The Nine-Year-Old Dream

It started about nine years ago. I was still in high school the day I came home and barely even had time to put my school stuff away when Mum came and hurried me off to bed.

"Get some sleep. You're leaving to study overseas tomorrow," were her words.

"But where? And what about my stuff? Is it packed? What about goodbyes? And don't I get a say in this?" The thoughts in my head flew.

"Don't worry about it; everything's taken care of. Just make sure you get some sleep since you're flying off tomorrow."

The next thing I knew, I was crossing the overhead bridge that would take me to the train station closest to school. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I had some errands to run before I caught the plane. Halfway down the steps leading to the train station, I saw her. Auntie Audrey went to our church. We weren't related, but in Singapore, everybody who's in your parents' generation or older is an auntie or an uncle. I knew Auntie Audrey only as Mum's friend, so of course I was surprised she had come to see me off--and at the overhead bridge close to school, no less. I wasn't supposed to take the train home from school because it costs more than taking the bus, but it was what I did to spend that little bit of extra time with my friends who caught the train (Mum never found out, or at least, I hope she never did). I wondered why she was there, but she didn't say anything except to drop a few coins in my hand. I remembered looking at the coins trying to figure out what currency they were, and if they were for the right country I was going to even though I still had no clue where exactly I was going to study.

And before I knew it, I was at the departure gate at the airport. I remembered feeling sad it would be a while before I would get to see the plants at the escalators leading up to the second floor of Terminal 2 of Changi Airport. And then I saw the girls. They were all there to see me off. I didn't remember who exactly was there, but I knew it was that collective group of girls--all of them except Hui Ting. I was upset that she wasn't there, but I understood she probably felt awkward being around the rest of the girls since we had all just gotten into a massive fight about something stupid the day before. We all knew it was stupid, but nobody wanted to admit it. When finally she showed up, she was in tears.

And then I woke up.

That dream happened one night in 2003--the night after that massive fight with the TK girls over something completely stupid that I don't even remember the details of, except that Hui Ting left completely upset. That was the only detail of the dream I could explain at the time, but I remembered being very bothered by it. I told the girls about it. No one had an explanation, but someone did offer the suggestion that bridges sometimes symbolise death. I did not even know Anderson University existed at this point, and had assumed I was going to drift along with the rest of the girls and probably continue life in Singapore as I knew it. So the dream kinda got brushed aside, even though it would still nag at me from time to time.

Months flew by. I started going out with this incredible guy who was the first Christian I had in my circle of friends outside of church. We were best friends at the time, and were going to get married someday. Life was going to continue the way it was, and I was going to become a music teacher.

December 2003 saw me filling out my application for Anderson University. They told me it could take up to at least a year before my application would be processed so I figured I had at least a year to prepare myself. Sam and I talked and cried and talked about how we were going to make the long-distance thing work. Four years will be over soon enough. I'll be back, we'll get married and be happy.

In May 2004, I flew to Anderson, Indiana with Mum for the first time to check out the campus. Mum wanted to know where she was leaving her daughter and make sure there were people looking out for her. We were there for a friend's graduation, and I found out then I had been accepted and could start in August that year. I came back to Singapore unsure of how to break the news to Sam. We talked and cried some more, and I started a countdown of when the four years would be over.

Barely a year later, "life as I knew it" was completely over. Sam and I broke up because the long-distance thing had become too difficult. We were no longer best friends, but simply people who reported to each other about how their week went. We were young, and didn't know how to fight. I was crushed because life wasn't what I had expected anymore. That dream in 2003 had now been tucked far, far away.

Fast forward to March 2010. I was getting ready to leave for my internship in Berlin, and still had a bit of fundraising to do. I had written to my home-church in Singapore, sharing about what I would be doing and asking if they would financially support me. Auntie Audrey wrote back within the week and said she had sent some money to Mum and that she would be praying for me. I still hadn't put the pieces together at the time, but I was grateful.

Fast forward again to August 2011. I was back in Singapore doing my final bit of fundraising and preparation to move to Auckland. Mum had planned for us to do a short getaway with Auntie Audrey to Penang, and she mentioned something about having made a small contribution each month in support of ministry in Auckland.

That was when everything finally clicked. Nine years later, the dream is finally making sense. The simple life I thought I was going to have is turning out way differently.

The unexpected move to Anderson...

Mum's role in all the transitions...

Auntie Audrey's kind but quiet gestures...

The unknown faces on the coins she dropped in my hands...

Sam got engaged recently, and I'm happy for him. We each have our own adventure to live that didn't quite turn out how we expected. But I think he would agree that where we are and what we each have now... This is so much better.

Oh, and the girls in the airport scene? We're still in touch on Whatsapp and laugh about the most stupid things in the middle of helping Li Si plan her wedding, trying to convince Bunz to be a little less food-obsessed, Juan to do something about her ridiculous work hours, and sympathizing with Ming Shu and her crazy students.

Coincidence? Perhaps.

I'd rather believe Someone intentionally wrote the story that way.

It makes me ever so much grateful for the little reminders each day of pieces of that dream, knowing that Someone's got my back. Nine incredible years of slowly weaving the pieces together? Who's to say it was done any differently before, or will be done differently after?

On Being Single in Ministry

Some time back, Hannah tweeted looking for writers who would be willing to share a few thoughts on being single in ministry. It was something I had been keen to write about, but never quite knew what approach to take, especially when it's a topic where I can easily come across as sassy or having a chip on my shoulder. So I told Hannah I would give it some thought and see what I come up with. Here goes...

It started about three or four years ago. "You know, the Bible does say that it's not good for man to be alone," they would say, when I try to explain that I have no time for romantic relationships. If we're about to count on the historical accuracy of the Creation story, then yes, Adam would have been the first and only man on earth at the time; of course he was alone (and if the Creation story isn't historically accurate, then, well, we don't even need to have this discussion). So God being a God of relationships created Eve; but we would be treading on dangerous territory if we were to assume that God was only concerned about eros in the Creation story.

So, allow me to respond with this: The girls that I laughed with eleven years ago when we were giggly, hormonal teenage girls, I still laugh with today. So thanks for worrying, but I'm not alone.

For most of my seminary career, I had a good mix of married, dating and single friends, and no one felt out of place. Even now, a year after I graduated, we still keep up with each other knowing the ministry life isn't easy, and that we all need the support we can get. Sometimes we wrestle with each other over things that come up in our individual ministry journey or some theological thought we came across. Other times it's just the occasional "meow" or hassling on Facebook. So thanks again for worrying, but no, I'm not alone.

I had/have incredible mentors who walked/are walking me through the seasons of doubt, darkness, and wrestling with faith, religion and all attached to them. They still check in from time to time to make sure I'm sane and spiritually healthy. So again, thanks, but... You get the point (hopefully).

Since I mostly live out of a two-suitcase mindset to be ready for the next stop in this globe-trotting adventure, the only thing I get to collect is people. So really, thanks, but... I'm pretty sure I'll never be alone. (And on my cheekier days, I add Éowyn's famous line, "I am no man.")

Remember all those Christian dating books we try to get our youth/teenagers to read? If you've never actually read any of those but are shoving them down someone else's throat, shame on you. Go pick one up and read it now. I don't entirely buy into many of these books, but anyone who has read a good one will tell you the biggest rule about "Christian dating" according to those books is that you have to accept that you are a whole being and embrace that. Looking for a relationship to make you feel whole isn't healthy. I may be way past my teenage years, but try telling me that isn't still true now and I'll ask you why you're asking youth/teenagers to read those books.

Besides, being single comes with a lot of freedom. I can pour myself into my job without worrying about someone else's schedule. Working with young families often mean working with the perks and quirks of last-minute-ness. Things get planned or cancelled at the last minute and having the freedom to come and go without interrupting someone else's schedule has been wonderful. And of course, there's the freedom of up-and-going as I please. Spend three months in Germany? Sure! Move to New Zealand? Oh, why not? Go to Timbuktu? Where do I sign up?

Easy-peasy.

And I've enjoyed watching myself be pushed out of my comfort zone simply because there isn't a someone else to depend on. Stuff like dealing with confrontation, or unplugging the toilet, or learning appropriate social boundaries and cultural etiquettes, or fighting with ants. And almost every cross-cultural worker has an embarrassing moment to share if they cut loose and are able to laugh at themselves rather than hide in a hole in fear of another boo-boo.I get to own all my embarrassing moments stories!

Being by myself (not alone--there's a difference) also forces me to go out and meet people. Which works really well with relationships being the most important part of my approach to ministry.

Then there are the perks of being the single, female "pastor" that everyone looks out for from time to time because she's "all alone in the world." They feed me, clothe me with hand-me-downs and nag at me when I fall sick while I try not to take advantage of them.

Of course, there are down-sides to being single in ministry, besides the occasional longing for an accomplice in these mad adventures.

A lot of times, folks don't take my being a pastor very seriously. It comes with the whole woman in ministry conversation that will have to be for another time. And she's not even married, so how could she possibly be a real pastor? The usual assumption is that because I'm young, single and act like I don't have a care in the world, I'm also probably untrained (I've managed to keep the fact that I have a Master's degree from a seminary a secret) and simply passionate about Jesus and kids. Young, my florist friend, has asked me about three times now how many more years I have left in school. And when I remind her again that I'm a pastor, and that I'm done studying, she asks again, why don't you do more studying? Well, I still do, just not formally--how else can I prepare to teach kids each week?

Then there are the annoying matchmakers. The rebel streak in me wants to simply not give any of the "matches" a chance, which can be inconvenient sometimes when he turns out to be a fairly attractive young man.

And then there are the ones who assume that because I don't have a family to go home to, I can always be counted on to run the extra errand. This isn't something I mind much, especially since most folks here don't do that to me, and the ones that do only ask because they know I would enjoy the errand. But friends have been taken advantage of based simply on the assumption that they don't have a social life outside of the church or their job. I mean, if he/she had any kind of decent social life, he/she would have found a nice young man/woman to marry by now.

Before you make the assumption that I've written off getting married, I haven't. I have high regard for the institution of marriage, and great admiration for the ones who fight to make it work. As Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 7:8-11, and 32a -

But I say to the unmarried and to widows that it is good for them if they remain even as I. But if they do not have self-control, let them marry; for it is better to marry than to burn with passion. But to the married I give instructions, not I, but the Lord, that the wife should not leave her husband (but if she does leave, she must remain unmarried, or else be reconciled to her husband), and that the husband should not divorce his wife . . . But I want you to be free from concern.

We can talk about what the passage really means if you want, but I'll ask that we kindly do this face-to-face, and if you will read the exegesis paper on that passage that I wrote for my Master's level New Testament class before we chat.

The Big Death

I finally figured out a name for that season that crippled my first year in New Zealand.

The Big Death.

Today I realised even more that even though I kinda, sorta acted like myself on the surface my first year here, I was dying a slow death inside. The Big Death shut down a big part of me--my heart. And I've been constantly reminding myself it's a different land, it's different people, and until I learn to completely give my heart away to here, I'm still not living life abundantly.

Tonight, I finally understood what that meant.

The reality was, I couldn't completely give my heart away to this land and these people until I figured out what to do with The Big Death that was slowly shutting down the other parts of me.

Tonight, I "accidentally" dug out letters to and from Dumbledore.

"Accidentally"
Or so I thought.

I read the one just after the final blow that led to The Big Death.
I got angry all over again.
I cried all over again.

And then I thanked the Good Lord for Dumbledore all over again.

Janice and I talked the other day about how people like us often live with a two-suitcase mentality. We don't buy or keep too many things that won't fit in the two suitcases the next time we have to move across the world. In fact, besides the NIV bible my mum gave me as my first real grown-up bible, the only few other things I will keep with me no matter where I go are the two origami birds from the Freer-Fry clan for my SOT graduation party, the last card I got from Keren, the hello kitty my auntie got my cousin and I when we were four or five, and Cindy Bear (named after Yogi Bear's girlfriend) that I got from the first time I was on a plane.

But people.

We get to keep pocket-size memories of them, and as much contact information as Facebook and smart phones can hold.

Which is...
A lot.

So tonight, I shed a few tears over how The Big Death forced me to shove some memories I didn't want into the two suitcases. And then breathed a word of thanks for Mum and the baby sister and the family, for Dumbledore, Janice, the Freer-Fry clan, Keren, The Friend called "Someone Who Gives A Hoot," Jim and MaryAnn, Amber and Jess, Katherine, Chad and Diane, PJ, Indy, Woody, Stel and Coleman, Amanda, and the rest of the global kampong.

And another one that I get to keep the pocket-size memories close by.

And then I let go a little bit more of the ugly memories of The Big Death.

The Stories of Introverted Ministers

Jess had her birthday this week, and I was invited over to dinner and to meet some of her and Amber's friends.

Because they were "fresh imports," their social circle mostly revolved around folks in the Wesleyan Church--most of whom were young, female, single ministers. The INFJ in me kicked in almost immediately as I tried to make sense of my new environment.

Before the ice finally broke between the old friends and the new people, Amber came over at one point and simply said, "You know, I'm outgoing and happy to be with people when I'm at work. But when I'm in certain social settings, I just kinda get really awkward."

The lady beside me whose name I don't remember because I'm a terrible person said, "Yeah, I'm just really not very good at making small talk, and I HATE talking about the weather."

I don't remember how or if I responded to either of them. But I remember thinking, God be praised, I'm not the only one feeling completely awkward because I'm the newbie in the crowd. Put me in a work environment and I'm happy to play the networking games with new people. But this wasn't a work environment and I'm still trying to figure out how to not pull out my phone every few seconds to pretend to respond to a text when inside I'm freaking out, going through the list of questions the INFJ had created previously to avoid awkwardness in settings like these.

On the drive home, Annie read to me from "Plan B" where she talked about David, a guy born with a birth defect who, after years of being embarrassed by his birth defect, finally decided to embrace the beauty of awkwardness and simply start sharing his story.

It made me wonder about all my friends in ministry. How many of us deal with those awkward moments where we should know the right things to say or ask so that we can keep up the warm, fuzzy "we are ministers so we really know how to put people at ease" appearance? When inside, our stomachs are going crazy with having gone through the entire life cycle of a butterfly several times over in the span of those 12 seconds of awkward silence. (My friend Allison once told me a gay baby is formed every time that happens, and while it's probably not true, you're going to start counting to 12 think of the gay baby now every time there's an awkward silence. You're welcome.)

By the time Annie was done telling David's story, I finally realised I needed to continue writing. Good stories, embarrassing moments, and the grace that carries us through all that and everything in-between. I realised that back when I decided to start collecting stories, I also made the decisions to protect them and share them when necessary. And I realise that a lot of my stories were much like David's. They happened so I can share them with others so that we all feel a little less alone in our human experiences.

I realised too, today, that part of what makes me tick is the simple awareness that I'm just as human as the one next to me. I worry about the life-cycles of the butterflies in my stomach, and if the caterpillars were the cause of how it seems like no matter how much I eat, I struggle to maintain a healthy body mass. Don't even start giving me the, "You don't know how lucky you are to not have to worry about your weight" because you're making the assumption that I don't actually do that. The reality is if I don't keep enough body mass on, I can have horrible cramps because my body doesn't know what to do with my reproductive system. Or you know, I just faint from time to time; no big deal. The fact that I have little interest in consuming food doesn't help. (I do LOVE cooking, but I love it even more if there are other people who are eating the food I make). It's no REAL cause for worry, right?

And I screw up. I screw things up and then screw even more things up when I get angry or frustrated about having screwed up the first thing. I get angry. I make stupid decisions. Like the number of times I've skipped a few meals here and there just to get other things done, fully aware I function better if I didn't have to recover from passing out. I finally believe God loves me regardless of my stupidity and screwed-up-ness but instead of gratefulness, I throw it all out and choose to push limits, knowing God's going to let me back in anyway because the only one I'm really hurting in the process is myself. I guess (s)he'll probably get a little upset about my choices, but I think even my most stupid decisions are too small because (s)he is awesome like that. And then God's going to shake his/her head, roll his/her eyes and say, "You finally happy now? Come on in, it's time for dinner." And again, I would drag my feet along, ashamed of myself, but thankful God lets me in anyway in spite of knowing I had more interest in new recipes and new friends than in the feast itself. As Annie would say, God is such a show-off.

So I keep collecting those stories and keep telling my own. Because it makes me realise how human I am and that I'm no better than David with his birth defect, or Annie with her binge-eating, or my other friends involved in things the world say are wrong but couldn't actually be bothered to take time to understand.

And then I feel a little bit better about the butterflies and their life-cycles, and all the other times I could/should have done better.

Grace. Eventually.

On Journaling (Bird by Bird)

Amanda introduced me to Anne Lamott a few years back when I first started working at Global Missions. Apparently my style of writing reminded her of Annie and so she got me "Bird by Bird" for either my birthday or Christmas that year.

I remembered diving into the book, fascinated by this new friend's (Amanda and I had only known each other a very short while at this point) interest in my writing. I had come to learn already that Amanda doesn't recommend anything unless she absolutely believes in the product with all her heart--that she also has pretty good taste (she also introduced me to Chris Rice, Ingrid Michaelson, Ray LaMontagne and Mumford and Sons) helps.

The more I got into Bird by Bird, the more I wanted to devote my time to writing. Never mind that I had a crap load of seminary papers that had more urgent due dates. I wanted to write stories that were honest, witty and most importantly, a reflection of the lessons I've learnt from and about Love. And so for a few years, I did.

Writing got me through seminary--and I'm not just talking about writing about stuff that would eventually get a letter A, B or C on them. It helped me process what I really believed about in-class discussions, and I got to write stories about how it affected life. It reminded me to be thankful for all the things I had, the places I had been, and the people I love.

Writing also got me through death. Some of the pieces I've been most pleased with came from the deepest sorrow from Keren's death. And then a year later, my uncle's and grandpa's. And then along the way, the death of other things I believed in, other relationships I held on too tightly to, and probably the scariest one, significant parts of my once-religion.

Then a little while ago, something big inside me died. It came along with such a deep sense of anguish that I decided to bury Writing along with it. I was surprised and appalled all at the same time amongst other sentiments of cynicism and relief.

But most of all, I was afraid. I was afraid of the magnitude of negativity inside; afraid of the repercussions of what might happen if I allowed it to be set loose. I was afraid Writing would take me places I would later regret because I had inadvertently hurt a few someones in my fit of anger. I would start writing, and then delete everything because I no longer had a way to end each of my pieces with that dose of hope--something my mother encouraged me to do back in the day, the same thing that was the motivation for turning my rants into pieces of encouragement for others rather than simply pieces of teenage angst. I still wanted to tell stories, but anything I tried to write came out as matter-of-fact strings of words that were devoid of any human emotion (in other words, BORING).

So I stopped writing. I stopped for so long that I was convinced that was another part of me that had died too. And the longer I took before I picked it up again, the angrier and more negative I got. Once in a while, out of obligation to the rest of the kampong, I would write again, but only so they knew I was still alive. I hated all of those pieces that I wrote. None of them felt like me.

I wanted to tell them all about everything that was happening here. But death has the potential to overshadow everything, casting an ugly perspective on even the most beautiful pieces of life. I didn't want to talk about the big part of me that I had just hurriedly buried. It would mean taking out the smelly, rotten, decomposing parts to try and dress it up for a proper funeral so that I can have that proper sense of closure, and actually cry real tears with the kampong that was waiting to hold me when I fell apart. But until I did that, anything I tried to write reeked of death, and all the negativity kept spewing out all over the page to a point that I realised I would be embarrassed by if I came back to read it a month later.

A month passed, then another. Before I knew it, a whole year had gone by without any pieces of writing I could honestly say I was pleased with.

Then last week, I celebrated my first year in New Zealand. Steve once said, "Since you're the journalling type, it would be fun to look back in your journals eventually and see what your first impressions of New Zealand were like." I wanted to do that on my first anniversary. But I hadn't written anything this year that was worth reflecting upon.

That was when I decided it was time that changed. I had recently downloaded "Grace (Eventually)" and "Plan B" on my iPod, both books by Anne Lamott. I listened to her tell stories of her biggest embarrassments while I was driving, and how she found grace eventually through each of these stories. I laughed with her like an old friend would, as she told of how she had started binge eating again, spiralling downhill for a while before finally deciding to call a friend and confess her humanity--and how the friends had nothing but love and grace for her. I thought about my own melancholic/mild depression tendencies, and all those in my global kampong who had seen me at my best times and my worst, and were now just waiting for me to call them and say, "I'm a mess, I went into recluse again," and rant about how unforgivable God and the world must think I am, and why the hell have I not learnt my lesson? And then they would just laugh because they know I know better. We'd have a few coffees, a couple ciders, have a slice or two of tres leches and angel food cake and get into the deep beautiful melancholy of everything that's happened. And then one of us would say, "Right, let's get this mess cleaned up, go wash our hands and join everyone else at the table because there's a real feast going on." And I would go along not because I'd enjoy the feast but so I could get new recipes and meet new friends. And everyone would be alright again for a little while.

So last week, I went out and got myself a new journal. PJ and the kids do this thing at the dinner table called "highlights, lowlights". It was her way of getting them to talk about their day, but in a way such that all five of them would get a turn to share about the best and worst thing of their day while fighting over fish and chips and milkshakes from Uncle Don. And so I started doing that in my journal. I didn't get anywhere close to writing stories the way I used to, but it was a start. Annie (Yes, I do believe I get to call her Annie now that she's read 1.5 of her books to me while we take mini roadtrips everyday) calls it "bird by bird": "We're all in same boat. All the writers you love--it's painstaking, comes in fits & starts, bad drafts; small victories."

So bird by bird, I did. I still don't have funny, witty stories to share that are full of human emotion. But you know what, I feel so much better and find myself having so many more reasons to be thankful. And I realise again that my kampong is overcrowded with quality people, each one happy with the small piece of land we've been allocated. We may not hear from each other everyday, but we're all silent cheerleaders for each other no matter what part of the world we may find ourselves in.

And my heart is overflowing again with thanksgiving.

Bird by bird.

------------

A few more thoughts from Annie, just because I've come to love her as an old friend...
If stuck, pretend you're writing yr story as a letter to my brother Stevo. He is kind, safe, smart. Get's pressure off you--is just a letter
I HAVE to write today. Even tho it's hard, it's how I get ME back. It's radical self-care to steal an hour or 2 for your own self and soul.
You don't wait to be in the mood to write. You sit down and keep your butt in the chair b/c nobody cares if you write; so YOU have to.

Follow her on Twitter. Better yet, go out and get her books.

Whanau

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Web definitions Whānau is a Māori-language word for extended family, now increasingly entering New Zealand English, particularly in official publications. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whānau (the basic unit of Maori society into which an individual was born and socialised), www.justice.govt.nz/publications/publications-archived/2001/he…

I've been giving some thought to what life is going to look like past December 2013, the official date my contract with WCF ends, but mainly only because my visa expires then. If it makes sense for the Church to have me stay on past December 2013, by all means, I'll be here. But if I've become more of a nuisance than I am now, I'm not going to overstay my welcome. Anyhow, that's still a ways ahead so there's no pressure for concrete plans.

At the same time, as much as I have thoroughly enjoyed drifting where the wind blows/where the Lord leads, there are moments--sometimes long days on end--when I long for a bit more stability. Often the most nagging one is the financial stability.

I have made it through a whole year through the generosity of family and friends, and then some. There's a part of me that says, "Cool, let's see how Providence continues to sort this out." Then there's a part of me that's becoming increasingly obnoxious with the, "'Making it through' was fine while you were in college and seminary. But you're 26. That's not going to cut it anymore."

I'll be eternally grateful to Missionary Action Projects--and all involved to get me connected to them--for graciously helping me transfer funds. But because they only transfer my funds and there isn't a formal sending organization, a lot of times I have to pull out the dusty memory files from the Global Missions days to create a whole new system to "send" myself.

Along with the steep learning curve that comes with moving to a new culture and process the immense grief of the whole transition period, I've also had to force myself to be intentional about pastoral care--shamelessly throwing myself at mentors, begging them to pastor me through this process. I've never really worked with a budget, much less having to create a feasible one for a lifestyle I knew nothing about, to know what to present to folks who might be keen to throw in financial support. I've always enjoyed the writing process, but to create newsletters that are succinct enough to communicate all that's going on here (bear in mind these newsletters go to the odd combination of old friends, folks who want to support ministry, and mentors who want to know I still have a little bit of sanity left) and make sure they go to all the folks they are supposed to go to, holy shenanigans... Where do I even start writing? Throw in the non-existent budget to go hang out with folks who send money, cards, candy and beat-up iPods, and figuring out how to get the cheapest flights to go to all these places...

I found myself wishing again that I either wasn't born outside of the US, or hadn't spent those seven years there that resulted in the formation of most of my networks within that country.

Which was why when I stumbled upon a possibility of an official sending agency, I got really excited. Not only would there be a little bit of help in all of those other areas, but I would also more formal financial support--even if they are from folks I've never met before.


And then...
Of course. Why should I be surprised?

I got a little note from dear, sweet friends in Anderson. There weren't very many words on the little page, but to know that Phil and Phyllis Kinley who had given a significant part of their lives to the Church in Japan took the time to write that little note and say, "Hey, we think of you often, and we're praying for you." left me shaking my head.

"No, I'd rather have instability with whanau (family) than stability with strangers."

After all, this has been a year of embracing the very significant but often distracted part of me that desperately wants to dig into the grassroots. I'm barely getting my shoes muddy and the distractions have been aplenty.

Well, guess what?
I'm happy in the mud.

That's where my whanau is.

Roots

I met Amber at The Stream, the Wesleyan theological conference in New Zealand. That I was meeting more folks outside the WCF circle was of course exciting. But what was even more so was that
1) we have similar backgrounds of education by liberal arts colleges in the Midwest USA (talk about Settlers of Catan or the libertarian political viewpoints of contemporaries and she's right there with you)
2) she's also a single, theologically-educated female eager to engage in the nerdy theological discoursing
3) I can safely admit my guilty pleasure of the occasional good chick flick without being judged
4) her deep commitment to the Wesleyan denomination.

I'm starting to understand the differences between a denomination and what we in the Church of God like to call, "a movement". During the conference, I had asked one of the ladies if that church building was where they usually had these conferences. Her response was, "well, this is one of our centers and sometimes we rotate around, but it's usually here."

"One of OUR" -- that statement struck me as odd. I found myself wondering if, if I had asked one of the ministers at NAC if the AU campus was where we usually held our conferences, would she/he respond with the same, "one of OUR ..."?

Then last week I met Amber's flatmate Jes, who was recently ordained. The conversation about the ordination process in the Wesleyan movement seemed like it was part of the natural next step in ministry. Everything was so systematic that it seemed like it would be easier to feel a sense of belonging in the denomination. Even when she said she went to Houghton College in NY, she and Amber automatically explained that it was one of THEIR Wesleyan colleges.

There's a Chinese saying that goes, 人比人 气死人 (literally translates as, people comparing with people, people will be aggravated to death--in other words, comparison will only lead to anger). I shouldn't make the comparison of whether the denomination is functioning more effectively than the movement (Amber and Jes have their own stories to tell), but I can't help but wonder if there are some things we can learn from the Wesleyans.

While I appreciate the autonomy of the Church of God, there's something to be said about the systems that are put in place with the Wesleyans. I think what surprised me most about Amber and Jes was the realisation that there ARE folks (especially young women) outside of my circle of seminary friends who have this same deep commitment to theological development within their denominations/movements. It definitely makes ministry in Auckland feel a little less isolated as we each face different challenges of having this sense of commitment. At the same time, it raises for me the question of how do we ignite this same sense of commitment that goes beyond the local congregation--and perhaps even beyond denominational lines to that sense of belonging in the Kingdom?

We all know that relationships are a complicated thing. "Love one another" is a simple concept theoretically, but so much harder to live out. As I think about the challenges we face with being Church, I personally find it most difficult to talk about issues of commitment--whether they are commitments to being present at events, to responsibilities, and most importantly, stepping up to responsible relationships that love one another but are also willing to give and receive accountability.

Maybe it's because I've been blessed to have consistently had good people to constantly challenge me to keep pursuing those levels of commitment, that I automatically assume it shouldn't be difficult. At the same time, this constant uprooting has also necessitated the task of shamelessly digging for a sense of belonging in relationships so that I don't feel completely crushed when the good people call me out. Which makes me wonder if it would be easier for folks to choose to be committed to tasks/accountability/Christ if we did a better job at creating space for a sense of belonging to develop, especially in a time where the laissez-faire take on life has become even more common.

So I guess my question is, what does it take for folks to feel rooted?

"God has willed that we should seek and find God's living Word in the testimony of other Christians, in the mouths of human beings . . . If we have been elected and accepted with the whole church in Jesus Christ before we could know it or want it, then we also belong to Christ in eternity with one another . . . Because God already has laid the only foundation of our community, because God has united us in one body with other Christians in Jesus Christ long before we entered into common life with them, we enter into that life together with other Christians, not as those who make demands, but as those who thankfully receive . . . In other words, a life together under the Word will stay healthy only when it does not form itself into a movement, an order, a society, a collegium pietatis, but instead understands itself as being part of the one, holy, universal, Christian church, sharing through its deeds and suffering in the hardships and struggles and promise of the whole church."
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together

10,000 Reasons (Happy 1 Year in Aotearoa)

It's hard to believe that it was a year ago today that out of utter madness, I hopped on a plane and arrived here in Aotearoa.

No really. It was utter madness.


It was utter madness that I took a children's ministry job having had limited experience working with kids. Heck, I didn't even know what a real childhood was like outside of the experience of the Asian kid that revolved around school work and staying out of trouble.
Looking back now, if not for Ed and Heidi and the 3Ts, I would never have learnt what it was like to live in a household where there were boundaries, but also plenty of laughter. Or the Park Place kids who remember the insignificant stuff we were a part of together that reminded me relationships don't require experience--they require authenticity and form organically in a way no amount of programming experience can.

And so I took the job.

Madness? Yes.
Would I do it all over again? In a heartbeat.


When I hopped on the plane that day, I had no idea if I was ever going to be granted a visa to stay past the 3 months tourist visa I had been granted.
Looking back now, it seemed like complete insanity that I woke up one morning just about a week before that with this burning feeling in my gut that I HAD to book my flight that day regardless of the visa status. I had no real reason other than That Voice that just said, "You have to do it today."

And so I did.

Madness? Yes.
Would I do it all over again? You better believe it.

And then the year flew by. And boy were there lessons to be learnt.

There was the story of the eggs in the microwave that nearly ended in disaster.
... Or the Asian girl who's never made a white sauce in her life trying to make cheese sauce with no recipe and simply melted cheese in a saucepan. (Kathrin had to come to the rescue and we ended up rolling on the floor with laughter trying to get everything cleaned up before our guests turned up).
... Or the numerous times she should have made use of a teachable moment with a kid but missed it.
... Or all the different methods she tried to import to give the children's ministry the re-start and realising she was thinking WAY too American again.
... Or that when the host she's visiting asks if she would like a drink, it's more normal to answer with "coffee" or "tea" than with "water," and not because she's suddenly aged to her grandparents' generation, or because she's about to be served dessert in a fancy restaurant. Psst... In case you missed the memo, it's the new normal here.
... Or that she needs to start putting "EAT" on her to-do list or she will forget.
... Or that the constant explosion of creative experiments from working with kids mean that her living space will never be completely clean as long as she works from home.
... Or just very simply, all things Westie.

So many mistakes made.
So many experiments tried, failed and remedied.
But you know what, I'm amongst family that gives grace to mistakes, failed experiments and... mess.

Madness? Yes. Complete madness.
Would I do it all over again? Yes. Oh, hell, yes.


Diane and I have been joking about all the folks in the shops I end up becoming "friends" with.

There's the ladies at the $2 shop who started mothering me and making sure I'm well-stocked up with household stuff (even to the extent of wanting to bring coffee containers from home for me even though they sell all these things in their shop), and have been wanting to set me up with their nephews.
And the lady down the baking aisle at Pak n Save that ALWAYS asks, "Hun, what are you looking for?" and will not leave me alone until I either find what I need and leave or ask for her help.
And the florist who wants to give me floral arranging lessons.
And the lady at the video store who gave me suggestions of how to create the right ambience to watch the Millennium Trilogy.

I've been puzzling over that and trying to figure out if I've been wearing a sign that says, "HEY I want you to talk to me and tell me your life story!"

And I'm realising a few things...
1) The XZBerlin experience has rubbed off on me more than I realised and has penetrated my subconscious. The whole thing about being the incarnational presence of Christ in the community had become ingrained in my theology that I didn't realise they were no longer separate ideas.
Which surprised me because suddenly it all made sense why I was staying connected to all these other stuff outside of my church gig.
Suddenly it made sense why I'm still keeping the relationships around the world as active as they are.
Suddenly it made sense why I still shop on the Peninsula even though I don't live there anymore.

Because that's what that incarnational presence means to me.
Being a part of that constant life-rhythm that flows organically.
Which made me realise that every contact I have with every living being is not coincidental. (That whole freewill vs God's plan conversation can be saved for a time when we can sit down for coffee, ok?)

And suddenly I understand that old evangelical thought of never missing an opportunity to spread the Gospel. It's a lot easier and makes a lot more sense when you pair it together with the Franciscan saying, "Preach the Gospel at all times. When necessary, use words."

2) Moving to a new place where your social circle mainly revolves around your job means you have to branch out wherever you can. And shopkeepers make good friends because they have the time to chat when you go in during off-peak hours (which is usually when I run my errands anyway given the flexibility of my work hours), and they function in a different world. Which is a refreshing change, having come from 7 years of living in a Christian bubble.

And suddenly I understand why all those relationships around the world mean what they do to me. We use experience to propel us forward. And friends I've known from before the Aotearoa chapter have introduced me to other friends who live here.

Tonight, I got to celebrate my 1 year anniversary in Aotearoa with two of them.

It had been a crazy day where my obsession over efficiency threatened to do me in. Something cropped up earlier in the day, which meant my original plans to be most efficient today had to be reorganised. Then I forgot my highly-organised grocery list. And then I dropped the iTouch that's been helping keep me organised in the parking lot at the grocery store and didn't realise it till way too much later. And because I'm discovering I have an efficiency obsession, I almost had a meltdown that my day hadn't been as highly-efficient as I would have liked it to be even though I did end up getting everything done. (It just wasn't done in the most efficient method, ok? I know, I know. I'm a J. Leave me alone.)

But it came around to dinner time and even though it was a 30 minute drive getting to Amber and Jess, by the time we sat down to dinner, I was really glad I made the drive. I had brought ginger beer and TimTams because it turns out it's also Jess' 1 year anniversary in Aotearoa. So it was dinner, good conversation about all things American (since we're all recent imports from the US), chick flick and chocolate, and dreaming up plans for the next time we hang out.

As I made the drive home tonight, I had to laugh because the highs and lows of this day in itself summed up all that this year has been. My mad, mad, obsessive-compulsiveness and perfectionism, trying so hard to look like I have it all together and it all falls apart--and ALL the grace and friendship in between. And then I realised I had about 10,000 reasons to celebrate.

This has been a year of abundance.
Abundance of tears and heartaches.
But even more so,
Abundance of sweet victories...
Lessons learnt...
Celebrations...
Laughter...
Food...
Grace...

And most importantly, friendship.
Because the friendship of Christ, the agape... It's why I'm here.

Happy 1 year Anniversary in Aotearoa
from the American gals

Here's to Year #2 in Aotearoa.
Here's to more madness.
I'm all in.

时间会冲淡一切 (Time Will Dilute All Things)

The Chinese saying goes, 时间会冲淡一切, or "time will dilute all things".

It's hard to believe so much time has passed and the tear glands still act up every time that episode gets brought up.

Today I realised I'm struggling to regain my ability to trust that relationships I've given myself to will come through for me.

                            They told me
once upon a time,
                                              if you
            give
                  yourself
               to relationships,
       there comes a time
                      when there's enough trust
            built
that you can depend on those
                                    relationships.

Then you tried to tell me they were wrong.
                               2.5 years wasn't enough...

时间会冲淡一切

I wasn't going to ask for any more favours
           I just wanted to
                    know
               if we could still be
friends.

It didn't hurt because you couldn't help.
or didn't want to, but... technicalities.

It hurt because you didn't want to talk.

时间会冲淡一切

I haven't stopped loving you
I can't stop loving you
You're still family even if my passport tries to tell you otherwise.
I still love you.
I wouldn't be here otherwise.

Today I sat and wept.
They said 时间会冲淡一切
I wish time would hurry up and dilute all this pain from that episode.

It was trivial.
Right?
So why this pain?

The on-lookers are saying that wasn't fair.
But life isn't fair
If it was, there would be a whole lot less suffering in the world.


All those years you've preached at me to not walk the journey alone.
Yet when it became time you said, "We'll walk with you while you're here but we can't do anything once you leave here."


I'm dare not ask for fairness.
But Lord help me, my trust issues from the dark ages threaten to return.

"I do not ask on behalf of these alone, but for those also who believe in You through our word; that we may all be one; even as You, Father, are in Jesus and He in You, that we also may be in You, so that the world may believe that You sent Him." - John 17:20-21


时间会冲淡一切
I hope one day we can look back with a smile and say, that wasn't pretty, but it was ok.

"That we may all be one..."

Thank you for the "other" voices from that episode, and the reminder that in spite of the crappy hand I've been dealt, I still had/have quality people in my life.

When Mr Bean Became Human

I don't watch much TV, but this much I know about TV shows: I hate shows like Mr Bean and America's Funniest Home Videos.

Why?

Because every time I watch Mr Bean about to do something that we ALL know is going to completely embarrass him, I cringe knowing that he's going to go ahead and do it anyway. Like the time he tries to beat the parking barrier at the parking lot by timing it just nicely to run over the blue van. Or when he runs into the women's changing room at the pool naked after he lost his shorts.

Maybe I have too much empathy, but I die a little bit inside every time I watch Mr Bean or the kid falling off his bike embarrass themselves.

The other day when I was at the store, I noticed this guy poised like he was ready to tee off, except 1) he didn't have a golf club in his hands, and 2) he was standing beside the box of bok choy. I try not to giggle as I'm walking by, just in time for him to turn around and notice me. I smiled and kept on walking as he apologised and tried to sheepishly explain that he was "just practising my strokes".

I struggled to keep the giggles contained as I rolled my eyes inside, thinking, "right, just showing off your strokes to the bok choy, ay?"

That very same moment, that Mr Bean moment hit me.

Mr Bean became human in the Indian guy practising his strokes at the veggie shop (a very good-looking and sheepish Indian guy too, if I might add).

He didn't owe me any kind of explanation about what he was doing, but because of that 2-second interaction, the Mr Bean that I could keep my distance from while he was on The Tube became human to me.

It made me think of the conversation I had with Emily just a few days prior to that exchange at the veggie shop. We were discussing the latest project she had commissioned me on--a written one this time--and I had reached a point where I didn't know how to proceed without compromising the code of ethics I had developed over time to protect the stories I had started collecting. As I tried to explain that it made me uncomfortable simply publicizing stories that I had been trusted with without permission, even if the owners of these stories may never find out, Emily interrupted my verbal-diarrhoea with the simple,

"Stop being sorry it makes perfect sense. They are not [just those people]... they became human beings... people... to you they have names a history hearts and you have to protect them"

In the moments as I loaded up the groceries in the van, still trying to stifle the giggles from "Mr Bean," I understood exactly what Emily meant.

Yes, I had empathy for Mr Bean, but I could easily turn the TV off. But the guy at the veggie shop and all the other characters of the stories I've been collecting--they became human beings. "They have names, a history, hearts, and you have to protect them." They're not just the funny-looking Englishman on The Tube, a statistic in the news, a case-study in the textbooks.

They became human, like the guy in the veggie shop practising his stroke.