finally she showed up, she was in tears.
And then I woke up.
That dream happened one night in 2003--the night after that massive fight with the TK girls over something completely stupid that I don't even remember the details of, except that Hui Ting left completely upset. That was the only detail of the dream I could explain at the time, but I remembered being very bothered by it. I told the girls about it. No one had an explanation, but someone did offer the suggestion that bridges sometimes symbolise death. I did not even know Anderson University existed at this point, and had assumed I was going to drift along with the rest of the girls and probably continue life in Singapore as I knew it. So the dream kinda got brushed aside, even though it would still nag at me from time to time.
Months flew by. I started going out with this incredible guy who was the first Christian I had in my circle of friends outside of church. We were best friends at the time, and were going to get married someday. Life was going to continue the way it was, and I was going to become a music teacher.
December 2003 saw me filling out my application for Anderson University. They told me it could take up to at least a year before my application would be processed so I figured I had at least a year to prepare myself. Sam and I talked and cried and talked about how we were going to make the long-distance thing work. Four years will be over soon enough. I'll be back, we'll get married and be happy.
In May 2004, I flew to Anderson, Indiana with Mum for the first time to check out the campus. Mum wanted to know where she was leaving her daughter and make sure there were people looking out for her. We were there for a friend's graduation, and I found out then I had been accepted and could start in August that year. I came back to Singapore unsure of how to break the news to Sam. We talked and cried some more, and I started a countdown of when the four years would be over.
Barely a year later, "life as I knew it" was completely over. Sam and I broke up because the long-distance thing had become too difficult. We were no longer best friends, but simply people who reported to each other about how their week went. We were young, and didn't know how to fight. I was crushed because life wasn't what I had expected anymore. That dream in 2003 had now been tucked far, far away.
Fast forward to March 2010. I was getting ready to leave for my internship in Berlin, and still had a bit of fundraising to do. I had written to my home-church in Singapore, sharing about what I would be doing and asking if they would financially support me. Auntie Audrey wrote back within the week and said she had sent some money to Mum and that she would be praying for me. I still hadn't put the pieces together at the time, but I was grateful.
Fast forward again to August 2011. I was back in Singapore doing my final bit of fundraising and preparation to move to Auckland. Mum had planned for us to do a short getaway with Auntie Audrey to Penang, and she mentioned something about having made a small contribution each month in support of ministry in Auckland.
That was when everything finally clicked. Nine years later, the dream is finally making sense. The simple life I thought I was going to have is turning out way differently.
The unexpected move to Anderson...
Mum's role in all the transitions...
Auntie Audrey's kind but quiet gestures...
The unknown faces on the coins she dropped in my hands...
Sam got engaged recently, and I'm happy for him. We each have our own adventure to live that didn't quite turn out how we expected. But I think he would agree that where we are and what we each have now... This is so much better.
Oh, and the girls in the airport scene? We're still in touch on Whatsapp and laugh about the most stupid things in the middle of helping Li Si plan her wedding, trying to convince Bunz to be a little less food-obsessed, Juan to do something about her ridiculous work hours, and sympathizing with Ming Shu and her crazy students.
Coincidence? Perhaps.
I'd rather believe Someone intentionally wrote the story that way.
It makes me ever so much grateful for the little reminders each day of pieces of that dream, knowing that Someone's got my back. Nine incredible years of slowly weaving the pieces together? Who's to say it was done any differently before, or will be done differently after?
21 September 2012
Whanau
Dictionary
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- Whānau is a Māori-language word for extended family, now increasingly entering New Zealand English, particularly in official publications.
- (the basic unit of Maori society into which an individual was born and socialised),
Web definitions |
I've been giving some thought to what life is going to look like past December 2013, the official date my contract with WCF ends, but mainly only because my visa expires then. If it makes sense for the Church to have me stay on past December 2013, by all means, I'll be here. But if I've become more of a nuisance than I am now, I'm not going to overstay my welcome. Anyhow, that's still a ways ahead so there's no pressure for concrete plans.
At the same time, as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed drifting where the wind blows/where the Lord leads, there are moments--sometimes long days on end--when I long for a bit more stability. Often the most nagging one is the financial stability.
I have made it through a whole year through the generosity of family and friends, and then some. There's a part of me that says, "Cool, let's see how Providence continues to sort this out." Then there's a part of me that's becoming increasingly obnoxious with the, "'Making it through' was fine while you were in college and seminary. But you're 26. That's not going to cut it anymore."
I'll be eternally grateful to Missionary Action Projects--and all involved to get me connected to them--for graciously helping me transfer funds. But because they only transfer my funds and there isn't a formal sending organization, a lot of times I have to pull out the dusty memory files from the Global Missions days to create a whole new system to "send" myself.
Along with the steep learning curve that comes with moving to a new culture and process the immense grief of the whole transition period, I've also had to force myself to be intentional about pastoral care--shamelessly throwing myself at mentors, begging them to pastor me through this process. I've never really worked with a budget, much less having to create a feasible one for a lifestyle I knew nothing about, to know what to present to folks who might be keen to throw in financial support. I've always enjoyed the writing process, but to create newsletters that are succinct enough to communicate all that's going on here (bear in mind these newsletters go to the odd combination of old friends, folks who want to support ministry, and mentors who want to know I still have a little bit of sanity left) and make sure they go to all the folks they are supposed to go to, holy shenanigans... Where do I even start writing? Throw in the non-existent budget to go hang out with folks who send money, cards, candy and beat-up iPods, and figuring out how to get the cheapest flights to go to all these places...
I found myself wishing again that I either wasn't born outside of the US, or hadn't spent those seven years there that resulted in the formation of most of my networks within that country.
Which was why when I stumbled upon a possibility of an official sending agency, I got really excited. Not only would there be a little bit of help in all of those other areas, but I would also more formal financial support--even if they are from folks I've never met before.
And then...
Of course. Why should I be surprised?
I got a little note from dear, sweet friends in Anderson. There weren't very many words on the little page, but to know that Phil and Phyllis Kinley who had given a significant part of their lives to the Church in Japan took the time to write that little note and say, "Hey, we think of you often, and we're praying for you." left me shaking my head.
"No, I'd rather have instability with whanau (family) than stability with strangers."
After all, this has been a year of embracing the very significant but often distracted part of me that desperately wants to dig into the grassroots. I'm barely getting my shoes muddy and the distractions have been aplenty.
Well, guess what?
I'm happy in the mud.
That's where my whanau is.
10 July 2012
Quiet Strength
Today I witnessed again the strength of two beautiful women I'm blessed to call friends.
Two separate stories that meet at the intersection called (as one of them put it), "If this happened in the movies, you wouldn't even believe it."
Today I celebrate their strength.
Strength that still finds a way to keep a sense of humour while trying to track down a guinea pig that had been dropped out of the window of a van, all after a week of nursing a child who has just had her tonsils taken out.
Strength that still finds a way for a sarcastic smile while bedridden after having been serially taken advantage of by less-than-responsible friends.
Strength that, even as they are crying out, "Oh God, how long?" continue to face their every day circumstances with strength.
Oh, the full stories stretch for years beyond just the little upsets of today.
I marvel at how they can keep going after years of facing this as a reality every day.
Their stories remind me of others who face each day the "that's not fair" cards that Life has dealt them.
Like my own grandmother whose life story I would someday like to compile into a book.
Or my own mother who work and give, and mother other children whose paths cross her life.
Or the friend who "mothers" me every month without realising she was fulfilling a prophetic dream that happened years ago.
And other mothers who mother their own children as well as others' children.
A friend in Singapore said I was "noble" for being willing to give it all up to live this life of having close to nothing to do this "good work".
Being here isn't noble.
I had the choice of whether I wanted to come.
And then there are those who live in circumstances where they wished they had a choice to be young again, to take off again, to not have a care in the world again--and in spite of that, choose to face each day with strength.
That.
That is noble.
To these beautiful women that I get to call Mother, Friend and Sister, thank you for your strength that is inspiration.
It is a privilege for me to be able to share life with you.
Two separate stories that meet at the intersection called (as one of them put it), "If this happened in the movies, you wouldn't even believe it."
Today I celebrate their strength.
Strength that still finds a way to keep a sense of humour while trying to track down a guinea pig that had been dropped out of the window of a van, all after a week of nursing a child who has just had her tonsils taken out.
Strength that still finds a way for a sarcastic smile while bedridden after having been serially taken advantage of by less-than-responsible friends.
Strength that, even as they are crying out, "Oh God, how long?" continue to face their every day circumstances with strength.
Oh, the full stories stretch for years beyond just the little upsets of today.
I marvel at how they can keep going after years of facing this as a reality every day.
Their stories remind me of others who face each day the "that's not fair" cards that Life has dealt them.
Like my own grandmother whose life story I would someday like to compile into a book.
Or my own mother who work and give, and mother other children whose paths cross her life.
Or the friend who "mothers" me every month without realising she was fulfilling a prophetic dream that happened years ago.
And other mothers who mother their own children as well as others' children.
A friend in Singapore said I was "noble" for being willing to give it all up to live this life of having close to nothing to do this "good work".
Being here isn't noble.
I had the choice of whether I wanted to come.
And then there are those who live in circumstances where they wished they had a choice to be young again, to take off again, to not have a care in the world again--and in spite of that, choose to face each day with strength.
That.
That is noble.
To these beautiful women that I get to call Mother, Friend and Sister, thank you for your strength that is inspiration.
It is a privilege for me to be able to share life with you.
09 May 2012
Of Old Wounds and Onions
She woke up with a start.
The ridiculous sleep patterns had become such a norm that being awakened at 3am no longer frustrated or confused her. Except tonight, she felt a crystal ball being shoved into her hands.
She blinked twice as her mind raced to try and process the imagery in the crystal ball the same time memories of a seven year old episode came rushing back. It unsettled her so much that she lay awake for a while, simply letting it hurt.
The next thing she knew, her alarm was going off and she wondered if it was all but another one of those strange dreams she's had a lot of recently. But there it was again, the crystal ball staring back at her--this time along with a note from her best friend.
Vague images of who she was prior to that episode came sweeping over. And who she became after the episode. And how she found her voice. And how she started to believe in herself...
It was only after that seven year old episode that she felt the release. The crystal ball brought her back to the streets of Atlanta, to Krispy Kreme donuts and homeless people trading for drugs. To Mexico, to where her value of time and the important things in life were redefined. To a reservation in South Dakota, to where she fell in love with "bad" kids. To the streets of Berlin, to the women working on the streets, for whom her heart was broken.
Really, that seven year old episode opened her heart up to love.
She leaned in to him as he gently wrapped his arms around her, careful to avoid the open wound, her eyes still not leaving the crystal ball for a second. She saw herself age over the seven years, more and more jaded by the depravity that accumulated after the seven year old episode. She saw her dreams change as depravity made her question why she even had permission to dream big dreams. She saw herself no longer shocked by violence because she had seen so much of it.
And then she saw herself sitting on the pew in church that Sunday, doodling. It had become part of her way of processing sermons when she had the chance to sit in for them, and the doodles were usually about being on some kind of journey, or a brick wall of resistance, or some deep thought of the day. But that day, she simply doodled, and it wasn't until she heard the young lady next to her whisper, "What's that?" that she realised it was an onion. She wasn't sure what it meant because the sermon was about how the Creator saw its creation.
As she stared into the crystal ball, she understood.
Yes, an onion. A pungent, stinky onion. And probably one that reeks too, after all the experiences of depravity and jadedness.
"Cooked just well enough to add flavour to anything that encounters you. But you could also just choose to sit around and stink up the kitchen, you know. Your choice," he whispered gently, his arms still firm around her, well aware of the pain from that old wound.
Even though she had been dreading this day where the last blade would be pulled out because she did not want to revisit the wound, she was glad it finally did come around.
In her heart, she gave thanks that the day finally came, even if only seven years later.
And she gave thanks for the seven years in between of being cooked to just the right flavour.
And she gave thanks for the best friend who held no judgment that it had taken seven long years, never hurrying it along, only simply being there to say, "I wish you love BFF. All will be good."
The ridiculous sleep patterns had become such a norm that being awakened at 3am no longer frustrated or confused her. Except tonight, she felt a crystal ball being shoved into her hands.
She blinked twice as her mind raced to try and process the imagery in the crystal ball the same time memories of a seven year old episode came rushing back. It unsettled her so much that she lay awake for a while, simply letting it hurt.
The next thing she knew, her alarm was going off and she wondered if it was all but another one of those strange dreams she's had a lot of recently. But there it was again, the crystal ball staring back at her--this time along with a note from her best friend.
"Hope you're alright."She swallowed as the seven year old episode slowly washed over her again. It was an old wound, really, and she had, for a while now, been waiting for this. This day when the last blade from the old wound would finally be pulled out so that she can finally close it all up and let it heal completely.
Vague images of who she was prior to that episode came sweeping over. And who she became after the episode. And how she found her voice. And how she started to believe in herself...
"I could have made that work, you know..." she heard him say.Her eyes did not leave the crystal ball for a second. When she finally spoke, she only shook her head and said, "Yes, but I wouldn't."
It was only after that seven year old episode that she felt the release. The crystal ball brought her back to the streets of Atlanta, to Krispy Kreme donuts and homeless people trading for drugs. To Mexico, to where her value of time and the important things in life were redefined. To a reservation in South Dakota, to where she fell in love with "bad" kids. To the streets of Berlin, to the women working on the streets, for whom her heart was broken.
Really, that seven year old episode opened her heart up to love.
She leaned in to him as he gently wrapped his arms around her, careful to avoid the open wound, her eyes still not leaving the crystal ball for a second. She saw herself age over the seven years, more and more jaded by the depravity that accumulated after the seven year old episode. She saw her dreams change as depravity made her question why she even had permission to dream big dreams. She saw herself no longer shocked by violence because she had seen so much of it.
And then she saw herself sitting on the pew in church that Sunday, doodling. It had become part of her way of processing sermons when she had the chance to sit in for them, and the doodles were usually about being on some kind of journey, or a brick wall of resistance, or some deep thought of the day. But that day, she simply doodled, and it wasn't until she heard the young lady next to her whisper, "What's that?" that she realised it was an onion. She wasn't sure what it meant because the sermon was about how the Creator saw its creation.
As she stared into the crystal ball, she understood.
"I am the onion."Every layer was a symbol of the different faces of who she had become. And every time she moved, she had options to play with, of which layer she wanted to be. She could be the shy, quiet kid from many layers ago, or the hesitant pursuer from not too many layers after that. She could be the layer that opened up her heart to peoples and lands without a second thought, or the vagrant that chose to claim no land as home. She could be the loyal friend who stood her ground, or the reconciler who would not stop loving.
Yes, an onion. A pungent, stinky onion. And probably one that reeks too, after all the experiences of depravity and jadedness.
"Or just flavourful..."She finally turned to look at him. Him who had been holding her through the peeling back of every layer. She searched his eyes questioningly, how can this be?
"Cooked just well enough to add flavour to anything that encounters you. But you could also just choose to sit around and stink up the kitchen, you know. Your choice," he whispered gently, his arms still firm around her, well aware of the pain from that old wound.
Even though she had been dreading this day where the last blade would be pulled out because she did not want to revisit the wound, she was glad it finally did come around.
In her heart, she gave thanks that the day finally came, even if only seven years later.
And she gave thanks for the seven years in between of being cooked to just the right flavour.
And she gave thanks for the best friend who held no judgment that it had taken seven long years, never hurrying it along, only simply being there to say, "I wish you love BFF. All will be good."
27 December 2011
Welcome to Te Atatu
Katherine and I went today to mark out the route for our prayer walk on Friday. Along the way, I got a little bit of a history lesson, which made me realise I guess it's time for the blog world to be formally introduced to Westside Christian Fellowship and Te Atatu Peninsula.
Westside Christian Fellowship began as Auckland International Church. As AIC, the church primarily consisted of international expatriates. In 2007, the church moved to Te Atatu Peninsula in the Waitakere region, which is west of the Auckland mega-city.
I'm just trying to be impressive with my geographical terminology here, ok? To put it simply, for those of you familiar with the Great State of Indiana, it's kinda like saying Anderson (Te Atatu Peninsula) should really be filed under the Madison County cabinet (except in this case it's the beautiful Waitakere (mountain) ranges), but it's now lumped together with Indianapolis (Auckland) as part of the mega-city.
Completely confused yet? :) Google might be able to help.
West Auckland has apparently been historically the area with the notorious reputation. Te Atatu was apparently one of the most "unsafe" areas until recently. According to Katherine, churches on the Peninsula have been prayer-walking the community and much change has come to Te Atatu Peninsula.
Westside has chosen intentionally to work very closely with the schools and families on the Peninsula. It has been an interesting few months for me, watching the subtle influence of post-Christianity play out in family life on the Peninsula. But it has been even more fascinating, watching the growing number of people in our church stepping forward to influence even more positive change in our community.
I'm excited about the things that God has in store for us in 2012. But even more so, I'm honoured that I get to be a part of this. The approval of my 2-year visa (which I just realised I haven't even blogged about!) answers a lot of prayers that have been whispered. But even more so, it affirms that the vision of bringing me here wasn't a mistake; that the dreams we've dreamt in the last few months weren't a mistake; that, just in general, we're doing ok.
2012 promises to be another year of adventure. Sure there will be more (and bigger) emotional roller-coasters--I wouldn't expect any less from a crazy God with an incredibly misunderstood sense of humour. But even through all the big disappointments and heartaches of 2011, God's faithfulness still came through in the few in quantity but massive in quality victories.
Bring it on, 2012 in Te Atatu Peninsula. I'm ready for you!
Westside Christian Fellowship began as Auckland International Church. As AIC, the church primarily consisted of international expatriates. In 2007, the church moved to Te Atatu Peninsula in the Waitakere region, which is west of the Auckland mega-city.
I'm just trying to be impressive with my geographical terminology here, ok? To put it simply, for those of you familiar with the Great State of Indiana, it's kinda like saying Anderson (Te Atatu Peninsula) should really be filed under the Madison County cabinet (except in this case it's the beautiful Waitakere (mountain) ranges), but it's now lumped together with Indianapolis (Auckland) as part of the mega-city.
Completely confused yet? :) Google might be able to help.
West Auckland has apparently been historically the area with the notorious reputation. Te Atatu was apparently one of the most "unsafe" areas until recently. According to Katherine, churches on the Peninsula have been prayer-walking the community and much change has come to Te Atatu Peninsula.
Westside has chosen intentionally to work very closely with the schools and families on the Peninsula. It has been an interesting few months for me, watching the subtle influence of post-Christianity play out in family life on the Peninsula. But it has been even more fascinating, watching the growing number of people in our church stepping forward to influence even more positive change in our community.
I'm excited about the things that God has in store for us in 2012. But even more so, I'm honoured that I get to be a part of this. The approval of my 2-year visa (which I just realised I haven't even blogged about!) answers a lot of prayers that have been whispered. But even more so, it affirms that the vision of bringing me here wasn't a mistake; that the dreams we've dreamt in the last few months weren't a mistake; that, just in general, we're doing ok.
2012 promises to be another year of adventure. Sure there will be more (and bigger) emotional roller-coasters--I wouldn't expect any less from a crazy God with an incredibly misunderstood sense of humour. But even through all the big disappointments and heartaches of 2011, God's faithfulness still came through in the few in quantity but massive in quality victories.
Bring it on, 2012 in Te Atatu Peninsula. I'm ready for you!
27 October 2011
Jars of Clay
So here I am again
So full
Yet so empty
So much to say
Yet so wordless
So much restless fighting
Yet so much peace
Today I stood and stared at the ocean
Waters from the past reminding me of things I used to love
Things I used to be passionate about
Things that set me free
Things that taught me about Love
And then I wonder...
There's a whole world of water out there
Why am I sitting in a little sampan again?
Sampans aren't always bad things
Trouble is which sampan,
And what oars do I use to keep from drifting to dangerous waters?
They gave me books to read
Manuals to study
Flashcards even
But they all became sampans too
There's still a whole ocean out there
How do I dive deep
But not drown?
Someone told me recently
Forces are coming together
To bring congruence between my head and my heart
How?
When?
And until then, what?
And then...
"For right now... I don't know what the ans. is so just keep being the best you. When you can't take it... write me e-mails. I will read all of them and respond to them first thing (even tho I have e-mails from 4 weeks ago I need to get to)"
"Therefore, since we have this ministry, as we received mercy, we do not lose heart, but we have renounced the things hidden because of shame, not walking in craftiness or adulterating the word of God, but by the manifestation of truth commending ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelieving so that they might not see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves but Christ Jesus as Lord, and ourselves as your bond-servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.So full
Yet so empty
So much to say
Yet so wordless
So much restless fighting
Yet so much peace
Today I stood and stared at the ocean
Waters from the past reminding me of things I used to love
Things I used to be passionate about
Things that set me free
Things that taught me about Love
And then I wonder...
There's a whole world of water out there
Why am I sitting in a little sampan again?
Sampans aren't always bad things
Trouble is which sampan,
And what oars do I use to keep from drifting to dangerous waters?
They gave me books to read
Manuals to study
Flashcards even
But they all became sampans too
There's still a whole ocean out there
How do I dive deep
But not drown?
Someone told me recently
Forces are coming together
To bring congruence between my head and my heart
How?
When?
And until then, what?
And then...
"For right now... I don't know what the ans. is so just keep being the best you. When you can't take it... write me e-mails. I will read all of them and respond to them first thing (even tho I have e-mails from 4 weeks ago I need to get to)"
But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you.
But having the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, “I BELIEVED, THEREFORE I SPOKE,” we also believe, therefore we also speak, knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and will present us with you. For all things are for your sakes, so that the grace which is spreading to more and more people may cause the giving of thanks to abound to the glory of God.
Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal."
And suddenly I'm thankful Dr Majeski made us memorize this for our NT2 midterm.
10 June 2011
Dear Keren ##6 - Big Dreams Are Made Of These
Dear Keren,
"The deeper our faith, the more doubt we must endure; the deeper our hope, the more prone we are to despair; the deeper our love, the more pain its loss will bring. These are a few of the paradoxes we must hold as human beings. If we refuse to hold them in hopes of living without doubt, despair and pain, we also find ourselves living without faith, hope and love."
- A Hidden Wholeness, Parker Palmer
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Those were the words Melissa, one of our favourite people, left as my graduation gift. Between her wisdom, and her allowing us to take random awkward photos of ourselves in her apartment that summer, it's hard to not like her huh? She was one of the people who, like you, gave me space to find/redefine "home".
Emi and I have been talking a lot about dreams. Not just the ones that we have when we fall asleep (the ones that creep us out because they eventually manifest true in real life), but also dreaming up big things that could happen. On a few occasions, I found myself saying, "Emi, if you make this happen, I will consider moving back to Anderson after this next chapter is done."
Crazy, right?
But the thing is, some of these big dreams are the same dreams I've had four years ago as I was getting ready to leave the safety of undergrad AU life. Three simple but crazy dreams. You and I, we talked about it, and as hard as I try to recall, I don't remember how you reacted when I told you one of those crazy dreams included being homeless for a month or so, just to experience what it's like. I remembered most people trying to either talk me out of it or play it safe. But if we just played it safe, then it defeats the purpose, right?
As it turns out, I never had the guts to actually pull off the being homeless thing. Nor did I ever pursue any of the other two things that I dreamt of doing Yet four years later, here we are with these dreams resurfacing again.
Some days I wonder what it would be like if you were here now. Where will you be living, and what would you be doing? Back then we used to dream about doing the things that would help us find more of who we are so that we can do those things even better. All these years later, here I am again with those dreams coming closer to fulfillment, yet the fear of failure is still so apparent.
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Maybe that should be enough...?
Miss you,
Me
"The deeper our faith, the more doubt we must endure; the deeper our hope, the more prone we are to despair; the deeper our love, the more pain its loss will bring. These are a few of the paradoxes we must hold as human beings. If we refuse to hold them in hopes of living without doubt, despair and pain, we also find ourselves living without faith, hope and love."
- A Hidden Wholeness, Parker Palmer
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Those were the words Melissa, one of our favourite people, left as my graduation gift. Between her wisdom, and her allowing us to take random awkward photos of ourselves in her apartment that summer, it's hard to not like her huh? She was one of the people who, like you, gave me space to find/redefine "home".
Emi and I have been talking a lot about dreams. Not just the ones that we have when we fall asleep (the ones that creep us out because they eventually manifest true in real life), but also dreaming up big things that could happen. On a few occasions, I found myself saying, "Emi, if you make this happen, I will consider moving back to Anderson after this next chapter is done."
Crazy, right?
But the thing is, some of these big dreams are the same dreams I've had four years ago as I was getting ready to leave the safety of undergrad AU life. Three simple but crazy dreams. You and I, we talked about it, and as hard as I try to recall, I don't remember how you reacted when I told you one of those crazy dreams included being homeless for a month or so, just to experience what it's like. I remembered most people trying to either talk me out of it or play it safe. But if we just played it safe, then it defeats the purpose, right?
As it turns out, I never had the guts to actually pull off the being homeless thing. Nor did I ever pursue any of the other two things that I dreamt of doing Yet four years later, here we are with these dreams resurfacing again.
Some days I wonder what it would be like if you were here now. Where will you be living, and what would you be doing? Back then we used to dream about doing the things that would help us find more of who we are so that we can do those things even better. All these years later, here I am again with those dreams coming closer to fulfillment, yet the fear of failure is still so apparent.
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Maybe that should be enough...?
Miss you,
Me
04 June 2011
It Used To Be Less Complicated. (Or So It Seems)
Dear God,
Hi. I mean, good evening ma'am. No wait, I mean... Papa?
Sorry. I've forgotten how to do this. It's been a while.
I haven't forgotten you, but the whirlwinds of the last few months have zipped in and out way too quickly that, in trying to restore the damage, all I had time for was to manage that trying-really-hard-to-look-as-sincere-as-I-feel-but-probably-coming-across-as-really-awkward smile every once in a while, just to acknowledge that I'm well aware that my insistence on carrying on the restoration work with all my power-tools isn't actually being helpful, and that it was probably hurting you to watch me too.
But truth be told, and you and I, we both know this.... I don't know how to do this. I've been working with power-tools for way too long, and all the wisdom that I have sought know that it's time to drop the power-tools. But we don't know how to even start looking for a new method because this is the first time a whirlwind of this magnitude had come through. I can't speak for everyone else, but I myself am looking forward to discovering the new methods, simply because of the adventure that it brings with it.
Yet I'm frustrated. And exhausted. This new chapter should be exciting and challenging, but still fun. But I'm feeling like my energies have been completely sapped and before I've even had time to recuperate, to celebrate endings and beginnings, the to-do list for the restoration project started to nag and nag and nag. And in the midst of all the nagging, all the questioning is not helping. The questions of, "Are you sure you're the one for this undertaking? You grew up way too quickly for your own age and you were never really a kid or knew how to be a kid, so what makes you think you'd know how to get kids involved in this restoration project? And shouldn't you be feeling guilty you're not working hard enough to meet all the datelines of your to-do list? And if you don't even know how to make time to care for yourself, what makes you think you will be able to care about the others? And you're running out of time, shouldn't you hurry up and work harder?"
And... and... and... And I'm just exhausted. Who the heck did I think I was anyway, that you would entrust me with such a huge undertaking? I'm tired of dreaming big dreams that make me so afraid because the gap between here and there seems so big that I know full well, if I tried walking by myself, I would fall right through. And I'm afraid that there might be nothing below to catch me if I fell through, yet at the same time I KNOW you are there.
But God, I'm human.
Ma'am, I'm exhausted.
Papa, I'm afraid.
Yet I will keep on walking.
Because I don't know how to stop when I hear that voice saying, "One more step, my little one. One more step then we'll take a short break from working on helping you walk instead of just toddle around."
And that voice that says, "One more step, my sweet lover. One more step towards my love, and I will be here to hold you when you fall apart."
And so I will keep walking. Because there's work to be done. And because now that I remember what it's like to catch you at the lemonade stand in between the power-tooling and how the "how are you?"s happen, I think I'll have a little bit more for tomorrow.
"Oh yes, my everlating impatience. nothing new; but i miss someone to tell me to relax...to say, "keren, mañana."
...
So please...lay down the time countdown to my life...give me a pillo to rest my head...and hold me...
we'll deal with it...tomorrow."
- KEB, 12.30.06
The road goes ever on and ever on...
Hi. I mean, good evening ma'am. No wait, I mean... Papa?
Sorry. I've forgotten how to do this. It's been a while.
I haven't forgotten you, but the whirlwinds of the last few months have zipped in and out way too quickly that, in trying to restore the damage, all I had time for was to manage that trying-really-hard-to-look-as-sincere-as-I-feel-but-probably-coming-across-as-really-awkward smile every once in a while, just to acknowledge that I'm well aware that my insistence on carrying on the restoration work with all my power-tools isn't actually being helpful, and that it was probably hurting you to watch me too.
But truth be told, and you and I, we both know this.... I don't know how to do this. I've been working with power-tools for way too long, and all the wisdom that I have sought know that it's time to drop the power-tools. But we don't know how to even start looking for a new method because this is the first time a whirlwind of this magnitude had come through. I can't speak for everyone else, but I myself am looking forward to discovering the new methods, simply because of the adventure that it brings with it.
Yet I'm frustrated. And exhausted. This new chapter should be exciting and challenging, but still fun. But I'm feeling like my energies have been completely sapped and before I've even had time to recuperate, to celebrate endings and beginnings, the to-do list for the restoration project started to nag and nag and nag. And in the midst of all the nagging, all the questioning is not helping. The questions of, "Are you sure you're the one for this undertaking? You grew up way too quickly for your own age and you were never really a kid or knew how to be a kid, so what makes you think you'd know how to get kids involved in this restoration project? And shouldn't you be feeling guilty you're not working hard enough to meet all the datelines of your to-do list? And if you don't even know how to make time to care for yourself, what makes you think you will be able to care about the others? And you're running out of time, shouldn't you hurry up and work harder?"
And... and... and... And I'm just exhausted. Who the heck did I think I was anyway, that you would entrust me with such a huge undertaking? I'm tired of dreaming big dreams that make me so afraid because the gap between here and there seems so big that I know full well, if I tried walking by myself, I would fall right through. And I'm afraid that there might be nothing below to catch me if I fell through, yet at the same time I KNOW you are there.
But God, I'm human.
Ma'am, I'm exhausted.
Papa, I'm afraid.
Yet I will keep on walking.
Because I don't know how to stop when I hear that voice saying, "One more step, my little one. One more step then we'll take a short break from working on helping you walk instead of just toddle around."
And that voice that says, "One more step, my sweet lover. One more step towards my love, and I will be here to hold you when you fall apart."
And so I will keep walking. Because there's work to be done. And because now that I remember what it's like to catch you at the lemonade stand in between the power-tooling and how the "how are you?"s happen, I think I'll have a little bit more for tomorrow.
"Oh yes, my everlating impatience. nothing new; but i miss someone to tell me to relax...to say, "keren, mañana."
...
So please...lay down the time countdown to my life...give me a pillo to rest my head...and hold me...
we'll deal with it...tomorrow."
- KEB, 12.30.06
The road goes ever on and ever on...
14 March 2011
Update
I just spent the last 30 minutes lying awake, my mind racing.
I've known for a while that whatever lies ahead will be even more exciting than anything I've experienced so far. So why has it taken me this long to realise that this entire process leading up to this moment of decision-making has been Spirit-breathed?
"Go a little further, Jael..."
I think I'm ready to make the decision. Watch this space...
I've known for a while that whatever lies ahead will be even more exciting than anything I've experienced so far. So why has it taken me this long to realise that this entire process leading up to this moment of decision-making has been Spirit-breathed?
"Go a little further, Jael..."
I think I'm ready to make the decision. Watch this space...
16 January 2011
Guests in the Childhood Home
My mother has an impeccable gift of hospitality. Or as my BFF put it, "the gift of taking care of people." She's never been extravagant with anything, and it's the same with her hospitality. But her gift comes through being able to laugh at herself and make any person that walked through our front doors feel completely at home because she's "crazy". She engaged every person with a level of ridiculousness that you just had to laugh -- if not with her, then at her.
We always had strict rules in our household, and her home-cooked meals would be considered "too healthy" by most of our friends. But that never stopped our youth-group from making our home the most frequented hang-out after church because they didn't want to go home. And even though Auntie Florence would always make them eat a lot of veggies and Uncle Steven would make this horrible-tasting but very nutritious fruit juice, our friends, and eventually also the kids my mum tutored would still enjoy hanging out in our home.
Six-and-a-half years ago, my brother and I moved out of this home. But the guests still kept coming through those doors. Recently, when it became clear that we were moving out for good, our bedrooms became the living space for two Malaysian kids who were in Singapore for education. They were kids that my mum had been tutoring before they moved in. It was good for my parents because not only did it bring a slight addition to the household income, it also gave my mum more "kids" to "take care of".
And so now, we have become the guests in the childhood home. Except each year when we return, we get our own sets of keys, an EZ-link card (transport pass in Singapore), a cell-phone and spending money. We're still family, so we still get special treatment :) And each year when we leave, we return the keys, the EZ-link card, the cell-phone and whatever's left of the spending money. The doors are still open, as they've always been, even after we've developed "strange Western styles of living."
Home will always be home where the parentals are
Where the once-upon-a-time baby sister is
Where Grandma calls everyday to ask if we're hungry and if we want her to bring food over
Where the cousins gather for our Christmas party
Where the girl-friends from high school get together for our reunions
Even when we're only guests there once a year
Even if we find more distant lands to call home the rest of our lifetime
Because this is the home that gave me a legacy to live
This is the home that taught me about the craziness of hospitality
This is the home that taught me to always make sure no one is hungry
This is the home that taught me the importance of gathering together every once in a while
In a recent conversation with the BFF, she made me dream about where we might find ourselves in ten months time--the next time I'll be back in the country that owns my passport. And then she said this: "No matter where you go, no matter what you find yourself doing, whether it's in church or outside of the church, you will always be taking care of people. Because that's just what you do."
And it's only because of the legacy that this home taught me to live.
Because this is home.
Even if it's one of many homes.
We always had strict rules in our household, and her home-cooked meals would be considered "too healthy" by most of our friends. But that never stopped our youth-group from making our home the most frequented hang-out after church because they didn't want to go home. And even though Auntie Florence would always make them eat a lot of veggies and Uncle Steven would make this horrible-tasting but very nutritious fruit juice, our friends, and eventually also the kids my mum tutored would still enjoy hanging out in our home.
Six-and-a-half years ago, my brother and I moved out of this home. But the guests still kept coming through those doors. Recently, when it became clear that we were moving out for good, our bedrooms became the living space for two Malaysian kids who were in Singapore for education. They were kids that my mum had been tutoring before they moved in. It was good for my parents because not only did it bring a slight addition to the household income, it also gave my mum more "kids" to "take care of".
And so now, we have become the guests in the childhood home. Except each year when we return, we get our own sets of keys, an EZ-link card (transport pass in Singapore), a cell-phone and spending money. We're still family, so we still get special treatment :) And each year when we leave, we return the keys, the EZ-link card, the cell-phone and whatever's left of the spending money. The doors are still open, as they've always been, even after we've developed "strange Western styles of living."
Home will always be home where the parentals are
Where the once-upon-a-time baby sister is
Where Grandma calls everyday to ask if we're hungry and if we want her to bring food over
Where the cousins gather for our Christmas party
Where the girl-friends from high school get together for our reunions
Even when we're only guests there once a year
Even if we find more distant lands to call home the rest of our lifetime
Because this is the home that gave me a legacy to live
This is the home that taught me about the craziness of hospitality
This is the home that taught me to always make sure no one is hungry
This is the home that taught me the importance of gathering together every once in a while
In a recent conversation with the BFF, she made me dream about where we might find ourselves in ten months time--the next time I'll be back in the country that owns my passport. And then she said this: "No matter where you go, no matter what you find yourself doing, whether it's in church or outside of the church, you will always be taking care of people. Because that's just what you do."
And it's only because of the legacy that this home taught me to live.
Because this is home.
Even if it's one of many homes.
11 July 2010
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.
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.
31 May 2010
Freckles on my Nose and Holes in my Shoes
I learnt a song in elementary school that goes something like this...
I've got freckles on my nose
Holes in my shoes
The wrong coloured socks
And a missing tooth
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
Sometimes I'm weak
I fall on my knees
I've got skins and bruises
All over me
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
For whatever reason, this is the song that has been stuck in my head all morning. I haven't heard that song in years, but then it dawned on me that this IS the song for this moment - or maybe just my life in general. Some days my socks are mismatched, other days I'm just the awkward kid in the room. Some days I trip over my own feet, other days I just have to laugh at myself and remind myself I'm really not Superman (or woman for those of you needing the political correctness).
But in spite of all that, this is the very reason I'm in Berlin - learning what it means to be the best friend I can be even if I'm awkward, mismatched and messy. To build intentional relationships even if I'm only here for a short time. To embrace brokenness in community and to find healing together. Like a stained glass art formed by pieces of broken glass pieced together by the Master Artist, we can only find true beauty when we step back and look at the bigger picture. When we see how our stories are put together and allow the Light of the Master to shine through, that's when we find meaning in our individual stories - not in insolation, but in community. And it is within this safe circle of friendship that we find the space to be creative with our giftedness to give back to each other, and to the community in which we live in.
And who better to have as mentors for this internship than Kelley and Rhonda?
Kelley sees the big picture and is never willing to put God or ministry in a box. He dreams big and is always willing to step aside and let someone else more gifted than he is in certain areas to take charge. Most importantly, he reminds me of the importance of laughter so that life and ministry won't drive us over the edge.
Rhonda on the other hand is the personification of hospitality. Growing up in a home where my brother and I always knew the kids from youth group can (and usually are dying to) come and hang out if they didn't want to go home, Mum did an exceptional job teaching us about hospitality. Rhonda reminds me of the warmth of hospitality such as remembering the simple things like an extra toothbrush, or celebrating life's big moments like birthdays or the day a husband comes home from war.
What can I say? I may have freckles on my nose and holes in my shoes, but as long as I remain obedient on this journey of faith, God knows.
I've got freckles on my nose
Holes in my shoes
The wrong coloured socks
And a missing tooth
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
Sometimes I'm weak
I fall on my knees
I've got skins and bruises
All over me
I'm not Superman
God, You made me the kid that I am
And...
Thank You God for who I am
I don't have to be a Superman
Thank You God for who I am
All I want to be is your best friend
For whatever reason, this is the song that has been stuck in my head all morning. I haven't heard that song in years, but then it dawned on me that this IS the song for this moment - or maybe just my life in general. Some days my socks are mismatched, other days I'm just the awkward kid in the room. Some days I trip over my own feet, other days I just have to laugh at myself and remind myself I'm really not Superman (or woman for those of you needing the political correctness).
But in spite of all that, this is the very reason I'm in Berlin - learning what it means to be the best friend I can be even if I'm awkward, mismatched and messy. To build intentional relationships even if I'm only here for a short time. To embrace brokenness in community and to find healing together. Like a stained glass art formed by pieces of broken glass pieced together by the Master Artist, we can only find true beauty when we step back and look at the bigger picture. When we see how our stories are put together and allow the Light of the Master to shine through, that's when we find meaning in our individual stories - not in insolation, but in community. And it is within this safe circle of friendship that we find the space to be creative with our giftedness to give back to each other, and to the community in which we live in.
And who better to have as mentors for this internship than Kelley and Rhonda?
Kelley sees the big picture and is never willing to put God or ministry in a box. He dreams big and is always willing to step aside and let someone else more gifted than he is in certain areas to take charge. Most importantly, he reminds me of the importance of laughter so that life and ministry won't drive us over the edge.
Rhonda on the other hand is the personification of hospitality. Growing up in a home where my brother and I always knew the kids from youth group can (and usually are dying to) come and hang out if they didn't want to go home, Mum did an exceptional job teaching us about hospitality. Rhonda reminds me of the warmth of hospitality such as remembering the simple things like an extra toothbrush, or celebrating life's big moments like birthdays or the day a husband comes home from war.
What can I say? I may have freckles on my nose and holes in my shoes, but as long as I remain obedient on this journey of faith, God knows.
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