I've always heard them say, "The rain falls on the just and the unjust," and wondered what they mean.
See, the thing is, I've always loved rain. Growing up, Mum always made us carry an umbrella to school so that even if it rained on the way home, we would be sheltered from the rain. Sometimes, even if I had an umbrella in my bagpack, I would still walk in the rain because I loved the way it fell on my head and my skin, and even the squishy feeling of my wet socks rubbing against the insides of my shoes. But once I got home, I would hurriedly take off my socks. The moist feeling wasn't quite so fun anymore and I'd be eager to get dry. But then I moved to Anderson, and the rains there were not the warm rain that I could cool off in. The freezing rains annoyed me because I quickly learnt how much I hated the cold weather.
Which makes me wonder, when they say "the rain falls on the just and the unjust," do they mean the warm rain in Singapore that I love, or the freezing Anderson rain that I detest?
And who do they mean by just or unjust? See, I used to have clear definitions of who the just were and who the unjust were. The just were the good people--the ones who overflowed with Jesusness and everything they did was Christian and Christlike. They had decent jobs and a good reputation. And the unjust were... Well, the ones who clearly could do better with their lives but weren't willing to try hard enough.
I don't know when the lines started to blur for me, but I finally noticed it last summer. The people I hung out with and would consider to be my friends fell into the category of the ones that I would have previously labeled unjust and have nothing to do with. I wish I could say it was because I was overflowing with the love of Jesus to the point that whether they fell into the category of just or unjust didn't matter anymore, and that I would be able to love them anyway.
The truth is, if I were completely honest, the reason why I hung out with them was because I thought I had something to offer them. But when I heard all the stories that led them to the places that they were when we became friends, it was then that I realised how I had made those judgment calls of "just" or "unjust" based on the way I was socialised to interact with them.
I used to think that aside from the poor little women in Africa who made TAPP beads and the likes of them, everyone else who was HIV-positive got it because they made irresponsible life-decisions. Would I have chosen to not associate with them simply because they were HIV-positive? I think not. But the friends that I got to know last summer made me realise that even though they were in places that I wouldn't have usually found myself in when we met, the reality is that I could very well be where they are, even given the upbringing and socialization that I've had. Sure, they've made a few choices that I'd like to say I would never make., but if I were in the circumstances that they found themselves in when they started making the first "bad" decision, I don't know that I would have done anything different.
But the rain falls on the just and the unjust. If Justin had a choice, I'm not sure he'd start down the path of drug abuse which eventually led him to the day that, even after deciding to get cleaned up, he received his diagnosis of being HIV-positive.
All that to say, I'm not sure who the just or unjust are anymore. But I know that I hate the word cancer. Even more than that, I hate HIV. And not because the physical suffering of one condition is worse than the other, but because I'm guilty of having judged one as "deserving" of suffering.
When the truth is, as it boils down to it, who am I to judge? Besides, the rain falls on both the just and the unjust. So what does it matter?
08 July 2011
04 July 2011
I Used To Dream
I used to dream that wars would end
That walls would crumble and unity would happen
And strife would cease, that love would prevail
I used to dream that girls would see their God-created beauty
That boys would know it's ok to cry
And societal labels would cease, that love would prevail
I used to dream that over-zealous religiosity would stop defining "the common good"
That self-interest and preservation would stop limiting commitment to relationship
And hypocrisy and judgment would cease, that love would prevail
I used to dream of clean water and food for children all over the world
That slavery and oppression of colour, gender and age would be exposed
That injustice would cease and love would prevail
But now I no longer have the ability to dream
For those dreams have been crushed by the brutality of what is real
Reality that is uncontainable chaos unleashed
Where the only way to navigate is to hold on to pieces of tangible beauty in the midst of suffering, and hope for Kingdom come
But dreams...
Dreams are words, images of ideals
Ideals crafted by the selfish desire for perfection
Ideals separated from the reality that perfection--holiness?--of the self, the world and everything in between is never possible because created being's definition of "perfection" insists on tracing its roots back to the self
Yet I will choose to dream a different dream.
A dream that one day I can be set apart from my self.
That my disillusionment from reality being so far removed from my selfish ideal would no longer cripple me.
That my standards of judgement of how the world should be instead of how it is would cease...
And that the only constant of my dreams...
That love,
Only love...
That love will prevail.
- June 29, 2011
That walls would crumble and unity would happen
And strife would cease, that love would prevail
I used to dream that girls would see their God-created beauty
That boys would know it's ok to cry
And societal labels would cease, that love would prevail
I used to dream that over-zealous religiosity would stop defining "the common good"
That self-interest and preservation would stop limiting commitment to relationship
And hypocrisy and judgment would cease, that love would prevail
I used to dream of clean water and food for children all over the world
That slavery and oppression of colour, gender and age would be exposed
That injustice would cease and love would prevail
But now I no longer have the ability to dream
For those dreams have been crushed by the brutality of what is real
Reality that is uncontainable chaos unleashed
Where the only way to navigate is to hold on to pieces of tangible beauty in the midst of suffering, and hope for Kingdom come
But dreams...
Dreams are words, images of ideals
Ideals crafted by the selfish desire for perfection
Ideals separated from the reality that perfection--holiness?--of the self, the world and everything in between is never possible because created being's definition of "perfection" insists on tracing its roots back to the self
Yet I will choose to dream a different dream.
A dream that one day I can be set apart from my self.
That my disillusionment from reality being so far removed from my selfish ideal would no longer cripple me.
That my standards of judgement of how the world should be instead of how it is would cease...
And that the only constant of my dreams...
That love,
Only love...
That love will prevail.
- June 29, 2011
27 June 2011
NAC: Last One For A While...
Right smack in the middle of my last North American Convention of the Church of God, and so much has happened already. So many highs, so many lows.
It all began Thursday afternoon when I met with Don and Caroline Armstrong, who will be my Regional Coordinators when I get to New Zealand. Because I'm not a US citizen, the visa/fundraising process has been a really interesting one with lots of twists and turns, hoops to jump through, doors to knock on only to find them shutting before I even get a word in. Prior to the meeting with Don and Caroline, I was starting to lose hope, and had even considered moving back to Singapore. The process would be so much easier.
But... For whatever reason, I always find myself ending up with the processes that are much longer, more complicated, more frustrating... and eventually, more rewarding. Would I trade it for anything else? I think not.
Then Thursday came around and we had a really brief meeting just to touch base on where we all are with things. After some very encouraging words, they also offered to help me connect with other 501(C)3s that might be able to help accomplish what I needed. I was to show up at a fish-fry on Saturday (something I've heard about every year I was on staff at GM, but never thought to go to), and they would get me connected to a possible answer.
Thursday was an encouraging day.
Friday came around, and I got to spend the day painting and hanging out with some of my favourite people who feed my soul. Friday was another encouraging day.
Saturday came around and as I picked Jenny up to head over for our first ever NAC speaking engagement, I remembered telling her the last two days have gone very well, and I was afraid of what that day might bring. Since being an introvert comes more naturally for me, I had forgotten what it was like to face the NAC crowd. It wasn't that I didn't like being around crowds; it was more of trying to remember the art of putting aside the introversion that I had mastered because of my 2.5 years with GM.
It wasn't until after that was over and when I went over to the tent that it hit. This was my last NAC for a while. I wasn't one of those kids that grew up going to Campmeeting, but this convention had become so much a part of my Anderson life that it was another "see you later" that I had to do. And I also realised then how much I missed being around the missionary community. Not that I thought they were more special than ministers in the US, but they, too, had become such a regular rhythm of my Anderson life.
And then I went over to the fish-fry. I had barely even gotten there when I was being introduced left and right to people who would be helpful with my New Zealand process. And Don and Caroline were keeping track of all the stuff that I had to do. So... We are a go now, that I've found the 501(C) 3 that has agreed to work with my fundraising! When it became the right time, it only took three days, as opposed to the few months that I had tore my hair out being frustrated about it. Mind-blowing? Heck, yes.
The service on Saturday night blew my mind. Things that I had given so much thought to were being articulated to the masses in a way that would hopefully be heard and actually permeate the culture as is the theme for this year's convention. Wow.
Saturday was an up and down day.
Church this morning was packed out with all the good old Church of God saints. One of my favourite NAC moments is when all the AU/AC/Park Place Choir alum gather together to sing "I am a Child of God." (Yes, go ahead and laugh at the fact that the Church of God nerd that I am know that that is hymn #567 in the red Worship the Lord hymnal). Standing up front with all those people was another one of those moments that I took in deeply, knowing it will probably be a while before I get to do that again.
Getting to greet and eat with some of my once-a-year friends? Another favourite. Honestly though, I don't think it's fair that it's easier for people to remember me because I'm the tall Asian so I stand out. And as Mike and I have joked about, all white people look the same, so it's so much harder for me to remember them. But all the same, being able to greet people who remember me again? Another favourite.
Spent the afternoon setting up for Kid's Place, trying to track down a few people that I needed to see, and beginning to process everything that has happened in the last week... and getting a little bit overwhelmed. But hey, at least I have time to breathe this year!
Hardly warmed up my seat in Reardon before the evening service tonight and Caroline Ackerman leans over and asks if I've heard that Cheryl passed away at 4. And all of a sudden it was too much to take in. I may not be commissioned tomorrow night, but Don and Caroline have made it clear that they see me as a part of the Asia/Pacific region (and not just because my passport belongs in Singapore). So many thoughts swirled in my head about what this would mean to the whole family that I've gotten to know as a result of all our involvement in cross-cultural work. But not only that, what did that mean for the Church of God in Japan now?
Then later on in the service as I watched Pastor Lwo walk down the aisle to be anointed, that was when it hit. Cheryl's passing didn't just impact her family. Cheryl had done so much writing for and about the Church of God that her passing meant the end of an era. And the Asia/Pacific region that I had just been welcomed (back) into have already had enough losses first with Susan, then more recently with Cindy, and now Cheryl.
And running into more familiar faces and starting the, "Well, I'll see you again probably in a different land" conversations...
Tonight has been a culmination of a lot of different kinds of emotions.
Tomorrow will be Day 3 of my last NAC for a while. Off to bed before an early morning.
It all began Thursday afternoon when I met with Don and Caroline Armstrong, who will be my Regional Coordinators when I get to New Zealand. Because I'm not a US citizen, the visa/fundraising process has been a really interesting one with lots of twists and turns, hoops to jump through, doors to knock on only to find them shutting before I even get a word in. Prior to the meeting with Don and Caroline, I was starting to lose hope, and had even considered moving back to Singapore. The process would be so much easier.
But... For whatever reason, I always find myself ending up with the processes that are much longer, more complicated, more frustrating... and eventually, more rewarding. Would I trade it for anything else? I think not.
Then Thursday came around and we had a really brief meeting just to touch base on where we all are with things. After some very encouraging words, they also offered to help me connect with other 501(C)3s that might be able to help accomplish what I needed. I was to show up at a fish-fry on Saturday (something I've heard about every year I was on staff at GM, but never thought to go to), and they would get me connected to a possible answer.
Thursday was an encouraging day.
Friday came around, and I got to spend the day painting and hanging out with some of my favourite people who feed my soul. Friday was another encouraging day.
Saturday came around and as I picked Jenny up to head over for our first ever NAC speaking engagement, I remembered telling her the last two days have gone very well, and I was afraid of what that day might bring. Since being an introvert comes more naturally for me, I had forgotten what it was like to face the NAC crowd. It wasn't that I didn't like being around crowds; it was more of trying to remember the art of putting aside the introversion that I had mastered because of my 2.5 years with GM.
It wasn't until after that was over and when I went over to the tent that it hit. This was my last NAC for a while. I wasn't one of those kids that grew up going to Campmeeting, but this convention had become so much a part of my Anderson life that it was another "see you later" that I had to do. And I also realised then how much I missed being around the missionary community. Not that I thought they were more special than ministers in the US, but they, too, had become such a regular rhythm of my Anderson life.
And then I went over to the fish-fry. I had barely even gotten there when I was being introduced left and right to people who would be helpful with my New Zealand process. And Don and Caroline were keeping track of all the stuff that I had to do. So... We are a go now, that I've found the 501(C) 3 that has agreed to work with my fundraising! When it became the right time, it only took three days, as opposed to the few months that I had tore my hair out being frustrated about it. Mind-blowing? Heck, yes.
The service on Saturday night blew my mind. Things that I had given so much thought to were being articulated to the masses in a way that would hopefully be heard and actually permeate the culture as is the theme for this year's convention. Wow.
Saturday was an up and down day.
Church this morning was packed out with all the good old Church of God saints. One of my favourite NAC moments is when all the AU/AC/Park Place Choir alum gather together to sing "I am a Child of God." (Yes, go ahead and laugh at the fact that the Church of God nerd that I am know that that is hymn #567 in the red Worship the Lord hymnal). Standing up front with all those people was another one of those moments that I took in deeply, knowing it will probably be a while before I get to do that again.
Getting to greet and eat with some of my once-a-year friends? Another favourite. Honestly though, I don't think it's fair that it's easier for people to remember me because I'm the tall Asian so I stand out. And as Mike and I have joked about, all white people look the same, so it's so much harder for me to remember them. But all the same, being able to greet people who remember me again? Another favourite.
Spent the afternoon setting up for Kid's Place, trying to track down a few people that I needed to see, and beginning to process everything that has happened in the last week... and getting a little bit overwhelmed. But hey, at least I have time to breathe this year!
Hardly warmed up my seat in Reardon before the evening service tonight and Caroline Ackerman leans over and asks if I've heard that Cheryl passed away at 4. And all of a sudden it was too much to take in. I may not be commissioned tomorrow night, but Don and Caroline have made it clear that they see me as a part of the Asia/Pacific region (and not just because my passport belongs in Singapore). So many thoughts swirled in my head about what this would mean to the whole family that I've gotten to know as a result of all our involvement in cross-cultural work. But not only that, what did that mean for the Church of God in Japan now?
Then later on in the service as I watched Pastor Lwo walk down the aisle to be anointed, that was when it hit. Cheryl's passing didn't just impact her family. Cheryl had done so much writing for and about the Church of God that her passing meant the end of an era. And the Asia/Pacific region that I had just been welcomed (back) into have already had enough losses first with Susan, then more recently with Cindy, and now Cheryl.
And running into more familiar faces and starting the, "Well, I'll see you again probably in a different land" conversations...
Tonight has been a culmination of a lot of different kinds of emotions.
Tomorrow will be Day 3 of my last NAC for a while. Off to bed before an early morning.
22 June 2011
Sing A Sad Song Just To Turn It Around...
I'm not usually one who posts videos, but today's a different day, so just go with it.
This one's dedicated to the couple folks whom this day has not treated very well. Click here and let the song play in the background while you soak in the melancholy of this day. Even if you're not the folks that I'm currently thinking of, this one's for you anyway.
Not trying to be a Debbie Downer or a Perky Polly. Just saying, take a deep breath and sing the sad song together with me and the other person(s).
I can't tell you whether tomorrow will be better or worse, but at least for today, we'll sing a sad song together.
After all, together is better than not.
This one's dedicated to the couple folks whom this day has not treated very well. Click here and let the song play in the background while you soak in the melancholy of this day. Even if you're not the folks that I'm currently thinking of, this one's for you anyway.
Not trying to be a Debbie Downer or a Perky Polly. Just saying, take a deep breath and sing the sad song together with me and the other person(s).
I can't tell you whether tomorrow will be better or worse, but at least for today, we'll sing a sad song together.
After all, together is better than not.
20 June 2011
Stop This Train...
Dear God,
Today has been one of those days that it hasn't been easy to pack.
In the last few weeks, I've been getting rid of things that have been easy to get rid of. Sure, there have been things that held sentimental value, and ones that as I think about the stories that came along with those things, made me smile and maybe even shed a tear.
But as we're paring down to the bare minimal now, it gets harder. It's no longer, "Should I keep the Martin Hall t-shirt from my freshman year or the ISA one from my senior year?" But it's, "Do I keep the jars that the Santonocitos got me from Italy, or do I keep the necklace that the Millers got me from Bolivia?"
Or maybe it's just... The reality is hitting that my time here really is ending. I think it's fair to say I've been dealing with this ending fairly well, but today is not one of those days.
At church today, I started taking in all the little things that I will miss.
Papa Ed bringing me coffee from the coffee area in the dressing room behind the sanctuary, and the way he makes ecclesiological connections to everything.
Carma's postmodern thoughts and her realness that comes through in the worship services--and her ridiculously high heels.
Theo waving at me in the middle of the service from the corner where the young families sit Sunday after Sunday.
The people that pour that orange juice and cut up the bagels and serve the donuts.
The reality is sinking in.
Time is running out and I have too many things to do but I'd rather be hanging out with people that I don't know if/when I'll ever see again.
Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't but honestly won't someone stop this train
Like I said, it's hitting hard today
I know it's all going to get done, but I don't want to compromise spending time with my Anderson family to pack and write letters and do things that suddenly seem very silly.
Why can't moving across the world be an easier thing?
It's not that I'm not willing to go, but why do I have to do things to appease people so that they will help me get there?
Why do I have to write fundraising letters?
Why can't there just be an organization that will work with my situation and not say, well we've never had to deal with a situation like yours so we don't have to procedures set up for this and we're not going to?
And why does it feel like I'm trying to carve this new path completely on my own?
Sure, I've had a LOT of encouragement along the way, but I've still had to write my own letters, mail them out myself, do my own thank you notes, figure out my own budget and all the other stuff that back at my old job, I did for others.
That, on top of just trying to live everyday life, and accomplish all the things that I've made commitments to getting done.
Dear God, why me? Just because I'm willing?
Why do I have to be the one that, with all due respect to tradition and the good old ways of doing things, not let them dictate the NOs in my life?
Dear God, did I hear you wrong?
Should I keep walking down this path, or is it time to turn around and do something else?
Dear God, stop this train.
I don't have much left in me.
Today has been one of those days that it hasn't been easy to pack.
In the last few weeks, I've been getting rid of things that have been easy to get rid of. Sure, there have been things that held sentimental value, and ones that as I think about the stories that came along with those things, made me smile and maybe even shed a tear.
But as we're paring down to the bare minimal now, it gets harder. It's no longer, "Should I keep the Martin Hall t-shirt from my freshman year or the ISA one from my senior year?" But it's, "Do I keep the jars that the Santonocitos got me from Italy, or do I keep the necklace that the Millers got me from Bolivia?"
Or maybe it's just... The reality is hitting that my time here really is ending. I think it's fair to say I've been dealing with this ending fairly well, but today is not one of those days.
At church today, I started taking in all the little things that I will miss.
Papa Ed bringing me coffee from the coffee area in the dressing room behind the sanctuary, and the way he makes ecclesiological connections to everything.
Carma's postmodern thoughts and her realness that comes through in the worship services--and her ridiculously high heels.
Theo waving at me in the middle of the service from the corner where the young families sit Sunday after Sunday.
The people that pour that orange juice and cut up the bagels and serve the donuts.
The reality is sinking in.
Time is running out and I have too many things to do but I'd rather be hanging out with people that I don't know if/when I'll ever see again.
Stop this train
I want to get off and go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't but honestly won't someone stop this train
Like I said, it's hitting hard today
I know it's all going to get done, but I don't want to compromise spending time with my Anderson family to pack and write letters and do things that suddenly seem very silly.
Why can't moving across the world be an easier thing?
It's not that I'm not willing to go, but why do I have to do things to appease people so that they will help me get there?
Why do I have to write fundraising letters?
Why can't there just be an organization that will work with my situation and not say, well we've never had to deal with a situation like yours so we don't have to procedures set up for this and we're not going to?
And why does it feel like I'm trying to carve this new path completely on my own?
Sure, I've had a LOT of encouragement along the way, but I've still had to write my own letters, mail them out myself, do my own thank you notes, figure out my own budget and all the other stuff that back at my old job, I did for others.
That, on top of just trying to live everyday life, and accomplish all the things that I've made commitments to getting done.
Dear God, why me? Just because I'm willing?
Why do I have to be the one that, with all due respect to tradition and the good old ways of doing things, not let them dictate the NOs in my life?
Dear God, did I hear you wrong?
Should I keep walking down this path, or is it time to turn around and do something else?
Dear God, stop this train.
I don't have much left in me.
15 June 2011
A Quick Run-down
Alright, here goes...
To-do list:
- Kid's Place curriculum
- Draft and send out fundraising e-mails
- Compile list of materials needed for Kid's Place
- CWC Connector Rally materials
- Visa application
- Thank you notes and other "missionary-ish" stuff to be mailed
- Book one-way ticket to AKL in August
- Book roundtrip ticket to SIN in December/January
- Coffee, lunch, dinner, Sno-Castle and other "See you later" stuff
- Compress life into two suitcases and two carry-ons
Quick run-down of the schedule before August:
June 24-29: North American Convention of the Church of God
Friday, June 24 - NAC evening service (AU kick-off: Paul, A Musical Journey)
Saturday, June 25 - CWC Connector Rally (Speaking on connecting with other cultures)
Monday, June 27 - Kid's Place; SOT luncheon
Tuesday, June 28 - Kid's Place
June 29-July 11: Portland, Oregon
June 29-July 1 - Arthur and Judy Kelly (Troutdale OR)
July 1-8 - Jenny Marble's family (St Helen's OR)
July 2 - Becca Shrout and Ryan Hodges' wedding (Portland OR)
July 8-10 - Billy and Mary Hatch/Brett and Stephanie McMorris (Woodburn OR)
To be scheduled - Randee Doe and Sean Sullivan (Vancouver WA)
Mid-August - flight to Auckland
December 28-ish to January 15-ish - roundtrip to Singapore
If you find that we're going to be in the same general vicinity in any of the above dates, PLEASE let me know. I would LOVE to see you before I take off to the next part of the world.
Also, if you would like to receive updates from Auckland, please send me your e-mail address.
To-do list:
- Kid's Place curriculum
- Draft and send out fundraising e-mails
- Compile list of materials needed for Kid's Place
- CWC Connector Rally materials
- Visa application
- Thank you notes and other "missionary-ish" stuff to be mailed
- Book one-way ticket to AKL in August
- Book roundtrip ticket to SIN in December/January
- Coffee, lunch, dinner, Sno-Castle and other "See you later" stuff
- Compress life into two suitcases and two carry-ons
Quick run-down of the schedule before August:
June 24-29: North American Convention of the Church of God
Friday, June 24 - NAC evening service (AU kick-off: Paul, A Musical Journey)
Saturday, June 25 - CWC Connector Rally (Speaking on connecting with other cultures)
Monday, June 27 - Kid's Place; SOT luncheon
Tuesday, June 28 - Kid's Place
June 29-July 11: Portland, Oregon
June 29-July 1 - Arthur and Judy Kelly (Troutdale OR)
July 1-8 - Jenny Marble's family (St Helen's OR)
July 2 - Becca Shrout and Ryan Hodges' wedding (Portland OR)
July 8-10 - Billy and Mary Hatch/Brett and Stephanie McMorris (Woodburn OR)
To be scheduled - Randee Doe and Sean Sullivan (Vancouver WA)
Mid-August - flight to Auckland
December 28-ish to January 15-ish - roundtrip to Singapore
If you find that we're going to be in the same general vicinity in any of the above dates, PLEASE let me know. I would LOVE to see you before I take off to the next part of the world.
Also, if you would like to receive updates from Auckland, please send me your e-mail address.
13 June 2011
Dear Keren #8 - Becky and the Church Part 3
Dear Keren,
I sat in that building again today, as has become routine over the last three years since I left and came back. It's become a habit for me in the last couple months since I've known that the sun was setting on my time here to, every time I get the opportunity, look at all the people that have become family to me over the last three years. Sometimes it happens from up front, sometimes I secretly enjoy sneaking in late just to catch that few extra minutes of sleep--but also so I can sit in the back pews and just let the image of this whole messy, chaotic family find its roots in my heart.
But today was different. I sat at a different corner up front, then moved down to one of the wings halfway through the service. There was a candle-lighting piece in the later half of the service and again, I watched as all these faces--some familiar, some not so much--one by one came forward to light a candle. Some, I've known for a long time, and not just them, but generations in their family before and/or after them. Some I've just gotten to know very recently.
And then I noticed them. Ah yes, Jim and Betty were my landlords some years back--specifically, the year after the dark year ended. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure back then if I should allow myself to develop affection for them. After all, they were a part of that building--the one where the messy, chaotic family was learning then what it meant to live as family. All the murmurings, complaints, hurtful comments and attitudes... The many "care-cards" written to the leadership to inform them of how to do their jobs better. I was only twenty then. I wasn't prepared for my idealistic view of the institution to completely fall apart. The fact that this building was a major part of history and had a long legacy behind it didn't help keep my goody churchkid Becky-ish world from feeling like it was completely spiraling out of control. And then there was the part of the story where most of the people who were a part of this institution were people who had a long track record of ministry. Yet here we were fighting with each other over silly things like when rehearsal times clashed and this diva felt their contributions to the church was more important than that diva's so their rehearsal should take more priority.
And people wonder why I didn't want to go to seminary. If this was what people who have an extensive ministry repertoire end up doing to each other, then hell, no thank you.
But fast forward three years to today and we find Jim and Betty up front having just lit a candle. They proceed to kneel at the altar, and it's barely a minute later that I looked up and found Olive heading over to kneel and pray with them. And then I found tears in my eyes.
You see, Jim, Betty, Olive and her husband Savas are all people that I have come to love dearly in the more recent years since the dark year. They loved the part of Kingdom work that took them outside their own culture where they would spend most of their lives living in the in-betweens. And just for a few moments, I wondered what it was like for them to be a few years younger, living in cross-cultural settings in different parts of the world at the same time. And I wondered what kinds of friendships blossomed in the seasons where their paths would cross even if just briefly. Were they the kind that a "What are you doing? Can I come over now (and sit around and talk, or not talk, or do nothing)?" would not be awkward? Were they the kind that would last for a long, long time, till the day they find themselves back "home" again, worshipping in the same building again? Were they the kind that would still stay strong even after the dark years in a setting similar to the ones that they had just dedicated most of their lives to?
And this is why as much as that dark year redefined so much of who I am today, I hardly talk about it except to the few people. But lately as I have felt the need to validate my experience in ministry, or why I relate to the postmodern post-Christian culture as much as I do, this dark year has come up again.
Yet at the same time, watching Jim and Betty, and Olive, and all the other signs of vibrant family life in the post-dark-year era... Why bring up the past that only hurts and divides, when instead there's life and hope to look forward to?
Miss you,
Me
I sat in that building again today, as has become routine over the last three years since I left and came back. It's become a habit for me in the last couple months since I've known that the sun was setting on my time here to, every time I get the opportunity, look at all the people that have become family to me over the last three years. Sometimes it happens from up front, sometimes I secretly enjoy sneaking in late just to catch that few extra minutes of sleep--but also so I can sit in the back pews and just let the image of this whole messy, chaotic family find its roots in my heart.
But today was different. I sat at a different corner up front, then moved down to one of the wings halfway through the service. There was a candle-lighting piece in the later half of the service and again, I watched as all these faces--some familiar, some not so much--one by one came forward to light a candle. Some, I've known for a long time, and not just them, but generations in their family before and/or after them. Some I've just gotten to know very recently.
And then I noticed them. Ah yes, Jim and Betty were my landlords some years back--specifically, the year after the dark year ended. Quite frankly, I wasn't sure back then if I should allow myself to develop affection for them. After all, they were a part of that building--the one where the messy, chaotic family was learning then what it meant to live as family. All the murmurings, complaints, hurtful comments and attitudes... The many "care-cards" written to the leadership to inform them of how to do their jobs better. I was only twenty then. I wasn't prepared for my idealistic view of the institution to completely fall apart. The fact that this building was a major part of history and had a long legacy behind it didn't help keep my goody churchkid Becky-ish world from feeling like it was completely spiraling out of control. And then there was the part of the story where most of the people who were a part of this institution were people who had a long track record of ministry. Yet here we were fighting with each other over silly things like when rehearsal times clashed and this diva felt their contributions to the church was more important than that diva's so their rehearsal should take more priority.
And people wonder why I didn't want to go to seminary. If this was what people who have an extensive ministry repertoire end up doing to each other, then hell, no thank you.
But fast forward three years to today and we find Jim and Betty up front having just lit a candle. They proceed to kneel at the altar, and it's barely a minute later that I looked up and found Olive heading over to kneel and pray with them. And then I found tears in my eyes.
You see, Jim, Betty, Olive and her husband Savas are all people that I have come to love dearly in the more recent years since the dark year. They loved the part of Kingdom work that took them outside their own culture where they would spend most of their lives living in the in-betweens. And just for a few moments, I wondered what it was like for them to be a few years younger, living in cross-cultural settings in different parts of the world at the same time. And I wondered what kinds of friendships blossomed in the seasons where their paths would cross even if just briefly. Were they the kind that a "What are you doing? Can I come over now (and sit around and talk, or not talk, or do nothing)?" would not be awkward? Were they the kind that would last for a long, long time, till the day they find themselves back "home" again, worshipping in the same building again? Were they the kind that would still stay strong even after the dark years in a setting similar to the ones that they had just dedicated most of their lives to?
And this is why as much as that dark year redefined so much of who I am today, I hardly talk about it except to the few people. But lately as I have felt the need to validate my experience in ministry, or why I relate to the postmodern post-Christian culture as much as I do, this dark year has come up again.
Yet at the same time, watching Jim and Betty, and Olive, and all the other signs of vibrant family life in the post-dark-year era... Why bring up the past that only hurts and divides, when instead there's life and hope to look forward to?
Miss you,
Me
11 June 2011
Dear Keren #7 - Live Like You Were Dying?
Dear Keren,
Remember how I used to walk into your room or apartment, and we'd talk about everything else under the sun before I finally 'fess up and start the, "So there's this guy..." conversation? You always responded with the knowing smile that also hinted, "Yes, of course. I even know which guy, but go ahead and tell me about it anyway." Well, we're about to have this conversation again. Except this time I'm going to go straight to the, "...but this isn't going to work out because..." part of the conversation. Because as we all know, I'm about to make another big transition and there's all that other fun stuff that goes with it. And the last thing I need is to worry about something like that.
But the reason why I'm bringing this up this time is because we've talked so much about what it means to live as people who are constantly in transition. Constantly displaced between cultures. Constantly trying to find ways to make meaningful relationships even while living as constantly transitional people.
I confess that I've never thought of myself as a person who is good with relationships. Good with people? Sure. But there's a difference there. I can be good with people, know how to entertain them and keep them happy, but I'm still not good with relationships.
I remember having this conversation with Daria a few summers ago. One of our really good friends was about to graduate and move back home, and I was lamenting to her as we were getting ready to throw a mini-farewell dinner for him that if I had a choice, I would have chosen to say goodbye from a distance rather than do a really meaningful and emotional one. Why try to get to know a person even more when we all know that the physical proximity is going to end soon? So that it would be even more painful when he moved away? Daria's response was simply, "But would you rather keep the distance and have all the what-ifs later, or would you rather make the most and have memories to hold on to for a long time?" I still had the, "Yeah, but..."s for her, even though I knew she was probably right.
And... After you left, this fear of getting too close because I was afraid of getting hurt again when they move or leave became even stronger. Moving to a different country was one thing. There was still AIM (at the time) and Skype. But moving to a place where I could no longer have the "So there's this guy..." conversations amongst others... That's a whole different thing altogether.
A few weeks ago, Dr. Brewer preached a sermon (in his Hawaiian shirt, no less) at Park Place titled "Live Like You Were Dying." While I got the gist of his message (and really enjoyed it, no less), at this point in my life, I'm not sure that should be my goal in life. Because if I was going to live like I was dying, I would have shut down by now, and kept up the good work with people but epicly failing at relationships. Not to imply that I'm doing a good job with relationships right now, but at least I'm doing better than my instincts are telling me to.
Or maybe my instincts are changing. Is that possible? Because the truth is, while the option of shutting down is still on my mind a lot, it's become a lot more natural for me to keep doing what I'm doing. And maybe that still means I'm doing ok with the people, but doesn't say much about the relationships. But truthfully, even if that were true, I'm ok with that, because I'm slowly learning.
And so as the storm clouds are rolling in outside, I catch glimpses of lightning that remind me of the few folks that I've held dear to my heart, and their common fascination with storms. Some have hurt me deeply by knowingly inflicting even more pain when I chose to not walk away or shut down before getting hurt again. Some have left me confused by their silence. But you, I remember for your fascination with dancing in the rain, and your ability to celebrate life even in the midst of transitions.
I don't know how to really live like I was dying. But I'm learning to make the most, not just out of the in-between seasons, but every single moment.
Wish you were here,
Me
Remember how I used to walk into your room or apartment, and we'd talk about everything else under the sun before I finally 'fess up and start the, "So there's this guy..." conversation? You always responded with the knowing smile that also hinted, "Yes, of course. I even know which guy, but go ahead and tell me about it anyway." Well, we're about to have this conversation again. Except this time I'm going to go straight to the, "...but this isn't going to work out because..." part of the conversation. Because as we all know, I'm about to make another big transition and there's all that other fun stuff that goes with it. And the last thing I need is to worry about something like that.
But the reason why I'm bringing this up this time is because we've talked so much about what it means to live as people who are constantly in transition. Constantly displaced between cultures. Constantly trying to find ways to make meaningful relationships even while living as constantly transitional people.
I confess that I've never thought of myself as a person who is good with relationships. Good with people? Sure. But there's a difference there. I can be good with people, know how to entertain them and keep them happy, but I'm still not good with relationships.
I remember having this conversation with Daria a few summers ago. One of our really good friends was about to graduate and move back home, and I was lamenting to her as we were getting ready to throw a mini-farewell dinner for him that if I had a choice, I would have chosen to say goodbye from a distance rather than do a really meaningful and emotional one. Why try to get to know a person even more when we all know that the physical proximity is going to end soon? So that it would be even more painful when he moved away? Daria's response was simply, "But would you rather keep the distance and have all the what-ifs later, or would you rather make the most and have memories to hold on to for a long time?" I still had the, "Yeah, but..."s for her, even though I knew she was probably right.
And... After you left, this fear of getting too close because I was afraid of getting hurt again when they move or leave became even stronger. Moving to a different country was one thing. There was still AIM (at the time) and Skype. But moving to a place where I could no longer have the "So there's this guy..." conversations amongst others... That's a whole different thing altogether.
A few weeks ago, Dr. Brewer preached a sermon (in his Hawaiian shirt, no less) at Park Place titled "Live Like You Were Dying." While I got the gist of his message (and really enjoyed it, no less), at this point in my life, I'm not sure that should be my goal in life. Because if I was going to live like I was dying, I would have shut down by now, and kept up the good work with people but epicly failing at relationships. Not to imply that I'm doing a good job with relationships right now, but at least I'm doing better than my instincts are telling me to.
Or maybe my instincts are changing. Is that possible? Because the truth is, while the option of shutting down is still on my mind a lot, it's become a lot more natural for me to keep doing what I'm doing. And maybe that still means I'm doing ok with the people, but doesn't say much about the relationships. But truthfully, even if that were true, I'm ok with that, because I'm slowly learning.
And so as the storm clouds are rolling in outside, I catch glimpses of lightning that remind me of the few folks that I've held dear to my heart, and their common fascination with storms. Some have hurt me deeply by knowingly inflicting even more pain when I chose to not walk away or shut down before getting hurt again. Some have left me confused by their silence. But you, I remember for your fascination with dancing in the rain, and your ability to celebrate life even in the midst of transitions.
I don't know how to really live like I was dying. But I'm learning to make the most, not just out of the in-between seasons, but every single moment.
Wish you were here,
Me
10 June 2011
Dear Keren ##6 - Big Dreams Are Made Of These
Dear Keren,
"The deeper our faith, the more doubt we must endure; the deeper our hope, the more prone we are to despair; the deeper our love, the more pain its loss will bring. These are a few of the paradoxes we must hold as human beings. If we refuse to hold them in hopes of living without doubt, despair and pain, we also find ourselves living without faith, hope and love."
- A Hidden Wholeness, Parker Palmer
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Those were the words Melissa, one of our favourite people, left as my graduation gift. Between her wisdom, and her allowing us to take random awkward photos of ourselves in her apartment that summer, it's hard to not like her huh? She was one of the people who, like you, gave me space to find/redefine "home".
Emi and I have been talking a lot about dreams. Not just the ones that we have when we fall asleep (the ones that creep us out because they eventually manifest true in real life), but also dreaming up big things that could happen. On a few occasions, I found myself saying, "Emi, if you make this happen, I will consider moving back to Anderson after this next chapter is done."
Crazy, right?
But the thing is, some of these big dreams are the same dreams I've had four years ago as I was getting ready to leave the safety of undergrad AU life. Three simple but crazy dreams. You and I, we talked about it, and as hard as I try to recall, I don't remember how you reacted when I told you one of those crazy dreams included being homeless for a month or so, just to experience what it's like. I remembered most people trying to either talk me out of it or play it safe. But if we just played it safe, then it defeats the purpose, right?
As it turns out, I never had the guts to actually pull off the being homeless thing. Nor did I ever pursue any of the other two things that I dreamt of doing Yet four years later, here we are with these dreams resurfacing again.
Some days I wonder what it would be like if you were here now. Where will you be living, and what would you be doing? Back then we used to dream about doing the things that would help us find more of who we are so that we can do those things even better. All these years later, here I am again with those dreams coming closer to fulfillment, yet the fear of failure is still so apparent.
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Maybe that should be enough...?
Miss you,
Me
"The deeper our faith, the more doubt we must endure; the deeper our hope, the more prone we are to despair; the deeper our love, the more pain its loss will bring. These are a few of the paradoxes we must hold as human beings. If we refuse to hold them in hopes of living without doubt, despair and pain, we also find ourselves living without faith, hope and love."
- A Hidden Wholeness, Parker Palmer
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Those were the words Melissa, one of our favourite people, left as my graduation gift. Between her wisdom, and her allowing us to take random awkward photos of ourselves in her apartment that summer, it's hard to not like her huh? She was one of the people who, like you, gave me space to find/redefine "home".
Emi and I have been talking a lot about dreams. Not just the ones that we have when we fall asleep (the ones that creep us out because they eventually manifest true in real life), but also dreaming up big things that could happen. On a few occasions, I found myself saying, "Emi, if you make this happen, I will consider moving back to Anderson after this next chapter is done."
Crazy, right?
But the thing is, some of these big dreams are the same dreams I've had four years ago as I was getting ready to leave the safety of undergrad AU life. Three simple but crazy dreams. You and I, we talked about it, and as hard as I try to recall, I don't remember how you reacted when I told you one of those crazy dreams included being homeless for a month or so, just to experience what it's like. I remembered most people trying to either talk me out of it or play it safe. But if we just played it safe, then it defeats the purpose, right?
As it turns out, I never had the guts to actually pull off the being homeless thing. Nor did I ever pursue any of the other two things that I dreamt of doing Yet four years later, here we are with these dreams resurfacing again.
Some days I wonder what it would be like if you were here now. Where will you be living, and what would you be doing? Back then we used to dream about doing the things that would help us find more of who we are so that we can do those things even better. All these years later, here I am again with those dreams coming closer to fulfillment, yet the fear of failure is still so apparent.
"I pray through the doubt, despair and pain you will know more fully faith, hope and love."
Maybe that should be enough...?
Miss you,
Me
06 June 2011
Dear Keren #5 - Summer Nights
Dear Keren,
Favourites of my Anderson summers:
Bonfires/Cookouts
Playing in the warm rain
Sno Castle
Tonight I went on my first long walk of this season. A little later in the calendar year than usual, I guess. But we've had so much cold rain in the last month that it wasn't even worth it.
But tonight, I poured my heart out to a dear friend. Stories I've never told before, they all came tumbling out.
Ad this is why I love summer nights. School is out, and after we get off work, we're done for the day. Except for you. You always had the same job every summer that kept your schedule so full that hanging out entailed the usual, "What are you doing? Can I come over?" instant messages before I find you traipsing across the neighbour's yard in my direction. Then we'll sit or walk to Dairy Queen, and talk... or not talk. Sometimes it would be about your brother, and how he took the car and didn't fill up the gas tank again. Sometimes it would be stories that revealed the transparency of our friendship. Sometimes the silence between us spoke the depths of our friendship that ran deeper than words, in a way that I don't know how to explain besides borrowing from the Na'vi's "I see you."
Summer nights are when I miss you most.
Jenny made an observation tonight as I poured out my stories. I miss you because you were home to me. In the busyness of the school year, I hardly paid attention to how homesick for a sense of belonging I was because there was enough to distract me. But summer nights came and sitting around wishing for "home" would have become an uncomfortable norm if not because I had already found "home" in our friendship.
I've known many who uproot as easily and adapt as quickly as we do. But you taught me the importance of not just learning to uproot easily and adapt quickly, but also to quickly sink roots that are so deep that when we try to evaluate or take measurement, we find that we can only measure in the volume of heart that had been shared and not time. You taught me that sinking roots meant mutuality and accountability, and not the flighty "get up and run away" when the going gets tough.
Dear Keren, I miss you not because of the summer nights we spent hanging out watching Daria clips on youtube, or you introducing me to songs that no one else had ever heard. I miss you not because I want to watch movies on your balcony while snuggling with you and Holly. But I miss you because you had become "home" to me even before I came to terms with my loss of cultural identity. I miss you because even in the silence, I knew you understood displacement the same way I did.
And leaving Anderson isn't hard because I have 7 years of junk that need to be reduced to 2 suitcases and 2 carry-ons. It's not because I will miss the academia. It's not because I will miss the roads that are never plowed quite enough during the winters.
It's hard because I'm leaving the place that holds memories of you, memories of "home," and memories of the journey to redefining "home" not as a physical place but as a sacred space in which I hold the ones I love.
Dear Keren, this is my last summer in Anderson. Even in Berlin last year, I had an inkling that I still had one more summer in Anderson. This time, I really don't know anymore. I could sit around and mope and just keep missing you. But I think if you were here, you'd nudge me to make the moments count.
So I will pack up my junk. I will meet all the datelines I promised. But I will also take time to dance in the rain, watch movies on the balcony and simply... live.
Miss you,
Me.
Favourites of my Anderson summers:
Bonfires/Cookouts
Driving with the windows down
Flip-flops
Friends
Hanging out with missionary friends
Late night heart-to-hearts by the Helios
Long evening walks
Minnetrista's Farmer's MarketPlaying in the warm rain
Sno Castle
Tonight I went on my first long walk of this season. A little later in the calendar year than usual, I guess. But we've had so much cold rain in the last month that it wasn't even worth it.
But tonight, I poured my heart out to a dear friend. Stories I've never told before, they all came tumbling out.
Ad this is why I love summer nights. School is out, and after we get off work, we're done for the day. Except for you. You always had the same job every summer that kept your schedule so full that hanging out entailed the usual, "What are you doing? Can I come over?" instant messages before I find you traipsing across the neighbour's yard in my direction. Then we'll sit or walk to Dairy Queen, and talk... or not talk. Sometimes it would be about your brother, and how he took the car and didn't fill up the gas tank again. Sometimes it would be stories that revealed the transparency of our friendship. Sometimes the silence between us spoke the depths of our friendship that ran deeper than words, in a way that I don't know how to explain besides borrowing from the Na'vi's "I see you."
Summer nights are when I miss you most.
Jenny made an observation tonight as I poured out my stories. I miss you because you were home to me. In the busyness of the school year, I hardly paid attention to how homesick for a sense of belonging I was because there was enough to distract me. But summer nights came and sitting around wishing for "home" would have become an uncomfortable norm if not because I had already found "home" in our friendship.
I've known many who uproot as easily and adapt as quickly as we do. But you taught me the importance of not just learning to uproot easily and adapt quickly, but also to quickly sink roots that are so deep that when we try to evaluate or take measurement, we find that we can only measure in the volume of heart that had been shared and not time. You taught me that sinking roots meant mutuality and accountability, and not the flighty "get up and run away" when the going gets tough.
Dear Keren, I miss you not because of the summer nights we spent hanging out watching Daria clips on youtube, or you introducing me to songs that no one else had ever heard. I miss you not because I want to watch movies on your balcony while snuggling with you and Holly. But I miss you because you had become "home" to me even before I came to terms with my loss of cultural identity. I miss you because even in the silence, I knew you understood displacement the same way I did.
And leaving Anderson isn't hard because I have 7 years of junk that need to be reduced to 2 suitcases and 2 carry-ons. It's not because I will miss the academia. It's not because I will miss the roads that are never plowed quite enough during the winters.
It's hard because I'm leaving the place that holds memories of you, memories of "home," and memories of the journey to redefining "home" not as a physical place but as a sacred space in which I hold the ones I love.
Dear Keren, this is my last summer in Anderson. Even in Berlin last year, I had an inkling that I still had one more summer in Anderson. This time, I really don't know anymore. I could sit around and mope and just keep missing you. But I think if you were here, you'd nudge me to make the moments count.
So I will pack up my junk. I will meet all the datelines I promised. But I will also take time to dance in the rain, watch movies on the balcony and simply... live.
Miss you,
Me.
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