Aotearoa Diaries: Re-imagining Sunday

Growing up in church, one of the markers of being a good Christian was if my friends knew to never invite me to do stuff on Sunday mornings because they would know I would be at church.

That was never a problem for me because I didn't have friends. (I wish I was kidding, but it's true. I didn't really learn social skills until I was in uni and living in a foreign land, and it was sink or swim to find social skills. But that's beside the point.)

After moving to Auckland and working in a church full time, I wrestled long and hard with how "Sunday = church" wasn't a norm for so many who considered themselves Christians. It wasn't necessarily that I had a personal issue with those who didn't show up at church faithfully every Sunday--no, for the most part, I understood where they were coming from.

It was more, how am I supposed to do my job and sustain our programme if we didn't have a faithful attendance?

In the first year after I left my full-time job in a traditional congregation, I convinced myself to take a break from the Sunday routine to allow room for healing. And the struggle was real. I missed having a weekly community, but more importantly, I missed the music and the congregational singing. I plugged myself into a congregation a friend pastored, and tried to find fringe ways to get involved so I could feel like I was still being a good Christian.

Then I began to realise the main reason I was doing that was so that if anyone was to ever doubt if I was being a faithful Christian/pastor, I could have an easy answer: "Hey, I AM going to church. Don't ask further questions about my relationship with God or my ministry life or any of that."

But I was drowning in my own inauthenticity. It wasn't that being in a traditional congregation wasn't fulfilling my spiritual need, or whatever the new-age/millenialist term for that is. It was that I knew in my heart of hearts I was created to imagine a different kind of church for the other misfits like me. But I was too busy covering up my insecurities about looking unChristian to venture into this unknown of Church of the Misfits.

And then I met Stephen, who was at basically the same place where I was with regards to our relationship with the traditional Sunday congregation. And it became slightly easier--and slightly not. Being raised in church meant that we had been brainwashed learnt to believe if we were to take our relationship with each other seriously, we needed to do better about our relationship with Church.

So for a while, we tried Sunday evening church. We found somewhere we liked enough, but the question kept coming back: Is this really where we should be, or are we just feeling guilty about not being at church on Sunday?

There was one particular Sunday evening that became a turning point for me. Some friends whom we hadn't seen in a while were popping in for an afternoon coffee. It got closer and closer to the time we were supposed to leave for church, and Stephen and I started getting a little antsy about how to tell them we had to leave shortly. But something prompted us to wait, so we did. The conversation turned a corner and we found ourselves learning about our friends' thoughts on church and why they were no longer a part of a traditional congregation.

When we eventually pulled into the church parking downtown, we both had the same thought. We may be walking in to the church building ten minutes after the service had started, but it was a no-brainer. That last little bit of conversation over coffee was more Church than either of us had experienced in a while.

I don't know for sure if that was when it started, but it wasn't long before we gave ourselves freedom on the weekends for encounters like that. For a while, we still tried to make sure we made it to Sunday evening service, but more often than not, we would have had friends popping in and out all weekend long. Our kitchen would be a complete mess after brunch and pizzas and chips and hot chocolates and dumplings and nachos and rugby that trying to head out the door for Sunday church just became too hard. And I began to understand at a deeper level why I struggled so much with the Sunday programming when I was full-time at a traditional congregation.

So what is the Church of the Misfits going to look like? We're slowly experimenting with a few ideas. But it probably wouldn't all take place on a Sunday.

On Job Descriptions...

I had a sobering realisation recently: I know how to be a Christian in a pre-Christian world, but I don’t know how to be a pastor in a post-Christian world.

Let me begin with a disclaimer that for the purpose of this post, I use the words “Christian,” “pre-Christian world,” “pastor” and “post-Christian world” in the traditional evangelical sense.

Coming back from my month of travels meant it was time to tackle my application for permanent residency in New Zealand. All the paperwork I had been waiting for had arrived, and I didn’t need to use my passport again till August at the earliest. All that was left was a letter from my higher-ups saying that my continued presence at the job is necessary for the religious work in New Zealand to move forward, and a job description.

Ahh… That job description.

As mentioned in previous posts, I created my own job and the higher-ups signed off on it. All that we knew at the very beginning was that there was a need for a Christ community to be present in the city; the rest was up to me to figure out.

Well, great. That’s a great job description to send in to the immigration office, aye?

In the last few weeks I’ve had a bit of anxiety over how to describe my job in a way that, as my friend Baruk says, “checks all the boxes in any application form”. Part of the problem came about when I decided to take Ingress more seriously.

What is Ingress? The simplest way to describe it is that it’s an alternate reality game owned by Google. It’s a little bit like geocaching, a little bit like Risk. As explained by my brother, the story goes that there are a bunch of aliens (the Enlightened) that want to dominate the world through portals around the world. The humans (the Resistance) are trying to stop them by taking over these portals.

The reality is that the way this game plays out, neither of those teams stand a chance at real world domination. It’s kind of like playing Age of Empires with friends who are equal-leveled players on each side. I know, the struggle is real.

Until recently, I mostly played the game by myself even though I knew there was a strong Resistance (Go Smurfs!) community in Auckland. But last Thursday, I took a chance and went to one of their events. I’ll spare you the nerdy game details, but it included dinner at the night market, going to the park to work out our next game play.

Needless to say, I was scared out of my mind because my introvert was screaming, HELP HELP HELP, I don’t know how to deal with new social situations. But my curious anthropologist always wins out in these situations.

How does community play out in this gaming world?

Are they friendly?

Will they judge me if I don’t take their gaming seriously enough?

How will I introduce myself?

By my real name, or by my gamer profile?

And what if they ask me what I did for a living?

Crap. That dastardly job description thing again.

Well, thankfully with gamers (this group anyway), as long as you speak enough gaming, they’ll be friendly to you. We finished what we set out to do, nobody asked too many questions, and thankfully it was a weeknight so I had the excuse that I needed to head home so I didn’t have to engage in too much post-game pleasantries.

The next night, they had another social event in a bar. It made me even more nervous because the introvert doesn’t enjoy the bar scene, and (gasp!) what if the Church people knew I was hanging out at the bar?? But I decided to make an appearance and not stay long.

That was when I learnt about the spirit of the game. Yes, it is competitive. But there are a few things I learnt that make it more fun, and also things that can be quite handy to keep in mind as I continue creating “my job”:

1) Community means team
Friday night’s event began with someone asking if anyone was free to help level up a lower level player. One of the things I love about this game is the ethics of it. If you are level 8 or higher, you are expected to set things up to help those at a lower level to level up faster. Yes, I’m still a social justice nerd even in the gaming world. What? It probably is against the ethics of this game to do an anthropological study of it, but I can’t help myself.
As the new kid on the team strategy block, a few of them sat down with me to share tips and offered a few spots where I can capture the portals and they would keep watch on them for me. Let’s just say, it’s also more fun to do things that way.

2) Community means acceptance
Well, the event ended up evolving into a celebration for an Enlightened player who had just hit level 16 (the highest level in the game). There were a lot more Resistance players there for the celebration than there were from her own team.
The first person I spotted was a guy that I had ran into while gaming in the CBD about a week ago. I was greeted with a big hug like an old friend, and introduced to the rest of the team. There were no questions asked about life stories or religious or political views, which was a very refreshing change. They had recruited the bar manager to the Resistance side, so our team got tap beers for $5 and the guy who had developed the relationship with the bar manager over time shouted drinks for anyone who wanted one. People simply belonged because they shared that common identity: being a part of the Resistance. And as evidenced by that night, you don’t even have to be a part of the same team for us to be friendly with each other. What a novel concept!

Well, back to what I was saying about my job description…

After the night at the night market, I began to realize I needed to figure out a new way to talk about what I do. In prior experiences, whenever I say I’m a pastor, I get one of four responses:

1) They suddenly treat me with a great deal of respect like I’m some kind of saint. Ask any of the crazy kids who hang out with us at The Bridge. I’m not THAT kind of pastor.
2) They try to engage in some deep theological debate that I feel completely inadequate and uncomfortable doing in a big (more than 2-3 people) social setting because I don’t know the crowd well enough to really speak my mind theologically yet.
3) They ask, “What’s that?” and I don’t really know how to explain that I am affiliated with the Church, but I don’t preach and teach in that traditional sense, and no, I’m not the Sunday morning type of pastor.
4) They awkwardly change the subject or walk away.

That’s when I realized: I’ve known for a long time how to be a Christian in a pre-Christian world, but I don’t know how to be a pastor in a post-Christian world.

Most of my best friends growing up didn’t share my religion or faith and we’ve always gotten along. They celebrated my ordination like they would have for any graduations, job promotions or weddings, and my becoming an ordained pastor doesn’t change anything about our friendship; it’s just something I do as a job (or vocation).

The problem is I live in Auckland. Now that I’ve lived here nearly four years, I’m getting a better understanding of what post-Christianity means in Auckland. It’s weird enough to say I’m a Christian; it gets even weirder when I say I work with a church because there's either no understanding, or a negative experience of church.

But I didn’t want to be that Christian kid in high school who hides that I’m a Christian because I’m afraid I would be teased. Besides, my very clever church health consultant friend, Brett had been encouraging me to find a way to describe what I do that would make sense to both the Christian and post-Christian worlds and not threatening either. I decided that I would start saying I’m a community developer by day (and church planter by night, if they ask).

I tested the waters with that on Friday night. As with most social settings where I’m uncomfortable, “watch and learn” has become a lifelong mantra. The first time the “what do you do?” question came up, I took a deep breath to remind myself I’m learning to speak a different language. It went something like that:

Me: I’m a community developer.
Her: Oh, cool! With what organization?
Me: Umm… (Well, clearly I hadn’t thought this through very well) A church?
Her: Oh. (Turns away long enough for me to start getting super anxious). Well, that guy over there? He’s done some church work too.
Me: Oh, cool.
Her: (Slowly walks away)
Me: (Well, that went REALLY well. Next time this comes up, you better have a better game plan.)

So later that night, the guy who’s done some church work comes over to discuss game strategy. It comes up again…

Me: I’m a community developer.
Him: (I catch a glimpse of a knowing look on his face) Oh, nice. With what organization?
Me: (Trying to be brave) It’s a new organization called The Bridge.
Him: Hmm… That must be a new one. I have a bit of a background in community development, and my last supervisor at uni is like the head of several community development organizations around Auckland.
Me: (Oh crap. Oh crap. He’s going to call me out that The Bridge isn’t a real organization because I have no idea what’s on my job description.) Oh, nice. (Tries to change the subject) So what do you do now?
Him: Well, I used to do community development with a church as well, and somehow I keep finding myself coming back to that. I still do community development, just not with a church anymore. So is The Bridge supported by a church as well?
Me: Well, we get our funding from a few churches, but there is not ONE church that we are attached to.
Him: Oh, so who started The Bridge?
Me: (Oh crap. Oh crap. He’s going to find out this is all kind of a fraud. Well, fake it till you make it then, I guess. At least try to sound confident.) Me.
Him: Oh, nice! So is there expectation that you have to bring people to a church from what you’re doing? Because when I was working with the church, there was always that expectation.
Me: Well, I try not to make that the top of my agenda. To me, the community development part is more important, and if a church is formed out of that, then great. (What I didn’t say was, community development done well WILL eventually lead to a church coming together. What form that church takes on remains to be seen.)
Him: Oh, very nice! That actually sounds brilliant.
Me: Yeah, it is. And it’s actually a lot of fun.

And with that, we very easily transitioned the conversation back to game strategy. No need for awkwardness.

As much as I would like to believe that what I’m doing is cutting-edge ministry and relevant for the context of downtown Auckland that I live in, being raised in traditional evangelical church leaves a deep imprint on the way I still process stuff. And I find myself questioning the orthodoxy of what I’m doing on a regular basis. But I also have to remember I live in a different context from the ones that I grew up in physically, spiritually and theologically.

It is a different day in a different world. It may be a while before I really get comfortable with what this job description looks like. And realistically, what I’m going to turn in with my residency application will not be an accurate of what “work” looks like on a daily basis because that will keep evolving. But for now, this community development/church planter “checks all the boxes in any application form”. More importantly, it sits well with the call God has placed on my life. And that’s good enough for me.

Christmas Eve 2011

I know it's seven months too early to use the "C" word in titling a post, but bear with me.

I'm aware I've ranted several times in the last few months about being emotionally exhausted, but this week I hit an all-time low. Close friends know that I have depression tendencies, and in the more recent years, I've learnt to catch the symptoms early enough to talk myself through them and call a friend.

Well, I started spiralling down this week. So I called a friend. Two friends, actually. Janice and Kathrin basically ordered me to check in with them at certain points during the day to make sure I was still dealing healthily with things, and we made plans for me to crash at their place this week.

Sometimes, when you've hit that low-point, all you can say through the tears and wanting to hole up away and disappear is "ok" to friends who order you around to take care of you because you don't have the resolve to fight for independence anymore.

Yesterday morning, as I woke up on Janice's couch, I thought of the last time I crashed on her couch. It was the Christmas season of 2011. I was living with Kathrin and Stefan at the time, but with their family in town and Janice being back in Australia for the holidays, we decided it was easiest if I stayed at Janice's for the ten-or-so days.

In the last few years as I was finishing up seminary, I began to dream of a time when I would get to start my own Christmas traditions. Knowing that working in a church usually meant I won't get to be back with family in Singapore, I dreamt of Christmas Eve, and welcoming friends to Christmas dinner in my own place. I dreamt of Christmas morning done at my own pace, with my own tree (my last two years in Anderson, I stopped fussing over a tree because I would be spending most of Christmas season in Singapore anyway), and coffee and Christmas brunch...

And as I woke up on Janice's couch on Christmas morning back in 2011, it occurred to me my first Christmas by myself wasn't quite what I imagined it to be. I only just found out a few days prior that my visa had been approved to stay in New Zealand, so I was barely getting settled in. I didn't have my own place, much less my own tree.

Sometimes, life just doesn't go the way we think it would.

In the last month or so, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on all that has been and all that is to come. My visa expires at the end of the year, and I'd like to already have plans for what is to come after this year.

But life doesn't always work like that.

Instead, we're thrown curve-balls, and walk down paths we never quite expected.
We learn that just because we have the ability to do things doesn't always make us the right people for the job.
We go through doors and jump through hoops, wanting to run away yet willing ourselves to keep walking because of this thing called Faith.
We are challenged to speak, yet we doubt our own voice.
We discover the things that get us going, the things that make us get up every morning and decide we can do our small part to change the world.
And we find joy and sorrow, laughter and tears through the process of approaching this God that loves beyond human comprehension, and we plead for Kingdom come.

One of my favourite things about the rainy seasons in New Zealand is that we often end up experiencing all four-seasons in a day. And the beauty of the rainbows that show up between the rain and the sun. And I'm reminded of a God that is faithful through the seasons; a God that will bring beauty out of the discomfort of the in-between times.

This morning, I caught a recording of Carissa's AhMa (grandma) singing, "主耶酥爱我，因圣经告诉我" (Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so). And I can only say in the words of Rich Mullins, "Ok, alright, uh-huh, amen" because I no longer have the resolve to fight.

主耶酥爱我，因圣经告诉我
Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so

Holy Week Treasure Trove

In the days when I worked at Church of God Ministries, we were used to getting phonecalls about the medical conditions or the passing of a minister or retired minister. I remember one of the ladies saying once, "It always happens in threes." She was referring to funerals, of course.

Holy Week this year has been one of those. It happened in threes--not funerals in our case, just... life. You know, the usual big upheavals. And because I take, "i carry your heart," the words of great ecclesiologist, e.e. cummins, way too seriously some times, this week... Well, for lack of fancy vocabulary, this week just plain sucked.

My worldview was shaken all over again as I lived into the life of a family in the midst of pain.
My take on gender roles and the feminist movement that had been slowly taking shape over the last few years were suddenly ripped apart and splattered all over the walls as if a druggy vandal had gotten hold of ugly red pain, and I no longer knew where I stood.
My understanding of social injustice shifted as my own tears mingled with those that I wiped away. The perhaps unintentional actions of one or two can so greatly hurt another.

Too many answers I was looking for.
Too much hurt to carry.
Too many situations that will remain unresolved for a while.
Too many nights of crying, "Why, God?" and "My shoulders aren't big enough for these."

In the midst of it all, I heard the words of the One that called me to this place.
"My child, remember when I brought you here, all I asked from you was to love this land and these people. I'm the one with the answers. You're the one with the skin on to carry My love."

And I began to remember the One had always been at work.

I saw it in the whanau that showed up every day to make sure there was food in everyone's stomachs, and to help calm the upheavals.
I saw it in the simple thank yous and the return of laughter to the dining table and the bedrooms.
I saw it in the tickle fights and the big hugs.

I heard it in the "How are you?"s that demanded a longer-than-five-second response.
I heard it in the "Call us anytime, even if it's 2am."
I heard it in the simple reminders to continue to be who we were created to be, not what circumstances want us to become.

And then yesterday morning, I realised how much I needed a little bit of liturgy to bring calm back into my week. Nina and I were both half awake when I first brought up the idea of trying to pull together a Seder meal, but we pulled it off anyway, and the whanau showed up when they showed up. It wasn't anything fancy, and halfway through the liturgy, I started beating myself up over not taking the time to find a more first-timer-friendly text.

But it wasn't so much about the meal or the liturgy itself.
It was taking time to remember the sacred things.
It was taking time to share stories.
It was taking time to affirm each other in our journey.

It was allowing these ladies to be the "church mums" I've missed.
It was allowing them to speak into my life.
It was allowing them to ask about my story, and to half-heartedly admit I was more qualified for what I do than I like talking or thinking about.
It was allowing them to say, "You may be a nerd, but you are OUR nerd."
It was allowing them to affirm my call as a woman in ministry, and to hear them say, "We know this isn't an easy calling, but you are OUR pastor, and we will do pastoral care for our pastor."

And in the silence of the night as the dust of the wilderness settled for a bit, all that's left was to whisper a word of thanks as I remember the One that started this business of footwashing.

Rites of Passage

Growing up, I was never the kid who loved school. I was (and still am) socially awkward, had a substitute teacher come in at the end of the year who picked another girl to be prefect over me even though I had been on my best behaviour and was the top girl in my class that year, and a best friend who eventually decided it was cooler to hang with the good kids than the one who didn't turn in her homework on time. I even told Mum once that I had really bad cramps because I was tired of being the black sheep that got to school late.

I had every reason to hate being at school. But every year, at least at the beginning of the year while I was in Primary, I LOVED starting school because I had new textbooks that had pages that still sometimes stuck together and smelt like they came fresh off the press. There were no creases in the spine--at least, not yet--a reminder that it was another opportunity for a fresh start, another opportunity to make it better than the last year.

And there were the coloured pencils. Every year around December, Mum would take us shopping for new pencils and erasers and coloured pencils and clothes for Chinese New Year. Every year, I would wrap those up and tuck them under the Christmas tree until Christmas morning when we got to unwrap all our new school supplies.

I didn't realise it then, but that became my rite of passage into a new school year--the little things we did to celebrate another year, another day.

This year, I find myself looking into the faces of the kids in Kids Club, each one of them proudly telling me, "I'm one year older this year, one year closer to being an adult." I marvel at their joy and pride in growing up, and wish I could keep their childlike perspective so I don't lose sight in the everyday miracle simply known as Life.

And the precious year 6s who will be graduating and heading on up into Intermediate, where they finally get to hang out in youth group with those cool big kids--an experience all fun and terrifying at the same time.

I remember being 11. I started being a part of the worship team at church, which brought with it questions of why I'm even serving when I don't get what being a Christian meant. It was the same year I wrote in my journal that I felt like a rubbish bin that was used by the once-bestfriend where she unloaded and unloaded all her junk, then set me out on the street for the dumpster-man while she ran off to play with the pretty girls. The dumpster-man that never came.

I look back on those experiences now and wish there had been an adult in my life that I could talk about those experiences with. Adults who would allow me to question my faith instead of telling me I just needed to know the Sunday School answers. At 11, Sunday School answers weren't cutting it anymore for my faith journey. I knew them all, but still they did nothing for my feeling like a complete fake when I sat at the piano in front of the church because what I claimed to be believing had no real meaning.

And then I look back again at the faces of the precious year 6s whom I've had the joy (and sometimes sorrow) of walking with in the last year. I wonder if I've done enough to help them along their journey. I want to say to them, it's ok if you don't understand the faith thing. It's ok to have questions. It's ok to be socially awkward. You don't have to pretend to be looking forward to Intermediate if you're terrified deep down inside that you're not going to be the big kids at school anymore.

I want to tell them, I was a mess when I was 11--still am a mess today. But we have a friend who knows our mess and will not leave us out on the streets for the non-existent dumpster-man. And you have friends in this place we call Church who will walk with you.

In a little less than a month, we'll be kicking-off kids' church for the year. Just like the coloured-pencils I looked forward to every year, I hope whatever we end up planning for the kick-off will be that same celebration of a rite of passage for these kids. But more importantly, I hope they know that these same people (maybe not the exact same faces, but the same people we call the Church whanau) who celebrate their rites of passage with them now will continue to celebrate every milestone with them along the way.

Happy 2013, my little people.

Joy: A Paradox

I've started writing, stopped, deleted the draft and walked away. A few days later, I come back to that same place of starting, stopping, deleting and walking away.

How do we talk about Joy of Advent while this heaviness looms over our heads?

People are hurting.
People are talking.
People are rallying.
People are fighting.
People are trying to find someone or something to blame.

Whether we realise it or not, whenever tragedies strike, we try to find someone or something to blame.

If she hadn't gotten into the car that day, that wouldn't have happened.
If we had done more for his mental health, he wouldn't have gone and shot kids.
If people were in better agreement about the legal stand on violence, he would not have owned the gun in the first place.

She said...
He said...

Today I went over to meet with Nina about costumes for the kids for something we're doing on Sunday. We both knew we had most of the ideas sorted but we always need that one extra meeting just to talk it through again.

But today, we didn't really do much work. We sat outside and watched the dogs play. And we talked about the heaviness.

This is Nina's first Christmas without her dad who, for 51 years, had been the rock in her life. She said she kept putting off the Christmas cards because she didn't want to not be able to send one to her dad.

And then we talked some more about death and dying. And about how we always feel the need to find something or someone to blame--the forces of nature, God, legislature, sin... the list goes on.

"But that's not what really matters, is it? I mean, we think that finding someone or something to blame helps us bring closure when the reality is, with some things there will never be closure."

Every August, I watch the seasons change, remembering the autumn leaves that sat with me in a very dark place when first Keren in 2007, then my uncle and grandpa in 2008, died.
Every time a kindred from SOT days posts something on Facebook or Twitter that makes me jump up and down excitedly screaming inside, "YES! Someone gets it!", I weep a little that I never had time to grieve leaving one of many communities I hold dear to my heart because everyone was ushering me off into the excitement of New Zealand that I wasn't ready for.

Arthur says it's important to remember. "It is, I'm convinced, a spiritual practice that, like all practices, needs to be practiced!"

So we sit outside and sip wine when Erin arrived after picking the girls up from school. And we talked some more and remembered some more.

"So what do we do? We just love one another. People are not going to stop dying or leaving. But loving one another--that, we can do."

So we sit outside a little longer and watch the sun begin to finish its round for the day, and welcome the evening air. The sun lifts the spirits, but sometimes it's too much, too strong, and too soon. But a greater Light is coming that will defeat the darkness not in a piercing ray, but in tenderness that says,

"Very truly, I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy ... So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you."

And until then, we keep on carrying each other's hearts.

O Come Emmanuel 

Requiem for Joy

Children are children all over the world
They share the same big sky of blue

RT @ChannelNewsAsia *JUST IN* Shooting at an elementary school in Connecticut, USA: police

The earth is like God's egg. He sits on it and protects it.

Francisco and Martita
El Salvador/Romania
Keren
Gerson
We sat across each other at IHOP years after you were gone.
Holding hands.
Crying.
Praying.
Too soon.


They share the same sun and the wind and the rain
The moon, and the same stars as you

RT @ChannelNewsAsia Children among dead in #newtown shooting in Connecticut, US

And then there are earthquakes and volcanoes.

Sieg and Sanna
Hannover, Germany
Amy
I don't remember your name.
But I slept in your room on your bed after you were gone.
And watched your parents and sister quietly grieve.
Too soon.


They find games to play, just like you, everyday
They have birthdays and holidays, too

RT @ChannelNewsAsia Up to 27 killed in #SandyHookElementary school shooting in #Newtown #Connecticut, 18 dead are children. Gunman in 20s

There was the one in Japan two years ago.
I was 7, and I cried and cried hoping it wouldn't get to New Zealand.
I wasn't ready to die yet.
- Stella Maaka-McCrea, 9

Todd and Steph
Auckland, New Zealand
I don't know half the story.
Only that it happened
Too soon.


Did you ever think children all over the world
Are just little children like you?

RT ‏@nzherald "Our hearts are broken today ... for the families of those who are lost." @BarackObama

Today we're lighting a candle for faith. Does anyone know what faith means?

"Faith is like believing in something that we cannot see." - Esther McNickle, 7

How are we supposed to light tomorrow's candle for joy?

I think of sweet Essendon at school.
She's not bossy, just a little angry sometimes.
Always ready to protect.

I think of kind Jesse at church.
I told you last week I would help you put up the decorations.
Always ready to  help.

I shudder at what it would be like to lose them.
Or to walk with them through an episode of innocence lost.

And then Jen reminds me...

this is my father's world.
oh, let me never forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
god is the ruler yet.

So we light a candle anyway.

Hope, Faith and one for the
children in Connecticut and around the world

We sit in darkness and grapple with what it means to make room for joy even when we're not ready for it to come.

"For darkness will not overcome the light."

"There is no way to God except through human frailty ... Only when we encounter God in our deepest, darkest places do we have something to offer the world" - Jim McInnes, Te Atatu Bible Chapel

Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison
O Come Emmanuel

Celebrating Across the Seas

Well, it's officially "Black Friday" on this side of the world.

In all my years of celebrating Thanksgiving, I've only done the Black Friday madness once--only because Jenny and Becca convinced me that since it was my last Thanksgiving in the US, I had to at least get out there in the wee hours of the morning once, even if just for the cultural experience. I can't say I enjoyed the experience much; but maybe it's because I was more used to parking down in the Rhynard house for the Thanksgiving weekend 007 marathon with my homework or crochet, and trying to keep warm in the Michigan winter.

I remember my first snow. Danielle and I were going to pick Cody up from high-school (yes, Cody, I know you're grown-up now because you're in seminary, but I'll always remember you as that dorky high-schooler who wouldn't stop giving your sister crap, as all good brothers should) the day before Thanksgiving. We were walking in to the school when Danielle stopped me and said, "Look! It's snowing!"

Folks always talk about being excited about snow. But that first snow, I thought I was going to slip on the snow, hit my head on the side-walk and die. It didn't help that I crash-landed in a pile of snow when out on my first snow-mobile ride with Danielle and Cody. "Death by snow on her first Thanksgiving." Great headline, eh?

The years passed quicker than I was ready for them. My last two American Thanksgivings have been characteristically un-snowy--rainy at best, but snow would have been a major fluke in the weather system.

So we learn to adapt. We don't do snow or snow-mobiles, but we do stories. Turkeys cost four times as much here as they would in Michigan or Indiana, so we do chicken. Pumpkins only happen as a whole fruit and not in cans, so we puree our own for pies and coffee creamers. And we include friends for whom Thanksgivings may have never been, or will ever be, traditions, but whose stories we get to write together at least for this season.

It wasn't that many years ago that traditional celebration story-sharing started. Those first awkward Chinese New Year celebrations in the dorm rooms without a real kitchen to work with, or easy access to an Asian grocer. And we learnt to adapt anyway.

That's the life of living all around the world. We carry our stories, our food, our traditions and celebrations with us. We adapt where necessary, and we start new traditions and carry those with us to new corners of the world and fill even more pages of our stories with new friends, laughter, and always, always food.

And after the dishes have all been cleared away, we pause to sit down with a cuppa joe. And we give thanks for the stories we get to be a part of, the table of food and laughter shared, and for a rich and abundant life.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. May it be filled with love and laughter.

Roots

I met Amber at The Stream, the Wesleyan theological conference in New Zealand. That I was meeting more folks outside the WCF circle was of course exciting. But what was even more so was that
1) we have similar backgrounds of education by liberal arts colleges in the Midwest USA (talk about Settlers of Catan or the libertarian political viewpoints of contemporaries and she's right there with you)
2) she's also a single, theologically-educated female eager to engage in the nerdy theological discoursing
3) I can safely admit my guilty pleasure of the occasional good chick flick without being judged
4) her deep commitment to the Wesleyan denomination.

I'm starting to understand the differences between a denomination and what we in the Church of God like to call, "a movement". During the conference, I had asked one of the ladies if that church building was where they usually had these conferences. Her response was, "well, this is one of our centers and sometimes we rotate around, but it's usually here."

"One of OUR" -- that statement struck me as odd. I found myself wondering if, if I had asked one of the ministers at NAC if the AU campus was where we usually held our conferences, would she/he respond with the same, "one of OUR ..."?

Then last week I met Amber's flatmate Jes, who was recently ordained. The conversation about the ordination process in the Wesleyan movement seemed like it was part of the natural next step in ministry. Everything was so systematic that it seemed like it would be easier to feel a sense of belonging in the denomination. Even when she said she went to Houghton College in NY, she and Amber automatically explained that it was one of THEIR Wesleyan colleges.

There's a Chinese saying that goes, 人比人 气死人 (literally translates as, people comparing with people, people will be aggravated to death--in other words, comparison will only lead to anger). I shouldn't make the comparison of whether the denomination is functioning more effectively than the movement (Amber and Jes have their own stories to tell), but I can't help but wonder if there are some things we can learn from the Wesleyans.

While I appreciate the autonomy of the Church of God, there's something to be said about the systems that are put in place with the Wesleyans. I think what surprised me most about Amber and Jes was the realisation that there ARE folks (especially young women) outside of my circle of seminary friends who have this same deep commitment to theological development within their denominations/movements. It definitely makes ministry in Auckland feel a little less isolated as we each face different challenges of having this sense of commitment. At the same time, it raises for me the question of how do we ignite this same sense of commitment that goes beyond the local congregation--and perhaps even beyond denominational lines to that sense of belonging in the Kingdom?

We all know that relationships are a complicated thing. "Love one another" is a simple concept theoretically, but so much harder to live out. As I think about the challenges we face with being Church, I personally find it most difficult to talk about issues of commitment--whether they are commitments to being present at events, to responsibilities, and most importantly, stepping up to responsible relationships that love one another but are also willing to give and receive accountability.

Maybe it's because I've been blessed to have consistently had good people to constantly challenge me to keep pursuing those levels of commitment, that I automatically assume it shouldn't be difficult. At the same time, this constant uprooting has also necessitated the task of shamelessly digging for a sense of belonging in relationships so that I don't feel completely crushed when the good people call me out. Which makes me wonder if it would be easier for folks to choose to be committed to tasks/accountability/Christ if we did a better job at creating space for a sense of belonging to develop, especially in a time where the laissez-faire take on life has become even more common.

So I guess my question is, what does it take for folks to feel rooted?

"God has willed that we should seek and find God's living Word in the testimony of other Christians, in the mouths of human beings . . . If we have been elected and accepted with the whole church in Jesus Christ before we could know it or want it, then we also belong to Christ in eternity with one another . . . Because God already has laid the only foundation of our community, because God has united us in one body with other Christians in Jesus Christ long before we entered into common life with them, we enter into that life together with other Christians, not as those who make demands, but as those who thankfully receive . . . In other words, a life together under the Word will stay healthy only when it does not form itself into a movement, an order, a society, a collegium pietatis, but instead understands itself as being part of the one, holy, universal, Christian church, sharing through its deeds and suffering in the hardships and struggles and promise of the whole church."
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together

10,000 Reasons (Happy 1 Year in Aotearoa)

It's hard to believe that it was a year ago today that out of utter madness, I hopped on a plane and arrived here in Aotearoa.

No really. It was utter madness.


It was utter madness that I took a children's ministry job having had limited experience working with kids. Heck, I didn't even know what a real childhood was like outside of the experience of the Asian kid that revolved around school work and staying out of trouble.
Looking back now, if not for Ed and Heidi and the 3Ts, I would never have learnt what it was like to live in a household where there were boundaries, but also plenty of laughter. Or the Park Place kids who remember the insignificant stuff we were a part of together that reminded me relationships don't require experience--they require authenticity and form organically in a way no amount of programming experience can.

And so I took the job.

Madness? Yes.
Would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat.


When I hopped on the plane that day, I had no idea if I was ever going to be granted a visa to stay past the 3 months tourist visa I had been granted.
Looking back now, it seemed like complete insanity that I woke up one morning just about a week before that with this burning feeling in my gut that I HAD to book my flight that day regardless of the visa status. I had no real reason other than That Voice that just said, "You have to do it today."

And so I did.

Madness? Yes.
Would I do it all over again? You better believe it.

And then the year flew by. And boy were there lessons to be learnt.

There was the story of the eggs in the microwave that nearly ended in disaster.
... Or the Asian girl who's never made a white sauce in her life trying to make cheese sauce with no recipe and simply melted cheese in a saucepan. (Kathrin had to come to the rescue and we ended up rolling on the floor with laughter trying to get everything cleaned up before our guests turned up).
... Or the numerous times she should have made use of a teachable moment with a kid but missed it.
... Or all the different methods she tried to import to give the children's ministry the re-start and realising she was thinking WAY too American again.
... Or that when the host she's visiting asks if she would like a drink, it's more normal to answer with "coffee" or "tea" than with "water," and not because she's suddenly aged to her grandparents' generation, or because she's about to be served dessert in a fancy restaurant. Psst... In case you missed the memo, it's the new normal here.
... Or that she needs to start putting "EAT" on her to-do list or she will forget.
... Or that the constant explosion of creative experiments from working with kids mean that her living space will never be completely clean as long as she works from home.
... Or just very simply, all things Westie.

So many mistakes made.
So many experiments tried, failed and remedied.
But you know what, I'm amongst family that gives grace to mistakes, failed experiments and... mess.

Madness? Yes. Complete madness.
Would I do it all over again? Yes. Oh, hell, yes.


Diane and I have been joking about all the folks in the shops I end up becoming "friends" with.

There's the ladies at the $2 shop who started mothering me and making sure I'm well-stocked up with household stuff (even to the extent of wanting to bring coffee containers from home for me even though they sell all these things in their shop), and have been wanting to set me up with their nephews.
And the lady down the baking aisle at Pak n Save that ALWAYS asks, "Hun, what are you looking for?" and will not leave me alone until I either find what I need and leave or ask for her help.
And the florist who wants to give me floral arranging lessons.
And the lady at the video store who gave me suggestions of how to create the right ambience to watch the Millennium Trilogy.

I've been puzzling over that and trying to figure out if I've been wearing a sign that says, "HEY I want you to talk to me and tell me your life story!"

And I'm realising a few things...
1) The XZBerlin experience has rubbed off on me more than I realised and has penetrated my subconscious. The whole thing about being the incarnational presence of Christ in the community had become ingrained in my theology that I didn't realise they were no longer separate ideas.
Which surprised me because suddenly it all made sense why I was staying connected to all these other stuff outside of my church gig.
Suddenly it made sense why I'm still keeping the relationships around the world as active as they are.
Suddenly it made sense why I still shop on the Peninsula even though I don't live there anymore.

Because that's what that incarnational presence means to me.
Being a part of that constant life-rhythm that flows organically.
Which made me realise that every contact I have with every living being is not coincidental. (That whole freewill vs God's plan conversation can be saved for a time when we can sit down for coffee, ok?)

And suddenly I understand that old evangelical thought of never missing an opportunity to spread the Gospel. It's a lot easier and makes a lot more sense when you pair it together with the Franciscan saying, "Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words."

2) Moving to a new place where your social circle mainly revolves around your job means you have to branch out wherever you can. And shopkeepers make good friends because they have the time to chat when you go in during off-peak hours (which is usually when I run my errands anyway given the flexibility of my work hours), and they function in a different world. Which is a refreshing change, having come from 7 years of living in a Christian bubble.

And suddenly I understand why all those relationships around the world mean what they do to me. We use experience to propel us forward. And friends I've known from before the Aotearoa chapter have introduced me to other friends who live here.

Tonight, I got to celebrate my 1 year anniversary in Aotearoa with two of them.

It had been a crazy day where my obsession over efficiency threatened to do me in. Something cropped up earlier in the day, which meant my original plans to be most efficient today had to be reorganised. Then I forgot my highly-organised grocery list. And then I dropped the iTouch that's been helping keep me organised in the parking lot at the grocery store and didn't realise it till way too much later. And because I'm discovering I have an efficiency obsession, I almost had a meltdown that my day hadn't been as highly-efficient as I would have liked it to be even though I did end up getting everything done. (It just wasn't done in the most efficient method, ok? I know, I know. I'm a J. Leave me alone.)

But it came around to dinner time and even though it was a 30 minute drive getting to Amber and Jess, by the time we sat down to dinner, I was really glad I made the drive. I had brought ginger beer and TimTams because it turns out it's also Jess' 1 year anniversary in Aotearoa. So it was dinner, good conversation about all things American (since we're all recent imports from the US), chick flick and chocolate, and dreaming up plans for the next time we hang out.

As I made the drive home tonight, I had to laugh because the highs and lows of this day in itself summed up all that this year has been. My mad, mad, obsessive-compulsiveness and perfectionism, trying so hard to look like I have it all together and it all falls apart--and ALL the grace and friendship in between. And then I realised I had about 10,000 reasons to celebrate.

This has been a year of abundance.
Abundance of tears and heartaches.
But even more so,
Abundance of sweet victories...
Lessons learnt...
Celebrations...
Laughter...
Food...
Grace...

And most importantly, friendship.
Because the friendship of Christ, the agape... It's why I'm here.

Happy 1 year Anniversary in Aotearoa
from the American gals

Here's to Year #2 in Aotearoa.
Here's to more madness.
I'm all in.

When Mr Bean Became Human

I don't watch much TV, but this much I know about TV shows: I hate shows like Mr Bean and America's Funniest Home Videos.

Why?

Because every time I watch Mr Bean about to do something that we ALL know is going to completely embarrass him, I cringe knowing that he's going to go ahead and do it anyway. Like the time he tries to beat the parking barrier at the parking lot by timing it just nicely to run over the blue van. Or when he runs into the women's changing room at the pool naked after he lost his shorts.

Maybe I have too much empathy, but I die a little bit inside every time I watch Mr Bean or the kid falling off his bike embarrass themselves.

The other day when I was at the store, I noticed this guy poised like he was ready to tee off, except 1) he didn't have a golf club in his hands, and 2) he was standing beside the box of bok choy. I try not to giggle as I'm walking by, just in time for him to turn around and notice me. I smiled and kept on walking as he apologised and tried to sheepishly explain that he was "just practising my strokes".

I struggled to keep the giggles contained as I rolled my eyes inside, thinking, "right, just showing off your strokes to the bok choy, ay?"

That very same moment, that Mr Bean moment hit me.

Mr Bean became human in the Indian guy practising his strokes at the veggie shop (a very good-looking and sheepish Indian guy too, if I might add).

He didn't owe me any kind of explanation about what he was doing, but because of that 2-second interaction, the Mr Bean that I could keep my distance from while he was on The Tube became human to me.

It made me think of the conversation I had with Emily just a few days prior to that exchange at the veggie shop. We were discussing the latest project she had commissioned me on--a written one this time--and I had reached a point where I didn't know how to proceed without compromising the code of ethics I had developed over time to protect the stories I had started collecting. As I tried to explain that it made me uncomfortable simply publicizing stories that I had been trusted with without permission, even if the owners of these stories may never find out, Emily interrupted my verbal-diarrhoea with the simple,

"Stop being sorry it makes perfect sense. They are not [just those people]... they became human beings... people... to you they have names a history hearts and you have to protect them"

In the moments as I loaded up the groceries in the van, still trying to stifle the giggles from "Mr Bean," I understood exactly what Emily meant.

Yes, I had empathy for Mr Bean, but I could easily turn the TV off. But the guy at the veggie shop and all the other characters of the stories I've been collecting--they became human beings. "They have names, a history, hearts, and you have to protect them." They're not just the funny-looking Englishman on The Tube, a statistic in the news, a case-study in the textbooks.

They became human, like the guy in the veggie shop practising his stroke.

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.

On One-Anothering

"you better be at church tomo or imma be mad with you :D" his message on Facebook said.

It was Saturday night. I was still trying to get my brain out of my jet-lag funk and trying to put together my lesson for Kids' Club as well. I was tired and cold, and worrying that there would be too many rascaly kids the next day for my first Sunday back at Kids' Club.

And then came his text.

Hayden is one of the rascaly guys who started coming to youth about a year ago when Robert was still around. He and the other boys in youth group are like the pesky little brothers who love to hassle me only to turn around and be all nice and sweet when I have food.

His Facebook message that night was the reminder I needed of why I came back to Auckland. Yes, I was burning out real fast before I left, and I was appalled by the person I was becoming as a result.

But Hayden's message reminded me of what it means to be the family. It reminded me of the numerous times over the last ten months of how WCF so quickly became family. I could say that I clung to them as family as they were the only people I knew in a new land, but they chose to care for me as well.

A couple years ago in Germany, I stumbled across the term, "one-anothering."

Love one-another.
Serve one-another.
Take care of one-another.


The term assumes mutuality.
We have to love and be loved.
We have to serve and be served.
We have to take care of and be taken care of.

One of the difficulties for my personality in ministry is that I always expect that because...
... I'm a Christian and they're not
... I'm "in ministry" and they're not
... I'm privileged spiritually/financially/emotionally/etc. because of Christ


... meant I always had to be at the giving end.

And for that reason, while I celebrate how the WCF has one-anothered me, I recall the conversation with the BFF that included the reprimand (the BFF is much more mild-mannered than I am, so a reprimand from her becomes more like a "wake up your idea" than just a simple nudge) of why I still allow the ones who have worn me down continually over the years to continue to do so.

Of why I don't stand up for myself and walk away when conversations are driven by one-sided agendas.
Of why I don't say, stop trying to care for me on your terms when you don't listen long enough to know what I'm really needing.
Of why I avoid draining personalities for a long time only to succumb again eventually, instead of confronting in love.

And so I'm learning to speak up and take care of myself.
Sometimes they come out in little outbursts of emotion.
On my better days, they come as peaceful confrontation.

But I'm learning.
After all, as my ray of Sunshine, Jenny often reminds me,

"There's only one you. If you don't take care of you, you won't have anything left to give anyone else."


After all, in the words of Jim Hawkins, "Pace yourself for the marathon so you don't sprint too fast and burnout before you're done."

On Moving...

In the last ten months, I have broken my personal record by having moved four times--twice internationally, twice within Auckland. So since I'm starting to consider myself quite an expert, I thought I'd share a few moving tips/lessons learnt.

Moving Tip #1: Always have friends
When I was moving from Anderson to Singapore, Ginny and JM got together with Brittney and Chase (who themselves were getting ready to move) and organised a yard sale. Two weekends in a row, we sat and got baked in the sun and drenched in the rain while playing Words With Friends while waiting for people to give us a few coins to help us get rid of our stuff. Elizabeth and John would come and hang out and the boys would take off to get us China House for our lunch break. Even with that, most of my nerdy seminary books still had to find themselves a home in Ed and Heidi's garage.

When I moved from Singapore to Auckland, my luggage allowance was reduced. We packed up part of my stuff into a box ready to be shipped once we got clearance from my visa process. Then we found out Auntie Enid was going to be back in Singapore so Mum had her help carry some of my stuff back in before finally sending the rest of the stuff in the box.

When I moved from Kathrin and Stefan's to Sara's, I inherited a bunch of stuff from the Beisleys so that I could finally set up my home/office space. Shane and Marilyn were also moving that weekend, so a crew got together to help us all move. Kathrin and Stefan did a desk swop with me when we realised the stuff wasn't all going to fit in the new place. Jonny showed up with equipment to help put the bunk-bed together, and Chris, Josh and Katherine figured out how to put the pieces together while Steve glued the headboards that were falling apart together.

When I moved in to the Snuggery (Chad and Diane's sleepout where Steve used to live) yesterday, Kathrin and Stefan showed up to pull apart the bunk-bed and the desk. Thanks to Stefan's genius brains of figuring out not just how to make things work but in the most efficient way, Kathrin's ability to organise things, Chad and Diane's big van and big heart to let me move in with such short notice, the move was relatively painless.

They say it takes a village to raise a kid. I'm glad I'm the kid with a great village.

Moving Tip #2: Nothing is really yours
I should probably add to that, "but take care of it anyway"
The first time Stefan and Kathrin did the desk swop with me, I remembered being blown away that they didn't even have a second thought about, "but this is ours," or "this is for loan". There was just this sentiment of nothing really permanently belongs to anyone anyway, but we just trust that we'll take care of each other. Or the realisation only upon starting to pack that most of my food storage containers have made themselves at home at the Pethers' for a while. It was this feeling of, it all stays in the family anyway, just a matter of which building it goes to.

Moving Tip #3: Big, bulky stuff don't move well
I remember when I first moved to Anderson that many years ago, Mum went and got frames so I could take pictures with me when I moved. But those were days before checking in baggage on international flights became so darn expensive. Oh, and those were also the dark ages before Facebook and social media really took off. Photo frames don't move well because of their bulk. And neither do diplomas. I'll admit there are days when I'm slightly envious of friends who have established and less mobile office spaces where they can hang up their framed accolades on the wall while mine stay in their black folders. It's not so much the desire to show off my accolades as much as wanting the stability where I don't have to have this constant mindset of, "Well, how am I going to pack that into two suitcases the next time I move?"

Moving Tip #4: The process is usually more than just physical
When Chad and Diane showed up yesterday, one of the first things Diane said was, "how are you feeling?" (I know I haven't blogged about that side of things in a while, but I'll get to it later.) Until that moment, I had been feeling the frustration building up. But in the process of making lists, organising how to make the move as painless as possible and how to get it all done in time for me to have head space to think about the last Bible Clubs for this term and pack before Thursday, the frustration just sat like an ugly monster beside my ear whispering nasty things like, "you can't do this."

Sara's house had been a great place for the last four months. I think we were both bummed that it didn't work out for me to stay longer. I will miss the backyard, and Saturday mornings of cleaning house while watching the little league games, and of course, the glorious view of the Waitakeres in the distance.

Imagine

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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

That this, too, shall pass.

I hope they are right.


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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.

New Plymouth Roadtrip #3: Spiritual Guardians

Wednesday saw us stopping at the Rangimarie Maori Art and Crafts Center after breakfast and a fair amount of puzzling. But more on the puzzling in a bit.

It wasn't a huge art and crafts center, but there was a fair amount of the traditional black, white, red Maori art pieces, weaved baskets and sculptures.

It was here that I was struck with the awareness that we really are a whole lot more connected to each other than we take time to think about. The weaved baskets, possibly made from harakeke (Maori for flax) reminded me of the weaved baskets I had seen in 鹤山 when we made the 寻根(literally translated as "looking for roots") trip to Grandpa's village in China two years ago. And the sculpturing brought back images of watching the workers carefully carving each buddha for the temples in Cambodia.

So much of how we communicate is done through art and music, and if so many different parts of the world find themselves communicating in similar fashions, are we really as different as we like to think we are? It made me question why I sometimes used the excuse of "differences in culture" to get away with not knowing or understanding something or someone. If I'm completely honest with myself, "differences in culture" is not, and should never be used as a lame excuse for my own laziness and fear of looking/sounding stupid when I try to build bridges cross-culturally.

Silent Guardians
"All humans are spirits only visiting this world. All spirits are forever beings. All encounters with other people are experiences, and all experiences are forever connections."
(Marlo Morgan - Mutant Message Down Under)


My favourite piece of sculpture at the Art and Crafts Center is titled "Spiritual Guardians". It was a piece that had at least four different faces, depending on what angle you are looking at it from. It reminded me of the many "spiritual guardians" I've had in my life, some of whom I didn't even realise how much they spoke into my life until years have passed since our interactions. It reinforced for me the idea that we really are more spiritually connected than we realise, and that every interaction we encounter creates in us a sense of responsibility to each other.

To put it in a more Christianese way, every interaction we have should be an opportunity for us to be the Light and Love of Christ. We have the responsibility to community to help each one discover our spiritual connectivity in the love of Christ.

In The Blackfield
She wants to stay and talk all day
So I remark when it gets dark
All the pale things under the earth
Will reverse
(Blackfield - Blackfield)


The backpacker we stayed at while we were in New Plymouth brought us into close proximity with a few really cool folks from around the world.

Laura, a young artist from Germany, here trying to get an internship to add to her portfolio for admission to university back in Germany.
Ann-Sophie, from Quebec, French Canada has been hitch-hiking through New Zealand with Laura ever since they got acquainted a few weeks ago.
Julien, a medical/information systems professional from Germany, here for a one-year break from working closely with cancer patients the last couple of years.
Tomoko, a surfer-dudette from Japan, temporarily working at Seaspray House, the backpacker where we met.

As we shared kitchen and dining space or sipped wine and worked on puzzles together, I found it refreshing to simply be sharing space with people who could simply be. Each one brought to that place our own baggage, whether it was fatigue, a thirst for adventure, the need to escape, or whatever other stories there might be. But in the space of that lounge area, nothing mattered more than simply putting our brains and hands together to work on a puzzle, to laugh and to simply be in each other's company.

It was one of the moments that made me miss being in Berlin. Whether we were having sushi parties, hanging out at the park with neighbours, we were meeting new people not just from all walks of life, but from all parts of the world, and each one with a different story, as we were trying to figure out what it means to live the XZ (Christ-centered) life in those communities.

Julien would join us for a few meals here and there. When he shared the story of what brought him to New Zealand, the same thing that tugged at me when I heard "Justin's" story when I was in Berlin came back. "The story isn't over..." Even though these were two completely different stories, something tugged at me to want to know how the next chapter would look like for Julien. I only wish I had managed to get his contact information before we left.

Our last night in New Plymouth, Steve and I stayed up with Laura, Ann-Sophie and Julien, working on our last puzzle, laughing, trading stories, and simply being. Laura showed me some of her art work, and I was blown away by the stories she shared about what inspired her. And then we proceeded to play some of the games we used to play as kids... which, as it turns out, are fairly universal :)

But it came back to the same thing. The simple act of simply being, and simply living in community because we shared space with each other for the few days.

All encounters with other people are experiences, and all experiences are forever connections.

If Home's Where My Heart Is...

With the "honeymoon" phase wearing thin, homesick is starting to sink in a little bit. So yesterday, while sitting outside the Beisleys' home, I made a list of things that I'm homesick for:

* City lights at midnight
* Freshly-picked cherry tomatoes, sweet corn and strawberries
* Beading and solving the world's problems till 2 am
* Smells and smiles from Schwarze Olive
* Watching people line up to board planes
* Hymns and liturgy
* Reading Pride and Prejudice on the bus/train home
* Driving through acres and acres of cornfields with healing music, my emotional roller-coasters, and the Creator
* Popping bottles into the machine at Kaiser's and getting groceries with store credit from the recycling
* Community dinners
* 2 ams with the BFFs saying, "I don't understand yet why the heck you do what you do. But simply because of friendship, I will support and encourage you, and I will push you to keep walking when you're tempted to give up prematurely. And if necessary, I will arrange a boycott if you try to run home when life doesn't seem to go the way you'd hoped."

The list ended there for the day, but there was so much more I could have added.

For years now, I've wrestled with the idea of home.
My first TCK friend Will once explained it as, "home is where I lay my head that night."
My friend Nichele has never set foot on the African continent, but because that's where her ancestors came from, a part of home is in Africa.
My friends John and Jodie may have been born in the States and still return there every summer, but home is Haiti.
My friends Kathrin and Stefan moved to Auckland a few years ago, and home has been New Zealand ever since.
My friend Steve says home is in his pocket. It's what happens in community.
My friend Ian has made the cruise ship he's been working on for the last couple years his home.
My friend Laura once said home is wherever her parents are--no matter which French-speaking country it might be.


Tonight, it hit that home is all that and more.

Home is roots. Roots that go beyond Singapore, to the ancestral homes in China.
Home is blood. Lay a finger on one of the blood-kin and I'll pray fire and brimstone.
Home is together. Coffeeing, eating, laughing, crying... together.
Home is possibilities. Possibilities of roots that give wings to dreams.

Home is nowhere, anywhere and everywhere all at the same time.

And all is well and good until trouble hits too many homes at one time.
And then we wonder how the heck to explain that one part of our world is crumbling even while the rest of it still appears intact.
And then we take a deep breath.
And pray.
And cry.
And (eventually) let go.

I close my eyes and I see your face
If home's where my heart is then I'm out of place
Lord won't you give me strength to make it through somehow
I've never been more homesick than now
- MercyMe

P.S. Finally posted photos from our Holiday Programme on Facebook. Click here

UnProfessional Love

Doug asked me about a week ago if being on this side of Seminary was anything like what I expected. I wasn't exactly sure how to answer him because I don't know that I really had any expectations. Or maybe it was that I hadn't really thought it would be too different from the other stuff I was already involved with while in Seminary.

My biggest regret of my undergrad life was that I zipped through it so quickly that I hardly had time for people. I was involved in many things, but I never found the time to simply sit and listen or just be. Yet somewhere in the middle of the chaos of those years, I stumbled upon this idea called Love.

As those years drew to a close, I knew the lessons I learnt came from more places than just my music classes. In fact, I had gotten so tired of the professionalism of those looking for a career in music. All I wanted to do after I was done with college was to find some way to simply love people.

Which was probably why Seminary looked like the biggest joke ever. I didn't need more professionalism to show me how to love people. Besides, all that I had seen professionalism do was set people up against each other and make them compete. Even in music, together sounds better than alone (except when you get a bunch of flautists together--sorry, I just haven't let my music nerd side hang out in a while so I couldn't resist that). Yet we try to outdo each other with our ability to double- or flutter-tongue, or how much control we have over our vibrato or how quickly our fingers can move over the ivories.

But we lose sight of the bigger picture. Music was supposed to be a personal expression--whether it's the composer or the performer, not a show of who's better than who. I finished undergrad thinking, why can't we just flippin' love each other? It really isn't that hard.

The truth is, Love IS that hard. Between the 3 years of seminary and the 5 years of fighting church politics, the idea of Love that was already planted in my head was beat down, thrown around, pieced back together, and then beat down, thrown around and pieced back together all over again. But each time it was beat down, thrown around and pieced back together again, it grew bigger, bolder and scarier. And not because it was intimidating in and of itself, but because it demanded more of me.

Suddenly Love wasn't just about saying the right things at the right time anymore.
Suddenly Love wasn't just about giving all the time anymore.
Suddenly Love wasn't just about doing things anymore.
Suddenly, I realised Love couldn't be a profession.

I'm reminded again of the annoyingness and the pain of rediscovering love this time last year. And as I reflect upon the last couple of weeks of getting ready for this week's holiday program, it hits me again that Love isn't about putting on a uniform and doing things. Love isn't about getting the job done or making sure that programming runs smoothly. Love isn't about plastering a smile on my face as I greet kids that come into the gym at Rutherford Primary School each afternoon this week.

Love is about making room.
Love is about creating space for things to happen.
Love is about intentionality even when we feel like we've been running on empty for way too long.

And then I stumble upon the answer to Doug's question. The reason why life on this side of seminary doesn't seem too unexpected is because Love is still tormenting me with the reality that I still have no idea what I'm actually saying when I tell someone, "I love you".

And I guess for five years now, I have waited for this season where there's much less bookish professionalism and all that's left to do is to let life continue to teach me about Love. Because as it comes down to it, life and creation and all the thing-things (thank you, Phoebe Pether) that loiter around here are simply an expression of the Creator's Love.

Truth be told, I'm well aware that lately my attitude toward life in general hasn't been great. Even if I've just been through a lot of change, even if I've been running on close to nothing, those excuses for bad attitude can only last for so long.

Professional Love says keep putting that smile on your face and act like all is well in your world.
UnProfessional Love says take the time to grieve, then take the time to deal with it. Because you know the source of this Love never runs out.


This morning, I finally took time to go for a walk. Part of me felt guilty that I've been feeling so empty that I wasn't sure I'd have anything to give the ones involved with the holiday program. All month long we've been working toward this, and now that it's here, I'm empty and frustrated--mostly because I've been empty for so long and tried to ignore it. And I've felt the nudging from the Creator to back away for time alone, but I kept coming up with stupid excuses to avoid crashing. When I woke up this morning, something finally snapped. I needed to get away, even if only for a few minutes, or I would crash and burn.

Stefan and Kathrin live close to the boardwalk on the Peninsula where we get a pretty good view of the Auckland skyline. Well, we do most days, but today was not one of those days. Instead the fog had clouded the skyline of the city. After spilling my guts to the Creator for a good few minutes and apologising for being less than sufficient, it finally hit me.

I love cities. Berlin, Portland, Singapore, New York, Atlanta, and maybe soon enough, Auckland. Even on rainy days and cloudy days, I love cities regardless of whether I can see the skyline. I love cities because of its odd mix of people, the clutters of litter and the loudness of it all. But most importantly, wherever there are people, there will always be some kind of a mess or something to be frustrated about. C'mon, we're human. Humans are messy. But I love the mess anyway, because that mess reflects so much of my own imperfection. But even more than that, it reflects the creativity of a God who gives grace for more than I can even think or ask.

The creativity of a God with very unprofessional Love.