Of Monkeys, Donkeys and Other Tomfoolery

And so 2011 has arrived.
Welcome.
We greet you with peace and hope that you will do the same for us.

Somehow, my heart is detached from this "new year" stuff this year. Not much of wanting to reflect on the year that has passed, or much of wanting to set goals for the year to come. Maybe that's part of what happens when, for two years in a row, you've spent either Christmas or New Years setting a new tradition of being in a different country.

Or just simply... Being away from the traditions of the Church family that I grew up with made a difference in the way I see life now.

I used to think Christmas and New Year's was the time to gather with loved ones to reflect on things that have passed and dream about the future. But now, the definition of "loved ones" have changed. I guess being in China for Christmas last year and in Cambodia for New Year's this year made me remember again that there is life outside of the Church.

Before you think I've fallen off the deep end and am walking away from my call to ministry, I haven't. The Deutschland adventures this year taught me that ministry doesn't happen exclusively in the Church, whether it be in the confines of the building, or just amongst other Christ followers. It happens in the everyday life with the people I live with and walk with.

And now, Cambodia just reminded me of that again.

All week long, there were Monkeys, Donkey, Shrek and Happy Feet.
All week long, we saw history, played cards, lived Khmer culture, hung out at the beach.
All week long, we lived, we laughed.

Sure it might be shallow, but this is where we start.
And maybe because of this, beginning and ends don't matter as much anymore.

Because beginnings and ends are our definition of time.
Who knows if our paths will cross again, but the tomfoolery of this past week will always be remembered.

As will the grandeur of Angkor Wat and the other temples of Cambodia.
And the haunting memories of the killing fields and S-21.

Pictures are on Facebook. If you want to hear stories, I'd love to catch up with you.

And so 2011 has arrived.

Welcome.

We greet you with peace and hope that you will do the same for us.

Siem Reap, First Thoughts...

Sunday, December 26, 2010 (Siem Reap)

Siem Reap, Cambodia

The only reason why I would be familiar with this name would be because of the history books. Known for its historical marvel, the Angkor Wat.

Being here is almost as surreal as standing in front of the Bonhoefferhaus in Berlin, Germany. The history nerd in me is in awe of the architecture, the historicity of a civilization forgotten by the world while the music nerd in me is distracted by the sounds of the whole-tone music played by a young child on the Khmer variation of a Xylophone that greeted us as we entered the hotel lobby. All at the same time, the cultural anthropological nerd in me is marveled by the cross of Buddhism and Hinduism in the Khmer culture, while the seminary nerd in me is trying to figure out what to do with the fact that the breakfast we had this morning cost each of us only US$2 and was being taken care of by our host who is up in the ranks in the Cambodian government but the average Cambodian will not be able to afford that.

But I digress.

Let me back-trek a little and explain what in the world I’m doing here in Siem Reap.

So for years now, my mum and her younger sister have been tutoring kids who came to Singapore from other Southeast Asian countries for education. My aunt’s sister-in-law was the originator of this enterprise that started oh, some fifteen years ago or something close to that. The kids lived with my aunt’s sister-in-law who would be their legal guardian here and both my mum and aunt would tutor them to teach them English and help catch them up with the school system here in Singapore. They came from Malaysia, Indonesia and mostly Cambodia, and had wealthy parents (which would have been the only way they could have afforded education in Singapore).

Anyhow, two years ago, some of my mum’s students from Cambodia asked if she and her family would go visit them in Cambodia. Their parents would host them and make arrangements for  touring and accommodations, so basically my mum just needed to take care of getting to Cambodia. Well, at this time, my brother and I were still in the US, and when I found out they were going to Angkor Wat, I was a little jealous. So when the students asked her again if she would come visit them this time around, we got to tag along.

And so here we are in a little resort in Siem Reap. Well, not little. They actually got a villa for the six of us, and from where I am sitting out here on the porch, I am well-shaded from the sun with a view overlooking the pool. All around, the architecture is very much Cambodian with the mix of Buddhist and Hindu flavours, but you can tell that they’ve studied well what the Western tourists are looking for in their little Asian getaways (I watched Eat Pray Love on the Frankfurt to Singapore flight. Just think of all the stuff Julia Roberts did in India and Bali to be counter-Western in that film and you’ll know what I mean).

Upon our arrival at the Siem Reap airport this morning, we were greeted by a sign with my mum’s name on it. We cleared immigration and customs without having to stand in line because of who our hosts were. Then we were ushered off in a van that took us to this villa where a young child was making what I would guess to be traditional Khmer music in the corner. At the other corner, there was a Buddhist altar similar to the ones in both of my grandma’s homes, except on a bigger scale. The Asian-ness is familiar, but having lived in the US for the last six years and all the other cultural and religious influences that have been a part of my life in the last six years, this familiarity is so welcoming… and refreshing.

So we check into our villa, a huge suite with two huge rooms, two huge bathrooms, a huge sitting area and kitchen space. I could spend the rest of our week in the country here and be happy. But something about that weirds me out just a little because I still think about my own life on the other side of the world where I know that 1) I will never be able to afford vacations like these by myself because of my vocational call, and 2) I feel a little guilty for this expenditure. I’ve already been processing the part about how the middle-class in Singapore is far better off in terms of quality of life than the middle-class in the US. But I haven’t quite reached the point of reconciliation with myself about if I want to do anything about that, or what that would mean yet.

Then after our luggages were dropped off in our villa, we were carted off again to breakfast Cambodian-style. They had the eggs, toast and coffee selection but they also had the Asian variation of rice and noodles (which reminded me of HT’s, “Thank you for bringing rice” comment when I brought Mum’s chicken porridge to our Biblical Foundation for Mission breakfast final. HT, by the way, is Korean) which was what we opted for.

It was at this point that Mum pointed out that the average Cambodian would not be able to afford the meal we were having, even though it was only US$2 per person. Our van-driver and tour-guide made about US$30 per month. The advocacy for social justice instilled in me by my good old Missions professor MaryAnn made me want to do something about it. But what would that be?

A lot of processing to do. But for now, I’m off to be social.

Merry Christmas!

It is 11:50 am on Christmas Eve here in Singapore where I am sitting in the bedroom I grew up in in my parents' house.

In Anderson, one of my other homes, it is 10:50 pm the day before.

Elsewhere in the world, some are asleep while others are just waking up. I never appreciated this until this summer when I was in Germany. It would be the middle of the day, and one side of my world was going to bed while the other one was just waking up.

I don't like being in a different time zone from my families in Singapore or Anderson - or now, Germany. But someone reminded me this just means no matter where in the world I go, no matter what time it might be, there will always be some kind of family awake for me.

And I think this is something new I am learning about Emmanuel, God with us.

Emmanuel knows each of our stories; the story of where we came from, the story of where we are now, and the story of where we are going.

Emmanuel that created us knew what we needed to help us with our past.

Emmanuel that redeemed us knows what we need to deal with our present.

Emmanuel that sustains us knows what we need to deal with our future.

As Christmas is about a day, or a few hours away (depending on where in the world you are as you read this), we remember Emmanuel that came to walk on this earth. Thank you for helping to make Emmanuel real to me this year through being a part of my big world-wide family.

God has been here since the beginning of time. May Emmanuel be real to you this Christmas.

Hugs,

Jael

My Two Worlds...

Before this past semester of seminary started, I remembered telling someone that I was glad John and Elizabeth were joining us in the seminary. And it wasn't just because it was them, but because I would really appreciate the exchange of insights from Asians whose theology was actually shaped by Asia and not half and half like mine is.

And I was right. Except I was once again surprised that this theology didn't show up in the classroom but instead in the day-to-day living.

Through various interactions with Elizabeth, I was reminded that for them, giving up the quality of life they had in Taiwan is a far bigger sacrifice than people in the Anderson circle can understand. Forgive me if I sound harsh here, but sure, the Kenyans and the Indians make their sacrifices to come over for this higher education. And they have to take out loans and have half their families sell off their possessions to pay for school and all that. But because they're from the "third-world," it's natural for people from the Anderson circle to pull strings for them to find odd-jobs, cheat the system and stuff like them to help them pay off school. It's natural for people from the Anderson circle to think about buying them dinners, paying for their groceries and stuff.

I'm by no means saying that this isn't necessary. But I'm just reminded that for those who have been used to a much higher quality of life like in Taiwan, or even in Singapore, the sacrifices to be in a small suburban town in the middle of nowhere America involve more than just giving up the bright lights of the city for the cornfields. It means birthday gifts for each other are less fancy now. It means giving up the once-a-week sushi and fine-dining for more home-cooked meals. It means watching friends from high school splurge on extravagant shopping sprees and overseas trips while we scrimp and save to pay off the phone-bill and look for cheap weekend getaways once in a while so that we don't have to take unpaid vacation days off from our minimum wage job. It means finding ways to stay content in the cornfields even though we know we could easily come back to this side of the Pacific and easily return to this quality of life that we gave up.

And I'm not writing this to brag because God only knows the only way I made it this far is because of the people in the cornfields who remind me it's easy to be content with the small things. And God only knows I made it this far because I have people on this side of the Pacific who have made their sacrifices to keep me on the other side. And I had time to ease full-fledge into what it means to live with the quality of life that I do in the cornfields.

But I guess the yearly trips back to this side of the Pacific mess with my identity crisis even more because, for 3-4 weeks in a year, I live the life of the daughter of an average middle-class person in Singapore with a quality of life that I never dare to dream of, knowing what lies ahead in my vocational future. And then I go back to being the seminary student trying to make ends meet, learning that communal living and making cheap meals in bulk to feed a big group might be the cheapest way to go about surviving those cornfields.

You know how they say, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God"? I've always only sort of understood that. I've never gone from being a wealthy individual into that poor college student; I've just reaped the benefits of my parents' occupations. So I understand it some, but it's never been quite so personal. But as I watch John and Elizabeth make these sacrifices to answer their call, it hits home again.

I know I've never been more content in the simplicity of the life I now lead, and I would never trade this for anything else in the world, even in the thick of the semester and the frustrations with God. But that's because of the community I've had on both sides of the Pacific who have helped to make it easier. And while I only have one semester left, John and Elizabeth are only at the beginning of their journey. And I already have a feeling their people on both sides of the Pacific will show up for them, as mine did for me.

Processing TCKness

Forgive the thought spillage here, but the last few weeks have been spent running from one thing to another, with a few minutes in between to stop and think. So tonight there might be a bit of verbal diarrhea, but we'll try to keep it contained.

It's that time of the year when the identity crisis of the third-culture kid in me hits its lowest point trying to figure out these transitions not just between one culture to another, but one home to another. You know how they say, you can be in a big crowd of friends but still feel lonely? Well, you can also blend in with a culture but still not feel like you belong anywhere.

Blending in is not belonging.

And maybe it's wishful thinking for someone with my vocational call to want a sense of belonging in some culture of the world considering the rest of my life probably entails continual transition from one culture to another.

Just thinking about sitting in the room tonight with a bunch of seminary friends that I know I've done a fairly good job of being intentional about being relational with. God only knows how much easier it would be for me to hide behind tasks so I don't have to deal with the risks of getting hurt by love. God only knows how much easier it would be to keep doing life in isolation as I have for so long.

And God only knows how hard it has been trying to focus in the here and now.
Sitting at a party with acquaintances, checking my phone every once in a while for updates on a friend's health.
Sitting in a room amongst friends watching a movie and trying to chill after an exhausting week, heart hurting for friends on one side of the world and trying to figure out how the heck I am doing with my own emotional health.
And getting antsy about that dreaded 30 hours on the plane, finally getting some down time, yet being afraid of having to deal with myself again this year.

And trying to figure out how the heck I've gotten so culturally messed up that others can relate to pieces of my story but not the whole deal.

I've always known my cultural adaptability and chameleon-like personality would come in handy with my vocational call. But at the same time, I really just long for community that would know the ins and outs of the story and still stick with me through the rest of the developing story, rather than hear the stories because they are fresh and fascinating and they've never met a more culturally messed-up person than me.

But I know community is hard. And my level of commitment to being community to others is my own, and I cannot hold others to my same standard.

And while I'm frustrated with life at the moment, I would never trade any of this mess for anything else in the world. Because it is out of my messed up cultural identity that I can do well with the post-modern, post-Christian world, and without the story that backs up this mess of cultures, I have no understanding or credibility in that world.

I'm frustrated. And I'm getting tired so I should end this one before more ridiculousness ensues. For whatever reason, I'm REALLY looking forward to my decompression time at that favourite place in the world this year.

Advent #2: December Came Too Soon

1:40 am, Sunday morning.
I should be asleep given all that has happened in the last 24 hours and all that will happen in the next 24 hours.

But 1:40 am came too soon.
Just as December came too soon.

"A whole 'nother year has passed," as the good folks of the Midwest will say.
And again, December came too soon.


I hadn't had time to process the disaster that the Spring of 2010 semester had been, and I found myself crash-landing in Germany.
And I fell in love there.

No, correction. I learnt what it really meant to love there.
No, no, I meant... I learnt the present-day translation of what agape meant.
The agape as it really was like in the Acts of the Apostles.
And what that agape translates to today.

The kind of agape that binds community as that Jewish Rabbi taught.

What was his name again?

Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.

Then I barely had time to figure out the mess I was in coming back from Germany.
And I was thrown into dealing with real life people.

People who weren't simply names out of those "holy" pages, like Priscilla and Aquila, or Cornelius or Stephen.
Real life people whom I was faced with the question of whether or not I wanted to intentionally choose agape with them and for them.

The same agape that that Jewish baby born in that manger intentionally chose.
Wait, what was his name again?
Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.


Then I barely have time to figure out the mess I'm in right now processing this agape.
And I'm about to be thrown back into that once-upon-a-time "only home I know" physical location.

Only to remember, after this December, it will no longer be anymore.
Bags will be packed with childhood memories, while the physical pieces probably tossed into a no-man's-land similar to that space that stood between the former East and West Berlin.

The same "no-man's-land" that that Jewish "Son of Man" dude referred to as "no place to lay his head."
Tell me again, what was his name?
Oh, right. Jesus of Nazareth.


Right.
That Jesus of Nazareth dude.
What business does he have with me anyway?
And why the heck should I give a rip about his life?
He's been dead and gone two thousand years.
What does he matter today?


Except he does.
Because he chose agape.
He chose agape for me.

He chose that manger not simply for a story to fill those "holy" pages.
He chose that "nowhere to lay his head" not simply so I can identify with that "no-man's land".
He chose that "Rabbi" not simply just to teach.

He chose that because he knew it would lead him to that cross on Golgotha.
He chose that because he chose agape.


2:09 am, Sunday morning.
I should be asleep given all that has happened in the last 24 hours and all that will happen in the next 24 hours.

But 2:09 am came too soon.

Just as December came too soon.

But that Jesus of Nazareth.

He came just on time.

Come, Thou long-expected Jesus

Thankful

It is nearly 5am.
I just turned in my last big paper for my second to last semester of seminary.
I should be sleeping.
But I'm wide awake with a heart full of thanks.

Thankful for the way God works to bring new people in to be family.
Thankful for the accountability to take care of myself over the last few weeks of sickness.
Thankful for honest, genuine, transparent conversations about life and things that have hurt us in the past.
Thankful for prayers and strength through the past weeks of physical pain.
Thankful for opportunities to do life together.
Thankful for second chances.
Thankful for the opportunity to watch new family members discover the blessings of doing life as family.
Thankful for reminders to not take the familiar for granted.
Thankful for the comfort that if I need anything at all, regardless of what time it is, there will be someone who will show up for me.
Thankful for family that are not afraid of the ugly, messy sides of life.
Thankful for the willingness to confront these ugly, messy sides together.
Thankful for a global family spread across all these different time zones that even when one side is asleep while I'm up writing a paper, there's another side to talk to to help keep me awake.
Thankful for prayers that kept me going this week.
Thankful for those who understand the depth of the spiritual warfare of this week.
Thankful for everything that made staying up till 4:30am writing a paper enjoyable.
Thankful for stamina to still care about this academic work even after the discoveries in Germany this summer.
Thankful for opportunities to do life and relationships to make this academic relevant.
Thankful for this couch to crash on after this night of paper-writing.
Thankful for you who are reading this.

And finally, thankful that I can now go to bed.
So blessed. So thankful for you.

Advent #1: Mary

So it's come down to this.

Nine months I carried him. And for what?
Thirty-three years he lived. And for what?

All those years I've endured being misunderstood. All I wanted was to be a good mother to my son, but because the father of my other children was not also his father, the other women never knew what to make of me.

Never mind that it didn't matter to the father of my other children that Jeshua wasn't his.
Never mind the divine revelations we received about his birth.
They didn't understand.
But then again, neither did I.

And all these years I watched him grow. From Bethlehem to Nazareth; from the manger to the temple. All these things he did, I never understood. But he was my son. So even while I didn't understand, I loved him.

But he was never really mine. Sure I carried him for nine months. But he came from a place that I never really understood. And the things he did in his lifetime were never really things I could understand. Turning water into wine, healing the sick, making the lame walk again...

But there was something else.
He loved.

He loved me. He loved his father.
He loved the women on the streets, those tax people, and even... even those people who brought him to Golgotha.

But why? Why would he love them? Why SHOULD he love them?

I loved him because I carried him for nine months. But he? He had no blood relations, no ties, no obligations to any of these people. Yet he cared. He owed them nothing; he did not have any reason to worry about the consequences of their life decisions. Yet he loved.

There are days when I wonder, did I carry him all that nine months just to watch him carry that cross? If I had known that this was what it was going to come down to, I would have asked for this yoke to be taken away from me. Then I wouldn't have to hurt because the man on that cross would have been someone else's son and not mine. And I could just watch from a distance and not get involved with the story.

But he knew. He knew even before he was in my womb. And he still chose this.

This.
This is love.
Love that is greater than I can understand
Love that gives all, demanding nothing in return
Love that expects nothing in return
Love that knew all the stories and the ugly baggage, but never withdrew
Love that saw the bigger picture but yet cared about the small details

I could have just been a bystander watching this all unfold. But he chose to show me the depth of this love when he let me carry him, even if just for a little while. He chose to let me understand the pain of this love that overwhelms my humanity.

This was a love that would have come whether or not I was involved. But it also came for me.

And this is the love that compels me to love with that same depth and intensity. But I'm not Jeshua. I don't have it in me to love like that. But come, Emmanuel. Come and overwhelm me with this deep, intense love again that I might love the way you chose to.

O Come Emmanuel

What do I Know of Holy?

You know the song that goes, "Break my heart for what break yours"? I'm becoming increasingly convinced that the songwriter had no idea of the magnitude of what they are asking for.

What do we think we're asking for when we sing that line?
Compassion for the poor and needy?

Not that I don't believe compassion for the poor and needy isn't a part of the heart of God.
But that comes easy, doesn't it?

Compassion? Does compassion drive us to do anything?
And even if it does, the poor and needy are distanced. We can invite them into our lives, but until they become the people that we do everyday life with, they still are our "projects".

So what happens when our hearts are broken because of a love that is far bigger than we in our humanity can understand?
What happens when our hearts are broken because we are asked to say, "I love you," even when we already know that person is going to walk away anyway?
What happens when our hearts are broken because the love that we have understood and been filled with is compelling us to love in that same way?

Do we know what we're asking for when we sing, "Break my heart for what breaks yours"?
What do I know of holy?


And what about that Child?
That Little One lying in a manger, here for some reason that he may or may not even understand.

Did he know this was what love was going to compel him to do?
Did he know this was the love he was born into?
Was he holy? Was he divine?

If You touched my face would I know You?
Looked into my eyes could I behold You?
What do I know of wounds that will heal my shame?
And a God who gave life "its" name?
What do I know of Holy?
Of the One who the angels praise?
All creation knows Your name
On earth and heaven above
What do I know of this love?
What do I know of holy?


I don't know a lot about spiritual things.
But I know they exist, and there's a realm of spirituality that I can only catch glimpses of from time to time.
And I have not traveled into enough parts of the world to know how this spirituality works in other parts of the world.
But I know I cannot disregard that spiritual things happen outside of my "Christian" understanding of this label.
And academia cannot and should never take away the spiritual.

And we are more spiritually connected than we want to think about.
But we like our distance, don't we?

Because distance keeps messiness away.
The messiness of ourselves.
The messiness of things we don't know.
The messiness of getting involved with others.

Are You fire? Are You fury?
Are You sacred? Are You beautiful?
What do I know?
What do I know of Holy?




And then there's that Child.

That Little One lying in a manger, here for some reason that he may or may not even understand.

Did he know this was what love was going to compel him to do?

Did he know this was the love he was born into?

Was he holy? Was he divine?

I guess I thought that I had figured You out
I knew all the stories and I learned to talk about
How You were mighty to save
Those were only empty words on a page
Then I caught a glimpse of who You might be
The slightest hint of You brought me down to my knees

What do I know of HOLY?

Lyrics from Addison Road's "What do I Know of Holy"

Sweet November; Life Together

Alright Blogger world, I did not mean to disappear for so long. But hey, life happens, right? And if life is about the journey where we'll just keep learning, then allow me for a few seconds to share about the things I have learnt in my disappearance.

You know how as the Sunday School kid, you kind of learnt that Jesus was the answer to everything? Then in youth group they tell you that you learn some nugget about God and then comes the time that you will be tested on what you learnt? I guess that has been the last few months.

The realisation hit a few weeks ago that I was finally getting into the deep melancholy of having left a place that took up so much of my heart for a few months. But this time I was surprised that, once again, it wasn't the "cultural transitions" that we typically think about. It wasn't transitioning back to communicating in proper English everyday instead of fragments of English and German.

No, it was missing being relational. It was missing intentionally spending time with people as my full-time job. Granted I know it's unlikely I'll ever have the opportunity to just do that as a full-time job again, I do miss having time to not just hang out with people, but actually do life and walk together with them.

And then along came people who, if left to my own choice, I would never initiate conversations with. And then I fall into their story. And we walk together. In my 6.5 years here, I've never had to take someone to the ER or the chiropractor. But I've also never been to a corn maze or carved pumpkins, or done any of the fall fun stuff.

But that all happened in the last month.
This is what doing life together is about, huh?

But it's also the willingness to stick around and fight the fights when we disagree. To apologise when we mess up. To step outside of our mess and realise that when we're stuck in the thick of the storm, whether intentionally or not, our actions sometimes hurt others.

These were all things that I read about in books. Oh, Bonhoeffer's writing is still so uplifting. But the actual living part of it is so much more painful and emotional. But so worth the while in the end.

No beautiful prose or fancy vocab this time that I'm coming out of hiding and re-entering the blogger-world. Just plain, simple, honest truth - at least, that's what I tried to do.

Love you all, and hope things are well - and if not, at least hopeful - in your world.