I'm finally beginning to process some of my thoughts from the three nights I spent in Ngaruawahia at IGNITE 2014, the national youth camp of the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand (WMCNZ). This might take a few blog posts because my attention span is completely shot, so bear with me.
As I continue reflecting on the weekend away at camp, two vivid images come to mind continually.
The first is of the first full day of team challenges. My team, the Blue Smurfs, was pit against the Orange Tigers. There were several formidable opponents in the Orange Tigers, but the one that I remember best is probably a young man by the name of Mikaele. We had several one-on-one run-ins during game time. I knew there was no way my old, achy body would out-run his buff Island warrior build, but I had to give it my best shot anyway.
But it was later on during the camp when I saw him on stage with his youth group in their Fijian traditional dresses that really left a distinct impression. How many other young men do I know who will get their game on as hard core as Mikaele did on the field as they are on a stage singing a worship song, complete with dance moves, looking like they actually want to be on stage getting into worship? Not that many.
The other is of the final rally on the last day of camp. The camp speakers, Rob Reynolds and Frank Ritchie, from TEAR fund gave an "altar call" of sorts. Instead of the usual "Come to Jesus" altar calls, the youth were invited to respond to playing their part in the missio Dei (again, theologically profound--but that will be for a later post). As they walked up to the front, they were greeted by their youth pastors/leaders who would pray with them individually.
During that time of response, I had the privilege of standing beside the youth leader of some of the girls I've had significant conversations with over the weekend of camp. And as each one of them came up, tears overwhelmed as I remembered again why I was a part of this kingdom work--something I thought had been buried deep in the memory boxes of yesteryear.
God is still at work, even as I struggle with my sense of call. And for that, I'm thankful.
Malo Sisu
17 January 2014
16 January 2014
IGNITE 2014 #1: First Impressions
I'm finally beginning to process some of my thoughts from the three nights I spent in Ngaruawahia at IGNITE 2014, the national youth camp of the Wesleyan Methodist Church of New Zealand (WMCNZ). This might take a few blog posts because my attention span is completely shot, so bear with me.
I came away from IGNITE 2014 on a high. And I was surprised, because it wasn't the "camp fever" type of spiritual highs that I was used to from all my years of being a good church girl.
No, it was a very refreshing high. It was a high that would have more longevity than the other camps--particularly youth camps--I've been involved with in one way or another.
Every component of the camp struck me as well thought through with intentionality and theologically reflection. Perhaps the biggest thing that impressed me was that there was a lot of thought put into connecting the students back to their home church environment so that there can be as much follow up as possible by their youth pastors/leaders and home church.
Hats off to Rev. Joanne McKinnell, Rev. Amber Livermore and their leadership team. I've been in on some of the struggles they've had and continue to have moving forward from here, and they would say it's not quite where they want it to be yet. But to borrow the words from dear sage and mentor, Ann Smith, "Focus not on how far you have to go, but how far you've come." With only eight short years of an event history and the amount of personnel they had pulling off all the various pieces, this camp has already surpassed the level of excellence that can be achieved at this stage in the history of WMCNZ.
On a more personal note, what amount of respect I already had for both Jo and Amber have just been majorly upped because they don't simply talk good theological reflection--they also put good theological reflection into bite-sized, age-appropriate portions.
To borrow a Tongan phrase, "Malo Sisu" (Thank you Jesus)
I came away from IGNITE 2014 on a high. And I was surprised, because it wasn't the "camp fever" type of spiritual highs that I was used to from all my years of being a good church girl.
No, it was a very refreshing high. It was a high that would have more longevity than the other camps--particularly youth camps--I've been involved with in one way or another.
Every component of the camp struck me as well thought through with intentionality and theologically reflection. Perhaps the biggest thing that impressed me was that there was a lot of thought put into connecting the students back to their home church environment so that there can be as much follow up as possible by their youth pastors/leaders and home church.
Hats off to Rev. Joanne McKinnell, Rev. Amber Livermore and their leadership team. I've been in on some of the struggles they've had and continue to have moving forward from here, and they would say it's not quite where they want it to be yet. But to borrow the words from dear sage and mentor, Ann Smith, "Focus not on how far you have to go, but how far you've come." With only eight short years of an event history and the amount of personnel they had pulling off all the various pieces, this camp has already surpassed the level of excellence that can be achieved at this stage in the history of WMCNZ.
On a more personal note, what amount of respect I already had for both Jo and Amber have just been majorly upped because they don't simply talk good theological reflection--they also put good theological reflection into bite-sized, age-appropriate portions.
To borrow a Tongan phrase, "Malo Sisu" (Thank you Jesus)
That's What Makes You Beautiful
I had the privilege of attending the funeral of the brother of one of the ministers of WMCNZ last night. I didn't know him, or even anyone in the family. But many of the family members would have been a part of IGNITE camp over the weekend (more on that in posts to come) if not for the untimely passing, and so a few of the leaders involved in the camp showed up to lend our support.
When I heard the service was going to be about four hours long, I got a bit nervous. I was barely recovered from camp and was afraid I would fall asleep during a four hour long service, and in a language I didn't understand either.
But there was something beautifully spiritual about a Tongan funeral service. Maybe it was the beautiful harmonies of all the songs that interspersed the speaking. (You just HAVE to experience a Pasifika sing-fest. The beauty of that experience is beyond words) Maybe it was the beautiful flowers that decorated the funeral home.
Maybe it was that I was swept back to the church service in "The Blue Church" in Berlin. That spiritual things transcend language and culture. That maybe when we don't understand everything that's going on except for the fact that we're simply sharing the same breathing space and ... I don't know the right word for it ... more than just worshipping, but also basking in the presence of, the same Creator God...
That. That is what makes it beautiful.
When I heard the service was going to be about four hours long, I got a bit nervous. I was barely recovered from camp and was afraid I would fall asleep during a four hour long service, and in a language I didn't understand either.
But there was something beautifully spiritual about a Tongan funeral service. Maybe it was the beautiful harmonies of all the songs that interspersed the speaking. (You just HAVE to experience a Pasifika sing-fest. The beauty of that experience is beyond words) Maybe it was the beautiful flowers that decorated the funeral home.
Maybe it was that I was swept back to the church service in "The Blue Church" in Berlin. That spiritual things transcend language and culture. That maybe when we don't understand everything that's going on except for the fact that we're simply sharing the same breathing space and ... I don't know the right word for it ... more than just worshipping, but also basking in the presence of, the same Creator God...
That. That is what makes it beautiful.
06 January 2014
28: The Year Of Expectancy
A few days ago, I met Soana, a Tongan lady at a training session for Ignite, the youth camp by WMCNZ that I'm going to be a part of this weekend (assuming I'm still in New Zealand). At the beginning of the session, we were divided into groups, and asked to go around sharing stories of how we came to a relationship with Jesus, and what it is that's keeping that relationship going today.
Soana and I were going to be cabin leaders together, so as the training session was ending with a prayer time together, we had some time to visit and get to know each other better. At one point, she asked, "So, you're Chinese?" And I explained that I was, but I was born in Singapore. Then she said this: "You're so lucky that you can be a Christian. In Tonga, we're all raised as Christians, and we all have to go to church--it is a part of our culture. But when I moved to Auckland two years ago, I started to see that so many of the Tongans here don't follow the ways we were brought up in anymore. They read the Bible, but it's kept separate from their lives, and they don't even go to church anymore. You're lucky you can be a Christian, and still choose to be a Christian."
I've been mulling over that conversation over the last few days. In our Wesleyan-Arminian tradition, we talk a lot about free will. But the danger of only talking about free will is that we can drift off into an unbalanced dialogue that doesn't give consideration that God does ordain some things. That I was born into the land, family and place in society I was born into was definitely God-ordained. There can be no explanation than that (bearing in mind I'm writing this solely through the lenses of a relationship with Christ). But what I choose to do with the circumstances I was born into--that's free will.
In my short stint at WCF, I got to know several youths whom society would not pay any attention to. They weren't achieving enough to get positive attention, but they also weren't quite destructive enough to get just enough negative attention for it to go wrong. As I began to spend more time with these kids, I began to realise more and more that there really aren't "bad" kids, just kids who don't often make the best decisions from time to time. And with many of our kids, they didn't have the privilege of being born into the safe, sheltered circumstances I had. Sure, they had the free-will to make better choices and leave those circumstances behind, but for so many of them, they've not had the adults in their lives to support and encourage their making better choices.
Over the last few months, I've been at the district court a number of times. What breaks my heart most isn't just the number of youths who are summoned to court, but the reality that they are often there alone, represented only by a lawyer that was allocated to them by the district authorities. They often don't have a rapport with the lawyer, and coming from backgrounds of abandonment and trust issues, they have difficult trusting that the lawyers actually do want the best for them.
And then I marvel again, at how privileged I am. Yes, Soana, I am lucky, or blessed, or whatever word you want to use, to have been born into a family where starting and keeping a relationship with Christ was easy. I'm lucky to have been born into a family where it was easy to be a good kid. I'm lucky that even if I didn't have a picture perfect relationship with my birth family, they are at least supportive and encouraging of what I do--especially when it breaks the mold of success defined by finances that Asian societies value so deeply.
It is 6 January today. In exactly a month, I will be turning 28. Last year, as I was turning 27, I wrote that 27 was the year I joined the circus. In case you missed it, I discovered there was a free community circus in town, and I wanted to at least give it a shot. If nothing else, I can check off the bucket list that I was crazy enough to join a community circus for a few weeks. I didn't last in the circus for a variety of reasons; the main one being I hate performing. In uni, my piano professor told me I should switch majors if I hated performing (It only made sense when Chad--who also graduated from AU with a music degree--explained that universities in the States place most of their emphasis on performance, and I felt completely out of place because I loved theory and composition--and choir, but only because of a fantastic choir director). I was really disappointed with myself that I didn't last longer in the circus since I had hyped it up so much for my 27th birthday. But I eventually had to come to terms with simply being ok with who I am, and not placing the expectations on myself to be someone I'm not, and to pretend to love things that I don't.
Greta reminded me last night of something our dear Ann Smith talks about often: the difference between expectation and expectancy. #27 was a year of great expectations, and finding myself miserable when I couldn't keep up with my expectations of myself. As I head into #28, my only expectation of myself is to learn to live with expectancy of whatever it might be that God is going to do this year. As I continue the waiting game for my visa, I'm reminded again that, right from the beginning, New Zealand has been my Isaac. So I'm choosing again to surrender my Isaac at the altar in expectancy of whatever God is going to do with it.
And even though I had been crazy enough last year to set some things in place to publish and get ordained in 2014 (and am currently sitting here with the slightest anxiety over the realisation that 2014 isn't "next year" anymore), there is no expectation to see those things as achievements anymore.
I am enough because I choose to make the best of what I find myself in.
And I am enough because I choose to believe God thinks I'm enough.
Soana and I were going to be cabin leaders together, so as the training session was ending with a prayer time together, we had some time to visit and get to know each other better. At one point, she asked, "So, you're Chinese?" And I explained that I was, but I was born in Singapore. Then she said this: "You're so lucky that you can be a Christian. In Tonga, we're all raised as Christians, and we all have to go to church--it is a part of our culture. But when I moved to Auckland two years ago, I started to see that so many of the Tongans here don't follow the ways we were brought up in anymore. They read the Bible, but it's kept separate from their lives, and they don't even go to church anymore. You're lucky you can be a Christian, and still choose to be a Christian."
I've been mulling over that conversation over the last few days. In our Wesleyan-Arminian tradition, we talk a lot about free will. But the danger of only talking about free will is that we can drift off into an unbalanced dialogue that doesn't give consideration that God does ordain some things. That I was born into the land, family and place in society I was born into was definitely God-ordained. There can be no explanation than that (bearing in mind I'm writing this solely through the lenses of a relationship with Christ). But what I choose to do with the circumstances I was born into--that's free will.
In my short stint at WCF, I got to know several youths whom society would not pay any attention to. They weren't achieving enough to get positive attention, but they also weren't quite destructive enough to get just enough negative attention for it to go wrong. As I began to spend more time with these kids, I began to realise more and more that there really aren't "bad" kids, just kids who don't often make the best decisions from time to time. And with many of our kids, they didn't have the privilege of being born into the safe, sheltered circumstances I had. Sure, they had the free-will to make better choices and leave those circumstances behind, but for so many of them, they've not had the adults in their lives to support and encourage their making better choices.
Over the last few months, I've been at the district court a number of times. What breaks my heart most isn't just the number of youths who are summoned to court, but the reality that they are often there alone, represented only by a lawyer that was allocated to them by the district authorities. They often don't have a rapport with the lawyer, and coming from backgrounds of abandonment and trust issues, they have difficult trusting that the lawyers actually do want the best for them.
And then I marvel again, at how privileged I am. Yes, Soana, I am lucky, or blessed, or whatever word you want to use, to have been born into a family where starting and keeping a relationship with Christ was easy. I'm lucky to have been born into a family where it was easy to be a good kid. I'm lucky that even if I didn't have a picture perfect relationship with my birth family, they are at least supportive and encouraging of what I do--especially when it breaks the mold of success defined by finances that Asian societies value so deeply.
It is 6 January today. In exactly a month, I will be turning 28. Last year, as I was turning 27, I wrote that 27 was the year I joined the circus. In case you missed it, I discovered there was a free community circus in town, and I wanted to at least give it a shot. If nothing else, I can check off the bucket list that I was crazy enough to join a community circus for a few weeks. I didn't last in the circus for a variety of reasons; the main one being I hate performing. In uni, my piano professor told me I should switch majors if I hated performing (It only made sense when Chad--who also graduated from AU with a music degree--explained that universities in the States place most of their emphasis on performance, and I felt completely out of place because I loved theory and composition--and choir, but only because of a fantastic choir director). I was really disappointed with myself that I didn't last longer in the circus since I had hyped it up so much for my 27th birthday. But I eventually had to come to terms with simply being ok with who I am, and not placing the expectations on myself to be someone I'm not, and to pretend to love things that I don't.
Greta reminded me last night of something our dear Ann Smith talks about often: the difference between expectation and expectancy. #27 was a year of great expectations, and finding myself miserable when I couldn't keep up with my expectations of myself. As I head into #28, my only expectation of myself is to learn to live with expectancy of whatever it might be that God is going to do this year. As I continue the waiting game for my visa, I'm reminded again that, right from the beginning, New Zealand has been my Isaac. So I'm choosing again to surrender my Isaac at the altar in expectancy of whatever God is going to do with it.
And even though I had been crazy enough last year to set some things in place to publish and get ordained in 2014 (and am currently sitting here with the slightest anxiety over the realisation that 2014 isn't "next year" anymore), there is no expectation to see those things as achievements anymore.
I am enough because I choose to make the best of what I find myself in.
And I am enough because I choose to believe God thinks I'm enough.
03 January 2014
Of Hobbits, Elves and Gimli
As most know, I'm slightly crazy (no really, only slightly compared to the REAL nerds) about hobbits and elves and Middle Earth in general. After all, I do live in Middle Earth.
I'm acquainted with a few good people who identify themselves as hobbits--some for their physical stature; others for Bilbo's wandering spirit of adventure.
I've wanted to be a Bilbo for the journeys he took, but most would tell me I'm too lanky to be one. Besides, I find it too difficult to be content in the Shire, and too uncomfortable being in the limelight to have a whole book named for my unexpected journey.
So I wished I was a Legolas. Legolases are elegant and graceful, and have pointy ears that are kind of cute if you can get past the strangeness. But Rivendell is too peaceful of a home, and I'm too klutzy and have this inability to keep from jumping in the mud and splashing around from time to time.
I finally realised today I'm a Gimli. I'm not the leader of my pack, but I have a foolish loyalty to my clan, a deep sense of justice and come from a race that has had to reclaim home. I have trouble trusting (my father had stories of not trusting burglars until they prove themselves worthy), and I'm jealous of pretty elves who shoot arrows from a distance. Why do they get to stay pretty while I'm covered in dirt? I'm more comfortable working at a close distance with my axe (or tent peg), and Legolas really bugs me but I guess we can be friends if we're fighting the same cause.
I know, I know. I disclaimed earlier that I'm not a real Tolkien nerd. I really am not, but (in today's edition of "welcome to my brain") I'm simply trying to make sense of my role in Middle Earth, particularly as I stand at the crossroads of redefining my journey. We are not all elves or hobbits, but it takes the full fellowship of different races to complete the task at hand.
And knowing who you are and what you're best at makes it easier to focus on the task at hand, rather than trying to stay alive trying to do what isn't your task like Boromir, or being envious of those who do it differently.
Hmm. Maybe now I'll finally finish reading the entire Tolkien series. I told you I wasn't a real nerd--I've only seen the films and read half of The Hobbit. (Go ahead, you may now gasp with horror)
I'm acquainted with a few good people who identify themselves as hobbits--some for their physical stature; others for Bilbo's wandering spirit of adventure.
I've wanted to be a Bilbo for the journeys he took, but most would tell me I'm too lanky to be one. Besides, I find it too difficult to be content in the Shire, and too uncomfortable being in the limelight to have a whole book named for my unexpected journey.
So I wished I was a Legolas. Legolases are elegant and graceful, and have pointy ears that are kind of cute if you can get past the strangeness. But Rivendell is too peaceful of a home, and I'm too klutzy and have this inability to keep from jumping in the mud and splashing around from time to time.
I finally realised today I'm a Gimli. I'm not the leader of my pack, but I have a foolish loyalty to my clan, a deep sense of justice and come from a race that has had to reclaim home. I have trouble trusting (my father had stories of not trusting burglars until they prove themselves worthy), and I'm jealous of pretty elves who shoot arrows from a distance. Why do they get to stay pretty while I'm covered in dirt? I'm more comfortable working at a close distance with my axe (or tent peg), and Legolas really bugs me but I guess we can be friends if we're fighting the same cause.
I know, I know. I disclaimed earlier that I'm not a real Tolkien nerd. I really am not, but (in today's edition of "welcome to my brain") I'm simply trying to make sense of my role in Middle Earth, particularly as I stand at the crossroads of redefining my journey. We are not all elves or hobbits, but it takes the full fellowship of different races to complete the task at hand.
And knowing who you are and what you're best at makes it easier to focus on the task at hand, rather than trying to stay alive trying to do what isn't your task like Boromir, or being envious of those who do it differently.
Hmm. Maybe now I'll finally finish reading the entire Tolkien series. I told you I wasn't a real nerd--I've only seen the films and read half of The Hobbit. (Go ahead, you may now gasp with horror)
Friday Mornings #1
Reading:
Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
The Big Truck That Went By (Jonathan M. Katz)
An Altar in the World (Barbara Brown Taylor)
Highlights:
Finishing well
Gandalf's appearance at just the right moment
Low points:
Chapters closing
Anxiety
In politics:
Syria
New Zealand economy
In faith circles:
Public spaces
Denominationalism
Sitting:
By the stream in front of the gate
Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
The Big Truck That Went By (Jonathan M. Katz)
An Altar in the World (Barbara Brown Taylor)
Highlights:
Finishing well
Gandalf's appearance at just the right moment
Low points:
Chapters closing
Anxiety
In politics:
Syria
New Zealand economy
In faith circles:
Public spaces
Denominationalism
Sitting:
By the stream in front of the gate
01 January 2014
Where We Come From: Of Stories And Songs
I had this discussion a few months ago with MaryAnn and Jim via Skype about what we, as the Church of God, have to offer at the ecumenical table. As churches in New Zealand tend to be more ecumenical anyway, the Church of God presence here has had many opportunities to partner with other denominations in the area--in particular an open brethren church where WCF is planted, and the Wesleyan Methodist Church (WMCNZ) as a denomination.
Because we line up fairly consistently with Wesleyan Holiness teachings, WMCNZ has welcomed us with open arms to theological conversations, particularly at their annual symposium where we sit around the table with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters. As conversations for about the future of our partnerships continued, and as the Church of God in New Zealand continues to move forward in establishing our presence as a denomination/movement here, I began to think about what was so unique about the Church of God stream of holiness doctrine, especially in the context of New Zealand. It wasn't that I didn't believe in the one, catholic, apostolic, universal Church--it was that I believe there is room for more unity where there is diversity.
I don't remember coming away from our discussion with much of a solid conclusion (I don't think it was meant to be a close-ended conversation anyway), except for this: everybody's welcome.
In the months that passed, that discussion carried over with some of my scattered community whose theological thoughts I respect greatly. I'll confess it was tempting to try to quickly come to my own conclusions just so I could write a blog post about it and check that off the to-do list. But there was more value in waiting and mulling things over about what it was about the Church of God that I loved.
Then last week, I had the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with three Church of God missionary-ish folks who have lived, served and travelled all around the Church of God world. (Bear in mind there are only two ordained Church of God ministers living in New Zealand--we get pretty lonely and isolated in these parts) And then I remembered two main things I love about the Church of God.
the time when they had to eat strange dishes to be culturally sensitive
the time when they embarrassed themselves while learning the new culture
the time when something about the new culture greatly disturbed them
the time when they observed someone they greatly respected on the mission field and the lessons they learnt from them
the time when they saw God working
the time when they saw the fruit of someone else's/their own labour
the time when they learnt God was the God of the universe, not just the small parts of the world they've seen
As I sat listening to Dave, Greta and Mike reminisce about the times when their journeys intersected in Japan, and all the stories in between, I was struck by the realisation that THIS is the Church of God.
We are people who believe in a God that loves the world and a God that transcends culture.
We are people who have, for more than a hundred years now, been active in the missio Dei all around the world.
We are people who keep our teachings and beliefs alive through the sharing of stories, reminding ourselves as we serve around the world that we stand on the shoulders of giants.
It took me back to being in Anderson this summer, being surrounded by the rich musicianship that we have in the Church of God. The annual NAC tradition of singing, "Child of God" with the Park Place sanctuary choir. And more importantly, the evening services when I got to sit with my scattered community, singing side by side as if we were back in the seminary chorus all over again.
And THIS is the Church of God I love.
We are people who sing our stories.
We are people whose voices come together and brings a unity that words itself cannot describe.
We are people whose songs remind us of the giants like Charles Naylor and Barney Warren who have gone before us and paved the way.
THIS is the Church of God I love.
This is where WE come from.
Because we line up fairly consistently with Wesleyan Holiness teachings, WMCNZ has welcomed us with open arms to theological conversations, particularly at their annual symposium where we sit around the table with our Nazarene and Salvationist brothers and sisters. As conversations for about the future of our partnerships continued, and as the Church of God in New Zealand continues to move forward in establishing our presence as a denomination/movement here, I began to think about what was so unique about the Church of God stream of holiness doctrine, especially in the context of New Zealand. It wasn't that I didn't believe in the one, catholic, apostolic, universal Church--it was that I believe there is room for more unity where there is diversity.
I don't remember coming away from our discussion with much of a solid conclusion (I don't think it was meant to be a close-ended conversation anyway), except for this: everybody's welcome.
In the months that passed, that discussion carried over with some of my scattered community whose theological thoughts I respect greatly. I'll confess it was tempting to try to quickly come to my own conclusions just so I could write a blog post about it and check that off the to-do list. But there was more value in waiting and mulling things over about what it was about the Church of God that I loved.
Then last week, I had the opportunity to spend a significant amount of time with three Church of God missionary-ish folks who have lived, served and travelled all around the Church of God world. (Bear in mind there are only two ordained Church of God ministers living in New Zealand--we get pretty lonely and isolated in these parts) And then I remembered two main things I love about the Church of God.
Stories
We are people of stories. One of the things I love most about my job when I was at Global Missions was the informal gatherings where the missionaries got together and exchanged stories. With missionary communities, the stories often had the same themes:the time when they had to eat strange dishes to be culturally sensitive
the time when they embarrassed themselves while learning the new culture
the time when something about the new culture greatly disturbed them
the time when they observed someone they greatly respected on the mission field and the lessons they learnt from them
the time when they saw God working
the time when they saw the fruit of someone else's/their own labour
the time when they learnt God was the God of the universe, not just the small parts of the world they've seen
As I sat listening to Dave, Greta and Mike reminisce about the times when their journeys intersected in Japan, and all the stories in between, I was struck by the realisation that THIS is the Church of God.
We are people who believe in a God that loves the world and a God that transcends culture.
We are people who have, for more than a hundred years now, been active in the missio Dei all around the world.
We are people who keep our teachings and beliefs alive through the sharing of stories, reminding ourselves as we serve around the world that we stand on the shoulders of giants.
Songs
One of the most strikingly Church of God moments I've experienced in my over two years in New Zealand was on Christmas morning. As we sang "Joy to the World" that morning, Mike nonchalantly broke out the bass line, which prompted both Greta and I to take the alto harmony line. Then last night as we sat together for Mike's last dinner before his return to Japan, we sang the Doxology in four-part harmony again.It took me back to being in Anderson this summer, being surrounded by the rich musicianship that we have in the Church of God. The annual NAC tradition of singing, "Child of God" with the Park Place sanctuary choir. And more importantly, the evening services when I got to sit with my scattered community, singing side by side as if we were back in the seminary chorus all over again.
And THIS is the Church of God I love.
We are people who sing our stories.
We are people whose voices come together and brings a unity that words itself cannot describe.
We are people whose songs remind us of the giants like Charles Naylor and Barney Warren who have gone before us and paved the way.
THIS is the Church of God I love.
This is where WE come from.
2013: The Year That...Was
I haven't written a personal update here in quite a while, I know.
The last few months have been dark. Very dark. And how does one allow a general internet public into the darkness of one's life when it's so personal, especially when I keep hearing my mum's voice saying, "Yes, but... Hope. Fill it with hope."
Well, we wait.
2013 was a difficult year for WCF. In the 28-ish months I served as Children's Ministry Coordinator, we've seen major leadership changes. I was the last remaining of the five pastoral staff I came on board with, and yesterday was my last official day on staff. For a congregation so young to be shaken so deeply at the core meant that those in the middle of all the changes had a heavy load to carry. As much as I've tried not to let my identity be wrapped up around a job, job title or job description, with all the changes happening around me, I felt my sense of Jael being consumed by my role at WCF.
I could write of all the circumstances in detail that led to my downward spiral into clinical depression, therapy and medication. But what would be the use of that? We like finding things or people to blame. For the longest time, I felt like my circumstances were completely at fault and there was nothing I could do to make it stop. But then I learnt it's what happens when one's serotonin levels are completely whacked from too much over-functioning over too long a period of time. You know, that chemical imbalance thing that happens to people who are depressed. You just feel like you've lost control of your own life completely.
Then I lived in guilt for a long time. After all, I've spent significant amounts of time preparing for ministry and learning what it means to help those dealing with depression to cope--why wasn't I able to prevent it from happening to myself?
On the surface, I managed to pull off looking like I was coping. But those who knew could tell I was pretending, and I was really just trying not to drown. The actual near-drowning episode I had earlier in the year would surface again, and there would be moments when I felt like it would just be a whole lot easier to just let go instead of trying to find the strength to fight back and stay afloat.
It didn't help that in all my pretending, I constantly felt like I was screwing up relationships because in my struggle to just stay afloat, I didn't know how to be real with people anymore. I hated who I was becoming.
But perhaps what I felt most guilty about was that my relationship with the One that always gave me hope and that little bit more had taken the back-burner. How could I possibly be in ministry when God was given the back-seat, acknowledged when necessary, but mostly told to wait on the sidelines until my anger over all the shit that had happened had cooled off?
I could keep going about the depression spiral, and even all the therapy sessions I coasted through with my pretence. But instead, I'll tell you about the one particularly difficult session where the deepest and longest struggle I've had with my identity was shaken to the core.
Some of those closest to me know of this baggage I've carried for at least sixteen years--that I was a rubbish bin used for holding everyone else's junk, left out on the streets for the rubbish collector that never comes, and only given attention to when more junk needed to be disposed of (yes, I wrote this in a journal for school when I was 11--I don't think my teacher then knew what to do with me. Child psychology isn't quite as developed in Asian education systems). I thought I had worked through that with mentors and Spiritual Formation in seminary, but it took my therapist looking me in the eye and saying, "When you first began your relationship with Jesus, did you think the relationship he wanted was with the rubbish bin?" for that to crack.
Well, how's that for a review of 2013?
There you have it. 2013 was one hell of a shitty year, but that's for the history books now. I'm on the long road of recovery: feeling a little bit more like the Jael I got to know and love in my seminary days (except a lot more Kiwi), learning to say no and taking back control of my own life. I don't know if I've screwed some relationships up to the point of no-return, but for those of you who have been patient with me, I'm eternally grateful.
Here's to you who keep prodding me back to the path of doing what's right but difficult to do.
Here's to you who remind me it's ok to want heap coals on the heads of those who always seem to complicate things.
Here's to you who keep extending grace, and reminding me to do the same for myself.
Here's to you who remind me #WeBelong.
Here's to 2014.
Cheers, mate.
Arohanui
The last few months have been dark. Very dark. And how does one allow a general internet public into the darkness of one's life when it's so personal, especially when I keep hearing my mum's voice saying, "Yes, but... Hope. Fill it with hope."
Well, we wait.
2013 was a difficult year for WCF. In the 28-ish months I served as Children's Ministry Coordinator, we've seen major leadership changes. I was the last remaining of the five pastoral staff I came on board with, and yesterday was my last official day on staff. For a congregation so young to be shaken so deeply at the core meant that those in the middle of all the changes had a heavy load to carry. As much as I've tried not to let my identity be wrapped up around a job, job title or job description, with all the changes happening around me, I felt my sense of Jael being consumed by my role at WCF.
I could write of all the circumstances in detail that led to my downward spiral into clinical depression, therapy and medication. But what would be the use of that? We like finding things or people to blame. For the longest time, I felt like my circumstances were completely at fault and there was nothing I could do to make it stop. But then I learnt it's what happens when one's serotonin levels are completely whacked from too much over-functioning over too long a period of time. You know, that chemical imbalance thing that happens to people who are depressed. You just feel like you've lost control of your own life completely.
Then I lived in guilt for a long time. After all, I've spent significant amounts of time preparing for ministry and learning what it means to help those dealing with depression to cope--why wasn't I able to prevent it from happening to myself?
On the surface, I managed to pull off looking like I was coping. But those who knew could tell I was pretending, and I was really just trying not to drown. The actual near-drowning episode I had earlier in the year would surface again, and there would be moments when I felt like it would just be a whole lot easier to just let go instead of trying to find the strength to fight back and stay afloat.
It didn't help that in all my pretending, I constantly felt like I was screwing up relationships because in my struggle to just stay afloat, I didn't know how to be real with people anymore. I hated who I was becoming.
But perhaps what I felt most guilty about was that my relationship with the One that always gave me hope and that little bit more had taken the back-burner. How could I possibly be in ministry when God was given the back-seat, acknowledged when necessary, but mostly told to wait on the sidelines until my anger over all the shit that had happened had cooled off?
I could keep going about the depression spiral, and even all the therapy sessions I coasted through with my pretence. But instead, I'll tell you about the one particularly difficult session where the deepest and longest struggle I've had with my identity was shaken to the core.
Some of those closest to me know of this baggage I've carried for at least sixteen years--that I was a rubbish bin used for holding everyone else's junk, left out on the streets for the rubbish collector that never comes, and only given attention to when more junk needed to be disposed of (yes, I wrote this in a journal for school when I was 11--I don't think my teacher then knew what to do with me. Child psychology isn't quite as developed in Asian education systems). I thought I had worked through that with mentors and Spiritual Formation in seminary, but it took my therapist looking me in the eye and saying, "When you first began your relationship with Jesus, did you think the relationship he wanted was with the rubbish bin?" for that to crack.
Well, how's that for a review of 2013?
There you have it. 2013 was one hell of a shitty year, but that's for the history books now. I'm on the long road of recovery: feeling a little bit more like the Jael I got to know and love in my seminary days (except a lot more Kiwi), learning to say no and taking back control of my own life. I don't know if I've screwed some relationships up to the point of no-return, but for those of you who have been patient with me, I'm eternally grateful.
Here's to you who keep prodding me back to the path of doing what's right but difficult to do.
Here's to you who remind me it's ok to want heap coals on the heads of those who always seem to complicate things.
Here's to you who keep extending grace, and reminding me to do the same for myself.
Here's to you who remind me #WeBelong.
Here's to 2014.
Cheers, mate.
Arohanui
 |
| The Koru plant A symbol of new beginnings and new life |
31 December 2013
27 New Years
I don't suppose 27 count for a lot when it comes to the number of New Years I've seen.
As 2013 draws to a close, I'm taken back to a few of the more memorable New Years I've celebrated.
There was the one in 2000. Dad worked in the heart of the city (Orchard Rd) at the time. As building manager, he was on-call in case things fell apart with the Y2K bug that everyone seemed to be paranoid about. So Dad drove my brother and I, together with our closest friends at the time, to and from town so we could countdown with the revellers while he was at work.
Then there were the several watch-night services at the Church of God congregation in Singapore that I grew up in. Us youth always looked forward to that time, not so much because it was the watch-night service, but because we got to hang out together at church till the wee hours of the morning.
Then there were the ones where my family started travelling together more over the Christmas/New Year season. Some of the traditions that we used to celebrate with our church family were no longer observed. The times were a-changin'.
I remember the New Years we celebrated in China (2009), Cambodia (2010) and Auckland (2012) best.
China has always been special because of my deep appreciation for our cultural roots, and that being the first place I felt like I was called to serve. To be there with family, tracing our roots to my grandfather's village made it extra special.
Cambodia was special because in all the flurry of activities in our week there, when the clock struck midnight in Cambodia, my siblings and I were like little kids again, running out to the balcony to watch the fireworks.
Auckland was special because this was my new home, and I got to share it with my family for the first time.
And as I sit here quietly taking in the last few minutes of 2013 here in Auckland, I realise it's true that the older you get, what you value changes. The hustle and bustle and flurry of activities don't matter as much as simply sitting with family and the good people in your life, and giving thanks for making it through another year.
To each one of you that have cheered me on and pushed me forward through an unkind year, thank you.
To each one of you that have carried me without expecting anything in return, thank you.
To each one of you that have put up with my crap, instability and lack of consistency this year, thank you.
And finally, and most importantly, to the God of grace, love and faithfulness, I give praise for not giving up on me this year.
Dear 2013, I won't deny that I have been looking forward to this day where I can finally pack you away in the history books. You have been most unkind, and I'm more than ready to say our goodbyes. But as I do, I want to say thank you as well, that in your unkindness, you taught me to love myself better. Goodbye now.
Here's to 2014. Here's to hope, peace, faith, joy and love.
Here's to you.
Cheers, mate.
Arohanui
As 2013 draws to a close, I'm taken back to a few of the more memorable New Years I've celebrated.
There was the one in 2000. Dad worked in the heart of the city (Orchard Rd) at the time. As building manager, he was on-call in case things fell apart with the Y2K bug that everyone seemed to be paranoid about. So Dad drove my brother and I, together with our closest friends at the time, to and from town so we could countdown with the revellers while he was at work.
Then there were the several watch-night services at the Church of God congregation in Singapore that I grew up in. Us youth always looked forward to that time, not so much because it was the watch-night service, but because we got to hang out together at church till the wee hours of the morning.
Then there were the ones where my family started travelling together more over the Christmas/New Year season. Some of the traditions that we used to celebrate with our church family were no longer observed. The times were a-changin'.
I remember the New Years we celebrated in China (2009), Cambodia (2010) and Auckland (2012) best.
China has always been special because of my deep appreciation for our cultural roots, and that being the first place I felt like I was called to serve. To be there with family, tracing our roots to my grandfather's village made it extra special.
Cambodia was special because in all the flurry of activities in our week there, when the clock struck midnight in Cambodia, my siblings and I were like little kids again, running out to the balcony to watch the fireworks.
Auckland was special because this was my new home, and I got to share it with my family for the first time.
And as I sit here quietly taking in the last few minutes of 2013 here in Auckland, I realise it's true that the older you get, what you value changes. The hustle and bustle and flurry of activities don't matter as much as simply sitting with family and the good people in your life, and giving thanks for making it through another year.
To each one of you that have cheered me on and pushed me forward through an unkind year, thank you.
To each one of you that have carried me without expecting anything in return, thank you.
To each one of you that have put up with my crap, instability and lack of consistency this year, thank you.
And finally, and most importantly, to the God of grace, love and faithfulness, I give praise for not giving up on me this year.
Dear 2013, I won't deny that I have been looking forward to this day where I can finally pack you away in the history books. You have been most unkind, and I'm more than ready to say our goodbyes. But as I do, I want to say thank you as well, that in your unkindness, you taught me to love myself better. Goodbye now.
Here's to 2014. Here's to hope, peace, faith, joy and love.
Here's to you.
Cheers, mate.
Arohanui
24 December 2013
Christmas Eve on the Road to Bethlehem
It was a day like any other day.
For months now, she had been preparing for this
Ever since the pronouncement came
She had made room in her home and her heart
She had sat in wonder of what life would be like
I have traveled many moonless nights
Cold and weary with a babe inside
It was a day like any other day.
For months now, she had been preparing for this
Ever since the pronouncement came
She had wondered, Why her
She had thought, Was it honour, or was it shame
And I wonder what I've done
Holy Father, You have come
And chosen me now to carry Your Son
It was a day like any other day.
For months now, she had been preparing for this
Ever since the pronouncement came
She had struggled with the uncertainty
She had wondered if it had been sheer craziness
I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
It was a day like any other day.
For months now, she had been preparing for this
Ever since the pronouncement came
She had found judgment in the eyes of those that didn't understand
She had also found patience in the ones that loved her
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now, be with me now
Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy
Breath of Heaven
It was a day like any other day.
For months now, she had been waiting for this
Ever since she chose to be a part of The Plan
And now she chose to obey the law of the land
And now she chose to take the road to Bethlehem
Do you wonder as you watch my face
If a wiser one should have had my place?
It was a day like any other day.
For months now, she had been waiting for this
Ever since she chose to be a part of The Plan
And now she chose to continue on the dusty roads
And now she chose to wander further into the unknown
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of Your plan
Help me be strong, help me
Breath of Heaven, hold me together
Be forever near me, Breath of Heaven
Breath of Heaven, lighten my darkness
Pour over me Your holiness for You are holy
Breath of Heaven
It was a day like any other day.
Or was it?
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