27 New Years

I don't suppose 27 count for a lot when it comes to the number of New Years I've seen.

As 2013 draws to a close, I'm taken back to a few of the more memorable New Years I've celebrated.

There was the one in 2000. Dad worked in the heart of the city (Orchard Rd) at the time. As building manager, he was on-call in case things fell apart with the Y2K bug that everyone seemed to be paranoid about. So Dad drove my brother and I, together with our closest friends at the time, to and from town so we could countdown with the revellers while he was at work.

Then there were the several watch-night services at the Church of God congregation in Singapore that I grew up in. Us youth always looked forward to that time, not so much because it was the watch-night service, but because we got to hang out together at church till the wee hours of the morning.

Then there were the ones where my family started travelling together more over the Christmas/New Year season. Some of the traditions that we used to celebrate with our church family were no longer observed. The times were a-changin'.

I remember the New Years we celebrated in China (2009), Cambodia (2010) and Auckland (2012) best.

China has always been special because of my deep appreciation for our cultural roots, and that being the first place I felt like I was called to serve. To be there with family, tracing our roots to my grandfather's village made it extra special.

Cambodia was special because in all the flurry of activities in our week there, when the clock struck midnight in Cambodia, my siblings and I were like little kids again, running out to the balcony to watch the fireworks.

Auckland was special because this was my new home, and I got to share it with my family for the first time.

And as I sit here quietly taking in the last few minutes of 2013 here in Auckland, I realise it's true that the older you get, what you value changes. The hustle and bustle and flurry of activities don't matter as much as simply sitting with family and the good people in your life, and giving thanks for making it through another year.

To each one of you that have cheered me on and pushed me forward through an unkind year, thank you.
To each one of you that have carried me without expecting anything in return, thank you.
To each one of you that have put up with my crap, instability and lack of consistency this year, thank you.

And finally, and most importantly, to the God of grace, love and faithfulness, I give praise for not giving up on me this year.

Dear 2013, I won't deny that I have been looking forward to this day where I can finally pack you away in the history books. You have been most unkind, and I'm more than ready to say our goodbyes. But as I do, I want to say thank you as well, that in your unkindness, you taught me to love myself better. Goodbye now.

Here's to 2014. Here's to hope, peace, faith, joy and love.
Here's to you.
Cheers, mate.

Arohanui

Whirlwind Summer Treasure Trove

4 weeks. 4 incredible weeks.

They have been incredible not because I got to check out of real life for a while.
Not because I got to be on vacation.

No, because of the people.
I don't have much, but I have people.

To you that provided a place for rest in between the scurrying--whether in Portland, Anderson, Edgewood or Denver, thank you.

To you that shared your family--whether your great-grandkid, your newborn, your partner, thank you.

To you that provided me transport everywhere, thank you.

To you that was present in some of the lowest moments of the trip--whether by a Facebook message, a text, or staying up late to talk, thank you.

To you that kept pushing me to a better good--whether for my own spiritual well-being, or for communal good, thank you.

To you that allowed me to wallow in the parts of life that involve a small dose of cynicism, thank you.

To you that laughed with me as I found harmless ways to rebel break the rules work around the systems, thank you.

To you that said you will continue to walk this crazy, whirlwind journey with me, thank you.

To you that agreed to support one more chapter of my unpredictable life and ministry, thank you.

To you that believe in me so I can believe in myself again, thank you.

To you that sat with me through all the Mexican food, Sno-Castle, IHOP, Olive Garden and other meals that I've missed and craved, thank you.

To you that gave hugs, thank you.

To you that gave me grace for not having the time to catch up, thank you.

To you that allowed and pushed me to confront myself, thank you.

My life is better because of each one of you.

4 weeks of incredible people.
I don't have much, but I have people.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Jamie and I were talking about how we never quite expected to run into each other, especially not after only a few years have past, much less in Denver, of all places. But here we are.

We'll see each other again, I'm sure.
But until then,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)

I'll come back when you call me, no need to say goodbye.

Requiem

I told myself I wasn't going to write this one. Because when these things happen, everybody's talking and needing to process. The last thing they need is to be overloaded with more words. (They really just need yoghurt, I'm telling you.)

But after two hours have passed and this nagging feeling wouldn't go away, I'm finally sitting down.

Most folks may not know, but I'm very protective of my baby sister. I know she's just turned 18, so what? She's still my baby sister.

When the news came, my mind flashed straight back five years ago, when I was the one losing a friend. The days at the hospital, the morning the call came through, the memorial services, and all the nights after that.

But what struck me tonight wasn't so much the memories from that chapter. It was the realisation that when death hits you in the face like that, it doesn't simply leave you with that dreaded feeling of loss and emptiness.

No, it also takes your innocence away.

Suddenly the reality sinks in that it isn't only the old people that die.
Suddenly it sinks in that it isn't only the bad people that suffer.
Suddenly it sinks in that someone so young, so full of life, with unfulfilled dreams to help change the world can be taken away just like that.

Tonight, I got angry.
No, I wasn't just angry that a twenty-year-old college kid's life just ended like that.
Death happens.
Having to say goodbye is terrible, but death happens.

Tonight, I got angry that my baby sister--and her friends--have to go through that.
That their innocence just got taken away, just like that.

And then I remembered.
Anger is a part of grief.
If there are three things I can say to a close-knit community like AU going through this season of grief, it would be these:

Give each other grace. Give each other grace to be angry, grace to be silent, grace to be in denial, grace to simply cry.
Don't try to answer questions, just hold each other.
And most importantly, hold each other. Physically, spiritually, emotionally. Hold on.

Xavier, I don't know you.
But they all have kind things to say about you.
That you lit up every room you entered.
That you never failed to make them smile.
Tonight, I speak love to you and yours.
I pray Creator God hold those who love you dear tonight.

Much love to those who are hurting tonight.

""Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God." - Isaiah 40:1

Dear Keren - The Cycle of Life, and Things They Never Taught Us

Dear Keren,

Today, Rochelle said something about trying to figure out how to explain to Ashton and Rhea (her 4- and 2-year-old) that the Beisleys were moving back to the US for good.

I kinda smiled inside. You would remember that just over four years ago when you left, we went through the phase of being angry that we might have missed the day at school when they taught us how to say goodbye. Would that have been Primary 1, or First Grade, or Year 2?

Goodbyes are a part of life. When we move away, when friends move away, when pets die, when Grandpa "became a moth in the after-life," these things all disturb the normal cycle of life.

When Grandpa became a moth in the after-life, we didn't go to school for a few days. I remember watching Grandma fall apart the day before we were to bury him. And then Grandma moved out of their flat in Blk 837, and us grandkids no longer hung out at that playground anymore. For years after that, every time I walked past that playground on the way to my uncle's house before or after school, I would from time to time wonder what it would be like if Grandpa were still alive, and if that playground would still be our stomping grounds.

But nobody taught me that I was really saying goodbye to Grandpa when they gave me instructions to toss the white rose into his burial grounds.

Years later, we moved to the flat my parents still live in now. I no longer had a direct bus home from school, which meant that since Mum picked me up on their way home from my aunt's, I didn't get to hang out with Laura on the bus anymore. It was all good because we had a fight the year before anyway, a stupid fight that only 10-year-olds were capable of.

But nobody taught me that moving didn't just mean that our peanut-butter jars and my stuffed Hello Kitty now lived on a different shelf. It meant becoming friends with Lydia and new lifestyle habits like visiting the library everyday after school to check out every single Babysitters Club book they had available since we now lived across the public library.

You see, I think when you left, I learnt that goodbyes don't have to be an ugly thing for the rest of our lives. I still miss you from time to time, but I'm ok with the fact that you're gone now, except for when people get awkward when I talk about death like it's a normal thing. Even now, when people ask me about the story of the ring I'm wearing, I don't always tell the full story because people get awkward when they find out it once belonged to a friend who died in a car accident.

Death IS a reality. As fatalistic as this sounds, at the end, we all die.

But that's the problem. See, they never gave us permission to talk about death or saying goodbye.

"If we don't talk about death, maybe we can pretend it's not there."
Or bullying in schools.
Or prostitution and/or other present day slavery and human trafficking.
Or the struggles that displaced people faced (Yes, I see you nodding your head, thinking about our conversations about Displace Me).
Or the oppression because of corporate greed.
Or...

"But if we just don't talk about it, maybe it will go away. Or we can pretend it's not there."

The truth is, goodbyes are a reality of life.
And even if bullying and other forms of oppression aren't our reality, as long as it's someone else's reality, it's our responsibility as followers of the Christ to change that reality to Kingdom Reality, right?

Or am I reading "do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God" wrongly?

Dear Keren, I wish you were still here so we can continue these conversations. I wish you could be a part of the conversations I'm having now to make the conversations we had five years ago become even more of a reality. But I'm reminded from time to time of the task I have to continue these conversations, even if you're no longer here to be one of few friends who didn't laugh when I wanted to be homeless, or work in a coffeeshop, or run a bed-and-breakfast.

Dear Keren, I will keep these conversations going. I will (and have already) continue to find like-minded people to bring more conversations together.

Dear Keren...
I miss you.

Until next time,
Me.

Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon, ‘Build houses and live in them; and plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and become the fathers of sons and daughters, and take wives for your sons and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters; and multiply there and do not decrease. Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf; for in its welfare you will have welfare.’ - Jeremiah 29:4-6

Of Paper Cranes...

The box of the rest of my stuff that my mum sent finally arrived here in Auckland yesterday. As I was unpacking the box, it was almost like opening a treasure chest because there were parts of my past that came along with it.

There was Cindy bear (named after Yogi Bear's girlfriend) - the little stuffed teddy bear I got from my first plane ride when I was 3 or 4.

There were the Pollock/Van Reken's TCK book, The Shack, my first Anne Lamott book, bird by bird from Amanda, Thad's copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, and God is No Fool, a collection of musings by Lois A Cheney, a gift from B-row just before I left the US.

There was the card from Keren, and a photo of her from her parents.

And then there were these three paper cranes.

Paper Cranes at the
Killing Fields memorial
in  Cambodia

The three cranes brought back memories of trips to Cambodia (December 2010) and New York City (Spring Break 2010). According to Wikipedia...

Thousand origami cranes (千羽鶴 Senbazuru) is a group of one thousand origami paper cranes (鶴 tsuru) held together by strings. An ancient Japanese legend promises that anyone who folds a thousand origami cranes will be granted a wish by a crane, such as long life or recovery from illness or injury. The crane in Japan is one of the mystical or holy creatures (others include the dragon and the tortoise), and is said to live for a thousand years. In Japan, it is commonly said that folding 1000 paper origami cranes makes a person's wish come true.

Inside the church beside
Ground Zero, a 9/11 memorial.
These paper cranes were from
victims of Hiroshima.

Cranes had been presented as symbols of peace to these parts of the world because of certain very dark events in history. These cranes symbolised wishes for peace, friendship, and hope for a better world where violence no longer existed.

My cranes have their stories too. Two of them came from Heidi and the 3Ts as a part of my graduation reception from seminary. They remind me of my fear of hanging out with kids--and how the 3Ts, my little kid-brothers and the other growing-up-way-too-quickly kids from Park Place helped me overcome that fear.

Paper crane from Alex
from 2008

And then there's the one made from a sheet torn out of the NAC roundup of 2008. It's the one that reminds me of the beginning of this whole journey leading up to my moving to Auckland.

See, back in 2008, I was into the end of my first year at Church of God Ministries when I met this lovely family. They loitered around the office when they had the time, and volunteered their time to help with anything that would help make our lives easier during the rush of Convention madness.

As often happens amongst missionary kids, their kids got a little restless during the Convention while their parents were in meetings and spending time catching up with supporters. Their oldest son, Alex Beisley had made a ton of paper cranes from sheets torn out of the NAC roundup, and they gave me one, just because.

I've had that crane hanging in my car until I finally had to sell it to move here, not even thinking anything about it, or the possibility that I might run into this family again.

I find it slightly amusing that this whole time that I've been in New Zealand, the crane had been sitting in a box in Singapore, and it's finally come back to me on their last week of this chapter in New Zealand.

Tomorrow at church, we will be celebrating with them the close of this chapter.

Doug, Danette, Alex, Allison and (not-so-little-anymore) Robbie, thank you for being family, and for paving the way for us at Westside over the last 7 years.


I've heard it said

That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have re-written mine by being my friend.
- For Good, from "Wicked"

The Only Constant in Life...

It seems odd that (nearly) four months in Aotearoa have flown by that quickly.

The Beisley clan leave in about two weeks. In the last four months, Doug and Danette have become parents to me, just as Alex, Allison and Robert have become like my little siblings. Dinners, movies, outings and game nights with them and Steve have been dwindling. Most of the furniture have been sold, and more and more boxes are getting stacked up against the wall in the office space.

It's hard to believe that this is all really happening now.

As much as I no longer believe in goodbyes, the moments of separation and the anticipation leading up to those times of separation still are never easy. It's hard to pretend life is still normal when we're trying to figure out how to make dinner when pots and pans have been packed up in boxes, and the only serving utensil left is a ladle with holes, and you can't even dish up canned tomato soup.

I'm finally feeling like I've arrived in Te Atatu, and things are being shaken up as we speak.

They say the only constant in life is change. I couldn't agree more.




In exactly a month from today, I will be turning 26.

In my (almost) 26 years of life, I've never celebrated a birthday that was not shared with my brother (whose birthday is three days before mine).

Sharing a birthday with a sibling has its quirks. Our parents always made it a point to have two separate cakes for us even if we had a joint celebration. And every year after we moved to the US, even if we've had a big disagreement just before our birthdays, on the day itself that we celebrate our birthdays, we at least pretend that things are ok.

This year, I'll be turning 26 in Auckland after my brother turns 28 in the US. While it's nice to finally be able to have my own birthday celebration to myself, I'm still a creature of habit, and it still seems odd to have a birthday without him.

Anderson folks, if you see my brother on 3 Feb, please be nice to him.

They say the only constant in life is change. I couldn't agree more.



While we were (trying to) watch fireworks on New Year's Eve, Chad and Diane asked me if I had any favourite memories of the year. These were the ones that came to mind:

My last Chinese New Year celebration in the US.
WAY too many trips to the doctor's office with Jenny.
Moving one of my favourite people out to Colorado and hanging out there for Spring Break.
Deciding to move to Auckland after I graduate.
Getting commissioned and hooded by MaryAnn, and the whole graduation fiesta.
Packing up and selling 7 years of junk and reducing my life back to 2 suitcases and a few boxes in storage.
Endless nights of beading and talking at Love's Hangover.
Getting to see some of my favourite people in Oregon.
Hanging out with my sister for a couple weeks in my old stomping grounds in Anderson.
Saying goodnight and tucking the 3Ts in to bed for the last time (and Brother Frank).
Moving back to the parents' home in Singapore and dealing with reverse culture shock.
Moving to Auckland, and the months of crazy after that.

For whatever reason, the one memory that stuck out most to me that night was the trip to Colorado.

First time in Colorado.
First roadtrip with a kindred.
First goodbye in the US.

But it was also while I was there that I had time to rest, pray, breathe, and think about this madness called "Operation: Move to New Zealand?" The week there was a pretty good summary about life in 2011. Transition, moving, friendship, rest, New Zealand, nature, new experiences, and the faithfulness of God.

They say the only constant in life is change. I couldn't agree more.

Happy 2012

A quick review of the last day of my 2011, and the year in general:

Woke up wishing I had another appointment with my old chiropractor in the US.
2011 had been a year of more doctor visits than I can remember. Between the chiropractor, the gastric annoyances, the flu-like symptoms that included something like an ear-infection, I think I'm finally hearing my body tell me, you're not doing the best you can to take care of yourself.

That, and realising I'm 25. Still a young pup to most of my friends, but I can't help remembering that when I was younger, I had set goals to have had achieved more by this age... And I'm not quite there yet.

But the crazy thing is, even though those goals that I set way back when I was a wee lass have yet to been achieved, I've had so many more crazy adventures than I could ever dream of.


Stefan asked Kathrin and I at breakfast this morning if we had any reflections on the year. This has been one of those years that feels like a big wave came through and left me no time to catch a breath. The wave was fantastic to ride, but I could have done with a little less adrenaline.

So no, I haven't really had time to reflect. The year has been fantastic in so many ways, but also so disappointing in so many others.


We went in the afternoon to look at a place that could be a possibility for me to rent.
2011 had been a year of so much moving and transition. Between living off the couch in Becca and Jenny's apartment, packing up 7 years of life in Anderson, packing to house- or pet-sit for a friend for a few days, packing to move Amanda out to Colorado and the 10-day adventure in Oregon, having more garage sales than I can remember, selling faithful Cuddy the Hyundai that I had practically lived out of since the day I got her, moving back to my parents' in Singapore for about 5 weeks and trying to relearn what it's like to have a bank account and do other grown-up stuff in Singapore, and then finally moving to Auckland but still waiting for answers with the visa... Suffice to say, I'm ready for a bit more stability in my life now.

Living with Kathrin and Stefan has been a great arrangement, but I'm ready for a space to call my own now after a year of so much moving around.


31 December 2011 ended with a night of games, snacks and (trying to watch) fireworks.
Food and games had always been a part of seminary culture. But 2011 also saw an unfinished game of Ecuador Monopoly that will have to be on hold for a while till the next time I get to hang out with the Robertsons.

And 2011, I got to watch the 4th of July fireworks in St Helen's, National Day fireworks on TV in Singapore, blow some up with friends on Guy Fawkes' day in Te Atatu.


So yes, 2011 has been a crazy year.
I've experienced bigger disappointments and anger.
I've been on a plane more times than any other year that I can remember.
I've said more goodbyes than I've wanted in Colorado, Anderson and Oregon.
I've sunk even deeper roots in Singapore.
I've met heaps of new crazies in Auckland.


Here's to a 2012 with even more crazy emotional roller-coasters ahead, and even more so to a crazy God whose faithfulness leaves me speechless.


Happy 2012, everyone. Love and peace to you and yours.

Dear Keren #13: $150 Excess Baggage

Dear Keren,

I sat by the coast at Long Beach yesterday and watched the people and the waters. There's something calming about the way the scent of the sea breeze filling your lungs and watching the waters make their way to the shore, even if it's manmade. Then again, maybe it's the soul of the city child that longs for manmade beauty to bring comfort.

How do I even begin to put to words everything that has transpired in the last couple of months?

In the span of a couple weeks, the material things that marked the pieces of my life in the last seven years had to be reduced to two suitcases and a duffle bag. Furniture was sold. I had to figure out what amongst the ridiculous amounts of t-shirts that had accumulated through my college years carried enough sentimental value to not be thrown into one of seven trash bags to be brought to the Christian Center. Trinkets and books went into separate boxes: two for the Christian Center and two for storage with the adopted family.

Even after that, I still had to pay $150 for excess baggage.

Part of me wants to ask, why can't the world be more understanding about me moving halfway across the world, and just waive the $150. Another part of me wants to ask, why would they understand? Why should they?

And then there's another thing that struck me as odd. Seven years ago when I left, I carried with me picture frames that held images of persons I considered important to me. This time, it didn't even occur to me I should be packing those. If I did, the excess baggage fee would be so much more because I now have way too many of those, in too many different parts of the world. Which makes me thankful for me iTouch because I can keep these on Facebook. I've never been one to purchase gadgets like these regardless of my fascination with them, but considering how it made the additional eighteen hours I had to spend in LA more bearable, I don't have a choice but to be thankful. And especially now, too, that I can be typing this while I'm on the plane.

So you see, so much has changed in these seven years. I remember still so clearly, what it was like that Friday, August 20, 2004 (see, I even write my date differently now) when I boarded that SQ flight to be transported to LAX. As I was sorting through the old junk, I came across the journal that I kept during that transitional time. Apparently, I had written something along the lines of somehow magically wishing that maybe when I got off the plane, I wouldn't be facing the cornfields of Indiana, but would find the familiar faces that I had just left behind in SIN there ready to welcome me. And today, I have that same feeling. Except I was wishing for my Anderson family to be greeting me in SIN.

Typically on the flight back over Christmas break, whenever I had an option between the Asian or Western meals, I'd go for the one from the region I'd go for the Asian one because it was semblance of home. On this flight, they even have movies by Singaporean producers in preparation for the National Day celebration, but it made me sick in the stomach realizing that even if Kit Chan's "Home" were playing in the background right now, the home that I would be sick for would be in places I would never have dreamed seven years ago. Places like Anderson, Portland and Silverthorne. And not because of Layton Road or Pershing Dr, or University Blvd or College Ave, Hawthorne Ave or I-70 West.

But the people.

These are the people who have walked through the crap that life has thrown me since you died four years ago. They are the ones who understand why I grief the way I do every August 3. I still miss you, but I also miss the part of me, and the sense of home that died along with you that day. They are the Emilys who don't try to hurry me along the journey of healing, but go to the site of the accident to sit with me and lay flowers by your tree, even if they didn't feel comfortable doing that. They are the Jens, the Amitys and the Pauls who laughed at my faith crises not because they thought I was being ridiculous, but because even if I tried to not have that typical Seminarian faith crises, they were glad I was doing seminary well enough to really let it challenge me. They are the Tims who change my oil for free, and the Nikkis who challenged me to really think about the implications of this thing called free-will. They are the Emilys and Ashleys who drop everything to take me to Sno Castle in my last hour in Anderson, the Ricks that we run into just as he is getting off work who jumps into the car with us, and the Jasons and Michaels who upon receiving a text that says nothin more than "Sno Castle. Right now." rearranges their work schedule so they can be there. They are the Amandas who, with one Skype call makes me feel like my soul has just been cleansed. They are the Dans and Christys, the Johns and Jodies, the Darlenes, the Ruths who keep cheering me on on this wild journey in pursuit of those dreams. They are the Macs and Jeans, the Phils and Phyllises, the Dorises and Jacquies who "grandparent" from the sidelines but give me space to grow. They are the Eds and the Heidis who create space for my friends, the Thads, Tobys and Theos who can sweet-talk me into reading Harry Potter and bungee jump off a tall building for them. They are the Hannahs and Jamies who call before I leave. They are the Alexs who just show up. They are the Beccas and the Sharyns who understand why the news I received just before leaving create so much anxiety because of the prophetic call in my life, and remind me that even if I wasn't leaving, nothing would change. They are the Jacks whose kindred spirit refreshed my soul and reignited the passion to live this crazy life after a dreary two months of "until next times." They are the Ryans who share my beliefs about community, the Mikes who remind me of what is important in ministry, the Coppesses who takes the time to be serious every once in a while to ask how I'm doing, and the Carmas, Joyces, Kathis and Paulas who make time for me. They are the Arthurs and Judys, the Pauls and Debbies who give me permission to say I have a home (their home) in Anderson and Portland.

These are the things that make home for me. And since it will be a while before we land and my bubble of home is burst by the reality check, let me slide back into denial for a while, shut off into my world of Bejeweled where I can pretend I can smack-talk Coppess, Tim and Nikki, or read Harry Potter pretending I can talk to Thad, Jen, Alex, Tim, Nikki, Tim, Kit, Jacob, Emily and Ashley about it.

Dear Keren #12 - 4 Years Ago...

Dear Keren,

I will always remember the events of this night four years ago.

Likewise, I will always remember the events of this day four years from now.

So much to feel, think, say, do, write.

But for now, sleep calls.

Love,
Me

Dear Keren #11 - Softly and Tenderly, the Cornfields are Calling

Dear Keren,

This summer has been full of randomness. Mostly because whenever someone calls, as much as I can, I drop everything to go hang out with them. Who knows when the next time will be?

But the one recurring pattern for this summer has been the 30 minute drive through the cornfields to get to Noblesville to bead and to share stories. I still think it's weird for me to think of it this way, but that weekly 30 minute drive has provided some sense of normalcy and routine.

As I drove through those cornfields today, I was suddenly brought back to the first time I took my own solitary road trip. I was going to Courtney and Kyle's wedding, and driving Andrew's car since he was in Uganda and his car was going to just be sitting in the parking lot at church. The winding cornfields and country roads that took me from Anderson to Monticello. Ah, yes. Wide open spaces. I was starting to fall in love.

The date was May 7, 2004. I had just landed in these cornfields and someone had signed me up for my auditions with the Music Department. The events of that weekend was such a whirlwind, and then we were off on our roadtrip. I think there were 7 women, and my poor pastor, the only male. Anyhow, at one of the bed and breakfast places that we stopped at, I remember this guy asking us what in the world we were doing in the cornfields of Indiana. I don't remember what our response was, but it was something along the lines of, I didn't know we were in the middle of cornfields.

Having spent a significant part of my life in the city, it was weird for my mum and I to think about me spending the next four years of my life in the middle of cornfields. New experiences were exciting, but I wasn't sure I would ever feel at home in the middle of cornfields.

Driving through the cornfields today, I realised a few things: 1) Growing up in the city, I always knew what bus or train got me to where I needed to go, but I could never tell you what street the place is on, or how to drive there. 2) I still got lost around the cornfields some, but I knew I-69, I-465, I-65 and I-70, SR-32 and SR-37 well enough to maneuver around without getting too frustrated. 3) I couldn't deny it any longer: the cornfields have become home too.

And I hear them calling. Softly. Tenderly.

But they don't say come home, come home.
They say go. Take off. Soar. Fly.
But remember where you are rooted.
Not just in the wide open spaces and the cornfields.
Not just in the bright lights of the big city.
But in the spiritual beings that give you home.
And come back when it's time.
And take off again when it's time.

Home will never hold you back from being the best you you can be.

Dear Keren, you have been a big part of helping me find my home. Not just while you were here those three years. But even in the life after, our friendship continues to remind me that home is never simply a geographical location.

Home is the souls that you can keep in your pockets and take with you wherever the wind blows.
Home is the little notes to cheer you on in the middle of the battle.
Home is, I believe you.
Home is, I'd love to keep you here, but you need to go so you can be the best you you can be.

Softly and tenderly, the cornfields are calling...
Go on...
Go on.

Dear Keren #10 - The Last Supper

Dear Keren,

After a full-day of sitting out in this ridiculous heat waiting for people to show up to the least-attended garage sale so far, I'm completely spent. But I still spent the last 2 hours doing the prep work for dinner tomorrow night. Why, you ask?

Well, it's one of the last suppers.

Tomorrow night, Paul, Debbie and the rest of the gang get home and I'll be done house-sitting. The last time for a while, I guess. Tomorrow night, I return Paul and Debbie the key that I've held on to for a long while "just in case they needed me to check on Fritz." Tomorrow night, we sit and visit with Matt, Tamara, Keira and Judah, and Jenny.

Which makes me wonder, was this what Jesus went through that night of the Last Supper? He knew he was going to see those people at the table again in one of the many rooms in his Father's house. "If it were not so, I would have told you." I'm becoming even more convinced that his anguish about the cross isn't just about the physical pain, but the emotional pain of between the cross until the next time.

And yet, in the midst of all this preparations for the end of this chapter, there's nothing I find myself desiring more than a sense of normalcy. This summer has slipped by way too quickly, and has been a little too spontaneous for my liking. I've greatly missed the intimacy of friendships that normalcy provided. I miss sitting in the SOT computer labs whining about the latest of someone's theological development that is making us wince, or the Charlie Sheen scandal. Instead, I'm being swarmed with questions about how the preparations for New Zealand are going, when all I want to do is scream, what about my soul? Do you care more about the things I'll be doing in New Zealand than about my soul? But if I don't have a soul, I wouldn't be able to do the things in New Zealand anyway.

But to be fair, I don't want to talk about my soul either. Because I'm afraid if I start, I won't be able to stop crying. As it turns out, leaving Anderson is much harder than I thought it would be.

I wonder too, if this was what that whole deal about going into the city, and meeting the man carrying the pitcher of water. I mean, Jesus' disciples were already used to his riddles and mysteries by now, so perhaps getting them to do another ridiculous thing was just another part of this creating normalcy in the midst of the chaos and the internal storms that are brewing.

What was it like for you, in those last moments before the truck got too close? Did you have those internal storms too, in the moments between then and when they finally pulled you off life-support?

Dear Keren, I hate endings, but I love beginnings. I love going, but I hate leaving. I crave normalcy, but I'm also desire adventure. And there's only eleven days left. And I miss you for being my first sense of home in the land of displacement between cultures. And...

In the words of Regina Spektor, "I'll come back when you call me, No need to say goodbye."

Love,
Me

It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word


And then that word grew louder and louder
'Til it was a battle cry


I'll come back
When you call me
No need to say goodbye


Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never
Been this way before


All you can do is try to know
Who your friends are
As you head off to the war


Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light


You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say good bye


You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say good bye


Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean that you have to forget


Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
'Til they're before your eyes


You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say good bye

Friend of the Wind

An old friend from college wrote for this next season of my life. Thank you, B-row.

Friend of the Wind
Take to the skies once more and leave your fears behind you
It's time to fly again, my friend of the wind
Beyond the borders of the walls that could not hold you
His voice is calling now, my friend of the wind

Spread your wings; fly again
Open skies will lead you home

And as the way unfolds the mystery, hope and wonder
You'll learn the reason why, my friend of the wind
Memories of laughter for the friends you left behind you
In time we'll meet again, my friend of the wind

Spread your wings, fly again
Open skies will lead you home

It's still such a long way
But we're drawing closer with each day
To those who've gone on to the hope just beyond this fragile veil

Spread your wings, fly again
Open skies will lead you home

Dear Keren #7 - Live Like You Were Dying?

Dear Keren,

Remember how I used to walk into your room or apartment, and we'd talk about everything else under the sun before I finally 'fess up and start the, "So there's this guy..." conversation? You always responded with the knowing smile that also hinted, "Yes, of course. I even know which guy, but go ahead and tell me about it anyway." Well, we're about to have this conversation again. Except this time I'm going to go straight to the, "...but this isn't going to work out because..." part of the conversation. Because as we all know, I'm about to make another big transition and there's all that other fun stuff that goes with it. And the last thing I need is to worry about something like that.

But the reason why I'm bringing this up this time is because we've talked so much about what it means to live as people who are constantly in transition. Constantly displaced between cultures. Constantly trying to find ways to make meaningful relationships even while living as constantly transitional people.

I confess that I've never thought of myself as a person who is good with relationships. Good with people? Sure. But there's a difference there. I can be good with people, know how to entertain them and keep them happy, but I'm still not good with relationships.

I remember having this conversation with Daria a few summers ago. One of our really good friends was about to graduate and move back home, and I was lamenting to her as we were getting ready to throw a mini-farewell dinner for him that if I had a choice, I would have chosen to say goodbye from a distance rather than do a really meaningful and emotional one. Why try to get to know a person even more when we all know that the physical proximity is going to end soon? So that it would be even more painful when he moved away? Daria's response was simply, "But would you rather keep the distance and have all the what-ifs later, or would you rather make the most and have memories to hold on to for a long time?" I still had the, "Yeah, but..."s for her, even though I knew she was probably right.

And... After you left, this fear of getting too close because I was afraid of getting hurt again when they move or leave became even stronger. Moving to a different country was one thing. There was still AIM (at the time) and Skype. But moving to a place where I could no longer have the "So there's this guy..." conversations amongst others... That's a whole different thing altogether.

A few weeks ago, Dr. Brewer preached a sermon (in his Hawaiian shirt, no less) at Park Place titled "Live Like You Were Dying." While I got the gist of his message (and really enjoyed it, no less), at this point in my life, I'm not sure that should be my goal in life. Because if I was going to live like I was dying, I would have shut down by now, and kept up the good work with people but epicly failing at relationships. Not to imply that I'm doing a good job with relationships right now, but at least I'm doing better than my instincts are telling me to.

Or maybe my instincts are changing. Is that possible? Because the truth is, while the option of shutting down is still on my mind a lot, it's become a lot more natural for me to keep doing what I'm doing. And maybe that still means I'm doing ok with the people, but doesn't say much about the relationships. But truthfully, even if that were true, I'm ok with that, because I'm slowly learning.

And so as the storm clouds are rolling in outside, I catch glimpses of lightning that remind me of the few folks that I've held dear to my heart, and their common fascination with storms. Some have hurt me deeply by knowingly inflicting even more pain when I chose to not walk away or shut down before getting hurt again. Some have left me confused by their silence. But you, I remember for your fascination with dancing in the rain, and your ability to celebrate life even in the midst of transitions.

I don't know how to really live like I was dying. But I'm learning to make the most, not just out of the in-between seasons, but every single moment.

Wish you were here,
Me

Dear Keren #5 - Summer Nights

Dear Keren,

Favourites of my Anderson summers:
Bonfires/Cookouts

Driving with the windows down

Flip-flops

Friends

Hanging out with missionary friends

Late night heart-to-hearts by the Helios

Long evening walks

Minnetrista's Farmer's Market
Playing in the warm rain
Sno Castle

Tonight I went on my first long walk of this season. A little later in the calendar year than usual, I guess. But we've had so much cold rain in the last month that it wasn't even worth it.

But tonight, I poured my heart out to a dear friend. Stories I've never told before, they all came tumbling out.

Ad this is why I love summer nights. School is out, and after we get off work, we're done for the day. Except for you. You always had the same job every summer that kept your schedule so full that hanging out entailed the usual, "What are you doing? Can I come over?" instant messages before I find you traipsing across the neighbour's yard in my direction. Then we'll sit or walk to Dairy Queen, and talk... or not talk. Sometimes it would be about your brother, and how he took the car and didn't fill up the gas tank again. Sometimes it would be stories that revealed the transparency of our friendship. Sometimes the silence between us spoke the depths of our friendship that ran deeper than words, in a way that I don't know how to explain besides borrowing from the Na'vi's "I see you."

Summer nights are when I miss you most.

Jenny made an observation tonight as I poured out my stories. I miss you because you were home to me. In the busyness of the school year, I hardly paid attention to how homesick for a sense of belonging I was because there was enough to distract me. But summer nights came and sitting around wishing for "home" would have become an uncomfortable norm if not because I had already found "home" in our friendship.

I've known many who uproot as easily and adapt as quickly as we do. But you taught me the importance of not just learning to uproot easily and adapt quickly, but also to quickly sink roots that are so deep that when we try to evaluate or take measurement, we find that we can only measure in the volume of heart that had been shared and not time. You taught me that sinking roots meant mutuality and accountability, and not the flighty "get up and run away" when the going gets tough.

Dear Keren, I miss you not because of the summer nights we spent hanging out watching Daria clips on youtube, or you introducing me to songs that no one else had ever heard. I miss you not because I want to watch movies on your balcony while snuggling with you and Holly. But I miss you because you had become "home" to me even before I came to terms with my loss of cultural identity. I miss you because even in the silence, I knew you understood displacement the same way I did.

And leaving Anderson isn't hard because I have 7 years of junk that need to be reduced to 2 suitcases and 2 carry-ons. It's not because I will miss the academia. It's not because I will miss the roads that are never plowed quite enough during the winters.

It's hard because I'm leaving the place that holds memories of you, memories of "home," and memories of the journey to redefining "home" not as a physical place but as a sacred space in which I hold the ones I love.

Dear Keren, this is my last summer in Anderson. Even in Berlin last year, I had an inkling that I still had one more summer in Anderson. This time, I really don't know anymore. I could sit around and mope and just keep missing you. But I think if you were here, you'd nudge me to make the moments count.

So I will pack up my junk. I will meet all the datelines I promised. But I will also take time to dance in the rain, watch movies on the balcony and simply... live.

Miss you,
Me.

Dear Keren #3 - Becky and the Church Part 2

Dear Keren,

My first conversation on campus with anyone this week (this being finals week) was with none other than Dr. Robert Nicholson himself. As much as I've rubbed shoulders with all the Church of God giants in my time here, I still get star-struck. This was, after all, Dr. Robert Nicholson, the one who has a building--one of my second homes, nonetheless--named after him. So the conversation went something like that:

Me: Good morning, sir.
Dr. Nicholson: Well, it is Jael! You're about done, aren't you? How does it feel?
Me: (What the ..... he knows my name??) Well, I have one more week... If I get through this week, I'll be ok, I think.
Dr. N: And how many other times have you said that of the weeks that have passed?
Me: Umm... A lot?
Dr. N: And you got through those?
Me: Well, I guess so...
Dr. N: Well, atta girl! You'll be able to get through this one as well. Not that you're a girl, more like a lady, but that's just an expression I use, you know?

Me: (What in the world just happened??)

I guess I should explain that Dr Nicholson is a part of that family/institution that contributed to that dark, dark year of my life. I don't know how much he knows about my story from that year, but the fact that he, Dr. Robert Nicholson, knew my name... That blew me away.

Ok, ok. So I've talked about "that year" for a while now. I guess I should explain what happened in that year huh?

Remember those times when you were unable to get a ride to The Mercy House on Sundays so you would end up showing up in that building because it was within walking distance? And after service was over, a bunch of us will head out to lunch together and it was always fun? Well, that didn't last for too long. Change happened, as always does and always will. A lot was happening within the walls of that building that was causing some amount of disgruntlement, unhappiness and division. Eventually, a big part of that after-lunch group stopped coming. I remembered at one point asking Pastor Randy if I could do my undergrad Church Music internship with him. We both ham-hawed for a bit and neither of us followed up on that so that was kind of dropped.

A year went by, and within that year, he and his wife were gone. It wasn't anyone's fault, really, except that change happens, and growth hurts, I guess. I was pretty upset because he and his wife were after all, amongst the first people to welcome me to Anderson when his son, Ryan, decided to borrow their car to take a bunch of us international kids to Walmart. You remember those days when going to the grocery store was a pain, don't you? We weren't sure who to ask for a ride so a lot of times we'll eventually end up walking to CVS to get the few things we needed. Then eventually one of the international upperclassmen would spot us walking and yell at us for walking and insisted on giving us their phone number so that we could call one of them.

Anyhow, Randy and his wife Rhonda (not to be mixed up with other Rhonda who got me involved in the worship team as I was telling you about in the last episode) and Ryan were amongst the people who made me feel most at home in that building. Granted it didn't really feel like "home" yet because I was still trying to figure out how to get into the traditional style of worship. But between them, and the Rhonda who got me involved with the worship team, I couldn't find enough reason to leave. Especially since, during the summers, Rhonda would always have me over to watch their son Victor so she could get things done around the house. She also got me involved with a bunch of different things that made me work with kids and children.

Now you have to know that it was only a few years ago that I actually started enjoying being around kids. For the most part, I felt like that awkward neither-grown-up-nor-kid person who never really had a childhood so I didn't really know what it meant to talk to kids. And I was still coming out of my "hide-behind-my-mother's-skirt" phase, so I was just REALLY awkward (not that I'm not still awkward now, but compared to a few years ago... oh boy...)

It's funny, you know, thinking about those years. Because those kids that I always felt awkward around, are the same kids that I would consider my BFFs now. A couple months ago when I was still debating about whether or not I should move forward with the New Zealand stuff, these were the kids that surrounded my table and taught me about the book that involved the 39 clues. (I don't remember the title). These were the same kids that, last Sunday at church, when they had prayer for all the graduates, stood behind me and prayed for me. I honestly didn't think I left that much of an impact on them, but perhaps it was me just being me, showing up at the summer musical rehearsals, going to their soccer games and hanging out with their parents that left an impression? And I'll be honest, I didn't show up to all these things so much because of them as much as... Heidi kind of talked me into it. Apparently I let Heidi talk me into a lot of things huh...

I guess I'm just realising that I didn't keep showing up to that building because it was convenient anymore. But people kept me coming and after a while, it didn't seem so bad anymore. I guess this was why the dark year seemed so dark. I know I'm still ham-hawing around that, but that's because I don't really know how to talk about it since that dark year seemed so long ago. At the same time, recent stuff that's been happening has been reminding me again that I should probably share more of my experience from that year than I do now.

But that will have to be for another time. The parentals are here for graduation (hey, as are yours!) and this house needs to be cleaned before I get to the chiropractor tonight.

Hugs,
Jael

Dear Keren: #1

This series is titled "Dear Keren" not because it's written only for Keren, but because Keren was friendship personified to me. I've learnt much not simply from her life, but the time that has passed since her death. This is dedicated to all the "Kerens" whose paths I've been privileged to cross over the last seven years here in Anderson, Indiana. Call it my chapter closing series, if you would like. We'll probably have a different perspective on some of these events that we were both at, but these are some of mine. These may not always be in chronological order, but I'll try to write in a way so that you know where things fit on a time-line.

Dear Keren,

The date was August 22, 2004. I remembered sitting across from you in that Admissions office that... morning? Or was it afternoon, I don't remember. Only two days before (or three, depending on which side of the world we're talking about) I had packed up my two suitcases of stuff and made the reluctant move halfway across the world.

I'll confess I'm still not sure of what the notion of romantic love looks like. But at eighteen years of age, I thought I was in love, and moving halfway across the world from this "love of my life" at the time felt like I was being asked to give up half of my heart. Ok, so maybe I was over-dramatic. But I was also eighteen.

I remembered crying most of the plane-ride over. In fact, I think I might have even scared away the guy who was sitting beside me because he asked for a change in his assigned seat. Ok, so maybe that might not have been completely true, but that was my perception at the time because I was miserable. Did you feel that way too? Or was it that you've already made a big change similar to this previously (well, you might have made that move with your parents, but still... It was a big change, and it counts) so this plane-ride over to this "glamorous" United States wasn't as much of a life-changing experience for you?

"Glamorous." Ha. That word makes me laugh because I'm reminded of that conversation we had on the way to Ivanhoe's that one time. I had just gotten off the phone with my dad and I was frustrated with the way my parents didn't seem to understand what it meant to live here. I was about to graduate from college, and my dad had just told me to not be too picky about what jobs to apply for here in the US. I don't remember his exact words, but he insinuated something along the lines of... we're Asian, don't expect to be treated too well.

Could I blame my dad for thinking that way? I guess not. After all, media hasn't done the US justice at all. But that was the beginning of the shift in my cultural identity. Little did I realise... I wasn't JUST Asian anymore. I was slowly becoming what we now joke about as "the banana" - yellow on the outside, white on the inside - an identity that would become increasingly frustrating.

Anyway, back to the plane ride. In the long twenty hours or however long the first segment of my flight was on that plane, I forgot how many times I cried till I dozed off then woke up and cried some more. In between, I remembered secretly thinking, maybe when I get off the plane, it wouldn't be that scary LAX (Funny isn't it? We've started calling airports by their airport code  like we're BFF rather than "the airport in Los Angeles." Funny what seven years can do to you.) where I would proceed to sit for eight hours before my next flights to MSP then to IND. Maybe, just maybe on the off-chance, it would be the same people that I just said goodbye to at SIN that would greet me at LAX. And then I would laugh at myself for being ridiculous.

At one point during that weekend, I remembered my mum telling me that the couple that would soon become my "Anderson grandparents" would be around when I got there, and that if I wanted to, I should go over and visit them. I remembered them living on the street close to the cemetary, but I didn't even remember where the cemetary was. So I walked around for a bit before I finally found their house on Maplewood. Hoping to find a friendly face where I would be "mothered" for a bit to ease my homesickness, I rang the doorbell several times. The face that greeted me at the door was... friendly, but not what I expected.

He was an Indian dude. I remembered asking myself, umm... Could this be their son here to visit? Or who was he? He proceeds to introduce himself, but as distraught as I already was at the time, I couldn't remember his name. He was going to be a student at the Seminary and was living with them for a few days until he got settled in.

As it turns out, he would very quickly become one of the persons I had great respect for. Between our food-fights in the dishroom of the Marketplace where we worked our first year in Anderson and other interactions, I found out his name was Caldwell Manners.

Well, that's all for now. A storm has been brewing for a while outside, and it's time to go home. More papers to write tomorrow. Also, I miss you. One of these days when I'm done with school, let's continue the conversation we never had the chance to have that day in August a few years ago, k?

Hugs,
Me.

The Thing About Endings...

The thing about endings is that it usually is also the beginning of two somethings, except we only get to be a part of one something and not the other.

That. Sucks.

This past week, I had the privilege of riding along with my friend Amanda as she moved out to Silverthorne, Colorado. I didn't really do anything to make the ride any easier, especially considering I took 5 naps along the 20 hour drive.

But for me, I felt privileged that I didn't just get to close her Anderson chapter with her. I got to watch her start her Silverthorne chapter.

That. Is a privilege.

A few years ago, God and I had a pretty nasty conversation about endings. It went something along the lines of, "God, you told me to feed your sheep. So why the hell does this have to end now when I don't even feel like I've done anything significant with the feeding?" And his only response was, "My dear child, I told you to feed my sheep. But they are MY sheep." Of course I was pissed.

It wasn't so much that I would miss those relationships. No, I had learnt by then that relationships don't just end because physical proximity changes. It was that I felt like I needed to be sure they were taken care of. Ha! The audacity to think that I was of that much significance in the perspective of Kingdom work that if I wasn't around, the work wouldn't get done.

But it wasn't just that. It was that with that ending meant that I can only be a part of one of the new somethings now. I can watch the other something from the sidelines, but that other something will not be as deeply woven into the tapestry of my own story.

And that, is what hurts the most.

Thinking back to this past week of slowly saying goodbye to Amanda, not knowing when or where we'll ever see each other again, I grief.
I grief not the ending of a friendship, but the ending of the physical proximity where I can throw a greasy Lemon Drop fry stained with ketchup, Frank's hot sauce and completely covered with black pepper at her.
I grief not the ending of the conversations that we started, but the ending of the ability to offer a physical place of refuge while the other storms of life are brewing.

But at the same time, I celebrate.
I celebrate that for a few days, I got to see the possibilities of the new something that I will not get to be a part of.
I celebrate life, hope and good endings.

And I can only hope that with all the endings that are about to happen within the next few short months as I prepare to head south (and WAY beyond the Mason-Dixon line) to the place called Auckland, New Zealand, I will learn to keep grieving but also keep celebrating all these endings and beginnings.

So you see, the thing about endings is that it usually is also the beginning of two somethings, except we only get to be a part of one something and not the other.

But maybe, it's not so bad after all...

Airports = Home #3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yasmin, thank you for “seeing” me.

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

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

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

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

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

Simone, Leon and Rene Havlik, love you all.

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

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

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

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

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

I carry your heart.

I carry your heart in my heart.

Love you all.

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

Coming Around Full-Circle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I guess you just have to be there.

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

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

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

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

And just talked. And laughed.

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


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

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

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

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

But I guess this is life now, huh?

'Twas the Week Before Berlin...

This week marks the end of my second year of seminary. Wow, really? How could I have survived two years of madness?

This has been a week of closure.
... Two finals and an exegesis paper ended off the academic year.
... A frisbee golf game and coffee sent off a few new friends to their summer vacation.
... Thai Smile dinner date with two dear friends I started seminary with to celebrate one of us graduating.
... Played a gig for a friend's youth group to return the favour for their involvement in "Akan Datang," and to round up having survived another crazy year of seminary together.
... One final breakfast + lunch date + SnoCastle season opening + dinner date with soul friends before the summer hits and some move away.
... Farewell send-off at work.
... "The usual" + a wedding shower for an old but dear friend.
... Sleeping over with two of the girls who have blessed my life this semester.
... One last soccer game with the kids from church who, together with their parents, have blessed my heart with laughter.
... AU's Graduation and all the graduation receptions and open houses to go to.
... Send-off at church

And then we're off to Berlin.

I'll be honest. The depth of some of these relationships have truly left me bewildered. How did we in such a short time find our hearts knitted so closely together that when the time comes for our paths to head off in different directions, a piece of my heart walks away with you?

I have no answer. But I can only pray that my relationships in Berlin will find that same kind of root and that I'll continue to leave pieces of my heart with the people who bless my life even if it means my heart needs to be broken for that to happen.

'Twas the week before Berlin...

My hands are small, I know,
But they're not yours,
They are my own
And I am never broken