"Soul Mates"

Tonight, I got to spend four of the last seven hours of Laura's 6-month New Zealand adventure with her.

Kathrin, Steve, Emily and I met Laura, Ann-Sophie and Julian on our roadtrip to New Plymouth last November. The day we parted ways at the backpacker, we told them to look us up if they ever found themselves in Auckland before they left. So a few weeks ago, Laura got in touch and asked if we could get coffee or dinner before she leaves this week.

After managing successfully to get lost around downtown Auckland for a good 45 minutes, I finally pulled up to the address she gave me. To be honest, I was a little nervous because I'm always awkward about new people. And even though we had a few ridiculous nights of laughter in New Plymouth, there isn't a crowd this time to buffer the conversation.

It didn't take long before I got swept away by her crazy stories of adventure. Laura came to New Zealand from Colon, Germany, in October on a work and travel visa. The stories she shared made me wish I had a greater sense of adventure.

I've always believed in the inter-connectivity of our souls' existence in the spirit world (especially after Avatar), and tonight was another one of those moments for me. Laura is one of those people that, for whatever reason, I am convinced, I will meet again. Whether or not it's in this lifetime, I don't know. But someday...

I also realised tonight that from now, I'll do what I can to not allow anyone's last or first moments anywhere to pass by anonymously. Tonight, I was honoured that I got to relive some of the highlights of Laura's whirlwind adventure with her.

Until next time, Laura, whenever that may be. I'll see you again.

Treasure Trove

Opened my treasure trove again today.

In it, I put Shireen, the Malaysian auntie from the $2 shop who has been looking out for me because "we're from the same kampong." Today, she gave me a big bag of clothes and a box of books for the kids in our church.

I also put in Verena, the Singaporean auntie I met at the Singapore Club Chinese New Year dinner who told me to be in touch with her if I need anything since they live pretty close by. Ran into her at the grocery store on Monday and she wanted to know how I've been.

And Auntie Enid and Uncle BK, friends of my parents, "I've known her since she was this tall..." for curry puffs, loaning their steamboat for Chinese New Year, making sure I've tasted feijoa, and homemade achar.

And dinners, evening walks, ice-cream, ridiculous laughter and theological brain explosion with one of my favourite people in the limited time we have left being in close physical proximity.

And visits from fine folks from a time and space outside of Auckland.

Today, I'm thankful.

On the Street Where You Live

After a long, exhausting but really encouraging weekend, I needed time tonight to clear my head. Around my sophomore year in Anderson, evening walks became an essential part of my routine for that reason.

Except I had a problem. Since moving to the new place, I have yet to carve out a new trek where I know I will be safe even if I'm by myself late at night. Tonight's adventure solved that problem.

It's fairly safe around the Peninsula as long as I stay on the streets that are well-lit and close to houses. Besides, I still have the habit of carrying my rape-whistle from the rape-scare at AU. There was hardly anyone else on the road for the most part and I was enjoying the quiet.

Then he appeared. I wasn't sure if he was lost, but for some reason I knew I didn't have to feel threatened by him. He waved a card at me and said he was a property agent. He asked if I knew of anyone interested in buying or selling a house, and added that he was desperate.

I wanted to use my easy-excuse of a temporary lifestyle ("I don't own a house," "I don't live here," or the one I used to the Greenpeace folks in Portland, "I'm moving to New Zealand.") and just wave him off. Instead, I simply smiled and nodded till he walked away.

I continued the rest of my walk, still trying to clear head space. I found myself on the street where WCF meets for church, and realised the word, "desperate" was still haunting me.

Desperate because... he had kids at home he needed to feed?
Bills he had to pay?

I didn't know his story but I was suddenly hit with the awareness that while the streets of Te Atatu Peninsula were fairly safe, the houses I was walking by may or may not be.

We premiered the Hub promotional video at church yesterday that we'll be sending to various parts of the world to officially kick off fundraising. Rochelle talked us through the statistics of family violence and abuse that was happening in New Zealand and that hit me all over again as I continued my walk. I don't remember all the statistics, but the one that hit hardest was that New Zealand was somewhere among the top 5 in the developed world for domestic violence. In our conversation last week, Steve and I stumbled upon the realisation that living in West Auckland really meant that we were living in the inner-city.

Suddenly the streets of Te Atatu Peninsula weren't so safe anymore. Not because I felt threatened, but because I don't know what happens behind closed doors.

Suddenly our work with kids and families became even more important. Suddenly the time spent counseling youth became even more important. Suddenly the impact of the Hub gained even more significance.

There's a fine line to walk between being completely emotionally crippled as a result of all the depravity around us and being completely calloused to the fact that so much is happening outside of our own safe bubble. Again I hear the call that if I'm convicted of the Gospel of the Christ, the only way to live it out fully is to act--not to simply bail out every poor, starving kid but to offer hope to work through the ugly messes of life.

We must go
Live to feed the hungry
Stand beside the broken
We must go
Stepping forward
Keep us from just singing
Move us into action
We must go

Listen to the Children

vi·o·lence [vahy-uh-luhns]
noun
an unjust or unwarranted exertion of force or power, as against rights or laws

Woke up that morning
Still heart sick
Another act of violence
Another child whose innocence was robbed.
Oh Lord, how long?
Listen to the children...


Stop Kony
Make Kony famous
Their signs and websites read.
Discussions back and forth
Bickering for and against
But what about the children?
Oh Lord, how long?
Listen to the children...

Katniss. Peeta. Rue.
Gale. Cinna. Haymitch.
Thresh. Cato. Prim.
All just names in a book
Stories. Fiction.
We laugh.
But what if they weren't just fiction?
Make Snow famous.
Sure. Then what?
What about the children?
Listen to the children.

You wanted my time at the breakfast table.
So I sat and I waited.
You said nothing,
So I talked.

His name wasn't Peeta, and he wasn't a baker's son.
He simply lived on Kurfürstenstraße while his girlfriend worked the streets to support them
He had no identity to anyone who hadn't heard his story.
He was just "another one who made a bad life choice"
If you consider getting sold to drug-dealers at twelve a bad life choice.
Where were you?
Why didn't you redeem him?
Didn't you hear the children?

Her name wasn't Prim, and she didn't have a protective older sister.
She simply tried to figure out how to make sense of the world
After life robbed her of her innocence.
Make her violator famous.
Sure. Then what?
What about her?
Why didn't you redeem her?
Didn't you hear the children?

I don't understand.

I walked away from breakfast
Moved on with my day
How could you, the God of Love
Allow such violence?
Didn't you hear the children?

Walked in to church.
Ariel shows up with the last book in the trilogy.
And again I wonder.
Violence.
Poverty.
Inequality.
Why, Lord?

Listen to the children...

They ask if I have anything I'm thankful for.
How can I be thankful?
Wasn't this the whole point of passion week?
You came to redeem
You came to deliver
So why don't you hear the children?

I stare at the screen as the song lyrics appear.
But my mind wanders back to Constructive Theology classes
How can I possibly construct a theology that you are good
When there's so much violence in the world?
Are you hearing your children?

But your goodness isn't dependent on what you do or don't do now.
That you are Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer should be evidence enough.
Right?

And then I hear little Phoebe
Her voice louder than everyone else in the room
"Glorify, glorify
Let your name be lifted up and glorified
Let the earth tremble at your name
Let your name be lifted up and glorified"

How can I glorify you?
I know you are deserving, and I am unworthy
But how do I justify glorifying a God that allows violence?
Listen to the children,
I hear you say.

My mind is still spinning as Steve starts introducing the next song.
"Draw me close to you..."
And I start weeping

The first night in Anderson when I cried myself to sleep
You were there

My first Sunday at Park Place when we sang that same song
You were there
Back when I was still innocent and the world wasn't so bleak
You were there


And then I hear you saying,
"You are a child too.
I hear you.
I see your heart that's buried under all the ashes."


But that doesn't solve anything.
It doesn't make the world a better place.


I've been feeling a lot like Abraham
And I think you know it
Uprooting and moving isn't the hard part--
I'm used to being nomadic now
Most blessed of tent-dwelling women is Jael
Yeah, yeah. Alright.

I may never get to Canaan,
And it will be alright.
But do I have enough faith that you will protect me from Pharaoh
So that no harm has to come to Sarah?
Do I have enough faith to leave Isaac at the altar?
Do I have enough faith that you will give me my heir
So that I don't have to take Hagar?

How do I teach kids about Abraham this week when I'm relating too well to his weaknesses at the moment?

Victor Hamilton writes,

"Possibly their mistake is seeing the promise of God not as a privilege, but as an obligation. Instead of saying, "We're going to have a baby!" they say, "We've got to have a baby."

And then I realise...
I've been fighting you
Asking you why I have to wear the title of Children's Pastor for this season
Why I have to do something so unfamiliar
Listen to the children.
I won't do them any good.

I heard the children.
What?

I heard the children. I hurt with them.
But I also see your heart. That's why you're here.
You don't see them as a babysitting gig
You don't feel the need to impress them with entertainment
You do exegesis for them
You listen to them
I didn't put you here to do things for them
Remember? 

Hopes said it to you in a loud, audible voice before you left Anderson

You make room

Remember?
You make room for people of all ages to simply be
That's what you're good at
Have you forgotten?
Try and do anything else and you're likely going to flop 

You ask me to listen to the children
I have.
That's why you're here.
You make room for them to ask questions and feel pain. You make room for their animals even if you don't believe they have souls or will go to heaven. You make room for them to be silly, creative, funny and thoughtful. 

You make room for them to find me 

I heard the children in Uganda, and Panem, and Berlin. But I cannot give you answers for them. They are not your responsibility. Your responsibility is for your immediate community.

And then I realise...
I asked you to listen to them as if it were your obligation.
When really, it is our privilege if you do.

For that reason alone,
I will sing as little Phoebe did.
I will listen to the children.

Making Sabbath, Brain Vomit

Katherine commented yesterday that I apparently have been doing a lot of thinking recently.

I guess meltdown cycles have become so normal to me. Just keep doing stuff, don't stop and think, then eventually, crash and my mind cannot stop spinning as it starts processing all the stuff that has caused the meltdown. So I start writing. By the time I get to just about recovery, the cycle repeats itself.

Mia and Kya asked me yesterday what my job was. I told them I was a pastor. Mia then asked what I did in my free time. I had to stop and choose my words carefully because Mia was having a hard time dealing with having to grow up. She has as much quiet confidence as one can possibly get in an eleven year old, but the thought of leaving childhood and free time behind is making her dread becoming a teenager.

I couldn't possibly fib about how much fun growing up can be if I didn't believe it myself.
I couldn't tell her I don't have much free time because I don't know how to say no, and I don't know when to stop.

I don't remember how I answered her question, but it definitely made me stop to think.

The reason why I don't have much free time is because I don't choose to make time to be free.
I'd easily make time for just about anything under the sun--except myself.
Oh, and God.

Dang.

But what's my problem? Why can't I stop? What am I trying to prove?
Truth is, I don't know.

Came across these truths in this week's lectionary readings...

"All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord; and all the families of the nations shall worship before him. For dominion belongs to the Lord, and he rules over the nations. To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down; before him shall bow all who go down to the dust, and I shall live for him. Posterity will serve him; future generations will be told about the Lord, and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it." - Psalm 22:27-31

This.
This should be the very reason for my existence.
This should be why I eat and why I sleep, and why I do what I do.
But is it?

Some time ago, in a discourse on pastoral theology, a dear wise friend put it (somewhat) in these words.

Creation came into existence because of God's overwhelming love. It isn't just a giant act of masturbation, but one that yearns for a response.

His words left a deep impact with me only partially because his use of the M word made the 13-year-old girl in me giggle. But it made me think.

How many times have I tried to use the things I do to try to show that I'm in relationship with my Creator?
How many times have I been guilty of trying to fill the hours of my day with more things to do hoping that it would fill some kind of hole that only Love can fill?
How much easier is it to pretend that actions earn love when the truth is I'm too proud to accept something that I can in no way claim credit for?

The truth is, Love isn't something that exists because God was showing off.
It isn't a warm, fuzzy feeling that everything is going to be ok.
It isn't even a thing, an act or a feeling.

Dr Ross once explained that the reason why God was so upset with the Israelites worshiping idols made out of their jewelry wasn't just simply because they had broken his commandment about idol-worship, or that God was jealous. In those days, jewelry were a symbol of covenant relationship (ie marriage), and to have taken their jewelry and melted them into an idol would be the present-day equivalent to taking one's wedding band off and whoring oneself to another.

It's never been simply about breaking commandments as much as it is about intentionally violating covenant relationship.

This after all, is the Lover that so selflessly passionate that it yearns for a response like a young man or woman so smitten in new love.
This is the Lover that sent a rainbow to Noah and his family saying, remain in covenant relationship with me.
This is the Lover that gave Abraham his new name saying, through my covenant relationship with you, I will bless the nations.
This is the Lover that passionately pursues Israel even after she has whored herself out to others as many times as she did.
This is the Lover that says I will die for you no matter how many times you throw my wedding ring away.

This is the Lover that says,

For my covenant that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. If you simply adhere to the law just so you can be an heir, faith is null, and my covenant is void. For the law brings wrath, but where there is no law, neither is there violation. (Romans 4:13-15, paraphrased)

I've been in the middle of my fifth/sixth month lull for a while now. MaryAnn says that "5 months is about right for what you are feeling [like crap]." It's supposedly the time when the novelty of everything is starting to wear off. Chad speaks of memories of his fifth/sixth month with such "fondness".

In the midst of life happening, trying to figure out how to not screw up my job, and trying to put an end to my year of transition and change in community/whanau/gemeindschaft, I've tried to ignore my need for some sense of constancy, even if just a thin thread of something. I don't like change very much, and even if I've come to a place of acceptance of its place as a by-product of something I love far greater--the adventure--there are moments of loneliness and a deep desire for a constant. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel alone. It's just a longing for a something or a someone that has stuck around since the awkward TK days, to the time when I fell in and out of love, to the milestones in Anderson, to the times of questioning in Berlin, to the most recent year of transitions.

Something or someone that sticks around just because.

Oh wait.
There is a someone.
And a Someone that does love me.
Someone with a love so passionate that no matter how many times I might screw up or find myself unworthy and try to walk away from the covenant relationship, continues pursuing.

I don't even have to do anything to prove myself worthy.

And so I make my mind stop spinning for a while.
And take a deep breath.
And write.

Not because I have to.
Not even because I need to.

But just... because.

Looking in the Mirror of My Books
Yesterday Seeds of Contemplation arrived and it is very handsome. The best job of printing that has ever been done on any book by me. I can hardly keep my hands off it. Jay Laughlin says the burlap effect we have on the cover is really a material they are using now on the walls of nightclubs. Well, it is the Christian technique: sanctify the saturnalia and lupercalia with Christian liturgy: turn them into Christian feasts.


Every book that comes out under my name is a new problem. To begin with, every one brings with it an immense examination of conscience.


Every book I write is a mirror of my own character and conscience. I always open the final printed job with a faint hope of finding myself agreeable, and I never do.


The Passion and Precious Blood of Christ are too little in this new book -- only hinted at here and there. Therefore the book is cold and cerebral. What is the good of trying to teach people to love God without preaching through Christ's wounds? The reason I do not do so is because I am still selfish. I find myself thinking about what we ought to get for dinner in Lent; about how to distribute signed complimentary copies of the deluxe edition of this book. I should never have gone into such a thing as a boxed special edition. I must be nuts.
- Thomas Merton (March 6, 1949, II.287)

Kaleo

I want to walk in a manner that's worthy
Of the calling You've given to me
I want to walk in a manner that's worthy
Of the Gospel


Steve and I had a theological-nerd hashing out session yesterday.

Let me first disclaim that while his Calvinist and my Wesleyan roots often don't play well together, out of our genuine desire to be friends and co-workers, we've learnt to respect our theological differences. That, and the fact that we're the two young pups in our church family--old enough to not be in youth group anymore, yet young enough to be left at that in-between age that could easily slip between the crack. At the same time, even though his bible school training has been different from my seminary experience, there are enough commonalities for us to stick out as the academic/theological nerds that we try so hard to avoid being.

As we were talking through our different perspectives on biblical inerrancy, I found myself recalling conversations I've had with peers at AUSOT--both the ones that I found delightfully intellectually stimulating, and the ones that I wanted to strangle gracefully walked away from.

Somewhere in the last year or so of leaving seminary, I've forgotten the joy of intellectually stimulating conversations like these. For whatever reason, I've been trying so hard to find a group of people who shared the same approaches to theological understanding as the core group of my seminary friends--the ones that I've agreed with almost 100% of the time. But I forget how much fun it can be the engage in theological discourse with people who may not agree with me 100% of the time. We probably don't end up agreeing anyway, but because they are well-informed and well-thought-out, they still make for great conversational partners.

At one point in the conversation, we found something that we were both struggling with. Because we are the young pups, we often lose sight of our calling to spiritual leadership in the face of challenges. In my case, perhaps it's because of the recent experiences with my struggles in ministry, I've found it difficult to believe that I do still have that call to spiritual leadership.

... I'm young.
... I'm a woman.
... I haven't been around long enough to understand the culture.

While I no longer live in great white America, there are still things that I will come up against simply because of the demographics I fit into. But it doesn't change the fact that somewhere, at some point, God called and I answered.

No, make that, God called, and I fought for a long time and am still fighting now, but I'm trying to answer.

It doesn't look anything like what I imagined it would look like when I first embarked on this journey, but it doesn't change the fact that the calling is still there. But my own fears of inadequacy have kept me hiding in the shadows, afraid that if I venture out and make even the slightest mistake, I would lose any progress I've been trying to make on this new and unexpected path.

In nine days, I would be marking my sixth month in Aotearoa. I still don't have a clue why I'm working with kids, or why anyone would have thought that was a good idea. I still feel like I'm trying to do something right, yet putting the wrong foot into the puddle and making a big mess all at the same time.

While hanging out the wash this morning, for some reason I took the time to read what was on the back of my Kaleo shirt for the first time since I got it a few years ago. And here's what it said:

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us." - Hebrews 12:1

I had to laugh. Kaleo is Greek for "I Call".

Somewhere between Constructive Theology 3 and New Testament 1, my definition of sin became redefined to simply mean the intentional breaking of relationships. This is what "I call" is meaning for me.

I'm not called to be the Children's Ministry Coordinator at Westside Christian Fellowship.
I'm not called to do the lessons right every Sunday.
I'm not called to make sure SUPAkidz is fun every week.
I'm not called to perform.

I'm called to be intentional about relationships.
I'm called to reconcile with the things that are broken.

The crazy kids at AUSOT sent me the Thomas Merton book I had been coveting. I've been trying to avoid developing another dead-man crush, but when someone writes like the way he does... Oh, be still my heart.

Lay in bed and realized what I was: I was happy. Said the strange word "happiness" and realized that it was there, not as an "it" or object. It simply was. And I was that. And this morning, coming down, seeing the multitude of stars above the bare branches of the wood, I was suddenly hit, as it were, with the whole package of the meaning of everything: that the immense mercy of God was upon me, that the Lord in infinite kindness had looked down on me and given me this vocation out of love, and that he had always intended this, and how foolish and trivial had been all my fears and desperation. And no matter what anyone else might do or say about it, however they might judge or evaluate it, all is irrelevant in the reality of my vocation to solitude, even though I am not a typical hermit. Quite the contrary, perhaps. It does not matter how I may or may not be classified. In the light of this simple fact of Gods love and the form it has taken in the mystery of my life, classifications are ludicrous, and I have no further need to occupy my mind with them (if I ever did)--at least in this connection.


The only response is to go out from yourself with all that one is, which is nothing, and pour out that nothingness in gratitude that God is who He is. All speech is impertinent; it destroys the simplicity of that nothing before God by making it seem as if it had been "something." (December 9, 1964)
- Thomas Merton





I want to walk in a manner that's worthy
Of the calling You've given to me
I want to walk in a manner that's worthy
Of the Gospel

I Have the Best Friends in the World

First of all, let me address this just to get it out of the way. In no other century in history has it been possible for me to be ripping open a package and reading the taunts from Michael Smith from across the Pacific Ocean and the reactions of the other fine folks who added to my box of randomness.

Facebook, I salute you.


In spite of the intensity of all the craziness of the last couple of months, today, I consider myself blessed beyond measure to have some of the best friends in the world.

No really, I do mean the world.

I'm thankful for the tweets from Yu Lin and Juan, nagging at me to take care of myself while I'm sick. More than ten years have passed since the beginnings of our friendship. Sure the course of these friendships haven't always been smooth. But today, I'm thankful I still have both of you gals in my life. And thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in Singapore.

I'm thankful for Pia who continues the poke war on Facebook. And for Jonas, who, though twelve time-zones away, still finds the time to harass me on Facebook chat once in a while to give me more German lessons. And Rhonda, who helps me celebrate the little things of living cross-culturally. It's been nearly two years since my Deutschland chapter. But today, I'm thankful for the little things that remind me of all the lessons I learnt from that chapter. And thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in Deutschland.

I'm thankful for my box of randomness from Emily, Jenny, Michael, Yoc, Jason, Wolfgang, Nate, Leslie and Josh. The little things that remind me of the times we laughed so hard about Glinda, beating up a TV or eating roadkill for Passover, rugby lessons and a last mad dash to Sno-Castle, or the Skype conversations to catch up. Seven years of major growing up made Anderson a difficult family to leave. But today, I'm thankful that sentimentality aside, I had people alongside who challenged me to open my mind to embrace new possibilities. And thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in the US of A.

I'm thankful for Josh, Chris and Steve, three crazy little brothers who not only make me laugh because of their ridiculousness but also let me know that they've got my (and each other's) back(s). Three guys who make a big mess in my kitchen but also clean up after themselves. I'm thankful for the Mama figures in PJ, Katherine and Helen who nag at me about going to the doctor and taking care of myself; for Auntie Enid who takes care of the Singaporean child in me; and for my big brothers and sisters, Kathrin and Stefan, and Chad and Diane. No buts. I'm thankful for the best friends I could possibly have in Aotearoa.

No really, when you have the best friends you could possibly have spread out across four different time zones in almost equal geographical distance between each, I think it's only fair to say I really do have the best friends in the world.

That's ok, you can be jealous.
As for me, I'm just thankful.

Sociological Overdose

The new flatmate/landlady had her sister-in-law over for dinner the other night. As it was my first time meeting Rachel, the sister-in-law, she had lots of questions to ask. Here's kinda how the conversation went:

Rachel: So what do you do?
Me: Umm... (Crap. How do I explain what I do without sounding like a total slacker?) I'm a pastor.
Rachel: Oh, cool!
Me: Yeah, I work with kids. I spend most of my time planning lessons and activities, and visiting with kids and their families. And we also do Bible clubs in the schools here. They're not overly-keen about us evangelizing, but they definitely want us to teach good morals and values.
Rachel: Yeah, that makes sense. But doesn't that make it hard for you?
Me: Well, not really. For me it's always easier to talk about everything else except God...

The conversation continued, but that definitely left me thinking.

What do I see my role here as?

If what I'm here to do is to teach good morals and values to the kids, then maybe it would be more fair to say I represent a social service organization than a church, wouldn't it?

I'm hearing MaryAnn Hawkins (in Biblical Foundation of Mission) talk about how the missio Dei includes several areas of study as categorized by academics, including both spirituality and sociology. While I approach the missio Dei more easily through sociology, it doesn't make spirituality any less important.

If I'm to be a pastor and a representative of the church, then it wouldn't be enough to simply do sociology, would it?

If we go according to Maslow's hierarchy of needs, if the sociological needs are not met, we may never get a chance to talk about the spiritual. But I think it's safe to say that for me, because sociological needs are slightly less awkward to deal with, I use that as an excuse to avoid getting into the spiritual.

But I'm not here to represent a social service organization.


As the WCF family continues this journey with the Hub, we'll be trying to meet more sociological needs in the community. I'm thankful that the other hands involved in the Hub have a slightly easier time holding the sociological and the spiritual needs in tension than I do--and even more so that we have this family to hold each other accountable to representing the missio Dei well.

Your Kingdom come,
Your will be done
On earth, as it is in heaven.

On Dinosaurs...

I had a dream not so long ago where I was, for some reason, involved in what appeared to be World War 3: Dinosaurs versus Transformers. I was the captain of an army of Transformers battling against the dark forces of the world. The most vivid memory I have of the dream was the scene where I kept shouting, "Don't hurt the dinosaurs! DON'T HURT THE DINOSAURS!!"

As unconventional as I am, or perhaps I should say, try to be, I love the dinosaurs. Blame it on AU, Park Place, Seminary or the forces of nature, but I cannot help it. I have a deep, deep love for tradition.

Which is an inconvenient passion to carry given that I weave in and out of cultures and geographical locations way too frequently.

Every Chinese New Year since the move to Anderson, the festivities have looked different, but I cannot move on with life if I don't, in one way or another, honour that tradition. Sure, some years the festivities have required a little more creativity than others, but that is to be expected, ay?

I take pride in my ability to converse with my grandmas in at least Mandarin, and if possible, also the dialect they speak, and the fact that just this week, I've found a new Hokkien conversational partner on the Peninsula with the Malaysian auntie who works at the $2 shop--even if our conversations conclude with her telling me to "slow slow find red hair husband" (the not-so-literal translation: take your time to find a white husband).

My day was blessed today when I walked in to St Paul's (the Anglican church that owns the building we rent) for their Ash Wednesday service because I got to connect with the wider Church through an ancient ritual--another tradition inherited with my Christian heritage. (The fact that I was the only one there below the age of 50, and that the only person in a robe this morning was a woman of course adds to the perks).

At SUPAkidz today, we joined the rest of Matipo Primary in observing two minutes of silence to mark the anniversary of the Christchurch earthquake. I have a feeling that is going to be another tradition that I would want to honour.

Growing up, celebrating Chinese New Year had always been a big deal. But I think it's fair to say that until I moved to a culture where it didn't matter to anyone, I kinda took those festivities for granted. In having to find new and unconventional ways to honour these traditions now, I feel like I've been forced to strip the festivities down to its heart to figure out what the essentials are. And when you have to do that, it kinda forces you to stop and think, and reflect on why we do the things we do.

Yes, I'm nerdy about traditions. I cannot help it. I love the dinosaurs.

But I love even more that the dinosaurs remind me to not take the Transformers for granted.

Imagine

I've started, paused, deleted everything and re-started this post several times now.

It's not that I don't have anything to say.

I've always been open and honest about my internal struggle between being jaded and hopeful.

But I'm afraid that if I write now, my jadedness is going to whip out its trump card and give me a good scare.


There are days when I appreciate being an NF (Myers-Briggs) because its familiarity helps me navigate the waters of life and ministry really easily.
And then there are days when I hate, and am utterly disgusted at being an NF because it comes with baggage.

In the last few weeks, I've felt a passionate hatred and disgust at being an NF that has also just been slapped with a $5000 excess baggage fine.


To be completely honest, I was slightly disappointed after arriving here that Te Atatu Peninsula wasn't closer to the city-center. I love cities because I thrive on culture, creativity, and... depravity.

And then slowly, one at a time, the layers of depravity on the Peninsula got peeled back.

Don't get me wrong. We live in a broken but beautiful community. Except lately, I've seen a lot more brokenness than beauty, and it's making me wonder, God, why? And how long?


Chad started a sermon series last week on re-imagining, in preparation for our campaign for the Hub.

Imagine what it would be like if Kingdom does come here on earth as it is in heaven.

I'm having a really difficult time with this series. Every week for the last, oh, good little while now, something else is happening to one of us in the whanau (Maori for extended family), and suddenly it's no longer praying Kingdom come for someone else somewhere else.

It's right here.
It's close to home.
It's family.

The only reason I haven't given up on hope is because somewhere, there is a God that is bigger than the hopelessness and the depravity. And if I didn't believe that hope still exists somewhere out there, even if it feels really far away at the moment, I don't think I can comfortably make the claim that I believe in a God that is bigger and stronger than my present.

That is a scary place to be.
I've never known life without God, and I'm not sure I'm ready to even entertain that possibility just because in the frailty of my humanity, I've found it difficult to believe.

Just because my small mind cannot comprehend at this moment, it doesn't change the fact that God is.
That God remains.


The more seasoned missionary friends are saying that these are sentiments that are not out of the ordinary for being on my fifth month here.

That this, too, shall pass.

I hope they are right.


And the pain falls like a curtain
On the things I once called certain
And I have to say the words I fear the most
I just don’t know


And the questions without answers
Come and paralyze the dancer
So I stand here on the stage afraid to move
Afraid to fall, oh, but fall I must
On this truth that my life has been formed from the dust


God is God and I am not
I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting
God is God and I am man
So I’ll never understand it all
For only God is God


And the sky begins to thunder
And I’m filled with awe and wonder
‘Til the only burning question that remains
Is who am I


Can I form a single mountain
Take the stars in hand and count them
Can I even take a breath without God giving it to me
He is first and last before all that has been
Beyond all that will pass


Oh, how great are the riches of His wisdom and knowledge
How unsearchable for to Him and through
Him and from Him are all things


So let us worship before the throne
Of the One who is worthy of worship alone
- Steven Curtis Chapman