This week, I attended Savaira's uncle's funeral service. Because we weren't familiar with the customs of Fijian funerals, we ended up showing up on the evening when the family service was happening. I was admittedly nervous about having shown up on the wrong day because it might have made for a really awkward situation.
But the minute we walked in, Auntie Selina greeted us with hugs and kisses, and thanked us for showing up. Then Savaira came and sat beside us, and proceeded to explain what was happening because a good half of the service was in Fijian.
My mind began to wander back to a conversation I had earlier in the week. At our lunch group, the conversations revolved around whether we should be thinking about a different way of doing Church--a way that would be more welcoming for new people, and particularly whether a 40-minute long sermon made it more overwhelming for someone new.
As the conversation went back and forth, I heard Dr Shively's voice in my head saying, "A sermon should be no longer than 20-minutes. Any longer, and you lose the attention."
But I had another nagging thought. I wasn't ready to throw the baby out with the bath water and say that the sermon was unnecessary. I couldn't quite figure out how to explain myself as the conversation continued. All I could think of was that the sermon time was meant to be a time where, perhaps like at family reunions, there's a lot of other flurry of activity. But at some point, Grandma or Grandpa starts telling the stories of the family traditions and the heritage that has been passed on to us.
So perhaps we need to re-examine the way we preach sermons. Are we just giving a speech each Sunday just for the sake of giving a speech, or are we framing the stories of our Christian heritage in such a way that helps us understand why we make certain lifestyle decisions now?
Then the question was raised: What about the new people? How do they get included in story time?
At Savaira's uncle's funeral, the question was resolved for me. When we as a family truly live out our understanding of hospitality, everyone eventually gets adopted into the family. Perhaps we start with the greeting that we are truly welcomed, even if we showed up on the wrong day. Then maybe the one friend we are connected to sits beside us and translates as the elder is speaking. At the end of the service, we're all sharing a meal together and before long, all the aunties and uncles are trying to adopt us into the family.
Now, that. That is Church.
01 February 2015
23 January 2015
The Umbrella: Engaging "Leaving Church" From the Grassroots
I recently facilitated a "Becoming a Younger Adult" workshop at a Christian youth camp. The conversations I had after led me to writing this post to share a few thoughts.
“Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock. Though the rain comes in torrents and the floodwaters rise and the winds beat against that house, it won’t collapse because it is built on bedrock. But anyone who hears my teaching and doesn’t obey it is foolish, like a person who builds a house on sand. When the rains and floods come and the winds beat against that house, it will collapse with a mighty crash.” - Matthew 7:24-27
Ten years ago, when I was about to move halfway around the world, my youth group got me an interesting gift. It was an umbrella that had been signed by the people in that youth group that I loved dearly.
That umbrella has lived in the storage closet in my parents' home for the last ten years. Every once in a while, I would think about it, but not once did I think about taking it with me when I left my parents' home again after a visit.
I never realised it, but that umbrella was to become a symbol of what that youth group meant to me. Having grown up in a comfortable home and having attended church regularly, life was predictable and having a faith system was easy. And everyday, I woke up knowing what to expect. I would take a shower, sit down at breakfast, then hop on the bus and go to school. In many ways, life was as if I had an umbrella that would protect me rain or shine. The people who had signed that umbrella were, for me, symbols of constants.
Last December when I was back in my parents' home, I dug it out and used it on one of those days when it was pouring down rain. Mum had kept it tucked away and not let anyone use it because she knew I was sentimental about things like that. I found myself twirling the umbrella around and around as I walked to the train station, looking at all the notes and signatures on it. There was one in particular, signed by one of my youth leaders that said, "We will be waiting for you to come back."
Half of those people were no longer a part of our church. A few of them had found other church homes to plug into, and I was truly happy for them. Some of them I don't hear from anymore. Of the two youth leaders that I had, one no longer attended church at all, and the other did so half-heartedly.
But they said on the umbrella they would be waiting for me to come back... Sigh.
As I continued reading the notes on the umbrella, I didn't realise that my feet were getting wet and muddy because I wasn't watching where I was going and had been splashing in puddles. I began to realise a lot of the frustrations I had about the church political mess I had found myself entangled with in the recent years might have been exactly because I had focused too much on the signatures on the umbrella.
Even if I were to have gone back, youth group isn't the same anymore. Church isn't the same anymore. And if I was honest, I'm not the same anymore either. How can you be the same when you spent seven years at a Christian university, watching your friends one by one fall away from the regular, predictable routine of going to church every Sunday? To be fair, we were in Christian community all the time, and had to be at chapel services twice a week, so was Sunday church really necessary? How can you be the same when, in those seven years at a Christian university, you had spent more than half of that time uncovering the brokenness and inadequacies of the institution, and the humanity and fallibility of her leaders?
I began to realise the certainty of that umbrella and that youth group was never going to be enough to protect me from the storms of life. The truth is, no physical thing would ever be able to provide enough protection from the storms unless I stayed indoors all day--but what would be the meaning of life if I only did that?
What I also had to realise was that the storms of life cannot hurt me. Neither do they change who I am. Because my foundation has been built on solid rock--rock that is more solid than an umbrella with signatures of people whom I once sojourned with. But maybe the problem was that I needed help remembering what my foundation was built on.
And so I stumbled upon mentors who refused to let me walk away. And friends who kept me accountable. Sabbaths I had to learn to take to shift my perspective back to the things that matter. Walks I had to take to remind me to breathe and there's a Greater Being holding things together.
Well, I thought it was finally time to take the umbrella with me this last time that I left my parents' home. If nothing else, it would serve as an illustration at the workshop I was facilitating. What ended up happening was that the umbrella never made it to Auckland with me. I was walking out the main doors at the Auckland airport when I realised I had left the umbrella behind. I rang the luggage office every day at least twice before I left the country again, and would get the same message that they would call me if they found it.
Truth be told, I wasn't entirely fussed that it got left behind either, because it almost made for a better story to tell.
By no means am I suggesting that youth group or church community is a bad thing that should be left behind. I'm merely suggesting that for some of us, just going to church on Sundays isn't enough. We need rhythm markers along the week to remind us of the things that really matter when it all hits the fan again.
So this: what are your rhythm markers? What serves as reminders for you to remember where to keep your focus on?
“Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock. Though the rain comes in torrents and the floodwaters rise and the winds beat against that house, it won’t collapse because it is built on bedrock. But anyone who hears my teaching and doesn’t obey it is foolish, like a person who builds a house on sand. When the rains and floods come and the winds beat against that house, it will collapse with a mighty crash.” - Matthew 7:24-27
Ten years ago, when I was about to move halfway around the world, my youth group got me an interesting gift. It was an umbrella that had been signed by the people in that youth group that I loved dearly.
That umbrella has lived in the storage closet in my parents' home for the last ten years. Every once in a while, I would think about it, but not once did I think about taking it with me when I left my parents' home again after a visit.
I never realised it, but that umbrella was to become a symbol of what that youth group meant to me. Having grown up in a comfortable home and having attended church regularly, life was predictable and having a faith system was easy. And everyday, I woke up knowing what to expect. I would take a shower, sit down at breakfast, then hop on the bus and go to school. In many ways, life was as if I had an umbrella that would protect me rain or shine. The people who had signed that umbrella were, for me, symbols of constants.
Last December when I was back in my parents' home, I dug it out and used it on one of those days when it was pouring down rain. Mum had kept it tucked away and not let anyone use it because she knew I was sentimental about things like that. I found myself twirling the umbrella around and around as I walked to the train station, looking at all the notes and signatures on it. There was one in particular, signed by one of my youth leaders that said, "We will be waiting for you to come back."
Half of those people were no longer a part of our church. A few of them had found other church homes to plug into, and I was truly happy for them. Some of them I don't hear from anymore. Of the two youth leaders that I had, one no longer attended church at all, and the other did so half-heartedly.
But they said on the umbrella they would be waiting for me to come back... Sigh.
As I continued reading the notes on the umbrella, I didn't realise that my feet were getting wet and muddy because I wasn't watching where I was going and had been splashing in puddles. I began to realise a lot of the frustrations I had about the church political mess I had found myself entangled with in the recent years might have been exactly because I had focused too much on the signatures on the umbrella.
Even if I were to have gone back, youth group isn't the same anymore. Church isn't the same anymore. And if I was honest, I'm not the same anymore either. How can you be the same when you spent seven years at a Christian university, watching your friends one by one fall away from the regular, predictable routine of going to church every Sunday? To be fair, we were in Christian community all the time, and had to be at chapel services twice a week, so was Sunday church really necessary? How can you be the same when, in those seven years at a Christian university, you had spent more than half of that time uncovering the brokenness and inadequacies of the institution, and the humanity and fallibility of her leaders?
I began to realise the certainty of that umbrella and that youth group was never going to be enough to protect me from the storms of life. The truth is, no physical thing would ever be able to provide enough protection from the storms unless I stayed indoors all day--but what would be the meaning of life if I only did that?
What I also had to realise was that the storms of life cannot hurt me. Neither do they change who I am. Because my foundation has been built on solid rock--rock that is more solid than an umbrella with signatures of people whom I once sojourned with. But maybe the problem was that I needed help remembering what my foundation was built on.
And so I stumbled upon mentors who refused to let me walk away. And friends who kept me accountable. Sabbaths I had to learn to take to shift my perspective back to the things that matter. Walks I had to take to remind me to breathe and there's a Greater Being holding things together.
Well, I thought it was finally time to take the umbrella with me this last time that I left my parents' home. If nothing else, it would serve as an illustration at the workshop I was facilitating. What ended up happening was that the umbrella never made it to Auckland with me. I was walking out the main doors at the Auckland airport when I realised I had left the umbrella behind. I rang the luggage office every day at least twice before I left the country again, and would get the same message that they would call me if they found it.
Truth be told, I wasn't entirely fussed that it got left behind either, because it almost made for a better story to tell.
By no means am I suggesting that youth group or church community is a bad thing that should be left behind. I'm merely suggesting that for some of us, just going to church on Sundays isn't enough. We need rhythm markers along the week to remind us of the things that really matter when it all hits the fan again.
So this: what are your rhythm markers? What serves as reminders for you to remember where to keep your focus on?
16 January 2015
Aotearoa Diaries: 返来 Return
Hello, 2015. It's nice to meet you.
First things first.
The last 3 months have been a whirlwind. 6 countries in some 80 days. Whoa.
Would I do it all over again? I don't know.
Don't get me wrong. The last 3 months on the road have not managed to kill my spirit of adventure or love for the world. But maybe that's the problem. Travelling stirs up all kinds of thoughts, feelings and dreams that I'm not sure I have the energy to keep up with anymore.
Let me back track a little bit.
2014 was a great year. Sure, it might have been because 2013 had been one big hell-hole, such that 2014 felt like a completely different life altogether. And even though ministry-wise, nothing had gone as I had expected, things were slowly taking shape.
The only problem was the one main one I had been ignoring all year long hoping that some miracle would just take care of it. That money problem.
I don't like talking about financial stuff because it's awkward and I like pretending that ministry doesn't involve money. But we had reached a point where reality was sinking in: something desperate needed to happen with the finances for the ministry or it's not going to go on. Then some friends sat me down and had me actually figure out that we were only at about 20% of what we needed each month.
That was when it hit the fan.
In the 3 months that I had spent on the road, I had a couple of offers for full-time ministry positions with a more stable income. When the first offer came, I still felt very strongly about returning to New Zealand. That the chapter with The Bridge isn't over. How could it be when we still have plans and dreams for this year? But by the time I began having more conversations with people and the other offers came through, I began to wonder if returning to Auckland was a stupid idea. 3.5 years of living with limited resources and moving every half a year or so because I couldn't afford to pay rent was beginning to wear on me emotionally. It's one thing to say, "I choose to live by faith and trust that the resources will come in." It's another thing to face the reality that this "live by faith" mentality was becoming a waste of resources because it was greatly limiting the effectiveness of the ministry. I hated going in to the city because it was a 40 minute commute each way, and parking was limited and expensive (The cheapest Auckland city parking costs $3/hour for the first 2 hours, then $6/hour after that). How could I really call The Bridge a presence-based community ministry when I wasn't even all that present in the community?
And doesn't the lack of financial support coming in also translate to the lack of value placed in a ministry like that? And if no one believes in it, am I just wasting my time when I could be making a difference elsewhere?
And then Hong Kong happened. Here's another conference to go to. Another networking opportunity. Another go at seeing whether this money miracle will happen.
Well, what ended up happening, I did not see coming at all. This overwhelming sense of call to "返来" or "return" that I had promised in an earlier post that I would write about.
You see, at this conference in Hong Kong, there was an overwhelming number of Chinese brothers and sisters in Christ. From a very young age, I had been fascinated with the underground church in China, and my first real sense of call to ministry had, in fact, been to go to China. Ten years had past since then, and somewhere in that ten years I had forgotten about that nudging.
Then at this conference in Hong Kong, I found myself offering to translate for the overwhelming number of Chinese brothers and sisters. Because I had registered for the conference as a representative of the church in New Zealand, most of them were surprised that I was bilingual. In conversations with several of them afterwards, I found myself having to explain that my grandparents migrated to Singapore from China, and that I was actually a "华侨" or "overseas Chinese". I forgot that to the Chinese, even if I had never lived in China, the very nature that I was a 华侨 meant that China would still be home, or at least, the Motherland. Kind of like when my immediate family took a trip back to my grandpa's village in China. All the relatives there greeted us with the over-excited, "你们返来了!" (you have finally come home!)
In those moments of conversations with these brothers and sisters, I had several of them ask if I would "return" to China to work with their youth. They were impressed with my bilingualism and my understanding of spiritual things, and reminded me again that China needed people like me.
"返来" "Return"
There was that word again. I wondered what God was thinking listening in to all these conversations. God sure seemed to have a sense of humour about these things, and frankly I was getting quite annoyed.
I found myself explaining that there were Chinese all around the world that needed the faith we shared as well, and that those were the people I would work better with. Frankly, I have no idea where those words came from, but suddenly I found myself in the shower in my residence hall my freshman year of college again. It was ten years ago, but I recall having a chuckle at how all that weekend, I had been serving as a "translator" between a friend from Hong Kong and another one from Korea. Never mind that I didn't speak Korean--I had been exposed to enough bad English in my life that I was translating from one dialect of bad English to another. In that moment, I began to wonder if God would be ridiculous enough to call me back to Asia after I had finally settled down from crying about moving halfway across the world to the US.
Ten years later, at that conference back in Asia, the words spilling out of my mouth suddenly shed light on all the nonsense in that shower room. I would find myself "return"-ing-ish to Asia-ish, just not in the conventional way. Well, if everything else leading up to that moment in my life was anything to go by, "conventional" doesn't usually work out for me, so really, I had no reason to be surprised.
Still, I was undecided. There were overseas Chinese all around the world. Why did it have to be Auckland? Sure, there was job stability there, but there was no money to go with the job. 20% is still a grim figure, and I would be returning to Auckland with less than a month to find another place to live (my current flatmate is wonderful, but we've reached a point where it's no longer fair for her to keep offering me free accommodation).
Then those youth camps. Those blasted youth camps.
Since the first of the year, I've been at back-to-back youth camps. I generally love youth camps because I love camps in general, but even more so, I love being around the ridiculousness of teenagers. Except this time, my role was a bit different. Along with just hanging out with the teenagers, I also got to spend significant time with some of the youth leaders--young adults whom I had just spent a whole year getting to know. The more we talked, the more they shared their hopes and dreams, the more I began to have that sense that my journey with them wasn't over. It couldn't be.
But then what? There still is that grim reality of 20% (I hate numbers, but it keeps haunting me). And then the first nudging I felt about The Bridge returned.
It was January 2013 and I had taken 48 hours to go away to Wellington. The afternoon before I was to return to Auckland, I passed by a house. It was an ordinary house, and there was no reason for it to have stood out, but it did. I had already decided before the trip that I would be done with my assignment with WCF, and kind of figured at least part of the 48 hours away would be spent praying about next steps. Still, there was no reason for me to have stood in front of that ordinary house for so long, but I came home from that trip and asked my prayer circle to begin praying about a house.
Well, it's been two years since that trip. I'm still not sure what that house is about, but I have a stronger feeling than ever that it's going to happen, even if I have no idea how.
Over the weekend at that last camp I was a part of, we were challenged over and over again to make "Bold Crossings". Frankly, I had not given a second thought to the theme because I was there only to be a support person for the camp, and had even been pretty insistent on the first two days that I wasn't going to let it get to me. I was exhausted and ready for the busyness to be over so I could go away by myself to think and pray and sort things out.
Then that night, Clint talked about making the "Bold Crossing" to surrender. In our leaders' meetings prior, we were reminded that these messages could stir up some things amongst the youth that we should be prepared to deal with. I found myself thinking in my head, I've had enough experience with these youth events that I know what to expect. How different would this night be from all the others?
But that night, as Clint made the call to surrender, I found myself drifting to the back of the room, and from my corner, I found two of my people who had been going through some really challenging junk with their hands raised in the air. In that moment, there was no holding back the tears. I still had no idea what I was supposed to be doing in Auckland, but at that moment I knew God was doing something, and I wanted in. I wanted to stay.
So in conclusion, well... I have no conclusion. Except... I guess I'm staying in Aotearoa. It is good to return home.
First things first.
The last 3 months have been a whirlwind. 6 countries in some 80 days. Whoa.
Would I do it all over again? I don't know.
Don't get me wrong. The last 3 months on the road have not managed to kill my spirit of adventure or love for the world. But maybe that's the problem. Travelling stirs up all kinds of thoughts, feelings and dreams that I'm not sure I have the energy to keep up with anymore.Let me back track a little bit.
2014 was a great year. Sure, it might have been because 2013 had been one big hell-hole, such that 2014 felt like a completely different life altogether. And even though ministry-wise, nothing had gone as I had expected, things were slowly taking shape.
The only problem was the one main one I had been ignoring all year long hoping that some miracle would just take care of it. That money problem.
I don't like talking about financial stuff because it's awkward and I like pretending that ministry doesn't involve money. But we had reached a point where reality was sinking in: something desperate needed to happen with the finances for the ministry or it's not going to go on. Then some friends sat me down and had me actually figure out that we were only at about 20% of what we needed each month.
That was when it hit the fan.
In the 3 months that I had spent on the road, I had a couple of offers for full-time ministry positions with a more stable income. When the first offer came, I still felt very strongly about returning to New Zealand. That the chapter with The Bridge isn't over. How could it be when we still have plans and dreams for this year? But by the time I began having more conversations with people and the other offers came through, I began to wonder if returning to Auckland was a stupid idea. 3.5 years of living with limited resources and moving every half a year or so because I couldn't afford to pay rent was beginning to wear on me emotionally. It's one thing to say, "I choose to live by faith and trust that the resources will come in." It's another thing to face the reality that this "live by faith" mentality was becoming a waste of resources because it was greatly limiting the effectiveness of the ministry. I hated going in to the city because it was a 40 minute commute each way, and parking was limited and expensive (The cheapest Auckland city parking costs $3/hour for the first 2 hours, then $6/hour after that). How could I really call The Bridge a presence-based community ministry when I wasn't even all that present in the community?
And doesn't the lack of financial support coming in also translate to the lack of value placed in a ministry like that? And if no one believes in it, am I just wasting my time when I could be making a difference elsewhere?
Well, what ended up happening, I did not see coming at all. This overwhelming sense of call to "返来" or "return" that I had promised in an earlier post that I would write about.
You see, at this conference in Hong Kong, there was an overwhelming number of Chinese brothers and sisters in Christ. From a very young age, I had been fascinated with the underground church in China, and my first real sense of call to ministry had, in fact, been to go to China. Ten years had past since then, and somewhere in that ten years I had forgotten about that nudging.
In those moments of conversations with these brothers and sisters, I had several of them ask if I would "return" to China to work with their youth. They were impressed with my bilingualism and my understanding of spiritual things, and reminded me again that China needed people like me.
"返来" "Return"
There was that word again. I wondered what God was thinking listening in to all these conversations. God sure seemed to have a sense of humour about these things, and frankly I was getting quite annoyed.
Ten years later, at that conference back in Asia, the words spilling out of my mouth suddenly shed light on all the nonsense in that shower room. I would find myself "return"-ing-ish to Asia-ish, just not in the conventional way. Well, if everything else leading up to that moment in my life was anything to go by, "conventional" doesn't usually work out for me, so really, I had no reason to be surprised.
Still, I was undecided. There were overseas Chinese all around the world. Why did it have to be Auckland? Sure, there was job stability there, but there was no money to go with the job. 20% is still a grim figure, and I would be returning to Auckland with less than a month to find another place to live (my current flatmate is wonderful, but we've reached a point where it's no longer fair for her to keep offering me free accommodation).
Then those youth camps. Those blasted youth camps.
But then what? There still is that grim reality of 20% (I hate numbers, but it keeps haunting me). And then the first nudging I felt about The Bridge returned.
Well, it's been two years since that trip. I'm still not sure what that house is about, but I have a stronger feeling than ever that it's going to happen, even if I have no idea how.
Then that night, Clint talked about making the "Bold Crossing" to surrender. In our leaders' meetings prior, we were reminded that these messages could stir up some things amongst the youth that we should be prepared to deal with. I found myself thinking in my head, I've had enough experience with these youth events that I know what to expect. How different would this night be from all the others?
But that night, as Clint made the call to surrender, I found myself drifting to the back of the room, and from my corner, I found two of my people who had been going through some really challenging junk with their hands raised in the air. In that moment, there was no holding back the tears. I still had no idea what I was supposed to be doing in Auckland, but at that moment I knew God was doing something, and I wanted in. I wanted to stay.So in conclusion, well... I have no conclusion. Except... I guess I'm staying in Aotearoa. It is good to return home.
16 December 2014
Single, Going on 30...
I've written on this on a few other occasions, and have re-posted several similar blog posts about being single that I honestly thought I've made enough noise about where I stand. But more recently, after a few conversations with the BFF and a few other people, I thought it might be time again to revisit this topic.
Yes, I'm just over a year away from turning 30.
No, there is no male person of interest in my life at the moment.
No, it's not a priority--that has not changed.
And no, you're not allowed to make me feel like less of a person because of that.
Well, now that that's out of the system, let's talk.
April next year marks ten years since I've been in a romantic relationship. Sure, there was a lot of pain when we first broke up. He had after all been my best friend for a while before we started going out, and the first to teach me to love myself. But that's already been ten years ago.
So that's not why I'm single today, and ok with it.
I've moved around a lot in the last ten years. It's scary to think about settling down with one person, and committing to going or staying with that one person "till death do us part". But if anything, the last seven weeks on the road by myself has taught me the nomadic life would be easier if there was someone who could be a constant with on the road.
So no, that's also not why I'm single today, and ok with it.
Being the partner of a woman in ministry or leadership can be an intimidating task--and this isn't so much a statement about me or my sisters in ministry. It's about the challenges this partnership has to face in a world that can sometimes be unforgiving towards women in leadership. Some of the people I have the most respect for are my guy friends who stand alongside their wives to defy the conventionally misunderstood "wives submit to your husbands" or that "women should keep silent in the churches".
But again, that's not why I'm single today, and ok with it.
Here are a few other lies I've heard recently about being single:
"Well, God will surely provide!"
"Are you asexual?" (or in a friend's case, a lesbian)
"It must be because you're a raging feminist with a case for being an independent woman."
"Well, you're still young ... Wait, you're 28?" *awkward*
I could keep going on.
What I'm really trying to say is, don't make assumptions about my, or my friends' stories. Ask us what we really think about being single and going on 30. Some days are easier than others to be single, but don't make that a reflection of our relationship with God either.
You wanna know why I'm single, going on 30, and ok with it? Here's why.
I don't know whether I'm "called" to be single, or married, or to have kids, or to adopt, or to live in New Zealand forever, or to be in ministry with university students and young adults forever. None of that is a "call" that is forever in the same way that there is no certainty of death or life.
The only thing I know for certain is that I'm called to be faithful.
Whatever that looks like.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to have kids.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to lose the kids.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to move to Timbuktu.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to go back to children's ministry.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to be married.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to be widowed.
I will be faithful even if I'm hoping to God I will never go back to children's ministry, or for a companion on the road.
I will be faithful even if nothing goes as I hope.
Sure, I'm on the later end of my twenties now.
But age does not change my primary call: to be faithful in all things.
So yes, I'm single.
Yes, I'm going on 30.
And yes, I'm ok with it.
Most days, anyway.
"Only, everyone should live as the Lord has assigned, just as God called each one. I give this order in all the churches." - 1 Corinthians 7:17
Yes, I'm just over a year away from turning 30.
No, there is no male person of interest in my life at the moment.
No, it's not a priority--that has not changed.
And no, you're not allowed to make me feel like less of a person because of that.
Well, now that that's out of the system, let's talk.
April next year marks ten years since I've been in a romantic relationship. Sure, there was a lot of pain when we first broke up. He had after all been my best friend for a while before we started going out, and the first to teach me to love myself. But that's already been ten years ago.
So that's not why I'm single today, and ok with it.
I've moved around a lot in the last ten years. It's scary to think about settling down with one person, and committing to going or staying with that one person "till death do us part". But if anything, the last seven weeks on the road by myself has taught me the nomadic life would be easier if there was someone who could be a constant with on the road.
So no, that's also not why I'm single today, and ok with it.
Being the partner of a woman in ministry or leadership can be an intimidating task--and this isn't so much a statement about me or my sisters in ministry. It's about the challenges this partnership has to face in a world that can sometimes be unforgiving towards women in leadership. Some of the people I have the most respect for are my guy friends who stand alongside their wives to defy the conventionally misunderstood "wives submit to your husbands" or that "women should keep silent in the churches".
But again, that's not why I'm single today, and ok with it.
Here are a few other lies I've heard recently about being single:
"Well, God will surely provide!"
"Are you asexual?" (or in a friend's case, a lesbian)
"It must be because you're a raging feminist with a case for being an independent woman."
"Well, you're still young ... Wait, you're 28?" *awkward*
I could keep going on.
What I'm really trying to say is, don't make assumptions about my, or my friends' stories. Ask us what we really think about being single and going on 30. Some days are easier than others to be single, but don't make that a reflection of our relationship with God either.
You wanna know why I'm single, going on 30, and ok with it? Here's why.
I don't know whether I'm "called" to be single, or married, or to have kids, or to adopt, or to live in New Zealand forever, or to be in ministry with university students and young adults forever. None of that is a "call" that is forever in the same way that there is no certainty of death or life.
The only thing I know for certain is that I'm called to be faithful.
Whatever that looks like.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to have kids.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to lose the kids.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to move to Timbuktu.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to go back to children's ministry.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to be married.
I will be faithful if I were in a season to be widowed.
I will be faithful even if I'm hoping to God I will never go back to children's ministry, or for a companion on the road.
I will be faithful even if nothing goes as I hope.
Sure, I'm on the later end of my twenties now.
But age does not change my primary call: to be faithful in all things.
So yes, I'm single.
Yes, I'm going on 30.
And yes, I'm ok with it.
Most days, anyway.
"Only, everyone should live as the Lord has assigned, just as God called each one. I give this order in all the churches." - 1 Corinthians 7:17
12 December 2014
APCGC Reflections...
"And they'll know we are Christians by our love..."
That's a line from a familiar song. We are one in the Spirit; we are one in the Lord...
Some friends from my time in Anderson and I have had our share of musings over the theological repercussions about that line in the song. When it was sung at the Asia Pacific Church of God Conference last week, I found myself smiling fondly--not because of the discussions of the theological repercussions, but because there was something about the spirit of unity as we were singing that song.
Unity. That's one of the pillars of the Church of God Reformation Movement. And unity was what we saw at the APCGC last week.
As I had shared during the morning devotion time on Friday, I had grown up in the Church of God in Singapore hearing about this APCGC. Uncle Mac and Auntie Jean Johnson were regular visitors at our church, and I would hear about this conference from time to time. So to have been not only present for the first time, but also asked to share during this year's conference was a big honour.
But I digress. Unity.
Growing up in the Church of God in Singapore, I had come to eagerly anticipate church camps and conferences. Yes, I was THAT church kid. As a kid, that was the one time I got to hang out with my church friends for a whole week. But as a teenager exploring my call to ministry, those few days of camp became a time of seeking, of spending time with those whom, upon looking back now, have been mentoring me from the time I was a shy kid hiding away from the crowds. Because of that, church camps and conferences were always special to me. It wasn't till much later that I found out that this Campmeeting thing was a big thing for this wider Church family I came to love dearly.
In my college and seminary years, the Anderson Campmeeting (and the various names it has come to be known by) slowly grew to become a highlight for me each summer. Part of it, admittedly, was because as part of my job while in seminary, I got to meet church leaders and missionaries from all around the world--and hearing the stories of cross-cultural ministry always fascinated me.
But more importantly, it was the spirit of campmeeting.
The spirit of togetherness.
The spirit of unity.
As I sat in each of the conference sessions at the APCGC last week, it became apparent to me that the spirit of unity was so present in our midst. Pastors, ministry leaders, lay leaders, missionaries alike, were all in the same room sharing about what God was doing in our region. Maybe it's because I've felt so distant from the rest of the Church of God family, since the Church of God presence in Aotearoa New Zealand and the South Pacific is young and tiny. Maybe it was the songs that we sang that reminded me of my childhood growing up in the Church of God in Singapore. Whatever it was, it reminded me of the importance of gathering with the brothers and sisters for the very reason of being together.
Unity.
Ah yes, unity.
Two particular highlights for me from our time together:
The first was the privilege of translating for the second half of the conference. It was an unexpected responsibility because I had only mentioned to Pastor Alan on the Wednesday that I would be happy to help if needed. I never thought I would ever serve as a translator because my Mandarin sits in about 10 years of rust, and my spiritual vocabulary exists mostly only in English. But I could tell the translators were struggling, and later found out they had to translate from Mandarin to Cantonese to English in their heads.
My Mandarin may be rusty (and it definitely showed on a few occasions), but there's something about growing up bilingual that I realised I can no longer take for granted. In more than one way, it was also a reminder for me to return to my first clear call to ministry: to the ones living in-between cultures, where translation is more than just about the language barriers--something I'll be unpacking more in the days to come.
The other highlight took place on that same Thursday that I did about 4 hours of translating. At lunch the day before, I had the opportunity to be a part of a brief conversation between our Chinese and Japanese national leaders (identities concealed for security reasons). If you're familiar with the history, these two nations have had a long-standing political enmity towards each other. Our Chinese pastor shared that growing up in China, he had always been taught in school to hate the Japanese, though he had no clear understanding of why. Yet as his understanding of the Gospel grew, he began to understand that for God so loved the world, and the world included Japan and the Japanese. He then requested for a moment of reconciliation between the Chinese and Japanese Church at the end of the China Consultation Day the next day.
That next day was a moment in history I will never forget. (A small piece of personal history here: my first call to ministry was to "return" to China. There are a lot of cultural pieces surrounding this "return" that will be explained at a later time.) Witnessing that moment of reconciliation where the Japanese and Chinese brothers and sisters embraced each other (and also serving as translator for that entire segment) is something that will forever be etched in my heart. There were tears, hugs, words of encouragement to each other. I've studied biblical reconciliation for a while now thanks to my seminary work, but to see it first hand in a moment like that is a completely different experience.
"And they'll know we are Christians by our love..."
Unity.
Ah yes. Sweet unity.
That's a line from a familiar song. We are one in the Spirit; we are one in the Lord...
Some friends from my time in Anderson and I have had our share of musings over the theological repercussions about that line in the song. When it was sung at the Asia Pacific Church of God Conference last week, I found myself smiling fondly--not because of the discussions of the theological repercussions, but because there was something about the spirit of unity as we were singing that song.
Unity. That's one of the pillars of the Church of God Reformation Movement. And unity was what we saw at the APCGC last week.
As I had shared during the morning devotion time on Friday, I had grown up in the Church of God in Singapore hearing about this APCGC. Uncle Mac and Auntie Jean Johnson were regular visitors at our church, and I would hear about this conference from time to time. So to have been not only present for the first time, but also asked to share during this year's conference was a big honour.
But I digress. Unity.
Growing up in the Church of God in Singapore, I had come to eagerly anticipate church camps and conferences. Yes, I was THAT church kid. As a kid, that was the one time I got to hang out with my church friends for a whole week. But as a teenager exploring my call to ministry, those few days of camp became a time of seeking, of spending time with those whom, upon looking back now, have been mentoring me from the time I was a shy kid hiding away from the crowds. Because of that, church camps and conferences were always special to me. It wasn't till much later that I found out that this Campmeeting thing was a big thing for this wider Church family I came to love dearly.
In my college and seminary years, the Anderson Campmeeting (and the various names it has come to be known by) slowly grew to become a highlight for me each summer. Part of it, admittedly, was because as part of my job while in seminary, I got to meet church leaders and missionaries from all around the world--and hearing the stories of cross-cultural ministry always fascinated me.
But more importantly, it was the spirit of campmeeting.
The spirit of togetherness.
The spirit of unity.
As I sat in each of the conference sessions at the APCGC last week, it became apparent to me that the spirit of unity was so present in our midst. Pastors, ministry leaders, lay leaders, missionaries alike, were all in the same room sharing about what God was doing in our region. Maybe it's because I've felt so distant from the rest of the Church of God family, since the Church of God presence in Aotearoa New Zealand and the South Pacific is young and tiny. Maybe it was the songs that we sang that reminded me of my childhood growing up in the Church of God in Singapore. Whatever it was, it reminded me of the importance of gathering with the brothers and sisters for the very reason of being together.
Unity.
Ah yes, unity.
Two particular highlights for me from our time together:
The first was the privilege of translating for the second half of the conference. It was an unexpected responsibility because I had only mentioned to Pastor Alan on the Wednesday that I would be happy to help if needed. I never thought I would ever serve as a translator because my Mandarin sits in about 10 years of rust, and my spiritual vocabulary exists mostly only in English. But I could tell the translators were struggling, and later found out they had to translate from Mandarin to Cantonese to English in their heads.
My Mandarin may be rusty (and it definitely showed on a few occasions), but there's something about growing up bilingual that I realised I can no longer take for granted. In more than one way, it was also a reminder for me to return to my first clear call to ministry: to the ones living in-between cultures, where translation is more than just about the language barriers--something I'll be unpacking more in the days to come.
The other highlight took place on that same Thursday that I did about 4 hours of translating. At lunch the day before, I had the opportunity to be a part of a brief conversation between our Chinese and Japanese national leaders (identities concealed for security reasons). If you're familiar with the history, these two nations have had a long-standing political enmity towards each other. Our Chinese pastor shared that growing up in China, he had always been taught in school to hate the Japanese, though he had no clear understanding of why. Yet as his understanding of the Gospel grew, he began to understand that for God so loved the world, and the world included Japan and the Japanese. He then requested for a moment of reconciliation between the Chinese and Japanese Church at the end of the China Consultation Day the next day.
That next day was a moment in history I will never forget. (A small piece of personal history here: my first call to ministry was to "return" to China. There are a lot of cultural pieces surrounding this "return" that will be explained at a later time.) Witnessing that moment of reconciliation where the Japanese and Chinese brothers and sisters embraced each other (and also serving as translator for that entire segment) is something that will forever be etched in my heart. There were tears, hugs, words of encouragement to each other. I've studied biblical reconciliation for a while now thanks to my seminary work, but to see it first hand in a moment like that is a completely different experience.
"And they'll know we are Christians by our love..."
Unity.
Ah yes. Sweet unity.
27 October 2014
The Reluctant Pastor: On Presence
A few years ago when I was in Berlin, I met a woman who greatly changed my perspective on life.
If you have been following this blog from its very beginning, you would know that Ruth made a regular appearance on my blog through my Berlin chapter. See, Ruth was one of those people who would drop everything she's doing to simply be a friend. We would run into her at Herr Minsch's cake shop across the street and she would hop off her bicycle and visit with us.
While I was there, I had to get some dental work done. When Ruth found out, she made the appointment for me to go see her dentist and went with me to every appointment I had to both be my translator and help me figure out the best decisions to make with what the dentist was recommending.
After my 3-month internship in Berlin, I decided I wanted to be Ruthwhen if I grew up. Even though she didn't do the church thing and wasn't entirely convinced by the Jesus thing, she had been my "Jesus with skin-on".
I met Moe last Sunday at a young adult event at one of the churches. She said she had a dance recital on Friday. It had sort of become second-nature as part of my presence-based-ministry job to show up at these events simply to be a friendly face in the crowd, so naturally I was there.
Moe did such a lovely job that night, but I had another event to be at, so I left right after the show without congratulating her. Just before my bus arrived, I spotted her with a few of her mates at the bus-stop, so I headed over to say hello. She was almost in tears when she realised I had actually made it to the show.
Quite honestly, I wasn't expecting that dramatic of a reaction from her. In my head, I had simply checked off another box on my list of things to do as a part of my job. I guess in some ways, I had lost sight of the bigger picture of why we chose to take the presence-based approach with The Bridge. After a while of doing the same thing over and over again, it can be easy to forget that even the littlest things we are doing causes a ripple effect in the world. Or that simply showing up to be a friendly face would actually mean that much to someone.
And then I found myself wondering if Ruth knew how much her company at the dentist truly meant to me.
A few weeks ago, some friends and I were joking about how we would never wear a clergy collar, and the other aspects of ministry that we struggle with because of the pompousness associated with them. One of them however, pointed out that one of our friends intentionally chooses to wear the clergy collar because it opens up conversations with people, and because it reminds him of who and what he represents.
Even today, I struggle with the "pastor" title. I don't mind so much that it keeps random gentlemen trying to strike up conversations in cafes at bay. Or that immigration officers (particularly in New Zealand) give me an easier time. There's just so much negative baggage associated with the "pastor" title (I know, this isn't the first time I've written about this). But more recently, like my friend who wears the clergy collar, I've subconsciously become more intentional (I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but it makes sense if you think about it) about telling people I'm a pastor. Because it definitely opens up interesting conversations that this young, Asian female would be a pastor.
But more importantly, through all the ups and downs that this year of ministry-planting has brought, I'm choosing to regularly use "pastor" as my job description now to remind myself that above all the other potential distractions of business plans and ministry strategies, the most important part of my job is that presence-based focus to build people and relationships, not simply programmes and buildings.
So if you need a friendly face to be your biggest cheerleader, I'm there. Because that's what this pastor thing means to me.
If you have been following this blog from its very beginning, you would know that Ruth made a regular appearance on my blog through my Berlin chapter. See, Ruth was one of those people who would drop everything she's doing to simply be a friend. We would run into her at Herr Minsch's cake shop across the street and she would hop off her bicycle and visit with us.
While I was there, I had to get some dental work done. When Ruth found out, she made the appointment for me to go see her dentist and went with me to every appointment I had to both be my translator and help me figure out the best decisions to make with what the dentist was recommending.
After my 3-month internship in Berlin, I decided I wanted to be Ruth
I met Moe last Sunday at a young adult event at one of the churches. She said she had a dance recital on Friday. It had sort of become second-nature as part of my presence-based-ministry job to show up at these events simply to be a friendly face in the crowd, so naturally I was there.
Moe did such a lovely job that night, but I had another event to be at, so I left right after the show without congratulating her. Just before my bus arrived, I spotted her with a few of her mates at the bus-stop, so I headed over to say hello. She was almost in tears when she realised I had actually made it to the show.
Quite honestly, I wasn't expecting that dramatic of a reaction from her. In my head, I had simply checked off another box on my list of things to do as a part of my job. I guess in some ways, I had lost sight of the bigger picture of why we chose to take the presence-based approach with The Bridge. After a while of doing the same thing over and over again, it can be easy to forget that even the littlest things we are doing causes a ripple effect in the world. Or that simply showing up to be a friendly face would actually mean that much to someone.
And then I found myself wondering if Ruth knew how much her company at the dentist truly meant to me.
A few weeks ago, some friends and I were joking about how we would never wear a clergy collar, and the other aspects of ministry that we struggle with because of the pompousness associated with them. One of them however, pointed out that one of our friends intentionally chooses to wear the clergy collar because it opens up conversations with people, and because it reminds him of who and what he represents.
Even today, I struggle with the "pastor" title. I don't mind so much that it keeps random gentlemen trying to strike up conversations in cafes at bay. Or that immigration officers (particularly in New Zealand) give me an easier time. There's just so much negative baggage associated with the "pastor" title (I know, this isn't the first time I've written about this). But more recently, like my friend who wears the clergy collar, I've subconsciously become more intentional (I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but it makes sense if you think about it) about telling people I'm a pastor. Because it definitely opens up interesting conversations that this young, Asian female would be a pastor.
But more importantly, through all the ups and downs that this year of ministry-planting has brought, I'm choosing to regularly use "pastor" as my job description now to remind myself that above all the other potential distractions of business plans and ministry strategies, the most important part of my job is that presence-based focus to build people and relationships, not simply programmes and buildings.
So if you need a friendly face to be your biggest cheerleader, I'm there. Because that's what this pastor thing means to me.
02 October 2014
On Writing... (And Being a Real Pastor)
Josh said the other day I should write more. I would agree with him, except I haven't had any coherent thoughts lately that would give me a good start to a new post, so I guess I would start this one off with a shout-out to him. Cheers, Batman. Thanks for getting me to start writing again.
Those of you who have been following this blog for a while would know I'm not one of those professional bloggers who have a blogging schedule filled with specific topics. Some months, I have a lot of angst to vent, so I write a lot. Some months, my head is so full that I don't even know where to begin. Then when I finally sit down and force myself to write again, the first post usually has some content about why I write, particularly because the readership of this blog changes with time so some re-introductions are necessary. Well, here is that "this is why I write" post.
I write because it was a way to release the angst I had as a teenager. When life gives you lemons, stew them into alphabet soup and splash them on cyber-space. I cringe when I think about some of the stuff I splashed on cyber-space ten years ago, but that's all a part of life too.
 |
| Cloudy Brain Zen-Doodle 30-09-14 |
I write because it
I write because it
Most people know I struggle with the "pastor" title. Along with some negative associations of what pastors can be like (particularly as I work more and more with a post-Christian demographic), the title can also be loaded with expectations that I somehow lead a more struggle-free or holy life (which can be really handy to speed through immigration procedures at times!). Plus I'm hardly comfortable preaching or teaching so I often disclaim I'm not *THAT* kind of pastor.
But writing... That's a different story (see what I did there?).
I used to give myself heaps of pressure to write highly-intellectual blog posts after all my years of higher-education and pastoral ministry. Sure, my brain loves dissecting the macro and micro of the fate of humankind and once in a while, it leads to a super nerdy post that I get just a bit giddy about. But I can only handle deep academic theology in small doses, and what I really love most is writing about the life stuff. The messy stuff.
Then I used to wonder if writing about the messy life stuff made me a less-than-orthodox pastor (which is really ok, since I'm not *THAT* kind of pastor anyway). I mean, when I first started blogging as a teenager, it was only my peers who read about my angst so I could be as emotionally dramatic as I wanted. But then my audience started shifting, and few of the Christian/theologian bloggers I follow would write about the messy life stuff. At one point, my mum actually said that the bleak posts I was writing as a young adult didn't actually reflect the hope I had in Christ. Admittedly, it stung at first. I didn't want to be another Christian blogger that only talked about how
A few months ago, I wrote about living with clinical depression and spent the hours after that living in fear of being judged for not being a better steward of my mental/emotional health. I didn't know any other pastor who talked openly about depression and wondered if it was one of those topics that no self-respecting pastor would openly talk about. Oddly enough, that was one of the posts I had the most responses from--because more pastors live with depression than you hear about, and it seemed like everyone was waiting for someone else to give them permission to talk about it.
 |
| Perfection: the wall that crumbles Zen-Doodle 01-10-14 |
I guess part of the reason that writing comes more easily for me is because I get to hide away a little bit. I get to take all the time I want to choose what side and how much of the real, messy life stuff I want to share, then craft it into a neat, perfect string of words and backspace fifty-million times before I finally hit "publish".
But that's the thing. I choose to write not because I can hide behind that wall of perfection, because that wall of perfection will crumble.
No, I write because I hope that the stories I collect continually connects me back to the community that holds me and that our stories will keep that wall from building up.
I write because writing invokes my mother's reminder even on my darkest, most cynical days, that I have an unexplainable and completely experiential seed of faith, hope and love that has sunk deep roots in my spiritual being.
And I write because it waters this seed so that even in the darkest corners with a big bucket of lemons and a bad day with Black Dog, I still see the candle in the distance.
 |
| Saying No doesn't have to be complicated Zen-Doodle 30-09-14 |
And to you, I ask this: What is your outlet?
02 September 2014
On Young Adults #1: Some thoughts on engaging the Church...
Even though I've officially only been in the role of student ministries pastor for about eight months, the young adult age group is one that I've been quite passionate about for a long time. I haven't written as much as I would have liked, but here are some very initial thoughts.
There's a lot that the Church tries to do to seemingly cater to this group called the "young adults", and especially so since the "millenial" term was made popular. Which, I genuinely applaud their effort for trying, but not all of these attempts have been sucessful. I don't claim at all to be an expert in this field, but these are simply a few observations both from my own journey and from my conversations with some of the finest I've met.
1) Stop simply talking about us and actually talk to us.
Don't talk about us like we are a problem that needs to be solved. Don't generalise our behaviours. Talk to us, and find out that we, just like every generation that has come before us and every generation that will come after us, are all fearfully and wonderfully made individuals who are as traditional and postmodern, conservative and liberal, creative and original, as it gets. And for every continuum there is, you can find one of us on every end of the spectrum and all the in-betweens. We are not one general "millenial" collective. We are individuals who are just trying to find our place in the world. So thank you for talking about us, and trying to create a programme that we can fit into, but no thank you. Ask how we want to be engaged.
2) Tell us we no longer need permission.
We no longer have school or teachers, youth groups or youth pastors to tell us what to do. We want to make it on our own, but for our whole lives until now, we've lived under some form of safety net which was incredible for our early developmental years. But if we are to make it on our own, we need to know that we no longer need permission to lead our generation or to be creative, and we need to hear that from you. That doesn't mean you leave us alone completely, because we still need to know we can come to you for wisdom and to know that you will always be our biggest cheerleaders even as we make mistakes, struggle and fail.
3) Remind us we are a part of a bigger community.
As we enter adulthood, we are also beginning to realise more and more that the world really does not revolve around us. It is far easier for us to only mingle with our peer-group than for us to initiate conversations with those who seem to have accomplished much in life, even if we have utmost respect and admiration for them. As people ahead of us in the journey of life, you have stories and legacies to share, and we need to hear those stories to remember that we are a part of something bigger. Tell us what it was like growing up in the part of the world you grew up in, how you came to Aotearoa, or why you chose to be in the vocation you are in. And ask us about our hopes and dreams, not so you can tell us how we'll go wrong even if you know from experience we are simply young and idealistic. But walk with us each step of the way. Because these are the things that keep us in the whanau.
4) We are NOT a singles club.
I once mentioned to a pastor friend I was thinking of doing something with young adults and the response I got was, "Great! We definitely need a singles ministry!" *face-palm*
Not all of us spend our twenties dreaming of meeting the right person, or the perfect wedding, or thinking up names for our yet-unborn kids. Some of us simply want a group of friends who can dream together about what it means to make an impact in our communities and in the world. Don't try to pressure us into creating speed-dating events or turning our young adults gatherings into "singles clubs" where we can meet other young, single people. Working against poverty and advocating for sex workers are as noble causes as getting married and raising children.
There you go. What else would you add on this list? I'd love to hear from you.
There's a lot that the Church tries to do to seemingly cater to this group called the "young adults", and especially so since the "millenial" term was made popular. Which, I genuinely applaud their effort for trying, but not all of these attempts have been sucessful. I don't claim at all to be an expert in this field, but these are simply a few observations both from my own journey and from my conversations with some of the finest I've met.
1) Stop simply talking about us and actually talk to us.
Don't talk about us like we are a problem that needs to be solved. Don't generalise our behaviours. Talk to us, and find out that we, just like every generation that has come before us and every generation that will come after us, are all fearfully and wonderfully made individuals who are as traditional and postmodern, conservative and liberal, creative and original, as it gets. And for every continuum there is, you can find one of us on every end of the spectrum and all the in-betweens. We are not one general "millenial" collective. We are individuals who are just trying to find our place in the world. So thank you for talking about us, and trying to create a programme that we can fit into, but no thank you. Ask how we want to be engaged.
2) Tell us we no longer need permission.
We no longer have school or teachers, youth groups or youth pastors to tell us what to do. We want to make it on our own, but for our whole lives until now, we've lived under some form of safety net which was incredible for our early developmental years. But if we are to make it on our own, we need to know that we no longer need permission to lead our generation or to be creative, and we need to hear that from you. That doesn't mean you leave us alone completely, because we still need to know we can come to you for wisdom and to know that you will always be our biggest cheerleaders even as we make mistakes, struggle and fail.
3) Remind us we are a part of a bigger community.
As we enter adulthood, we are also beginning to realise more and more that the world really does not revolve around us. It is far easier for us to only mingle with our peer-group than for us to initiate conversations with those who seem to have accomplished much in life, even if we have utmost respect and admiration for them. As people ahead of us in the journey of life, you have stories and legacies to share, and we need to hear those stories to remember that we are a part of something bigger. Tell us what it was like growing up in the part of the world you grew up in, how you came to Aotearoa, or why you chose to be in the vocation you are in. And ask us about our hopes and dreams, not so you can tell us how we'll go wrong even if you know from experience we are simply young and idealistic. But walk with us each step of the way. Because these are the things that keep us in the whanau.
4) We are NOT a singles club.
I once mentioned to a pastor friend I was thinking of doing something with young adults and the response I got was, "Great! We definitely need a singles ministry!" *face-palm*
Not all of us spend our twenties dreaming of meeting the right person, or the perfect wedding, or thinking up names for our yet-unborn kids. Some of us simply want a group of friends who can dream together about what it means to make an impact in our communities and in the world. Don't try to pressure us into creating speed-dating events or turning our young adults gatherings into "singles clubs" where we can meet other young, single people. Working against poverty and advocating for sex workers are as noble causes as getting married and raising children.
There you go. What else would you add on this list? I'd love to hear from you.
21 August 2014
10 Years Abroad
I remember that day like it was yesterday.
How I cried the entire flight from Singapore to LAX and scared off the guy in the seat beside me.
The eight hours at LAX, homesick and annoyed by the "Do not leave your luggage unattended" PSA.
Having this wishful thought that when I landed in Indianapolis, it would be the people I just left behind in Changi Airport who would greet me.
Walking all around campus trying to find Maplewood Cemetery and reorient myself so I could figure out where Mac and Jean Johnson lived.
My first meal at Steak and Shake.
I always thought I would return to Singapore.
In fact, I told the pastor who mentored me and my church that I would return after four years.
Funny how life turns out.
There was Springfield, Illinois with the Women's Chorus.
Breckenridge, Michigan with the Rhynards for Thanksgiving.
Fort Lauderdale, Florida with Amy D for Spring Break.
Numerous trips to Ohio and Michigan with AU Center for Ministry Education (AUCME).
Atlanta, Georgia with Church on the Street.
Saltillo, Mexico with the Tri-S work camp at La Buena Tierra.
Portland, Oregon with Steph (Hatch) McMorris.
Allen, South Dakota with the Tri-S work camp at Pine Ridge Reservation.
Southwestern states with the family for graduation.
Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands with the Tri-S VBS programme.
鹤山, China with the family to trace our ancestral roots.
New York City, New York with the Tri-S urban ministry team.
Berlin, Germany with the SOT for my urban ministry internship.
Phnom Penh, Cambodia with the family.
East Coast states with the family for graduation.
And then to Auckland, New Zealand...
By then, there was no turning back.
Airports became my friends.
Flight times became my oasis.
On the one hand, I feel like I'm not old enough to have lived abroad by myself (or done anything, really) for ten years.
On the other hand, I'm grateful that this has been a much richer life than I could have ever dreamed.
I learnt to treasure relationships rather than accumulate stuff.
I learnt to breathe in the depth of long hugs.
I learnt to cook with basic ingredients that translate across culture.
I learnt to wash dishes three different ways.
I learnt to live as part of both majority and minority cultures.
I learnt to value mental and emotional health.
The last ten years have probably been filled with more seasons of tears, losses and goodbyes than anything. But even the shortest seasons of celebration and all the incredible new friendships have made it all a sweet deal.
Here's to more years of craziness and incredible friendships, wherever life may lead.
How I cried the entire flight from Singapore to LAX and scared off the guy in the seat beside me.
The eight hours at LAX, homesick and annoyed by the "Do not leave your luggage unattended" PSA.
Having this wishful thought that when I landed in Indianapolis, it would be the people I just left behind in Changi Airport who would greet me.
Walking all around campus trying to find Maplewood Cemetery and reorient myself so I could figure out where Mac and Jean Johnson lived.
My first meal at Steak and Shake.
I always thought I would return to Singapore.
In fact, I told the pastor who mentored me and my church that I would return after four years.
Funny how life turns out.
There was Springfield, Illinois with the Women's Chorus.
Breckenridge, Michigan with the Rhynards for Thanksgiving.
Fort Lauderdale, Florida with Amy D for Spring Break.
Numerous trips to Ohio and Michigan with AU Center for Ministry Education (AUCME).
Atlanta, Georgia with Church on the Street.
Saltillo, Mexico with the Tri-S work camp at La Buena Tierra.
Portland, Oregon with Steph (Hatch) McMorris.
Allen, South Dakota with the Tri-S work camp at Pine Ridge Reservation.
Southwestern states with the family for graduation.
Grand Cayman, Cayman Islands with the Tri-S VBS programme.
鹤山, China with the family to trace our ancestral roots.
New York City, New York with the Tri-S urban ministry team.
Berlin, Germany with the SOT for my urban ministry internship.
Phnom Penh, Cambodia with the family.
East Coast states with the family for graduation.
And then to Auckland, New Zealand...
By then, there was no turning back.
Airports became my friends.
Flight times became my oasis.
On the one hand, I feel like I'm not old enough to have lived abroad by myself (or done anything, really) for ten years.
On the other hand, I'm grateful that this has been a much richer life than I could have ever dreamed.
I learnt to treasure relationships rather than accumulate stuff.
I learnt to breathe in the depth of long hugs.
I learnt to cook with basic ingredients that translate across culture.
I learnt to wash dishes three different ways.
I learnt to live as part of both majority and minority cultures.
I learnt to value mental and emotional health.
The last ten years have probably been filled with more seasons of tears, losses and goodbyes than anything. But even the shortest seasons of celebration and all the incredible new friendships have made it all a sweet deal.
Here's to more years of craziness and incredible friendships, wherever life may lead.
31 July 2014
Aotearoa Diaries: "Story Time"
Every once in a while, I can't help but wonder if I've completely lost the plot by choosing to ministry plant from scratch.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore the people I get to spend time with. No, really. I'm not just saying that because it's a part of my job. I would still hang out with these people even if I didn't also have the privilege of calling it "my job".
But every once in a while, when I get asked what it is that I'm actually doing, I find myself wondering if all I'm really doing is fluffing around, planning parties and hanging out with awesome people for no greater purpose. Because I'm starting this ministry plant from scratch, I have to find my own "bosses" to report to and create accountability structures that complement the style of ministry without hindering its organic DNA. And so a lot of times, this thing I claim to call "my job" just feels like fluff.
Then last week, I finally sat down and had coffee with Gypsey. We've tried several times to do what I like to call "story time," but for one reason or another, they keep getting interrupted. But in those few brief moments of "story time," I caught a glimpse of why this seemingly fluffy model of "just hanging out" wasn't actually quite so fluffy.
Gypsey reminded me that I had somehow managed to get people to hang out more regularly than she has ever remembered. I daren't claim any credit for that because all I did was tell a few people, (mostly Ben, who's the real connector of these awesome people) "hey, it would be crazy awesome if we did this...." and things just kind of happened. And even if the reasons that these pockets of people gathering semi-regularly seem somewhat "fluffy," they are seeing each other more, eating together more, annoying each other more, laughing together more, and doing dishes together more.
That. That's what makes me giddy excited.
Then tonight I met Gina at Valley Road Church's Mid-Winter Christmas dinner. "Story time" led to the discovery that we had a lot of similarities in our stories. Gina is Korean, but started high-school in Pennsylvania and moved to Texas with her host family and spent a total of ten years in the US. Four years ago, she took a job as a maths teacher and moved to Auckland. As I began explaining what I did, she simply nodded like it totally made sense. "Auckland needs people like you for pastors. People like us who have moved around before understand what it means to not really have a place of belonging in any culture anymore. And there's so many of us here in Auckland."
And then suddenly, it all made sense. Just the other day, I found myself telling David something along the lines of how my entire style of ministry comes out of my belief that my life-story was written in a way that gives me the credibility to do ministry in a certain way. And to not take that approach would be to do injustice to The One who wrote the story that way. Quite frankly, I wasn't quite convinced at the time of our conversation (given that it was early in the morning on a sicky brain didn't help much). But "story time" keeps sneaking up in the interactions with my awesome people that I'm left with no choice but to admit that I'm really not just fluffing around with no greater purpose.
And then I'm reminded that in my initial dreaming about The Bridge, I wrote something about collecting stories. I had assumed then it meant I would be writing a lot more this year, but who wants to write when you have awesome people to hang out with? (Don't freak out, I'm still going to write because it's what keeps me sane.) Yet I do truly believe in the power of stories, and not just for the ones hearing them. To give voice to and to allow stories to be heard is just as powerful and life-giving.
"Story time"
That. That's what makes me giddy excited.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore the people I get to spend time with. No, really. I'm not just saying that because it's a part of my job. I would still hang out with these people even if I didn't also have the privilege of calling it "my job".
But every once in a while, when I get asked what it is that I'm actually doing, I find myself wondering if all I'm really doing is fluffing around, planning parties and hanging out with awesome people for no greater purpose. Because I'm starting this ministry plant from scratch, I have to find my own "bosses" to report to and create accountability structures that complement the style of ministry without hindering its organic DNA. And so a lot of times, this thing I claim to call "my job" just feels like fluff.
Then last week, I finally sat down and had coffee with Gypsey. We've tried several times to do what I like to call "story time," but for one reason or another, they keep getting interrupted. But in those few brief moments of "story time," I caught a glimpse of why this seemingly fluffy model of "just hanging out" wasn't actually quite so fluffy.
Gypsey reminded me that I had somehow managed to get people to hang out more regularly than she has ever remembered. I daren't claim any credit for that because all I did was tell a few people, (mostly Ben, who's the real connector of these awesome people) "hey, it would be crazy awesome if we did this...." and things just kind of happened. And even if the reasons that these pockets of people gathering semi-regularly seem somewhat "fluffy," they are seeing each other more, eating together more, annoying each other more, laughing together more, and doing dishes together more.
That. That's what makes me giddy excited.
Then tonight I met Gina at Valley Road Church's Mid-Winter Christmas dinner. "Story time" led to the discovery that we had a lot of similarities in our stories. Gina is Korean, but started high-school in Pennsylvania and moved to Texas with her host family and spent a total of ten years in the US. Four years ago, she took a job as a maths teacher and moved to Auckland. As I began explaining what I did, she simply nodded like it totally made sense. "Auckland needs people like you for pastors. People like us who have moved around before understand what it means to not really have a place of belonging in any culture anymore. And there's so many of us here in Auckland."
And then suddenly, it all made sense. Just the other day, I found myself telling David something along the lines of how my entire style of ministry comes out of my belief that my life-story was written in a way that gives me the credibility to do ministry in a certain way. And to not take that approach would be to do injustice to The One who wrote the story that way. Quite frankly, I wasn't quite convinced at the time of our conversation (given that it was early in the morning on a sicky brain didn't help much). But "story time" keeps sneaking up in the interactions with my awesome people that I'm left with no choice but to admit that I'm really not just fluffing around with no greater purpose.
And then I'm reminded that in my initial dreaming about The Bridge, I wrote something about collecting stories. I had assumed then it meant I would be writing a lot more this year, but who wants to write when you have awesome people to hang out with? (Don't freak out, I'm still going to write because it's what keeps me sane.) Yet I do truly believe in the power of stories, and not just for the ones hearing them. To give voice to and to allow stories to be heard is just as powerful and life-giving.
"Story time"
That. That's what makes me giddy excited.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)