Life is a Never-Ending Buffet

I hate buffets.

I've never enjoyed the idea of a place where you could eat endlessly because I always felt like it was an injustice to those who do not have that kind of choice on the other side of the globe. On top of that, individuals splurge in buffets; getting more than they could possibly finish and leaving what's left to waste because there just was not enough room in their stomachs to stuff the food down their throats. The rest is trash, when it didn't need to be. It is like spilling water in front of people who were dehydrated; their life before their eyes. And the consumerism that buffets reflect.... I feel like I can go on forever. But I had an interesting experience while I've been taking on adulthood here in my first full-time job. I began to feel like life was a never-ending buffet.

It was Thursday of this week. I was as busy as ever planning out my Sunday sermon, editing the youth club applications, making sure my intern was staying occupied with his responsibilities, and thinking about budgeting. Just, the whole gamut. It was lunchtime. Normally, we would eat lunch together as a staff. Someone would cook for all the staff members who were in the office, and we would sit down together for a break. We had a Filipino soup with rotisserie chicken and white rice. It was incredibly delicious and filling. I was particularly grateful this day because I began to realize how many times I have been fed without having to pay for my food. It was so abundant that I've lost count of the number. I knew, when I was young, that one could never feed oneself because one simply did not have the financial stability to do so. The caretaker -- in my case, my parents -- did the feeding. I was content with that, willingly accepting their gift of feeding me. Though, like any independent child would feel, I always eagerly anticipated the moment when I would be able to feed myself. I always believed that once I began earning a sufficient paycheck, I'd be my own caretaker. I would never be fed anymore by someone else.

And isn't that how we feel about our lives as Christians? As we are young, we soak everything up like a sponge, but as we grow older, we begin to be less open to advice, or to learning from another. We begin to see ourselves as the givers. As the one who imparts blessing, but rarely the one who receives it from another individual. We respond as if we have grown out of receiving blessings. We feed others, but have seen ourselves as growing out of being fed. We have been so consumed by this misconception that we don't even expect to be fed anymore. We've become hardened to words of encouragement, to words of exhortation, or even to inspiring stories told. We do the feeding.

But this experience sobered me. I will never stop being fed; and being fed freely.

We have this inherent rule of thumb as human beings. We love being our own masters. This is why independence feels so gratifying. Earning our own paycheck feels so gratifying. Cooking our own meal feels so gratifying. Doing our own laundry; having our own friends; paying for my own car. All of these things. We like to earn everything we have because we've grown cynical of the system of freeness. Independence is much more stable. Earning our possessions is much more stable. Paying for our own meals is much more stable.

Free food is not food we can receive.

Young or old, food will always be served at the table of Jesus Christ; and this will be given freely. And trust me, there is no other option. But the hard part follows. Will it be freely received?

We hide behind giving because our inability to receive makes us insecure. Nothing in this world is free. If we were to receive freely, it just means that a favor is to be owed.

What have we done to deserve free food? How have we earned it? Check this.

The oldest truth in the book. We don't deserve it. We have done nothing. And even if we were given the option to attempt at deserving the food, the result will remain. It is an impossibility. But free food is given yet still. And it will be given -- forever and ever; because the grace of God found in the man Jesus Christ was enough to purchase it for us. Now, through this overflowing grace, we can cut the crap. Stop pretending like you're too good for free food. Or stop allowing fear to overcome your ability to freely receive.

Jesus says come, receive.

Just like my host family says. "No rent. Come and receive."
And my titas and titos say. "No money. Come and eat."
Just as my newfound friends say. "No strings attached. Come and be loved."

They learned it from the Son of Man, Jesus; who says come, receive. This food will be given endlessly. Come. Recline at table. Eat.

And my decision? Lord, I'm going to cut the crap. I will choose to receive.

An Outsider's Greatest Gift

So I've finally arrived to New Jersey. But it was not an easy 13-hour drive.

I had driven drives either comparable or longer than 13 hours before -- 17 to Virginia Beach, VA,  14 to Deadwood, SD, 14 to Seattle, WA (from Yellowstone), and 22 from El Paso, TX to Chicago, IL -- but this one was much unlike the rest. Each one of these lengthy, wonderful yet boring, adventurous yet monotonous, worshipful yet exhausting times on the road have been secured with the reality that I will be going home soon. That when I arrive home, it will still be my home. I will find my repose in the comforts and familiarities of my fluffy pillows and my scented bed sheets, right out of the dryer. I will stroll, jog, or even saunter down the blocks of McGuane Park, or bike down the Magnificent Mile. When I was done with that, I'd walk to Bridgeport Coffeehouse to get an refreshing iced coffee or drive Uptown to get a delicate yet casual bowl of Pho from Tank Noodle. I knew where I could go to find safety. The nooks. The crannies. On this drive, I was faced with the reality that I did not know. I was faced with the fact that Chicago may not be my home for a very long time. There might be long stretches of time before I even had the chance to go back. Not only was I faced with this reality of a new home, I had 13 hours of facing reality.

As I began driving down 90/94 west, I got through the skyway and paid a toll. Driving through Indiana was just the beginning stages of unbelievable freakout. Having accepted my move, I did not think I would be going through the restlessness I did so soon. I remembered thinking, "I'd been to New Jersey before, but this is not a short trip we're talking about here. This is real life. I will be in New Jersey for some years." Then, I proceeded to think, "I know nothing about New Jersey" and "I know nothing about money."

And then I prayed, "Jesus, get me through this drive without having a heart attack. Amen."

Indiana. Ohio. Pennsylvania. There really was not much on the road to distract me from such sentimental thoughts, such natural emotions, and such anxiety because I would not consider my route particularly picturesque. And neither would you, if you were with me. I texted my brother halfway through the drive saying, "How's home?" Very insinuating of me. Just ask me the darn question. Or any question, so that I could tell you I miss home; so that I wouldn't have to wrestle with this reality alone on a 13-hour drive while Taylor Swift is singing about her latest break-up. Not helping.

"How's the drive?"

(YES.) "It's alright. Trying not to miss home too much." My brother offered his words of consolation and it cushioned me in such emotional and cognitive relief that I had enough stamina to make the rest of the drive. The cliche was that Pennsylvania poured throughout the entire 5-hours from one end to the other. So you're feeling me too, huh Pennsylvania? Okay, okay, okay, so what's with the title of this post.

The outsider's greatest gift is not comforts and familiarities. The insider's gift is such a thing; yet I'd challenge all to consider also that it may be the insider's greatest vice. The outsider's greatest gift is an incarnational hospitality.

There was no doubt in my mind that entering my new home would be both a joyful and sorrowful experience. I would still be deep in the process of grieving the departure from my home amongst all of the sub-inquiries that I had in my mind. But the unforseen surprise for me was this: the rain stopped pouring. The rain stopped pouring in New Jersey.

I walked into my pastor's home, whose place I would be staying at for who knows how long, and I was greeted with great joy, eager expectation, and a confirming desire for relational investment. This family offered to me not only a bed to sleep on, but a basement to live in. They offered not only a space for physical rest, but a more of a sanctuary, where I could find spiritual rest. They even acquired for me a brand new desk and television; which is more than I need. The church greeted me with the same kind of hospitality the next day while I put my office together with the greatest amount of feng-shui I was artistically capable of. Lastly, I was touched by the group of post-grad men serving in Bible Church International; as they loved me and welcomed me with their hospitality. As if that was not enough, they burned with fervent spirits and powerful vision for the youth group. I was deeply encouraged. There were aspects that reminded me of home, and others that reminded me of my travels, and yet others still that I was completely unfamiliar. Yet the rain stopped in my heart, and the grieving was done. I'm here; continuing in my pilgrimage as I always had been. I pray the Lord keeps me steadfast.

New Jersey, my love for you is increasing day by day. And so is my burden.

And I love it.

Chicago: I Express My Deepest Gratitude

This is titled as an extremely sentimental post because I am an extremely sentimental person.

I am at an end in my time in Chicago, IL and greater Chicagoland area. I've lived here since I was 4 years old, and this city has influenced me in some incredibly praiseworthy ways. I have been surrounded by some incredibly unique people who have had the courage enough to speak truth into a child so lost as I in my days as an unbeliever of Christ. Now I wave goodbye to the city that made me because of my call to the youth ministry at Bible Church International in Randolph, NJ. Before this leave, I'm going to put together a summary of my reflections of my time here -- though largely insufficient it may be. My, what an adventure it has been.

The prominent diversity of Chicago raised me. I was a Chinese kid growing up in a neighborhood thriving in Irish, Italian, and Polish roots; in a school where I knew I was the minority. Lost in the crowd, I followed a status quo of sports, profanity, and crude humor. I knew I was cultured, but did not realized what that entailed besides my differences in appearance. Chicago has been a place where I learned of the beauty and depravity of diversity. It has been a time where I've been able to realize that same beauty and depravity mirrored in myself. I later enrolled into one of the most diverse high schools in the Chicagoland area. The many faces I saw, the many ascents I heard, and the many forms of cultural expressions I saw made my world too big and myself too small to an uncomfortable extent. I shrunk in the face of confrontation with this vastness. I did not want my horizons to be broadened. I wanted to stick to what I was familiar with and so I never involved myself with diversity or culture or race. I didn't understand and didn't care to try to.

When there are differences for one to compare and contrast, one is able to understand themselves a little bit more.

But I evaded those differences and so I did not understand myself. I stuck within my distinct group of Chinese American Christians, and so that became my only reality. Narrow-minded was I; and my own weakness kept me from changing. Maybe what I'm really writing are confessions.

To keep this part shorter than it can go, the grace of God penetrated my self-centered heart. The grace of God called me to recognizing the cultural, racial, and psychological differences within myself. The grace of God called me to confront differences both external and internal. The grace of God informed me of my role within the vastness of human diversity. The grace of God opened my eyes to what the diversity of Chicago offered me. Chicago added to my ability to sympathize and broadened my vision of both beauty -- in the massive cathedrals erected, the endless amounts of cultural foods being offered, the prodigious cultural artists with their magnificent art pieces, and the sundry, sonorous ascents heard -- and the depravity -- the irrevocable desire to be separated, the insuppressible prejudice felt against those unlike oneself, and the natural emotions of insecurity and threat felt when those unlike oneself is in one's territory. These and more are what I've learned. Human tendencies in face of diversity is far more complex than I can grasp, but it has given me a sense of compassion and -- dare I say -- humility towards those who are battling the depravity we find in diversity.

The endless amount of adventure in Chicago made me restless. As I have already mentioned, the city of Chicago is incredibly diverse. It is no wonder that the countless cultural and religious peoples within Chicago desires to make their mark. Each boasts of their own presence. I can travel to a gilded Chinese restaurant for Dim Sum in the morning, to a fuming Italian restaurant for a dipped Italian Beef for lunch, and then a musically jovial Mexican restaurant for dinner; all within my neighborhood. That is just to say that the food possibilities are endless. When it comes to Catholic Cathedrals and Buddhist Temples; also disseminated across the city. When it comes to architecture; sure some are just scraping average joes; while others are remarkable creative structures that are beyond your imagination. Skyscrapers are the mountains of the urban Midwest. We need them. Because something fabricated deep within the human being naturally moves us to look upward. We are captivated by it. It was as if we were made for it. And if I was to keep going; the list extends to the nightlife, the improv, the many views of the city, the lakeshore, among other things.

The sobering fact is that this diversity is only a reflection of the cultures consisted in our world. This makes my world bigger, and myself smaller. My God greater, and me less.

It makes me want to travel.

Chicago is not the biggest city in our country, nor is it the most diverse. It may not even be the most fun or have the best beaches. This last part of Chicago has kept me humble. It has kept me loyal. It has kept me authentic. Now don't get me wrong, I'm sure other places keep people more humble, more loyal, and more authentic; so I'm not trying to say this is a distinguishing thing for Chicago itself. It is a bit more subjective. As a big city, we don't really have the superficial things to boast about because we are not number one, so we may become tempted to say, why stay in Chicago? Why not move up in the world to the Big Apple or LA? My answer may be simple and unsatisfactory. It is simply because this is my city. I grew up here. I watched it change from Sears Tower to Will... Sears Tower. I've watched neighborhoods change and I've watched people change. It may not be the best city boasting number 1 in anything in particular, but it is a place I love and will probably always call home. I will never be sick of this place.

Lastly, this place has made me Christian, which is probably the reason I've said any of the things prior to this last point of reflection. It has led me to the love of God, the grace of my Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. And to Chicago, and everyone in it, I say a warm and affectionate thank you.

Until I return!