Towards the end of my senior year at Anderson University, Ann Smith invited me over for tea one afternoon. If you've not met Ann Smith, she's like the female mix of Gandalf, Dumbledore and Obi-Wan Kenobi, except at least twice as personable, and even more awesome. To say I was awestruck to have tea with her would be an understatement.
But Ann simply wanted to hear my heart. She wanted to know what I would be doing after graduation and how she could pray. At the time, I was concluding a ministry internship where church politics had worn me out, and all I wanted to do was to find a 1-2 year assignment working cross-culturally somewhere before returning to Anderson for seminary. I don't remember how the conversation started, but I found myself telling her about a frustrating conversation I had with God my freshman year.
It was a few weeks into our first semester. Even though the only common language between the three of us were English, I found myself acting as a translator of sorts between a friend from Hong Kong and another from South Korea. It was a classic case of translating bad English to bad English--something I must have mastered growing up in the land of Singlish (another form of bad English mixed with at least two Chinese dialects, Malay and some bits of Tamil). One night, as I was laughing at the ridiculousness of my translator role, I felt this prompting to consider living in China as a missionary after graduation. I remembered thinking God must be crazy. Why would I have had to move halfway across the world only to move back the other way? Wouldn't it have been much shorter if I had simply gone from Singapore to China?
Nothing made sense at the time, but as the years passed, I began to realise if I wouldn't even consider saying yes to moving to China, I wouldn't have been willing to consider moving anywhere. China was slightly more familiar than any other part of the world would have been. It was also the stepping stone for my parents to consider the possibility that I wasn't going to move back to Singapore for a while. It was a lot easier for my dad, a traditional Chinaman, to give his daughter his blessings if she were to move to the "motherland" where our ancestors came from, than to some potato-eating (as opposed to rice-eating) part of the world.
As I shared this part of my story to Ann, she simply smiled and said, "You know, my first call to missions was also to China. To this day, I have lived in Japan and South Korea, but still have not made it to mainland China. I don't know what God is doing with that, but I know there is a reason I'm still passionate about China."
Six years have passed since I graduated from AU. Save from a trip to Canton Province (廣東 or Guang Dong province) in 2009 where our family went to trace our ancestral roots on my dad's side, there still are no signs of me ever moving to China. Instead, I find myself at a cafe in New Zealand, writing this post about why I'm going to help start a ministry to international students in Auckland--most of whom are students who have recently moved here from China for university.
I guess God has a really warped sense of humour.
04 October 2013
01 October 2013
The Bridge: Foundations
About a year ago, I was asked to help out at a kids' camp. It was a busy time of year at WCF, but because I knew I still had a lot to learn about children's ministry and this would be a good learning opportunity, I decided I would go.
During the camp, Paul, who was one of the directors of the camp, asked if I would share my testimony one night. And so I did. I wrote about it after coming back from camp because it gave me a lot to think about.
On the final day of camp, Paul asked if I could give a ride home to one of the camp leaders and the other camp director, Gwen. As it turned out Gwen's flatmate at the time was an American lady who served as a chaplain at a university here. That she was from Portland, Oregon and was a chaplain to international students (both of which I was really passionate about), gave us a lot in common. If I hadn't been that worn out from camp, I would have stayed for dinner with them. I didn't realise at the time was that that wasn't going to be my last interaction with Carrie.
A few weeks later, I was out running errands with Marilyn and had shared with her about my interest in working with migrants, refugees and international communities--which was why New Zealand even interested me in the very first place. She excitedly told me that her mum had been volunteering with an organisation that helped migrants with their transitions, and that I should have coffee with her. As much as I wanted to, life got busy and that got put on hold.
A few months later, we had a guest speaker one Sunday who worked with migrant and international communities. Merv Coates had also been the professor for pastoral care at Laidlaw Bible College. He and I had several conversations about his work, and he invited me and members from our church to come along to one of the events their ministry was sponsoring. It was at that event that I ran into Carrie again. Because there was so much going on at the time, we never got to talk much.
This was the third time that this idea about working with migrants and international communities had come up, and I was beginning to wonder if God was up to something with these "accidental" run-ins. But again, life happened, and I never got around to following up on any of those conversations.
Then one random day, Carrie posted on Facebook about an event called Newswatch. It was one of the programmes sponsored by the chaplains at the university where students would watch news clips from the week to help keep them connected with news both locally and around the world, and especially in their home countries. Because the news clips were in English, it was also an opportunity for them, many of whom English was a second language, to brush up on their language skills. I hopped on and asked Carried if it would be ok for me to come along to just hang out. Before I knew it, Newswatch and student group Fridays had become a regular on my calendar, and the students began to count on the desserts that would show up with me.
While all this was happening, Carrie and I still hardly knew anything about each other because we both understood our priorities on Fridays were to hang out with the students. One day in the middle of nowhere just before my trip back to the States, she asked where my funds were coming from. Because Carrie herself has to raise support, she understood some of the hoops to jump through with fundraising. But as I began to explain the complexities of my situation and all the ways we've tried to work with the system, she was appalled that it had become such hard work. She then asked if I would consider having my funds come through the organisation she was working with. And then she said, "I don't know what your contract is like with your church, but if you would like to come work with us, we would love to have you."
At that time, I had already known I wasn't going to serve another term with WCF. As much as I loved my experience and had learnt a lot from my time here, I had also learnt that just because I was able to do something or learn how to do something (like run the children's ministry), it didn't always mean that I was the right person for the job. And I began to recall all the conversations I had prior to arriving in New Zealand about all the other things I was passionate about--working with migrant and international communities, and working outside the church structures to bring people into meaningful relationships with those within the church structures. And I began to trust the prompting that it was time to pursue that. All of these conversations with Carrie, Marilyn and Merv could not have been coincidental. (The Bible does say something about, "three times..." eh?)
And so Carrie and I began to talk a little bit more. All of this time, it bothered me that I didn't know how it would all fit with my (somewhat foolish) loyalty to the Church of God Reformation Movement, or how this new ministry would fit into its structures, or what I would do if it didn't. Several other things got thrown onto the scene that halted my conversations with Carrie for a while. But as things began to fall into place, as they always do, I began to realise that whether it fit into a denominational structure or not, I could no longer run away from pursuing this new ministry.
Shortly after my return from the States, several things happened that led to some significant conversations with the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand. Even though most ministries in New Zealand tend to run ecumenically, I was "raised" to respect denominational traditions, and WMCNZ would have been theologically closest to the Church of God. And it was encouraging to know that there were WMCNZ folks who, upon hearing about my ideas for a new ministry next year, got really excited and wanted to jump in to support however they can. They themselves had relationships and connections that made it easy for them to understand why this new ministry would be significant, which gave me hope to realise that I wasn't crazy for wanting to do this. As good students of missiology will tell you, outsiders may see a perceived need, but until the insiders want to address those needs themselves, they will not buy into any programme that outsiders are pitching.
So where does this lead, and what's next?
Well, I'm not exactly sure yet either. As conversations continued with Richard, superintendent of WMCNZ, I begin to realise there is potential for this to have a much bigger scope and influence than I can even foresee at this point. I would love to see this eventually develop into a community space (not necessarily physically) where students can connect with both local communities and churches, and it becoming an intergenerational relationship-building venue.
But for now, there is work to be done to get the first steps in place. Here's how you can pray with us:
As always,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
me
Coming up: "Why me??"
During the camp, Paul, who was one of the directors of the camp, asked if I would share my testimony one night. And so I did. I wrote about it after coming back from camp because it gave me a lot to think about.
On the final day of camp, Paul asked if I could give a ride home to one of the camp leaders and the other camp director, Gwen. As it turned out Gwen's flatmate at the time was an American lady who served as a chaplain at a university here. That she was from Portland, Oregon and was a chaplain to international students (both of which I was really passionate about), gave us a lot in common. If I hadn't been that worn out from camp, I would have stayed for dinner with them. I didn't realise at the time was that that wasn't going to be my last interaction with Carrie.
A few weeks later, I was out running errands with Marilyn and had shared with her about my interest in working with migrants, refugees and international communities--which was why New Zealand even interested me in the very first place. She excitedly told me that her mum had been volunteering with an organisation that helped migrants with their transitions, and that I should have coffee with her. As much as I wanted to, life got busy and that got put on hold.
A few months later, we had a guest speaker one Sunday who worked with migrant and international communities. Merv Coates had also been the professor for pastoral care at Laidlaw Bible College. He and I had several conversations about his work, and he invited me and members from our church to come along to one of the events their ministry was sponsoring. It was at that event that I ran into Carrie again. Because there was so much going on at the time, we never got to talk much.
This was the third time that this idea about working with migrants and international communities had come up, and I was beginning to wonder if God was up to something with these "accidental" run-ins. But again, life happened, and I never got around to following up on any of those conversations.
Then one random day, Carrie posted on Facebook about an event called Newswatch. It was one of the programmes sponsored by the chaplains at the university where students would watch news clips from the week to help keep them connected with news both locally and around the world, and especially in their home countries. Because the news clips were in English, it was also an opportunity for them, many of whom English was a second language, to brush up on their language skills. I hopped on and asked Carried if it would be ok for me to come along to just hang out. Before I knew it, Newswatch and student group Fridays had become a regular on my calendar, and the students began to count on the desserts that would show up with me.
While all this was happening, Carrie and I still hardly knew anything about each other because we both understood our priorities on Fridays were to hang out with the students. One day in the middle of nowhere just before my trip back to the States, she asked where my funds were coming from. Because Carrie herself has to raise support, she understood some of the hoops to jump through with fundraising. But as I began to explain the complexities of my situation and all the ways we've tried to work with the system, she was appalled that it had become such hard work. She then asked if I would consider having my funds come through the organisation she was working with. And then she said, "I don't know what your contract is like with your church, but if you would like to come work with us, we would love to have you."
At that time, I had already known I wasn't going to serve another term with WCF. As much as I loved my experience and had learnt a lot from my time here, I had also learnt that just because I was able to do something or learn how to do something (like run the children's ministry), it didn't always mean that I was the right person for the job. And I began to recall all the conversations I had prior to arriving in New Zealand about all the other things I was passionate about--working with migrant and international communities, and working outside the church structures to bring people into meaningful relationships with those within the church structures. And I began to trust the prompting that it was time to pursue that. All of these conversations with Carrie, Marilyn and Merv could not have been coincidental. (The Bible does say something about, "three times..." eh?)
And so Carrie and I began to talk a little bit more. All of this time, it bothered me that I didn't know how it would all fit with my (somewhat foolish) loyalty to the Church of God Reformation Movement, or how this new ministry would fit into its structures, or what I would do if it didn't. Several other things got thrown onto the scene that halted my conversations with Carrie for a while. But as things began to fall into place, as they always do, I began to realise that whether it fit into a denominational structure or not, I could no longer run away from pursuing this new ministry.
Shortly after my return from the States, several things happened that led to some significant conversations with the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand. Even though most ministries in New Zealand tend to run ecumenically, I was "raised" to respect denominational traditions, and WMCNZ would have been theologically closest to the Church of God. And it was encouraging to know that there were WMCNZ folks who, upon hearing about my ideas for a new ministry next year, got really excited and wanted to jump in to support however they can. They themselves had relationships and connections that made it easy for them to understand why this new ministry would be significant, which gave me hope to realise that I wasn't crazy for wanting to do this. As good students of missiology will tell you, outsiders may see a perceived need, but until the insiders want to address those needs themselves, they will not buy into any programme that outsiders are pitching.
So where does this lead, and what's next?
Well, I'm not exactly sure yet either. As conversations continued with Richard, superintendent of WMCNZ, I begin to realise there is potential for this to have a much bigger scope and influence than I can even foresee at this point. I would love to see this eventually develop into a community space (not necessarily physically) where students can connect with both local communities and churches, and it becoming an intergenerational relationship-building venue.
But for now, there is work to be done to get the first steps in place. Here's how you can pray with us:
- Pray for the churches that have an interest in being involved with this ministry. Pray that the existing relationships with the students will continue to be strengthened and the desire to pour into their lives will grow.
- Pray for the students that will be reached through these relationships, that they would encounter life-change in their few years in New Zealand. And pray that the relationships built here will continue to support and provide accountability for them as they return to their home-countries.
- Because of all the complexities surrounding my support raising with several organisations in different parts of the world supporting me, it makes sorting out a visa complicated. Please pray that things will begin to fall into place for the process.
- I will also need to move out of my current living arrangements to make room for a ministry of this nature. Pray for a new living arrangement to open up that will be affordable.
As always,
i carry your heart
(i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
me
Coming up: "Why me??"
30 September 2013
"For God so Loved the World ... and Nicodemus"
I preached my first sermon at WCF yesterday. For those who are curious, click here for the audio recording.
Shout out to the scattered community that were cheering on on Twitter. Special thanks to Joe Watkins for the images he created.
Shout out to the scattered community that were cheering on on Twitter. Special thanks to Joe Watkins for the images he created.
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| Nicodemus, Face in the Crowd |
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| Nicodemus, Member of the exclusive Nerd-Club |
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| Nicodemus, Coffee with Jesus |
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| Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea |
16 September 2013
Table Talks: John Wesley part #1
Last Tuesday, we began a new series in our small group focusing on the life and teachings of John Wesley.
As our last sermon series was concluding, I had asked the ladies what they wanted to discuss next. Since there were so many questions raised about Wesleyan teaching as we were going through our last series, it made the most sense to do a study on John Wesley.
So that the discussions don't get completely dry and boring, we have been reading "John Wesley: The World His Parish" from the Christian Heroes series by Janet and Geoff Benge. It's written as a novel for young readers (intermediate/junior high age) so it's a very pleasant read for our small group. But what I've appreciated about the five chapters I've read so far is that it doesn't avoid getting into the deep theological terms just to keep it appropriate for young readers. Instead, the writers use those terms and go on to explain what they mean in language that is reader-friendly for its audience.
We had just gotten the books last week, so we read the first two chapters aloud during small group. Since we have been trying to tailor our children's ministry to be more family-focused (families doing Church together rather than parents do grown-up church stuff while the Kids' Church teachers babysit their kids), I was stoked that this book would be accessible for all age groups since it's an easy read-aloud book. Of course, it provides only the introductory material to John Wesley's life, but it works for our small group.
In addition to the book we're reading together, I also managed to borrow a few other books from the WMCNZ (Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand) library as my study resources.
I'm excited about this study. And even more so because after our read-aloud session last week, we all wanted to keep going. But since the point of the study isn't to zip through John Wesley's life as much as to reflect on what we can learn today, we stopped after two chapters. I'm pretty eager to get back to our discussions tomorrow.
Hey, if you're interested in reading the book with us, I know they have it on Kindle and probably at your local Christian bookstore as well. And if you want to join in the discussion with us, feel free to jump in the conversation online. I'll post a brief reflection of our discussions each week, and you can join in the conversation.
As our last sermon series was concluding, I had asked the ladies what they wanted to discuss next. Since there were so many questions raised about Wesleyan teaching as we were going through our last series, it made the most sense to do a study on John Wesley.
So that the discussions don't get completely dry and boring, we have been reading "John Wesley: The World His Parish" from the Christian Heroes series by Janet and Geoff Benge. It's written as a novel for young readers (intermediate/junior high age) so it's a very pleasant read for our small group. But what I've appreciated about the five chapters I've read so far is that it doesn't avoid getting into the deep theological terms just to keep it appropriate for young readers. Instead, the writers use those terms and go on to explain what they mean in language that is reader-friendly for its audience.
We had just gotten the books last week, so we read the first two chapters aloud during small group. Since we have been trying to tailor our children's ministry to be more family-focused (families doing Church together rather than parents do grown-up church stuff while the Kids' Church teachers babysit their kids), I was stoked that this book would be accessible for all age groups since it's an easy read-aloud book. Of course, it provides only the introductory material to John Wesley's life, but it works for our small group.
In addition to the book we're reading together, I also managed to borrow a few other books from the WMCNZ (Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand) library as my study resources.
An Introduction to Wesleyan Theology by William M. Greathouse and H. Ray DunningI know, this isn't a very conventional way to do small group. But I don't really know how to do "conventional," so I guess I should just be glad the ladies are happy to go with the flow.
Holiness for Ordinary People by Keith Drury
What a Time to be Wesleyan! by David L. McKenna
I'm excited about this study. And even more so because after our read-aloud session last week, we all wanted to keep going. But since the point of the study isn't to zip through John Wesley's life as much as to reflect on what we can learn today, we stopped after two chapters. I'm pretty eager to get back to our discussions tomorrow.
Hey, if you're interested in reading the book with us, I know they have it on Kindle and probably at your local Christian bookstore as well. And if you want to join in the discussion with us, feel free to jump in the conversation online. I'll post a brief reflection of our discussions each week, and you can join in the conversation.
14 September 2013
The Bridge: Making Sense Part #1
If you have been following this blog for a while, you know there have been a variety of topics that have been written about. Some of it seemed irrelevant or disconnected at the time. Welcome to my brain.
However, I'm going to begin making some connections between those posts over the next few months to help make sense of this new thing that I keep talking about starting next year. So bear with me.
In the recent post about my second Kiwi birthday, I talked about a ten-year-old dream. There was a bridge in this dream that I've been trying to make sense of for the last ten years. But none of the explanations I've managed to come up with seemed to provide resolution like what happened with the other parts of the dream. Until recently. It began making sense.
Bridges are structures that people use to get from one place to another. Some of us stay on those bridges longer than others; some of us move on quickly. In a culture as diverse and transitionary as Auckland, folks are used to people coming and going. A few days ago, Nina and I caught up with Paul, who oversees the SUPAkidz clubs we run. I had sent an e-mail to Paul explaining that my time with the children's ministry at WCF was nearly up. As we caught up over a cup of tea, Paul began asking what my plans were for the future. As I began explaining the vague ideas I had, he nodded and began getting excited on my behalf. And then he said this:
And even more so, it affects the way we do church. How do we build a "life together" church if people are coming and going? How do we walk with each other, even if only for the short time that we're sojourning together?
As I've been thinking about how these all tie in together, the bridge imagery keeps coming back. The transitionary place. How do we make the most of our time together?
In my next few posts, I'll begin to explain more of what this bridge is going to look like. Again, I hope you stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.
As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
me
However, I'm going to begin making some connections between those posts over the next few months to help make sense of this new thing that I keep talking about starting next year. So bear with me.
In the recent post about my second Kiwi birthday, I talked about a ten-year-old dream. There was a bridge in this dream that I've been trying to make sense of for the last ten years. But none of the explanations I've managed to come up with seemed to provide resolution like what happened with the other parts of the dream. Until recently. It began making sense.
Bridges are structures that people use to get from one place to another. Some of us stay on those bridges longer than others; some of us move on quickly. In a culture as diverse and transitionary as Auckland, folks are used to people coming and going. A few days ago, Nina and I caught up with Paul, who oversees the SUPAkidz clubs we run. I had sent an e-mail to Paul explaining that my time with the children's ministry at WCF was nearly up. As we caught up over a cup of tea, Paul began asking what my plans were for the future. As I began explaining the vague ideas I had, he nodded and began getting excited on my behalf. And then he said this:
"So we're not losing you completely, right?"The words were few, but it reinforced what I had long assumed to be true about Auckland. People come and go, and those who have stayed on are used to those transitionary folks. It affects the way people live life and the way relationships are viewed. Who amongst us are staying, and for how long? Do I let them into my life if they're going to leave after a short time?
And even more so, it affects the way we do church. How do we build a "life together" church if people are coming and going? How do we walk with each other, even if only for the short time that we're sojourning together?
As I've been thinking about how these all tie in together, the bridge imagery keeps coming back. The transitionary place. How do we make the most of our time together?In my next few posts, I'll begin to explain more of what this bridge is going to look like. Again, I hope you stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.
As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
me
Dear Keren: Piece of Home
Dear Keren,
At student group yesterday, Amy came up to me and asked for ideas of what she could get for a Chinese friend who was turning 18. She went on to explain that this friend had arrived in New Zealand two days after she did, and so she was her first friend, which made the friendship special.
It made me think of our first days at AU. You were my first friend too, but it wasn't until years later after you died when I was processing with Jenny what "home" means to me, that I realised you were also my piece of home away from home. Sure, there were lots of great memories made especially in the summer months when the campus was quieter, but I think what made our friendship special was that you made it ok for me to feel displaced. You were my home in that displacement, and you helped me made sense of so much of what eventually became a part of my identity as a Third Culture Kid.
Dear Keren, today I thank you for being that friend, and for helping me find a piece of home. If you were still around, I'd want you to be a part of this new thing I'm starting next year because you helped me become good at navigating these transitional waters. Nonetheless, I carry our friendship with me as I begin helping these international students find their place of home as they arrive in New Zealand and begin a new chapter here.
Dear Keren, thank you.
Arohanui,
me
At student group yesterday, Amy came up to me and asked for ideas of what she could get for a Chinese friend who was turning 18. She went on to explain that this friend had arrived in New Zealand two days after she did, and so she was her first friend, which made the friendship special.
It made me think of our first days at AU. You were my first friend too, but it wasn't until years later after you died when I was processing with Jenny what "home" means to me, that I realised you were also my piece of home away from home. Sure, there were lots of great memories made especially in the summer months when the campus was quieter, but I think what made our friendship special was that you made it ok for me to feel displaced. You were my home in that displacement, and you helped me made sense of so much of what eventually became a part of my identity as a Third Culture Kid.
Dear Keren, today I thank you for being that friend, and for helping me find a piece of home. If you were still around, I'd want you to be a part of this new thing I'm starting next year because you helped me become good at navigating these transitional waters. Nonetheless, I carry our friendship with me as I begin helping these international students find their place of home as they arrive in New Zealand and begin a new chapter here.
Dear Keren, thank you.
Arohanui,
me
11 September 2013
Kiwi Birthday Reflections
On the drive home tonight, I heard a song on the radio that, for the first time in a long time, didn't make me cry. There were memories attached to that song that dates back about ten years, and healing had finally come full circle to that part of my story. But it also made me reflect on where I've come over the last ten years, where I am, and where I could have been.
Ten years ago around this time, I had to make some decisions about school that altered my whole life course and took some unexpected turns that led me to the cornfields.
Ten years ago around this time, I started blogging. Granted they were angsty teenage rants, but it was the very beginnings of a journey as an honest, and not-very-politically-correct writer.
Ten years ago around this time, I was falling in love with a boy barely seventeen, but he was the first to help me believe I had anything worth saying that people would want to hear.
Ten years ago around this time, I had a dream. I didn't know this dream was a revelation of what the next ten years of my life would be, but around this time last year, I finally wrote it down here.
There were parts of this dream that I still didn't understand as I was writing it last year, but it's all beginning to make sense now.
Two years ago today, I jumped on another flight, not knowing what I was getting into. Two years later, I'm celebrating what I've come to call my second "Kiwi birthday".
Two years ago today, the people of Westside Christian Fellowship welcomed with open arms another stranger into their midst. Two years later, we reflect on a journey that has seen tremendous joy and grief.
Two years ago today, I honestly didn't think I would make it this far. I had arrived in Auckland having accepted the role of coordinating the children's ministry, but having limited experience working with children myself. The church needed someone to tide things over in their children's ministry for a while, and I had said, "Here I am; send me." And so I came.
I've never been crazy about kids--still am not--but I didn't like them any less than I liked grown-ups. Little people are people too, and in the last two years, they've blown my mind and taught me more than I could possibly ever teach them. They've challenged me and given me permission to be more creative than I've ever been. They snuck into my heart and whispered stories that made me laugh and want to be their advocates at school, in church, and in society in general. They shaped my understanding of a balanced ecclesiology and made me want to fight the grown-ups that don't take them seriously.
Two years later, I cannot be more thankful today for the church that gave me permission to learn and experiment, and be a little bit crazier than crazy. And as the calendar year is drawing to a close, my time with my little people will soon end as well. It's hard to not fall in love with these kids, as rascally as they can be.
But the dream from ten years ago is beckoning. And just as I was responsible for being faithful to my role at Westside, I now have to be responsible for being faithful to the calling of the dream. This probably all sounds a bit frou-frou at the moment, but I promise I will write about the rest of the dream and what this will look like in time to come. Sorry Kiwi mates, but I'm still hoping to hang out in Auckland.
And I hope you will stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.
As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
Arohanui,
Me
Ten years ago around this time, I had to make some decisions about school that altered my whole life course and took some unexpected turns that led me to the cornfields.
Ten years ago around this time, I started blogging. Granted they were angsty teenage rants, but it was the very beginnings of a journey as an honest, and not-very-politically-correct writer.
Ten years ago around this time, I was falling in love with a boy barely seventeen, but he was the first to help me believe I had anything worth saying that people would want to hear.
Ten years ago around this time, I had a dream. I didn't know this dream was a revelation of what the next ten years of my life would be, but around this time last year, I finally wrote it down here.
There were parts of this dream that I still didn't understand as I was writing it last year, but it's all beginning to make sense now.
Two years ago today, I jumped on another flight, not knowing what I was getting into. Two years later, I'm celebrating what I've come to call my second "Kiwi birthday".
Two years ago today, the people of Westside Christian Fellowship welcomed with open arms another stranger into their midst. Two years later, we reflect on a journey that has seen tremendous joy and grief.
Two years ago today, I honestly didn't think I would make it this far. I had arrived in Auckland having accepted the role of coordinating the children's ministry, but having limited experience working with children myself. The church needed someone to tide things over in their children's ministry for a while, and I had said, "Here I am; send me." And so I came.
I've never been crazy about kids--still am not--but I didn't like them any less than I liked grown-ups. Little people are people too, and in the last two years, they've blown my mind and taught me more than I could possibly ever teach them. They've challenged me and given me permission to be more creative than I've ever been. They snuck into my heart and whispered stories that made me laugh and want to be their advocates at school, in church, and in society in general. They shaped my understanding of a balanced ecclesiology and made me want to fight the grown-ups that don't take them seriously.
Two years later, I cannot be more thankful today for the church that gave me permission to learn and experiment, and be a little bit crazier than crazy. And as the calendar year is drawing to a close, my time with my little people will soon end as well. It's hard to not fall in love with these kids, as rascally as they can be.
But the dream from ten years ago is beckoning. And just as I was responsible for being faithful to my role at Westside, I now have to be responsible for being faithful to the calling of the dream. This probably all sounds a bit frou-frou at the moment, but I promise I will write about the rest of the dream and what this will look like in time to come. Sorry Kiwi mates, but I'm still hoping to hang out in Auckland.
And I hope you will stay on board with me as you have all this while. Check back in, and see how the story is developing. Write, and let me know what you think. And if you're the praying type, pray.
As always,
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
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| Little treats for the 2nd Kiwi birthday. Because stopping and remembering is a necessary part of the journey. (Clockwise from top left: Tim-tams and L&P. Lamb dinner because lamb's never been this affordable until now. Tim-tam slammed in milo. And of course, paua from my first Kiwi birthday thanks to Amber and Jess.) |
Me
10 September 2013
Tribal Stories: Water
She laid wide awake, staring at the stars. There was no way of telling what time it was, but she was certain it wouldn't be long before the sun would rise.
In the days since the last sand storm, she hardly slept. The days were long as she worked alongside the desert people, and as night fell, she would lay her weary body down but her mind wouldn't stop.
She thought back to the critter's last visit only days ago. As usual, they hardly said two words to each other and she quite enjoyed the few moments of comfortable silence.
"You need to start making preparations for the southern lands, you know," he finally said.
She sighed. She knew he was right, but with the recent change of landscape in the desert, all that occupied her time was making sure that the desert people could resume their way of life as quickly as possible. But the side of the story she had yet to admit was that she was afraid of the uncertainty about the days ahead.
Her mothers and grandmothers taught her that the way to work the ground was different in every land, and that she needed to learn new ways again as she arrived in the southern lands. And even though her gypsy friend had told her the ground in the southern lands was rich and fertile, it provided no answers for how or where to begin. Besides, she wasn't to live in the southern lands by herself, but how would she begin to gather people?
"The ways may be different, but people are the same," the sages once said. "Where there is water, people will come."
She laid awake that night, mulling over the words of the sages. They made no sense to her. Her mind went back to the conversation with the critter.
"You're a collector of stories," he had said. "That's where you need to begin."
She knew that full well, and if she were honest, it was that which frustrated her most. In the journey to the southern lands, she had filled so many other roles that she was getting weary and easily irritated. Yet she knew that there were no stories that could be collected until the crops were growing and the people began to have food.
Suddenly it all made sense. She was a collector of stories, and having other roles to fill didn't change that. She would continue collecting stories as she worked the land, and she would speak about the water to begin gathering the people.
She fingered the rocks she held in her hands as she recited the familiar words again.
In the days since the last sand storm, she hardly slept. The days were long as she worked alongside the desert people, and as night fell, she would lay her weary body down but her mind wouldn't stop.
She thought back to the critter's last visit only days ago. As usual, they hardly said two words to each other and she quite enjoyed the few moments of comfortable silence.
"You need to start making preparations for the southern lands, you know," he finally said.
She sighed. She knew he was right, but with the recent change of landscape in the desert, all that occupied her time was making sure that the desert people could resume their way of life as quickly as possible. But the side of the story she had yet to admit was that she was afraid of the uncertainty about the days ahead.
Her mothers and grandmothers taught her that the way to work the ground was different in every land, and that she needed to learn new ways again as she arrived in the southern lands. And even though her gypsy friend had told her the ground in the southern lands was rich and fertile, it provided no answers for how or where to begin. Besides, she wasn't to live in the southern lands by herself, but how would she begin to gather people?
"The ways may be different, but people are the same," the sages once said. "Where there is water, people will come."
She laid awake that night, mulling over the words of the sages. They made no sense to her. Her mind went back to the conversation with the critter.
"You're a collector of stories," he had said. "That's where you need to begin."
She knew that full well, and if she were honest, it was that which frustrated her most. In the journey to the southern lands, she had filled so many other roles that she was getting weary and easily irritated. Yet she knew that there were no stories that could be collected until the crops were growing and the people began to have food.
Suddenly it all made sense. She was a collector of stories, and having other roles to fill didn't change that. She would continue collecting stories as she worked the land, and she would speak about the water to begin gathering the people.
She fingered the rocks she held in her hands as she recited the familiar words again.
"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."As the sun's first rays began to illumine the sky, she whispered words of blessing and thanks for her mother and mothers, and her grandmother and grandmothers, for the sages, for her tribespeople, for the critter, for the village people, for the gypsy, and for the desert people. She knew their words of blessing had gone before her to the southern lands and they would carry her the rest of the way. Most importantly, she gave thanks that the forces held them together.
"Love your neighbour as yourself."
05 September 2013
Tribal Stories: Weary
The sun shone bright in the morning sky as she tucked away the last of her tent-pegs. The sands were only just beginning to settle after the last storm. She wanted to spend one more day breathing in the taste of having come around the mountain and weathering another storm, but she knew it was time to keep walking.
With one hand over her brow to shield out some of the glaring rays of the sun, she squinted ahead as she tried to find her way forward. In the distance, she saw several of the desert families gathering as they began to find a way to work in the landscape that had shifted again since the last sand storm.
Since the beginning of her journey on the desert road, she had known she was just passing through. But she also knew she had a responsibility to help the desert people find a way to grow crops--never mind that she was a stranger in their land. As the days passed, she began to realise that the desert people carried with them a weariness heavier than her own. Others had come alongside to try to help them find self-sustainable ways to grow crops, but the ways they found seemed counter-intuitive to the way of life in the desert.
"If you want to know how to build life in the desert, you have to spend time with those who have lived in the desert their whole lives," her gypsy friend once said. "There may be others who, like us, are passing through the desert lands, who are trying to help. But we are all foreigners in this land, and we cannot assume to know their way of life. The desert people are the only ones who can teach us how to help them."
She wondered if that was why the desert people that had adopted her were weary. She wondered if they were so tired of trying to find their own way of growing crops that they simply took on board any new ideas that were thrown their way--even if they were counter-intuitive to the desert life.
She knew she herself was weary. She had put the wounds from the exile behind her, but the journey on the desert road had wore her out. Since the last sand storm, the landscape had shifted so much that she was left with most of the work. Even though they had received word that help was coming from the city, no one knew how long it would be before help would arrive. While she was regaining hope for the desert people, there was still work to be done in the meantime. Help that was coming from the city still had to learn the ways of the desert lands, and the desert people needed help getting ready to receive the help. She also knew her journey on the desert road would soon end, and she desperately needed time to make the preparations for her arrival in the southern lands.
"Take deep breaths," she whispered aloud, as the words of her tribespeople came to mind. "And remember, we are called to simply be faithful."
As the first tear of weariness fell, she found the rocks that had carried her through her lifetime as a wanderer and closed her fingers around them tightly.
With one hand over her brow to shield out some of the glaring rays of the sun, she squinted ahead as she tried to find her way forward. In the distance, she saw several of the desert families gathering as they began to find a way to work in the landscape that had shifted again since the last sand storm.
Since the beginning of her journey on the desert road, she had known she was just passing through. But she also knew she had a responsibility to help the desert people find a way to grow crops--never mind that she was a stranger in their land. As the days passed, she began to realise that the desert people carried with them a weariness heavier than her own. Others had come alongside to try to help them find self-sustainable ways to grow crops, but the ways they found seemed counter-intuitive to the way of life in the desert.
"If you want to know how to build life in the desert, you have to spend time with those who have lived in the desert their whole lives," her gypsy friend once said. "There may be others who, like us, are passing through the desert lands, who are trying to help. But we are all foreigners in this land, and we cannot assume to know their way of life. The desert people are the only ones who can teach us how to help them."
She wondered if that was why the desert people that had adopted her were weary. She wondered if they were so tired of trying to find their own way of growing crops that they simply took on board any new ideas that were thrown their way--even if they were counter-intuitive to the desert life.
She knew she herself was weary. She had put the wounds from the exile behind her, but the journey on the desert road had wore her out. Since the last sand storm, the landscape had shifted so much that she was left with most of the work. Even though they had received word that help was coming from the city, no one knew how long it would be before help would arrive. While she was regaining hope for the desert people, there was still work to be done in the meantime. Help that was coming from the city still had to learn the ways of the desert lands, and the desert people needed help getting ready to receive the help. She also knew her journey on the desert road would soon end, and she desperately needed time to make the preparations for her arrival in the southern lands.
"Take deep breaths," she whispered aloud, as the words of her tribespeople came to mind. "And remember, we are called to simply be faithful."
As the first tear of weariness fell, she found the rocks that had carried her through her lifetime as a wanderer and closed her fingers around them tightly.
"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."There was still work to do. But first, she had to sit down and simply weep over the weariness in the desert lands. Help was coming, but she pleaded with the forces that held them all together that there would be enough strength and hope in the desert lands to carry them in the meantime.
"Love your neighbour as yourself."
"Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God"
02 September 2013
Quick Thoughts on the City Harvest Trial
A friend asked recently what I thought about the City Harvest Trial. As usual, I avoid making public comments about issues like this because everybody has an opinion and wants it to be heard but doesn't want to hear anyone else.
But I've been thinking about it a bit more recently, and even though I confess I haven't followed the news as closely of late, I do have a few thoughts to share.
(Back story: six leaders, including founder and lead pastor Kong Hee, of City Harvest Church, a mega-church in Singapore are accused of conspiring to channel S$24 million into two companies using "sham bond investments" to fund the music career of Sun Ho, Kong Hee's wife. Another S$26 million was allegedly used to cover up the first amount. Source: Channel NewsAsia)
Assumptions, assumptions
(You know what they say about assuming.)
When the news first broke about the arrest of the six leaders, I was back in Singapore, just about to head out to dinner with my parents and some friends from church. So of course, that was the dinner conversation. My mother, who's an accountant and has helped with bookkeeping at the church we used to attend, said almost immediately that it's easy for folks to make assumptions because we all need someone to blame.
Personally, I have my biases against mega-churches. One of my dearest friends is the junior high pastor at Willow Creek, and she and I often joke about how different styles work for different people. I have a lot of respect for Gretchen and the work she does with the junior-highers, but I just don't know how to wrap my mind around how a mega-church works. Admittedly, that affected my bias toward the situation, and I was ready to make assumptions about a situation of which I didn't know the full story.
Church as Family
One of the things I love about the Church is that it can be family. At the same time, that can cause problems. My mum pointed out was that often in church settings, we sometimes shift things around in the finances without doing the necessary reporting. "It's all in the family," so it doesn't really matter... Or does it? Perhaps it doesn't matter as much when we're dealing with petty cash. But as the church grows and budgets increase, "petty cash" becomes more significant, and we could run into trouble with "it's all in the family".
Accountability
Because we work in a "religious" setting, it can be easy to spiritualise leaders and those overseeing ministry, as if they can do no wrong so we don't worry about reporting or asking for transparency. Not that we shouldn't trust our leaders, but as a safety net for all involved, proper accountability procedures should be set up and followed--something I personally struggle with because I don't have an official organisation that provides that level of accountability.
So there you go, my few thoughts on the City Harvest trial. I don't know who's right or who's wrong, and I don't think I'd be a fair judge. But I know there are lessons for us to learn from this, and those are the three I've learnt so far.
But I've been thinking about it a bit more recently, and even though I confess I haven't followed the news as closely of late, I do have a few thoughts to share.
(Back story: six leaders, including founder and lead pastor Kong Hee, of City Harvest Church, a mega-church in Singapore are accused of conspiring to channel S$24 million into two companies using "sham bond investments" to fund the music career of Sun Ho, Kong Hee's wife. Another S$26 million was allegedly used to cover up the first amount. Source: Channel NewsAsia)
Assumptions, assumptions
(You know what they say about assuming.)
When the news first broke about the arrest of the six leaders, I was back in Singapore, just about to head out to dinner with my parents and some friends from church. So of course, that was the dinner conversation. My mother, who's an accountant and has helped with bookkeeping at the church we used to attend, said almost immediately that it's easy for folks to make assumptions because we all need someone to blame.
Personally, I have my biases against mega-churches. One of my dearest friends is the junior high pastor at Willow Creek, and she and I often joke about how different styles work for different people. I have a lot of respect for Gretchen and the work she does with the junior-highers, but I just don't know how to wrap my mind around how a mega-church works. Admittedly, that affected my bias toward the situation, and I was ready to make assumptions about a situation of which I didn't know the full story.
Church as Family
One of the things I love about the Church is that it can be family. At the same time, that can cause problems. My mum pointed out was that often in church settings, we sometimes shift things around in the finances without doing the necessary reporting. "It's all in the family," so it doesn't really matter... Or does it? Perhaps it doesn't matter as much when we're dealing with petty cash. But as the church grows and budgets increase, "petty cash" becomes more significant, and we could run into trouble with "it's all in the family".
Accountability
Because we work in a "religious" setting, it can be easy to spiritualise leaders and those overseeing ministry, as if they can do no wrong so we don't worry about reporting or asking for transparency. Not that we shouldn't trust our leaders, but as a safety net for all involved, proper accountability procedures should be set up and followed--something I personally struggle with because I don't have an official organisation that provides that level of accountability.
So there you go, my few thoughts on the City Harvest trial. I don't know who's right or who's wrong, and I don't think I'd be a fair judge. But I know there are lessons for us to learn from this, and those are the three I've learnt so far.
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