Where We Come From: Homesick

The year was 2007, and it must have been either June or July. Holly, Keren and I had, on this random night, decided we were going to "roadtrip" to Ivanhoe's for ice-cream, as college students spontaneously do. I don't remember what else was on the playlist that night, except for two of Keren's favourites at the time. The windows were down, and we were singing at the top of our lungs, "Hey, hey, you, you, I don't like your girlfriend!" and "Oh, **** it, I'm gonna have a party!"

I don't know what it was like for the Holly and Keren. But six years have passed, and I look back at that "roadtrip" now and think of it as a coming of age marker for me. Only a couple months ago, I had walked across the platform in Kardatzke Wellness Center as a celebration of the culmination of three ridiculous years' work towards a bachelor's degree. Anderson University had by then become a place where I had struggled long and hard with my self-identity, and just like that, those three years were over. Keren and I had by then had several long discussions about our dreams about the future, and she was just beginning to find her place while I was still looking for mine.

You see, Keren was a Third-Culture kid. Born in El Salvador, she eventually moved to Romania when her parents took a missionary assignment with a church there. She, and my other TCK friends, talked often about how they could never simply check one box when it came down to filling out forms about where they came from. She was at a conference for international students once, and when it came time for breakout sessions, attendees were asked to split into groups based on the region she came from. Was she to go to the one for Latin America or the one for Europe? There was never one single box to check.

I remembered one of our conversations being about the things we were passionate about. She said she was slightly jealous of friends who had found their niche in their passion for social justice, or art, or something of the sort, because she hadn't found her own. I remembered thinking the same thing. I loved music, but having studied it at the college level with an over-emphasis on performance (which I hated) killed it.

Then one day, she had just gotten back from a weekend in Chicago where she had been a part of a conference called, "Displace Me". It was a movement about creating awareness of displaced people. After all the time spent trying to figure out which box to check, she finally found it. Her passion. Working with displaced people because she herself was displaced.

That had all just fallen into place weeks before that summer. Then before that summer was over, her life was taken.

It was years before I started really processing everything that happened that summer. You see, I had forgotten about the phonecall I received that night on the "roadtrip" to Ivanhoe's. In our laughter and singing, we missed the ramp for the motorway twice, and ended up halfway to Columbus, Ohio. We had gotten so frustrated that we eventually decided to simply head home, but ended up missing the off-ramp for the Anderson exit as well. Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Dad had rung up to chat and was asking about how things were progressing with my job search. By the time I hung up, I was even more frustrated from trying to explain to Dad the cultural differences in the job search process.

Holly and Keren calmly listened to my ranting for a while before Keren finally said, "You know, our parents haven't lived here themselves. They may have some ideals about what life is like here, but they are not the reality that we live in. And it isn't anybody's fault, we just have to learn to adapt to this new reality that we live in different worlds now."

It wasn't until years later when I began processing that I realised I had become displaced too. I had spent significant amount of time with my Missionary Kid/Third-Culture Kids friends while in college to know the traits of a TCK, and to begin to understand the way they think. But I had never saw myself as a TCK until then.

For a few years after that, I struggled to navigate the waters of this new revelation that a new chapter had begun in the pages of my self-identity. It was hardest around November because I would be celebrating American Thanksgiving with Danielle's family, thinking about the right time to call or e-mail Dad on his birthday. Then right after that, the countdown towards the time I left wintry Anderson for sunny Singapore would begin and I would get particularly homesick thinking of time with the cousins, the BFFs, the church family and all the yummy food. The night before I boarded the plane would usually be the worst. I always love going, but I hate leaving. It's in that in-between time that I feel most displaced.

Nine years later, this displacement hasn't gone away. I've moved yet again, and the understanding of homesickness has re-shaped itself as well. It doesn't help that even with all the diversity in Auckland, folks here still take one look at me, hear me speak and automatically ask the dreaded, "Where are you from?" Yes, I know I'm yellow on the outside, sound like white America, and have the black, red and gold of Germany hanging in the Snuggery where I live, but the truth is, I have too many other colours on the inside. I would happily don the black, red and green of my Kenyan sister, Emily, the vibrant flowers of my Island whanau, while wearing the intricately beaded headpieces of the Lakotas, a people near and dear to my heart.

And the in-between times... Gosh, the in-between times are the worst. Nina who has become one of my Auckland church mums came up to me at church yesterday, gave me a big hug and said, "You've been a bit homesick, haven't you?" The tears came really close, but I wasn't sure if it was because someone noticed, or if it was because I hadn't even noticed it myself until she pointed it out. There's so much here that I love and wouldn't be ready to leave, even if just for a month. But there's a part of me that's already in Portland having bubble tea with Arthur and a massive pow-wow with Cassie. Another part of me has already tasted the corn and cherry tomatoes from Heidi's garden, and solved all the problems of the world with the semiNerdian friends. And still another part of me has already snuggled with Hannah and thrown fries at Amanda.

And maybe that's why I love airports so much. Because I feel less alone in the in-between-ness, even if no one else in the waiting lounge is as crazy/displaced enough to be processing these thoughts.

I was scrolling through old photos on Facebook earlier and found this one, taken in front Brandenburger Tor in Berlin. It was one of the first days we were there and there were various exhibits that we could take photos with. Some were historical; others political; still others, simply funny. This little guy here though, reminded me too much of myself. By the time I got to Germany, I had come to the realisation that no matter what part of the world I move to or how many times I move, wherever I sleep that night would be home, but I would also still be homesick for at least one of the other homes.

That is the new normal now. And it will be ok.

Emily sent me this photo via Whatsapp today. I hadn't expected it because it wasn't a significant date. But it was the reminder I needed that I wasn't alone in this warped in-between place. A few months after Keren died, they planted a tree on campus in remembrance of her. When I still lived in Anderson, I would visit on her birth and death anniversary with the yellow flowers she wanted on her last birthday. It became a place of solitude in the summer months as well. Months before I moved, I told Emily that I wasn't sure what I would do anymore on her birth and death anniversary. She offered to simply bring flowers to visit whenever she was able. Emi, thank you.

This. This is where we come from.

Calling Time-Out

Most Western parents would be familiar with the phrase, "time-out". It is used when a child old enough to rationalise with continues misbehaving and is usually followed with the phrase, "go to your room."

While I don't have kids of my own, because of the nature of my job, I often find myself in discussions of behaviour management--more specifically, figuring out what we need to include in our programming to support behaviour management both at home and at school. In one of those conversations, a parent shared that sometimes, it isn't the kid that needs the time-out. It's the adult.

"Sometimes when there's just been so much else going on in my day, all it takes is a little bit of a whiney voice for me to snap. That's when I realise I need to send myself to time out, take a chill pill before coming back to be with my kid."

This week, I sent myself into time-out. Or in a different translation, "sabbath".

I could list the 101 ways I had snapped before I finally went into time-out, but I'd rather not remember those. I cringe every time I think, "Urgh... I did THAT?"

But no, I didn't go to my room. I didn't go out to a countryside and spend 2 days in a quiet cottage meditating. I didn't even go to a monastery as I thought I would like to do.

I went to Wellington instead.

"Wellington? Are you mad? I thought you needed time-out (read: quiet space to think)?"

To be honest, I don't know why Wellington. All this while I had been quietly researching (with some help from Helen) monasteries to go for my time-out, but yet it was still Wellington. Maybe it was the thrill of booking a flight. Maybe it was the thought of airports and being in planes. Maybe it was because Wellington was the cheapest place to fly to, and I already knew a little bit about getting around the city.

What I didn't realise was that back in the heart of the city, my very, very parched soul was about to be quenched again.

"What did you do in Wellington?"

To be honest, I don't know. All I remember was that I sat and stared. A lot. No, really. I stared so much that this guy in the next table, whose conversation about what we call Grid Iron here in Kiwi-country (better known as American Football or the NFL) I was eavesdropping on realised I was staring.

It got awkward.

No, I mean really awkward. Because I stared again, even after that awkward moment. Like I did with the middle-aged man sitting across the lounge at the backpacker moving to the music. It was the first time I actually witnessed "dance like nobody's watching," and it moved me almost to tears.

Or staring at the screen while Bilbo journeyed to his decision-point of not quitting the team--and listening to the quiet sniffles of the man in the row behind as Bilbo made his commitment to help the dwarves reclaim their home--and struggled to keep the tears in myself.

Or staring at the houses on the walk up to Mt Victoria, realising some dreams are still alive even as I continually try to shove them away into neat boxes to pretend they don't exist so I can get on with the busyness of life.

Or staring into the waters surrounding the heart of the city, remembering what a simpler life was like in the days where I loved the water--the days before I grew afraid of drowning.

Or staring at quaint dining places, and colourful personalities, and all the possible stories to collect if time only allowed and social boundaries weren't drawn so neatly and fearfully.

Or staring at the pages of history, and finally understanding how a treaty intended for peace and protection became so misunderstood in the mad rush to appease the human obsession with "the ego" (or in my very loose interpretation of Luther and Bonhoeffer's theology of sanctification: "the self").

Or simply staring at how humanity come together--perfectly strangers--to cheer each other on, to help locate a missing tennis ball, to say hello to a puppy.

But more than staring, for once in a long, long time, I listened to myself.

And I heard.
I heard those dreams again.
I heard the voices of those cheering me on again.
I heard my innermost desire for community that understands my need for wide open spaces, possibilities, and dreams again.

But most importantly, I heard the voice of the most loving Creator saying, "Just sit and stare, and watch me do my work." Anne Lamott calls that showing off. But if all that the Creator is showing off is Love, why not?

John and Jodie once said, "Once you can't simply laugh at the crazy anymore, you know it's time to take a break." Time-out isn't about being in trouble. It's about learning to sit and stare and listen to yourself and think again--and finding sacred spaces to watch the Creator at work play all over again. I wouldn't recommend colourful Wellington to just anyone needing a time-out, but those 48 hours were precious in creating that sacred, sacred space in the midst of all the hustle and bustle to find that inspiration all over again.

Special thanks to the cheerleaders from the sidelines who followed up whenever I checked in on Facebook or Twitter.
Thanks also to the ones who gave me space for minimal interaction in those 48 hours.

Most importantly, thank you to that lovely bunch of you who sent tea, a sabbath read, and comfort sugar. It made all the difference as I finally, finally allowed myself to mourn the transition away from that safe community that understood even before words were spoken or tears were shed. So thank you, Jen, and Joe and Gwynne, and Shannon and Brett, and David and Tara.

Have I reflected during this time-out? You bet.
Have I learnt anything? Definitely. (Staring can get REALLY awkward, for starters)
Have I made decisions about how to behave differently now? For starters, I will write again. Not because I have anything good to say, but because I've missed it. It's my safe place to go to. So I will write. It will not be fancy, but I will write anyway.

I think it's safe to say, time-out mission: accomplished. Ready to head back to real life.

Currently: Second Sunday of Advent

Since I haven't really had the inspiration or desire to write proper blogs, I got this idea from a blog I stalk from time to time. The blogger just had a baby recently and had kept a list of questions she answers to keep folks up to date with the pregnancy.

Well, since my life isn't quite as interesting as having a baby, my questions might be a little duller but hopefully I'll start doing a better job of updating from time to time hey?

Currently...

Reading:

Numbers - Since Seminary, I've lost the desire to read the Bible because it started getting too academic. I'd want to exegete everything I read. But a few months back, we were working through stories from 1-2 Kings with the kids and suddenly I realised I wanted to read the Bible just as a storybook all over again. This is probably the furthest I've made with Bible-reading that's non-academic.

John - Advent reading through the book of John.

Psalms and Bonhoeffer's Prayerbook - Rhonda e-mailed me the reading guide that XZBerlin is following at the moment and I've found myself missing that part of communal reading. So this.

A Year with Thomas Merton: Meditations from his journals - just because.

Listening To:

AUSOT podcasts - recently became a normal part of the spiritual diet.

Christmas music - a mix of Straight No Chaser, Vienna Boys Choir and songs about Mary's journey.

Watching:

The Hobbit - went to the midnight premiere with Janice. Feels a lot closer to home this time than watching the LOTR trilogy partly because I actually live in Middle Earth. Martin Freeman does an amazing job as Bilbo Baggins. But of course, Andy Serkis as Gollum is still my favourite. 

Sherlock - found out Janice owns the first 2 series when we helped her move several weeks ago. Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman are awesome.

Experiments:

(This will feature updates about a couple projects I'm working on. The long term goal of these projects is to figure out what it means contextually to find space for spiritual conversations to happen.)

The Third Place project - Recently realised we're communicating a lot more these days, but not conversing as much. Working on figuring out the whys and implications.

Mission Master Chef - This began as a challenge to find recipes that would cater for folks of all backgrounds - ethnicities, diet constrains, budgets, time etc. Currently on break because of the busyness of Christmas season.

Musings:

If native folks were left alone in the first place, would social welfare even be necessary?

If all have sinned, and all sin is equal, does that mean all are also equally righteous?

There's a difference between condoning certain behaviours and standing in solidarity. We don't condone alcoholism, but we stand with the alcoholics while they go to AA, just as we don't condone kids acting up and being a distraction in kids club, but we stand with them and help them figure out how to manage their own behaviour.

Ministry:

Highlights:

WSKC (Westside Stars Kids Club) kids seem to be getting into the whole Advent calendar thing. And no, I'm not just talking about the countdown calendar, but the liturgy and the story.

SUPAkidz had our last run for the year. It was manic as usual since we're severely under-staffed, but the kids I ran into at Carols on the Green all seemed to love it and want to come back next year.

Lowlights:

Exhausted. It's been tough trying to keep energy levels up on all fronts of the children's ministry at WCF and as much as I've enjoyed both the activities and the kids, I've been simply running on adrenaline since October.

Life in General:

Highlights:

Life has never been as random and spontaneous as it is now. Family coming in 12 days.

Lowlights:

It's difficult being in a place where there are hardly any other 20-somethings close by. While I love the folks I live amongst, most of them are in a different place of life than me and it would be really nice to, for once in my life, act my age.

So there you have it. I'll try to keep this up at least once every other week or so.

Whanau

Dictionary

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Web definitions Whānau is a Māori-language word for extended family, now increasingly entering New Zealand English, particularly in official publications. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whānau (the basic unit of Maori society into which an individual was born and socialised), www.justice.govt.nz/publications/publications-archived/2001/he…

I've been giving some thought to what life is going to look like past December 2013, the official date my contract with WCF ends, but mainly only because my visa expires then. If it makes sense for the Church to have me stay on past December 2013, by all means, I'll be here. But if I've become more of a nuisance than I am now, I'm not going to overstay my welcome. Anyhow, that's still a ways ahead so there's no pressure for concrete plans.

At the same time, as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed drifting where the wind blows/where the Lord leads, there are moments--sometimes long days on end--when I long for a bit more stability. Often the most nagging one is the financial stability.

I have made it through a whole year through the generosity of family and friends, and then some. There's a part of me that says, "Cool, let's see how Providence continues to sort this out." Then there's a part of me that's becoming increasingly obnoxious with the, "'Making it through' was fine while you were in college and seminary. But you're 26. That's not going to cut it anymore."

I'll be eternally grateful to Missionary Action Projects--and all involved to get me connected to them--for graciously helping me transfer funds. But because they only transfer my funds and there isn't a formal sending organization, a lot of times I have to pull out the dusty memory files from the Global Missions days to create a whole new system to "send" myself.

Along with the steep learning curve that comes with moving to a new culture and process the immense grief of the whole transition period, I've also had to force myself to be intentional about pastoral care--shamelessly throwing myself at mentors, begging them to pastor me through this process. I've never really worked with a budget, much less having to create a feasible one for a lifestyle I knew nothing about, to know what to present to folks who might be keen to throw in financial support. I've always enjoyed the writing process, but to create newsletters that are succinct enough to communicate all that's going on here (bear in mind these newsletters go to the odd combination of old friends, folks who want to support ministry, and mentors who want to know I still have a little bit of sanity left) and make sure they go to all the folks they are supposed to go to, holy shenanigans... Where do I even start writing? Throw in the non-existent budget to go hang out with folks who send money, cards, candy and beat-up iPods, and figuring out how to get the cheapest flights to go to all these places...

I found myself wishing again that I either wasn't born outside of the US, or hadn't spent those seven years there that resulted in the formation of most of my networks within that country.

Which was why when I stumbled upon a possibility of an official sending agency, I got really excited. Not only would there be a little bit of help in all of those other areas, but I would also more formal financial support--even if they are from folks I've never met before.


And then...
Of course. Why should I be surprised?

I got a little note from dear, sweet friends in Anderson. There weren't very many words on the little page, but to know that Phil and Phyllis Kinley who had given a significant part of their lives to the Church in Japan took the time to write that little note and say, "Hey, we think of you often, and we're praying for you." left me shaking my head.

"No, I'd rather have instability with whanau (family) than stability with strangers."

After all, this has been a year of embracing the very significant but often distracted part of me that desperately wants to dig into the grassroots. I'm barely getting my shoes muddy and the distractions have been aplenty.

Well, guess what?
I'm happy in the mud.

That's where my whanau is.

10,000 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.

Life On The Platter

I was talking to Emily this morning about life in general recently and she asked,

"How are things over there?"

For the last few days, I've been trying to figure out how to capture what life has been like in the last few months, and last night the imagery came at last.

It's like the bunch of us here at Westside have been given this ginormous platter of eggs to juggle. Since the beginning of this year, we've had a major cut in number of folks to help carry the load of both leadership and simply making sure that the day-to-day, week-to-week stuff happen. With the Beisleys' and Steve's departures, we went from 4 full-time pastoral staff to 5 for a few months when I came on, down to 2. Our elders also went from 4 down to 2. Even with all the preparation that went into preparing for all the transitions that happened, it still feels like a lot when the full weight of "stuff" finally sank in and we realised how much we were carrying as a church family.

The thing I've been most thankful for is that those that are left have thrown all hands are on deck to help keep things fairly well-balanced so that no single person has to juggle more than he/she can handle. But even then, it's still a big platter to juggle to make sure that the eggs don't fall off one side while we're trying to keep things balanced on the other. Let's face it, we're all human and our arms will get sore and tired from trying to help hold up the platter. Sometimes one of us has to carry more so the other can take a break.

And so we learn to communicate. We learn to trust each other that when one of us is saying we need a break, it's not because we're being lazy, but because we really do need a break. We learn to articulate when it feels like our end of the platter is getting thrown off balance again, and we learn to ask for help. We learn to share the weight of the platter equally according to what each is able to contribute so that the eggs don't fall off the less-than-balanced end.

And then there are the... oh, what shall we call it... negative forces, for lack of a better word, thrown in from time to time to off-set the new balance. Sickness, family circumstances and the situations beyond our control that try to throw off the balance from the top as we try to keep things even from below. So we learn to pray and ask for divine help to help tackle things coming from the top... Or what we sometimes know more affectionately as "not flesh and blood, but rulers, powers, the world forces of this darkness, and the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places."

For the last few months now, Jonny and I have been alternating taking Kids' Church each week. The weeks I wasn't doing Kids' Church, I was alternating leading worship with Stephen. We all knew it wasn't the most ideal arrangement, but it was the best we can do for now. Until two Sunday ago when I came down with a fever and had to call Jonny to take Kids' Church for the second week in a row. Then yesterday, he came down with a fever which meant I had to lead worship and do Kids' Church right after that.

The harvest is plentiful. There's lots that can and needs to be done, but even with all hands on deck, it's still a big job to keep us going each week. I love the team I get to work with, even if not directly on leadership or on the Kids' Church volunteer team, but we're all being stretched really thin. The youth ministry is vibrant and energetic, but we desperately need a coordinator so that Chad can have a bit more time and space for pastoral care elsewhere.

I don't know who all of my kampong outside of New Zealand still reads this, especially since I haven't done the best job of writing here recently. But if you do and you're a believer of prayer, we covet your prayers. Pray for us specifically for protection over relationships, that as the going gets tough, we learn to continually put relationships first.

I leave you with this song by Jewel...

"My hands are small I know
But they're not yours, they are my own

In the end only kindness matters
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray"

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.

On Shopping

I've never been much of a shopper.

It used to be that my mum and I would hit the stores once, maybe at most twice a year, spend a day or an evening there, and that would be our shopping for the year.

Then when I took on an office job right after college, it meant more shopping because my wardrobe needed a massive overhaul from the college kid's sweatshirt and jeans combinations. Part of why I'm not crazy about shopping is because I've never cared much for fashion as much as I have for comfort, and what's comfortable isn't always available or affordable when it's not also trendy. But it wasn't so bad because I had learnt where to find the good deals, and learnt about seasonal clearances. Best part: they had LONGs in their pants and jeans departments in the States.

And then I did this crazy thing called moving halfway across the world in 2 suitcases. Most of my stuff had to be either sold or left behind. Which wasn't a big deal until now that it's getting cooler here in Auckland. Because I wasn't sure how cold it would actually get here and didn't have much luggage space to begin with, most of my cold weather clothes had to be left behind. And nobody warned me about central heating--or the lack of it. And it's been too many years since I've lived without a dryer that I've forgotten that when it gets colder and wetter here, laundry takes a much longer time to dry.

So off we go shopping again. If they had Kohl's, Marshalls or even H&M here, it would have been a matter of simply zipping in, finding what I needed and moving on with my day. I wouldn't have felt like I wasted my day-off spending way too much time trying to find a pair of pants that would fit because they didn't have longs.

I got home that night more homesick for the cornfields than I had been in a while.

Now, I can handle grocery shopping. It's not so bad when I've done my meal planning for the week and have a list of exactly what I need to get. I'm learning that there's a reason why fruit and vegetable shops exist: they do actually have much cheaper fruits, vegetables, milk and eggs. And that Pak n Save is the place to go to get things in bulk, otherwise your friendly neighbourhood Countdown is still your best bet.

But send me back to Singapore, and I have a mild anxiety attack every time I get sent to the store to pick up cucumbers for Mum. I can usually figure out where most other things are, but it's been maybe 3 years in a row now that I've gone to the store not knowing where to find cucumbers and feeling absolutely ridiculous.

A grown woman who's used to living on her own, managing her own groceries in giant supermarkets in other foreign lands unable to find cucumbers in the land where she was born.

Days like these, or these make me wonder if I've ever grown up or if I ever will. Grocery shopping in Singapore make me feel like I'm 18 all over again, never stepped outside of the world of school, band, church or my parents' home. And learning the ins and outs of living in a new place all over again isn't really that big of a deal. But I cannot help wishing that after 8 months, a day would go by where I don't feel like I'm having to learn something new all over again.

Not that I'm complaining, since this is all part of the adventure. But something familiar every once in a while would be nice.

Dents

This past Sunday was one of the rare weeks that I got to sit in for the sermon instead of running around with fussy kids.

Chad talked about dents in his sermon. He told the story of how their new car got broken into, and how even though it was barely scratched up--except for the handles of the car door--every time he looked at the car, all he saw were the dents.

He went on to say that sometimes that's the way we view our lives. We pay attention only to the dents, never mind that the car was still functioning, and nothing was stolen.

I sat in the pews thinking, well, I don't think I'm doing too badly. God only knows how many dings and scratches I've experienced, but I was pretty confident I had moved past all of that and that they no longer defined me.

And then this week came.

Unexpected news hit right smack in the middle of my week. I knew deep inside I needed this news to bring closure to something that happened years ago. But at the same time, it made me pay attention to that dent from years ago all over again.

Seven years feel like a long time for a recovery period. I've always thought no matter how deep the pain, I was strong enough to not need a long recovery period. Life goes smooth-sailing(ish) for a while with its occasional ups and downs, I almost forget what those periods of deep pain feel like.

Like a summer spent aimlessly, and almost completely alone, grieving over a broken heart.
Or when life slips away, and nights are spent occupying the mind with activity to numb the pain so that when the head hits the pillow, consciousness leaves immediately, only to return less than a few hours later, crying and wanting to scream but they only come out as strange animal noises.

They say we shouldn't let our dents define us because the Creator sees more in us than just the dents. But to pretend that the dents don't hurt when they do is cheating ourselves of the experience of humanity--the very reason for our existence in the first place. For if we don't know what it means to be human, how can we even begin to understand love?

We forgive, and we let go. But sometimes I wonder if to simply forget is depriving ourselves of the opportunity to learn important lessons.

15 years have passed since that episode where my identity became defined as the trash can that collected everyone's crap only to be set out on the streets waiting for the trash collection truck that never came. I've since made peace with that episode and reconciled with the characters involved, but not a day passes that I have to intentionally choose to not continue to be defined as a trash can.

Some days I do it better than others.
Some days the dents hurt more than others.
Some days I cry about the old dents more than others.

But I'm only human.
To feel pain is only human.

And I keep writing.
Keep sharing stories.

For what purpose are stories, if not to make the journey of another a little less alone?

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

On Writing...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But as Dwayne and Kara wrote,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Welcome to Te Atatu

Katherine and I went today to mark out the route for our prayer walk on Friday. Along the way, I got a little bit of a history lesson, which made me realise I guess it's time for the blog world to be formally introduced to Westside Christian Fellowship and Te Atatu Peninsula.

Westside Christian Fellowship began as Auckland International Church. As AIC, the church primarily consisted of international expatriates. In 2007, the church moved to Te Atatu Peninsula in the Waitakere region, which is west of the Auckland mega-city.

I'm just trying to be impressive with my geographical terminology here, ok? To put it simply, for those of you familiar with the Great State of Indiana, it's kinda like saying Anderson (Te Atatu Peninsula) should really be filed under the Madison County cabinet (except in this case it's the beautiful Waitakere (mountain) ranges), but it's now lumped together with Indianapolis (Auckland) as part of the mega-city.

Completely confused yet? :) Google might be able to help.

West Auckland has apparently been historically the area with the notorious reputation. Te Atatu was apparently one of the most "unsafe" areas until recently. According to Katherine, churches on the Peninsula have been prayer-walking the community and much change has come to Te Atatu Peninsula.

Westside has chosen intentionally to work very closely with the schools and families on the Peninsula. It has been an interesting few months for me, watching the subtle influence of post-Christianity play out in family life on the Peninsula. But it has been even more fascinating, watching the growing number of people in our church stepping forward to influence even more positive change in our community.

I'm excited about the things that God has in store for us in 2012. But even more so, I'm honoured that I get to be a part of this. The approval of my 2-year visa (which I just realised I haven't even blogged about!) answers a lot of prayers that have been whispered. But even more so, it affirms that the vision of bringing me here wasn't a mistake; that the dreams we've dreamt in the last few months weren't a mistake; that, just in general, we're doing ok.

2012 promises to be another year of adventure. Sure there will be more (and bigger) emotional roller-coasters--I wouldn't expect any less from a crazy God with an incredibly misunderstood sense of humour. But even through all the big disappointments and heartaches of 2011, God's faithfulness still came through in the few in quantity but massive in quality victories.

Bring it on, 2012 in Te Atatu Peninsula. I'm ready for you!

October Update: Eggs in the Microwave?

Dear friends,

About seven years ago, I learnt a very important lesson in the dorm room of Martin Hall at Anderson University: Never try to boil an egg in the microwave. My roommate came back that evening and observed that the room smelled like really good food, not realising an egg had just exploded in the microwave. The next day, we had to air out the room so that the "yummy" smell that is now foul wouldn't linger too long.

Fast forward seven years. I was on dinner duty tonight because Kathrin (one of my housemates) was away at a conference. When the eggs that were supposed to be hard-boiled were still a bit runny, my immediate thought was, "Microwave! But just for a few seconds without the shell on so it doesn't explode." (I did learn my lesson... Sort of.) If not for Stefan (other housemate who is married to Kathrin) pointing out it still might not be the best idea, we'd have another egg-splosion.

It's a funny story to tell now, but it makes me reflect on the fact that there will always be lessons to be learnt -- and some to be re-learnt.

There's still much to learn about living life here. Like the fact that running around barefoot is generally acceptable in Kiwi-culture (CGM staff - yes, I'm fitting in quite well here ). Or that chickens that are to be eaten are called "chicken," and chickens that are pets are called "chooks." Or that rugby is a big, BIG part of Kiwi-culture, and not just because the All Blacks just won the Rugby World Cup last Sunday.

I was recently reminded that what I learnt from XZBerlin, the team I interned with in Germany, is not applicable only in Berlin. The truth is, being Xristo (Greek for "Christ") Zentrisch (German for "center") is something I can take with me regardless of what part of the world I might find myself in. I'm still learning the "hows" and "whats" of being XZ (Christ-centered) in Auckland looks like, but I'm most thankful for the Stefans who help avoid egg-splosions.

Holiday Programme
It seems strange to think that our holiday programme (VBS for the folks in the States) was two weeks ago. The majority of my time in my first month here was spent working with Danette Beisley to get things ready for that week, and all of a sudden we were done. Even though it got increasingly stressful closer to the week, watching the adult volunteers work together with the youths to get things set-up and running was fulfilling enough. Getting to spend some time with the kids that we had gotten to know through our involvement with the Bible Clubs in two of the primary schools made it even more worthwhile.

Prayer Requests:
Visa Update: This week, I had to call the FBI (something I never thought I'd do, but that's another thing to check off my bucket-list!) to check on the process with the background check from the US. I was informed that the current processing time for background checks is 8 weeks, and they won't have information for me until next week at the soonest. As frustrating as this process has been, the track record has shown that things will fall into place at the right time. Will you pray with me that this process will go smoothly?


Visioning: In the weeks since the holiday programme has ended, the church leadership has spent quite a significant amount of time in conversation about what next year will look like. Pray with us that as we transition and cast vision for the next year, we will really hear who God wants us to be in our community, and how to live that out.

Also, I have new contact information. Send me a message if you would like to have it.

Thank you all for your love, prayers, support and encouragement.

Love you all.

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

Jars of Clay

So here I am again

So full
Yet so empty

So much to say
Yet so wordless

So much restless fighting
Yet so much peace


Today I stood and stared at the ocean
Waters from the past reminding me of things I used to love
Things I used to be passionate about

Things that set me free
Things that taught me about Love


And then I wonder...
There's a whole world of water out there
Why am I sitting in a little sampan again?

Sampans aren't always bad things
Trouble is which sampan,
And what oars do I use to keep from drifting to dangerous waters?


They gave me books to read
Manuals to study
Flashcards even

But they all became sampans too

There's still a whole ocean out there


How do I dive deep
But not drown?


Someone told me recently
Forces are coming together
To bring congruence between my head and my heart

How?
When?
And until then, what?




And then...
"For right now... I don't know what the ans. is so just keep being the best you. When you can't take it... write me e-mails. I will read all of them and respond to them first thing (even tho I have e-mails from 4 weeks ago I need to get to)"

"Therefore, since we have this ministry, as we received mercy, we do not lose heart, but we have renounced the things hidden because of shame, not walking in craftiness or adulterating the word of God, but by the manifestation of truth commending ourselves to every man’s conscience in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing, in whose case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelieving so that they might not see the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not preach ourselves but Christ Jesus as Lord, and ourselves as your bond-servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness,” is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.


But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves; we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not despairing; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are constantly being delivered over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you.


But having the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, “I BELIEVED, THEREFORE I SPOKE,” we also believe, therefore we also speak, knowing that He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and will present us with you. For all things are for your sakes, so that the grace which is spreading to more and more people may cause the giving of thanks to abound to the glory of God.


Therefore we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal."


And suddenly I'm thankful Dr Majeski made us memorize this for our NT2 midterm.

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.

Three Weeks in Aotearoa

Today officially marks three weeks since I arrived in Auckland. Several friends here have made the observation that I didn't really land in Auckland, but rather just hit the ground running.

In this last week, I finally took the time to kind of jump out of my own skin metaphorically and look at the last few weeks from an "outsider's" perspective. Am I surprised that I hit the ground running? No. I probably would have been more surprised (and wonder what on earth is wrong with me??) if that didn't happen.

I'm not a "sit still and wait upon the Lord" person. I don't do that well. My host/roommate, Kathrin, and I had a conversation about that this week. She said something along the lines of, "I feel like I've been given a yellow light for a long time. I'd rather just have a red or green, but instead I'm simply getting yellow. That's ok... I have a lot of patience----NOT."

And I think that's kind of where I am. I've been at the yellow for so long that now that I'm finally here, I'm excited. I'm eager to go, to do, to be... But at the same time, there has to be the balance on the other side. I have to stop. I have to slow down. I have to take the time to grieve all the change that has happened in the last few months.

Do I absolutely love being here? Yes.
Do I absolutely love the people here? Yes.
Do I feel like I fit in here? Yes.

But still. There needs to be time to stop. To breathe. To rest. To cry.
And a big part of me wants to say, "We'll get to that later. Right now we're gaining momentum, so it's not quite time to crash yet."
But yet if I don't stop for a quick break now, I will crash and burn. And it will be ugly.

Sigh.

One of these days, self-care is going to get so much easier. One of these days, self-care could even come in the form of simply popping a "soul-soother" pill or something like that.

But until that day, we keep plogging along and do the best we can to take care of ourselves.


Alright, moving on.
So here are a few things I've been involved with since I got here:

Church at Westside Christian Fellowship (WCF)
Church service usually starts at 4:30, but because we're renting space from the Anglican church, we usually get to church around 3 to set up for our service. "Church" usually ends with a pitch-in dinner, and everyone brings a dish according to the theme that's been decided. That has been a great time for me to get to know people at the church, hear their stories, hang out, and wrestle with the kids and the youths. By the end of the day, I'm usually exhausted--usually because I spend WAY too much time running around trying to avoid getting tackled by one of the youths or kids. And even though it's exhausting, I love every minute of it. For a global nomad, the feeling of acceptance and settling into some kind of family structure is comforting. And so for church to always feel like it's a rowdy family reunion feeds my soul.

The church family here has also been great with taking care of me. People have constantly been feeding me and taken me out for coffee (it might even be possible that I've consumed more coffee in the last 3 weeks than during my seminary years. Except it's happy coffee--coffee you drink for fun, not stay-awake coffee!). A small group of like-minded crazies at church have taken it upon themselves to check up on me that I'm doing well spiritually and emotionally and processing life healthily.

Holiday Program
In a little over a week, we will be having our holiday program. The theme for this year is "Passport to the Holy Land". It's pretty much Vacation Bible School style, and it will be on October 10-14. Danette has been working very hard on getting this together, and I've been given the opportunity to watch and learn as well. Pray with us that this will be an event that allows relationships to develop amongst the kids, the group of helpers and our community. Pray also that it will bring life change that lasts longer than just the event itself.

Hiking at Piha
Last weekend, my hosts and housemates Kathrin and Stefan, and our youth pastor Steve led a group of university students on a hike to Piha and I got to tag along. To everyone who has been telling me New Zealand is beautiful, you are absolutely right. Stefan is amazing at photography and took a bunch of pictures. I haven't had the time or technology to upload the photos I took yet, so here's the link to the photos Stefan took.

Piha

So much more to write since life has been so full for the last couple of months. Once I get around to a regular routine of writing again, I'll do my best to not simply do the verbal diarrhea thing. But for now, time to get things ready for dinner tonight!

Soul Food From Aotearoa

Haere Mai. Welcome.

Too much time has flown by since the last time I blogged.

No, I take that back.

The amount of time has been right, but so much has happened. As much as I enjoy crafting words, I don't know that I have the sufficient vocabulary in any human language to describe all that has happened in the last couple of weeks.

I guess the most important thing I have to say here for today though is: I'm now in Auckland. And for that I am thankful.

I've been here less than two weeks now, and already my soul is so filled. Do I still have doubts about whether Auckland is the right place for this season? To tell you no would be a big fat lie. I'm still waiting for the day that we actually formalize the visa process and for the immigration folks to tell me, "Sorry. Denied."

I guess I should back-track a little.

Yes, I made it to Auckland. But I'm here on a tourist visa at the moment because I'm still waiting for a background check in the States to be processed for the visa application. The whole process is kinda complicated (but mostly just annoying) to explain, but simply put: If we waited for the background check to be processed, it would take at least another month from the time I mailed the request to the States to the time we would hear anything back. So we figured I'd come in on a tourist visa for now and apply for the work visa after the background check comes in, seeing as I have enough financial support for now so that Westside doesn't have to pay me yet.

Clear as mud? I'd be happy to explain all the details to you eventually, but that's not the point of this entry today.

The point is, I'm here. I don't have a clue what I'm doing, but apparently Things are happening. And I'm blown away by the fact that simply because I finally decided to stop shuffling my feet around and come in spite of immigration regulations, I get to be a part of Things here. And somehow, trying to put these things down on pen and paper (or keyboard and screen?) makes me feel like I'm cheapening the spirituality of all that has happened. And the fact that my soul has been so, so filled makes it hard for me to not be cynical about it.

I've been having an internal debate between myself and the conversation Jenny and I had back when I heard back from Chad that the folks at Westside had given the go-ahead to continue conversations with me about coming over. A big part of me finds it difficult to believe that good things can come so easily. After all, there were still so many questions left unanswered.

• Would I fit in theologically?
• Would I find the soul friends quickly enough to help me process transition the way my Anderson community had before I fall back into my unhealthy coping measures?
• How the heck is the Greater Being going to equip me enough to work with kids?

But those are not the important questions for now. The scariest thing is that there already are people here who will walk this journey with me. They've listened to some of the ridiculousness of the questions I've been asking. They've helped me try to balance out the head and heart sides of ministry. They've been so intentional about taking care of me physically, spiritually and emotionally. Part of me wants to say, "Yeah, but I'm new. How long will this last?" while another part wants to say, "Shut up. Just because you've had your share of church folks hurting one another doesn't mean you're allowed to stop believing in the power of Agape."

But again, that's still not the point. I can keep rambling, and keep digging for cynicism then further still for truths that combat cynicism, and still completely miss the point.

The point is, I'm here. I've done a good job so far of covering up how tired I really am, and how I feel like I'm running on nothing. This year has been long. The journey to finally be physically in Auckland has been exhausting. The ability to simply sit and let Things happen is clearly coming from a Being far greater than me right now. The truth is, Things will happen at Westside regardless of whether or not I'm here. I get to be a part of these Things not because I'm a good person, or because this is a reward for my willingness to let the world be the village that raises me.

I get to be a part of this because Agape knew this was my love language. And for that, I am in awe.

I apologise if I haven't been very coherent. The desire to finally put some of these thought bubbles down into words has been great, but even greater has been the desire to simply sit quietly in awe of all that has happened and the One that has weaved these stories together.

Love you all, and appreciate each one of you so much for being a part of my village.