Where did I come from? A city. A large city jam-packed with a diverse demographic, a myriad of foods, a large selection of attractions, a pride of not being so liberal, laid-backed, young-wild-and-free like the west coast but also not so busy-bodied, fast-paced, politically correct like the east coast. A place that was as flat as could be. You wouldn't be able to see a mountain even if you were at the highest elevation under the clouds because the closest one had to be at least 800 miles away. A place so architecturally incredible that people from all around the world would come for a glimpse, not of history, but of landscape and structural design. There is a large bean, where anyone of all shapes and sizes are welcomed to take mirrored reflection photographs, making the cheesiest, silliest expressions imagined. There is in place one of the tallest structures, scraping the sky since 1974; recently renamed, contrary to the common local's liking. This city is a place with fake beaches to outsiders coming from bigger cities; but hey, for us, that is as good as a beach gets. I come from a place with seasons. Long winters and decently long summers, but just a week of spring (showers) and a week of fall. I come from one of the most highly segregated cities in the U.S., not necessarily because of hostility -- though that most definitely exists -- but for the sake of solidarity and community. This is a beautiful urban jungle. Chicago. In addition, I resided in a humble, Chinese community, who minded their own business at all costs. Proper, stoic, harmonious, passive, and honor-oriented was the etiquette. No one cared about visual aesthetics. Money was highly valued; which was just a step down from the collective, familial priority that defined life itself. Food and cooking was our acquiesced pride and joy, though never boasted upon. Chinatown and Bridgeport. I come from a place that I call home; a place I am ready to return almost every day I am alive. Good thing the Lord has given me a sojourning spirit [and to that I'm indescribably grateful].
The Lord had written a story for me there, and he had continued to write a story for me in the western suburbs of Chicago. Culture-shock is what I would describe my initial experience. It was my first time entering into an environment completely new. Upon meeting anyone, I had no clue where they came from. Are my interests, their interests? Were the conversation topics going on at my home going to be transferred into these conversations? Would I fit in? Would I be included? I definitely looked differently from everyone here. White was most of what I saw; and it was indubitable that that was not my own colored-identity. A city-boy walking into a suburban majority campus. The only thing that we all really had in commonality was that we were all Christian, we all had a story to tell, and we all have yet to see the unwritten stories we would have there on the campus of Wheaton College. We were all starting anew. A blank slate. We were all open and ready to discover what was ahead. We would go on to create some of the most intimate friendships that we could ever imagine -- staying up because of 3am theological debates; dreaming with hefty visions that seemed far too remote to be realistic, but far closer than we had realized; talking about potential girls or guys we would ask on a date; and getting unacceptably unhealthy late-night snacks that our mind almost always said no to, but our body almost always said yes. Integrating into a majority white, Christian community was not as bad as I thought. The Lord made me culturally exposed, and in result, he made my world bigger and kept me living on the tip of my toes.
I live with a free spirit, being blown wherever the spirit might gently send me. The Lord is laying down his pen and further writing this story. From there, I moved to Budd Lake, New Jersey. Yet again, the Lord has brought me to the suburbs. The beautiful ever-changing leaves are upon me in the magical, wonderful, and breathtaking ubiquity of the woods here. The trees stand tall and enamor this place with a refreshing sense of solitude. I am away from the hustle and bustle of the densely packed streets. I am away from the cacophonous honks of the myriads of vehicles; the destination-set eyes of each person roaming the city-streets, not willing to stop for anything because of their cluttered schedules; the smell of coffee on almost every street corner; and the thousands of homeless persons fighting for the next meal only to be judged by the onlookers. 8 minutes to the closest grocery store. 20 minutes to the closest shopping center. Still have not found a coffeeshop. Buses do not exist. Hanging out means making an hour-long drive. There are more trees than there are people. Quiet. Even so, God has blessed me with church community which is the reason I have such an affection so dear to my heart for this place. People make places. And right now, I would not trade the world for where the Lord has guided me to in this present time.
When I arrived here, I had one unfortunate assumption. I thought I was ready because this kind of change was not unlike a change I had gone through before.
I am going into a place with a new community. Done that.
I am going to have a culture-shock because of the majority filipinos. Done that.
I am entering the suburbs. Done that.
I am entering into a new church community. Done that.
What could surprise me? Well. This place was a new community. But it was a new community of whom did not have unwritten stories. We did not share that commonality. I had an unwritten story here at Bible Church International, but many of the stories God has written in this community, have been going for pages and pages and pages. I was in a place where I had to integrate myself into a story already being written in that community. It wasn't like wheaton; a place with either unwritten stories, or stories only in the first or second chapter. This was my challenge. There were affinities between friends that I could not even comprehend. There were contentions between friends that were so deep in the hole that I could not speak into. There were memories shared between people that I had no business interfering with. There was so much history that I felt I was an outcast trying to fit in; and when I was included, it was like a favor an individual in the community would bestow upon me.
I've been sojourning for quite a bit of time, and I became so naive to think that I had gotten the whole formula mastered. It is not easy being a chameleon. Adjustment is not easy, because it isn't just about culture, and it isn't just about language, and it isn't just about present issues. Adjustment comes with it the entire drama; the entire narrative. It was not just because they were filipino or that they spoke tagalog or that they greeted each other with warmth and affection. It was that when they saw each other, they saw each other with the layers and layers of connotations. The dating histories. The histories of hurts and pains. The histories of forgiveness and redemption. The histories of bitterness and records of wrongs kept. The histories of mistakes and obduracy from the advice of another. The histories that make friendships what they have become, that make people into who they are, and that make communities into its intricate tapestry. Integrating is difficult; and being a chameleon can be gut-wrenching from moment to moment. And it really is not in my power to continue adjusting. I no longer feel so naive, or hopefully ever will, to think that I've mastered the formula of chameleonship.
I'm thankful that the Lord has included me into his divine narrative. I'm thankful that he has written for me my own narrative and have included me into the narrative of certain communities momentarily. And now, I am thankful to be included in the narrative of this place called Bible Church International, and this state called New Jersey. I am excited for his work, and I know that I can't force my way in aggressively if I am to affect change in this community, but I know that the Lord has a plan to gently include me into his craft of redemption in such a beautiful but broken place. Lord, teach me how to become a chameleon for Christ and his Church.
