I decided to relocate my blog. I'm not very good with creating a design for a blog to appease my audiences senses; maybe I just don't have enough patience for design. I most definitely don't have the skillset. Maybe what it is, is that I don't have enough patience to achieve the skillset. Either way, I'm relocating to tumblr just because I've enjoyed the various background layouts it has offered me.
And maybe it just seems appropriate because it is most certainly a new season of life.
If you'd like to continue to follow my blog, here is the link:
www.ahumblemusing.tumblr.com
Blessings!
Monday, May 5, 2014
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
how my father sort of had one thing right
I think I'm about to go off on a "my father" series for the next two blog posts. It might happen. So be prepared. And be excited; because my father is certainly a respectable man.
The world will speak practical wisdom, saying that you won't know how to spend money until you learn how to make money. Of course. Because how could you know the weight of money without knowing how cumbersome and toiling a process money-making requires? Those dollar bills, at some point in my childhood, literally demanded from my father his blood, sweat, and tears. And if I knew that, which I did not back in my younger years, I would have reconsidered when buying my pokemon booster packs with those glistening holographic cards week after week. I would have thought about my investments. I would have been wiser. Practically speaking, you're outtake has everything to do with your intake. So I knew that I would know how to spend money once I understood every drop of blood, sweat, and tear that came with making money. The opposite of what my father said.
Growing up, he didn't have much. And for those who were able to put poverty into perspective; they always grew up as the best kinds of people. In Guangzhou, China was where he was raised. In one broad sweep, the word that can define most people living in China, especially during the 20th century until the very primordial ages is confucian. One could think of many things when this word comes to mind. It can mean, simply, the person, with the story, with its history. It can mean traditional Chinese robes. It can mean fu-manchus. [And yes, I had to look that up for spelling accuracy.]
It can start moving from the outward to the inward -- appropriately so -- and mean philosophical. Or it can mean virtue. It can mean family. It can mean spiritual. It certainly has been tampered with to mean religious, even though the only religiosity of confucianism is the belief in the god of disbelief or the god of human hands. It reminds me of a resounding exchange between the man, Elijah, with king Ahaziah. The man whose name means Yahweh is God says, Is it because there is no God in Israel that you are going to inquire of Baal-zebub, the god of Ekron? Is it because the God of life could not save that you are going to the god of death, for life? But anyways, this message is for another time.
Basically put, he can be described as confucian. And this is why he is so respectable among many. Devout, confucian men, whether or not they know they are, are respectable. They are men of integrity. They are consistent. They have follow-through. The eyes of men do not dictate the values they uphold. The approval of men is not higher than the belief within. And that is more than I can say even about some Christians who I know.
My father, like any chinese man, head of the household, raised in poverty; was a stubborn man. He even is an ox within the chinese zodiac. Which speaks volumes.
Growing up, my dad guided his children with the same kind of stubbornness. And who could blame him? He was raised knowing how to cook, clean, and take care not only of himself but of his entire family as early as 11 or 12 years of age. He went out to find work before some late-bloomers even hit puberty. He knew the life of #strugglebus times a million compared to most people I know. He came out successful. He was a businessman to some and salesperson to others by the age of 20. Others may even consider him an innovative entrepreneur. One thing he did not get right was that money was the keys to the kingdom. And, to some extent, that would have been right; if kingdoms were to end on this earth. Some might argue whether power be that key or money. Others would say money would lead to power. But I would say scrap the entire conversation because Jesus already had it. My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world. In fact, even clearer, he says, but take heart; I have overcome the world. So money and power? If we knew Jesus -- you and I -- we're above that.
The one thing he did get right though was this. As I was stressing over college finances my last year of college; as I was working at the local chipotle in the west suburbs of Illinois, trying to come up with the rent money month after month; as I was thinking about a trip to the east coast to visit seminaries and friends; he said something that made absolutely no sense to me at the time. See, my father knew how to make money and decided to love his children by spoiling them with material provisions. His love language was "acts of service" but sometimes I thought it also to be "gifts." He made a proposition that had been all too familiar to me. He wanted to buy me a new car. I could enumerate a myriad of reasons why I was against purchasing a new car, but basically, my response was a no. I remember asking him how much he actually made per year because I never believed that he told me the truth when I've asked him before. And because he also, like I am, believed that every moment can be a teaching moment; he popped the phrase. I quickly brushed it off as foolishness. And it wasn't until just last week that it was yet again impressed into my mind.
Son. A person will not know how to make money unless that same person would know how to spend money.
Practically speaking, that is the most foolish thing I've ever heard. And yet why did I not remember that Jesus was a practical fool when standing before those who laid their foundations for earthly kingdoms? A practical fool, but an eternal sage.
Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. (Galatians 6:7)
The world will speak practical wisdom, saying that you won't know how to spend money until you learn how to make money. Of course. Because how could you know the weight of money without knowing how cumbersome and toiling a process money-making requires? Those dollar bills, at some point in my childhood, literally demanded from my father his blood, sweat, and tears. And if I knew that, which I did not back in my younger years, I would have reconsidered when buying my pokemon booster packs with those glistening holographic cards week after week. I would have thought about my investments. I would have been wiser. Practically speaking, you're outtake has everything to do with your intake. So I knew that I would know how to spend money once I understood every drop of blood, sweat, and tear that came with making money. The opposite of what my father said.
But when I began to read the scriptures, and as I began to tithe, Jesus opened my eyes. I will reap what I sow. I will only gain as far as my giving allows me. I will only receive as much as what I've let go has paved the road for. The practice of opening our hands is one that needs also to be unlocked with the keys of the kingdom. When we open up our hands, we are so often ready to receive without being prepared to give. And isn't it so much like our american consumerism to just consume? Isn't it so much like our church attitude to think about receiving at least a certain amount before actually beginning to give even an inkling back? Where do we think the prosperity gospel came from? The heart of the prosperity gospel was our misunderstanding of the practice of opening our hands.
I cannot receive unless my hands become unclenched; but once they are unclenched, what I am saying is, God, you cannot fill my hands with your spiritual riches unless you take from my hands, the riches with which I have first filled it. And so the lyric should actually not be, you give and take away. Because the taking away comes first. And the receiving will never come until the taking comes first. The gift will never come until the giving comes first. The blessing of good preaching and an all-embracing community is vain unless we offer up our hands and knees for the fulfillment of the great commission. Because it was never intended to be done in that order.
Although, the lyric rephrased to you take away and give me your blessings after is not your ideal lyric. Oh well.
So with those reflections in mind, let our prayer be this Lord. You have given us all things, Lord. We do not want to rob you. As if you did not know we were withholding our investments, ha. Thank you for being gracious to us. You said: "and thereby put me to the test, says the Lord of hosts, if I will not open the windows of heaven for you and pour down for you a blessing until there is no more need."
Let the floodgates pour God.
Friday, February 21, 2014
phileo adelphos
A name is powerful. I mean, it is the foundation; the genesis of a certain thing, a person, a nation; whatever. I've always loved names, and as I grow, I gain a capacity to soak in everything names have to offer. I remember my college days. Those moments when I got acquainted to this person and that. Names filled significant volumes of my impressions of the other. Did they say first their nicknames? what people from back home referred to them as? what they wanted for me to call them? was there a deference? was there an indifference? The question I'd always end up asking is: what is your first name or your full name? Oh..? Meredith, is it? do you know what that means? oh, and what does it mean to you; aside from the lexiconic breakdown? A lot can be known or perceived from a name. A lot can be learned. A lot can be left out. A lot can be left to mystery and discovery. A name is most certainly a sensation. And also, multiple sensations. I love names.
So I cruised through a string of mysteries last year. I met many wonderful acquaintances. With these acquaintances came with unprecedented sensations. One of these acquaintances left me with wonder and such a profound pensivity. I was intrigued, but not the kind that left me barren or petulant. This acquaintance left me satisfied, hopeful, and with both deep courage and sentimental affections. He invited me into a campus of bright scholars, and entertained my intellectual side. He gave me a picture of doing theology in an admirably traditional campus of prayerfully devoted disciples. He entertained my passion for personalities. But often times, my acquaintances were disproportionate [or maybe unbalanced] in showing me the characteristics, both good and bad, of their personalities. And isn't it right that the more wretched parts of our personalities are left to the periphery of our conversations, but the picturesque is boasted and placed in the forefront. It wasn't this way.
The runned-down buildings, the narrow streets, the nakedness of embellishments and decorations, true colors rather than bright paint freshly off the palette, houses not insufficient but also not copious, both ramshackled and built to last, naturally made speed-bumps that was never-ending, a conglomeration of rich and poor, not one was marginal and not one was central, with restaurants galore, and people of all shapes, sizes, colors. He was raw, brought down to flesh; he was human. He was not ignorant of issues. He impressed me as confrontational and it felt as if his priorities were well-organized. His complexion was fair.
Phileo was his first name. Adelphos was his last.
And I'm so glad that New Jersey is where I'm at. Visiting this acquaintance has become convenient. And I cannot forget my sentiments of when I first went. It has been stained in my mind. And it truly has been so inspirational that I have visited with others. I do believe firmly that we all have something to learn from him, and certainly something to discover. I went to him with brothers whom I love. He fed us to the full and left us wanting more. I've scratched the surface of him and he is still a mystery; and maybe as I continue to excavate into the depths, he will not be as admirable as he once use to be. But that is for another day.
Today, I'm reminded how pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity. (Psalm 133:1)
So I cruised through a string of mysteries last year. I met many wonderful acquaintances. With these acquaintances came with unprecedented sensations. One of these acquaintances left me with wonder and such a profound pensivity. I was intrigued, but not the kind that left me barren or petulant. This acquaintance left me satisfied, hopeful, and with both deep courage and sentimental affections. He invited me into a campus of bright scholars, and entertained my intellectual side. He gave me a picture of doing theology in an admirably traditional campus of prayerfully devoted disciples. He entertained my passion for personalities. But often times, my acquaintances were disproportionate [or maybe unbalanced] in showing me the characteristics, both good and bad, of their personalities. And isn't it right that the more wretched parts of our personalities are left to the periphery of our conversations, but the picturesque is boasted and placed in the forefront. It wasn't this way.
The runned-down buildings, the narrow streets, the nakedness of embellishments and decorations, true colors rather than bright paint freshly off the palette, houses not insufficient but also not copious, both ramshackled and built to last, naturally made speed-bumps that was never-ending, a conglomeration of rich and poor, not one was marginal and not one was central, with restaurants galore, and people of all shapes, sizes, colors. He was raw, brought down to flesh; he was human. He was not ignorant of issues. He impressed me as confrontational and it felt as if his priorities were well-organized. His complexion was fair.
Phileo was his first name. Adelphos was his last.
And I'm so glad that New Jersey is where I'm at. Visiting this acquaintance has become convenient. And I cannot forget my sentiments of when I first went. It has been stained in my mind. And it truly has been so inspirational that I have visited with others. I do believe firmly that we all have something to learn from him, and certainly something to discover. I went to him with brothers whom I love. He fed us to the full and left us wanting more. I've scratched the surface of him and he is still a mystery; and maybe as I continue to excavate into the depths, he will not be as admirable as he once use to be. But that is for another day.Today, I'm reminded how pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity. (Psalm 133:1)
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Reflections from the Pulpit [with a headnote]
Blogging is one of the most refreshing technological mediums for people boggled with thoughts on their mind. We receive so much information on a daily basis and often times opportunities do not present itself for that information to be processed. Ideas we have might bore some of our peers, so we talk about other topics of lesser depth when we gather. We are in a hyper-social and hyper-connected culture -- so much so that time alone is best protected rather than compromised. I'm thankful for blogging. But blogging is made public rather than private in order that ideas being processed might make its way to the minds of those reading; hopefully that it would make some kind of contribution, not just to the reader, but to society.
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With that said, I believe that preaching is also dreaming. Looking at the world as it is and dreaming as a collective of what it can be and what it will be. I've been thinking of an image for this idea for some time now and God literally poured the idea on me from the heights of the heavens. I was taking a stroll yesterday while the snow was coming down in the neighborhoods of Bayonne, NJ and the tree branches were clothed with snow. It was one of the most remarkable pieces of nature I've ever been given the privilege of seeing. This is one of the advantages we get living anywhere in the East Coast or Midwest of the United States [& apparently the south too]. The intricacy of each flake. The formation of the flakes into one unparalleled tapestry of coats and coats of pure white. The sheets of white, though cold, is also refreshing. And when it covers the land of its deep filth, we begin to taste a bit of the glory of eternity. The prayer of David resounds in my mind. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. It is like heaven touching the face of the earth.
I also take pictures. And although I'm not a professional photographer, and never really intend to be, I do aim to create images of meaning; images that inspire thoughts, emotions, passions; images that inspire other images that may be even more powerful than my own, and really, I do hope that it would go on saying something, whether implicit or explicit, about the gospel that I have so unequivocally been changed by.
I have been thinking lately of how best to integrate these two things so that I would be able to paint a fuller image with my writing, and that I wouldn't only take pleasurable images on instagram, but meaningful ones. So I've decided to always include my posts with an image and vice versa. Sometimes, the idea inspires the post, and other times, the image inspires the idea. I hope you, who are reading, would not only be encouraged by these thoughts, but that you'd be inspired -- inspired to live. I guess it's kind of a daunting task.
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Since being at Bible Church International, I have been preaching very consistently. Every Friday night I would preach to the youth. 3-4 times a year, I'd preach on Sunday. 2-3 times a year I'd preach at the monthly prayer meeting. And then, there is guest preaching. The Lord has truly challenged my life through the practice of preaching. Before, when I was simply given opportunities to preach, it was in the forefront of my mind that each time I preach, I am undeniably learning more than I actually teach. The prayer I go through, the studies I peruse, the stories I am given the grace to reminisce, and the anecdotes that I google. Sometimes, I even get to use comic strips and other creative inlets to capture the power and presence of the gospel narrative. Now, I believe and have experienced more palpably that this practice goes beyond the growth of the mind. It is a growth of the entire being. I cannot stand on the pulpit and preach a truth that I myself do not actively practice. God sanctifies me in the practice of preaching. It is a holistic growth of every part of me. My emotions, my thoughts; my life.
I was having a conversation with my head pastor, who also is my discipler, and he told me that when he lives his life, there is little room for mistakes because he knows that the flock is watching. He said it not denying that grace covers over a multitude of sins, but he did know that when he makes a blunder, a domino effect would result. That made me reflect about my preaching because my inquiry following was whether or not my thoughts translate to praxis. When I confront sins on the pulpit of our whoring after gods created by our own hands or having fallen into the beguiling promise of full life that the American dream has to offer, do I do that same thing? Am I all talk? Does personal integrity percolate from these messages? When I speak on humility, am I prideful? When I speak on grace, am I condemning? When I speak on love, am I spiteful, bitter, and selfish? The Lord challenges me. And he leads me to my knees before the cross each time before I preach; not asking me to list to him the many ways that I've failed, but beckoning me to his all-embracing love that produces that very repentance. This leads me to my next point.
Preaching does not make me a perfect Christian. Many of you might be thinking, "well, then there is a lot I can't be preaching because I am a sinner always in need of grace." You're right. In fact, if we could only preach on things we've succeeded on, we actually cannot preach on anything. The Apostle Paul's words in Romans, taken from a collection of Psalms, no one is righteous, no not one, no one understands, no one seeks God, comes to mind. We are not preaching a condition we have to strive for, we are preaching a condition we are already in; and we are pleading for realization -- inward and outward realization while we are positioned in the condition of holiness. As I preach, I am also confessing. Confessing that I'm in a place where, though I have thoughts, am also being sanctified. I am making the attempt to be better. It is an invitation to realize what the Lord Jesus has for us in its fullness.
With that said, I believe that preaching is also dreaming. Looking at the world as it is and dreaming as a collective of what it can be and what it will be. I've been thinking of an image for this idea for some time now and God literally poured the idea on me from the heights of the heavens. I was taking a stroll yesterday while the snow was coming down in the neighborhoods of Bayonne, NJ and the tree branches were clothed with snow. It was one of the most remarkable pieces of nature I've ever been given the privilege of seeing. This is one of the advantages we get living anywhere in the East Coast or Midwest of the United States [& apparently the south too]. The intricacy of each flake. The formation of the flakes into one unparalleled tapestry of coats and coats of pure white. The sheets of white, though cold, is also refreshing. And when it covers the land of its deep filth, we begin to taste a bit of the glory of eternity. The prayer of David resounds in my mind. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. It is like heaven touching the face of the earth.
In preaching, as we invite others to realize with us the reality of being whiter than snow [and with the woods as a backdrop, I guess] we are saying that we don't have to look at our inadequacies, our inabilities, our depressions, our insecurities, our mediocrities, our offenses, the darkest of our darknesses, the most unaccepted of our unaccepted sins, and our most unreconciliable relationships, and wallow in them. We can dream of a reality that has been promised and needs to be realized in our mind, heart, and body. In fact, I believe that we should be dreaming of such a reality. When I preach, I am dreaming a very conscious and realistic dream. I dream of a holy nation and royal priesthood before the Spirit of God who says blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy of this book.
Friday, December 27, 2013
These Are My Confessions
And he bowed to his knees, confessing the sins and faults that had been committed to his knowledge. He was young -- just in middle school. Solemnly, he asked the Lord Jesus to enter into his life. Slowly, and gradually, the Lord Jesus began to invade and change his self-centered, ignorant, and naivety spirit, to a foundation of both grace and truth. Slowly, the savior began to immerse him into experiences that cried out, unless you know poverty, you do not know riches; until you are humbled, you cannot be exalted.
He was sitting in the office of his pastor, confessing his lack of knowledge. His pastor exhorted him towards tactful speech. His pastor commended him for his spirit of truth, not having mentioned that it might also be a spirit of self-righteousness. His pastor said that you cannot always combat sin with direct confrontations and rash, impulsive reprimands, but instead, gentle, emotionally sensitive implications that can smoothly convict hearts to change. He came to an epiphany moment, so familiar to him as it had been in the past. He confessed his inability of tactfulness, and began to realize his arrogance. He confessed that too. and in confession, he was humbled.
He was eating breakfast with a couple visionaries, prepared to change campus ministry at the blink of an eye. He was told that his imagination was driving him towards the edge of a cliff, setting himself up for momentous disapointments. He was confronted with the truth that his vision of ministry was bigger than his vision of God. He was led to solitude, confessing his self-enthronement. He confessed that he had bought in to the vision of human autonomy to such an extent that he had not let go of the blessing given to him. God was taking it away and he was holding on to the mere idea of it. He confessed and was once again brought to poverty.
He now had his own office. As this generation would so sufficiently describe; he started from the bottom [and] now he's here. He was sitting in a coffeeshop just nearby, sipping on lukewarm coffee, thinking about the work he had done thus far within a completely unfamiliar church context. And here, confessions continue to flow like mighty streams. He's been operating so quickly and so administratively that he forgot sensitivity. He had forgotten the ministry of Jesus Christ -- how he had not just coerced his followers to come, but he gave them an option; how he had not rushed his ministry in the time that he had, but he waited. He confessed his impatience with the slow workings of ministry and his lack of understanding with the mysteries of humanity and cultural influences. Without an effort to know his flock to the depth and intimacy, how could he lead them. And the Lord continues to repeat to me, unless you know poverty, you'll never know riches; unless you know humility, you'll never know exaltation; and unless you know repentance, you'll never know redemption.
I was reminded by a brother in Christ I recently met that the Filipino people embody a culture that is very delicate -- delicate, not in a fragile sense, but in the sense of uniqueness -- there really is nothing like it. And studies have only begun to touch on the historical explanations of how Filipinos have become the hybrids that they are. I have been reflecting about my ministry lately and have realized that I have been at fault in a number of ways. Although I have not overlooked the need for relationship, I have overlooked the need for intimacy -- which is the first. I have been overly administrative, and underwhelmingly pastoral -- which is the second. I have been physically incarnational, but emotionally remote -- which is the third. I have been culturally Chinese while forgetting that I minister to Filipinos -- which is the fourth. And lastly, though oblivious to such, I have been downright impatient; having an aversion to slowness, and a propensity for hurry. And with great sorrow, but also great rejoicing, I confess my inadequacies and move forward, realizing the need for change in the midst of the very different surroundings I've been placed in. I pray that the Lord continues to reveal to me how it is this change needs to manifest. I pray for a learning spirit.
I'm thankful, first, that the Lord confronted me with my need to pray. Second, for the insight that he has so graciously imparted to me through this newfound brother in Christ. Third, for the place he has currently placed me. Fourth, for my every individual in my church that the Lord Jesus has grown in me a deep love for. And fifth, that he has not stopped reorienting me to himself by helping me know his luxuries by the power of my own poverty. I confess all of the failings of my humanity, and look forward to the riches.
He was sitting in the office of his pastor, confessing his lack of knowledge. His pastor exhorted him towards tactful speech. His pastor commended him for his spirit of truth, not having mentioned that it might also be a spirit of self-righteousness. His pastor said that you cannot always combat sin with direct confrontations and rash, impulsive reprimands, but instead, gentle, emotionally sensitive implications that can smoothly convict hearts to change. He came to an epiphany moment, so familiar to him as it had been in the past. He confessed his inability of tactfulness, and began to realize his arrogance. He confessed that too. and in confession, he was humbled.
He was eating breakfast with a couple visionaries, prepared to change campus ministry at the blink of an eye. He was told that his imagination was driving him towards the edge of a cliff, setting himself up for momentous disapointments. He was confronted with the truth that his vision of ministry was bigger than his vision of God. He was led to solitude, confessing his self-enthronement. He confessed that he had bought in to the vision of human autonomy to such an extent that he had not let go of the blessing given to him. God was taking it away and he was holding on to the mere idea of it. He confessed and was once again brought to poverty.
He now had his own office. As this generation would so sufficiently describe; he started from the bottom [and] now he's here. He was sitting in a coffeeshop just nearby, sipping on lukewarm coffee, thinking about the work he had done thus far within a completely unfamiliar church context. And here, confessions continue to flow like mighty streams. He's been operating so quickly and so administratively that he forgot sensitivity. He had forgotten the ministry of Jesus Christ -- how he had not just coerced his followers to come, but he gave them an option; how he had not rushed his ministry in the time that he had, but he waited. He confessed his impatience with the slow workings of ministry and his lack of understanding with the mysteries of humanity and cultural influences. Without an effort to know his flock to the depth and intimacy, how could he lead them. And the Lord continues to repeat to me, unless you know poverty, you'll never know riches; unless you know humility, you'll never know exaltation; and unless you know repentance, you'll never know redemption.
I was reminded by a brother in Christ I recently met that the Filipino people embody a culture that is very delicate -- delicate, not in a fragile sense, but in the sense of uniqueness -- there really is nothing like it. And studies have only begun to touch on the historical explanations of how Filipinos have become the hybrids that they are. I have been reflecting about my ministry lately and have realized that I have been at fault in a number of ways. Although I have not overlooked the need for relationship, I have overlooked the need for intimacy -- which is the first. I have been overly administrative, and underwhelmingly pastoral -- which is the second. I have been physically incarnational, but emotionally remote -- which is the third. I have been culturally Chinese while forgetting that I minister to Filipinos -- which is the fourth. And lastly, though oblivious to such, I have been downright impatient; having an aversion to slowness, and a propensity for hurry. And with great sorrow, but also great rejoicing, I confess my inadequacies and move forward, realizing the need for change in the midst of the very different surroundings I've been placed in. I pray that the Lord continues to reveal to me how it is this change needs to manifest. I pray for a learning spirit.
I'm thankful, first, that the Lord confronted me with my need to pray. Second, for the insight that he has so graciously imparted to me through this newfound brother in Christ. Third, for the place he has currently placed me. Fourth, for my every individual in my church that the Lord Jesus has grown in me a deep love for. And fifth, that he has not stopped reorienting me to himself by helping me know his luxuries by the power of my own poverty. I confess all of the failings of my humanity, and look forward to the riches.
Monday, December 9, 2013
Lighthouse of Faith
The road was rugged and narrow. The storm that blew through these woodlands had uprooted trees, destroyed the fertile soil, and washed out the animals. Mud puddles were scattered across like miniature swamps filled with horrid omens. Silence filled the atmosphere as the occasional rustling of leaves were heard from the mild drafts of wind blowing to and fro. The trees, if still erect, were characterized with branches barely hanging from its source of life. The moisture of the morning dew clung on to the blades of sedges stemming up from all across the woodlands. This was a nightmare for any who would be hiking the roads, no matter what time of day it was. The skies were not completely dismal. It was shaded with lighter patches of grey from the thick layers of billowing cotton fluffs floating one on top of another. It was one of those days when the sun seemed to be fighting a barricade of great fortitude, endeavoring to arise victorious; and each moment it seemed to prevail, it was as if Moses let down his staff out of exhaustion and the barricades became overbearing. The light could not break through.
Sauntering through these ominous woodlands were two friends -- Fred and Nebi -- sent to deliver a message to relatives in a neighboring town. You see, there was a party; a big celebration being thrown for Nebi's big brother who had just won the bat bludgeon match against a contestant twice the size of himself. And in these days, when celebrations were had, no blood-related individual would be left out, near or far. The ale would be brought out in countless jugs, and the sundry meats would amount to so much that it was nearly endless. The two friends would have to travel through this rugged and narrow road to make it to the next town, and they were not so certain how long of a distance they would have to travel. The moms and pops said it would only be a day's journey, but for two young ones, inexperienced on the open road, and prone to inevitably wander at the sight of almost any intriguing object pleasing to the eyes, a one-day journey could mean months of displacement. So here they were, on this single, most lonesome road anyone could be sauntering through -- but this they did with one another, which made the road seem a little less rugged and a tad bit wider than the normal person. They had packed food for at least 5 days, knowing that they were young and ate double portions of what their elders would have eaten. Wise on the inventory were these two, and this wisdom received directly from their parents. Now Fred was one of Nebi's closest and most loyal companions. And the two would eventually grow even closer through this journey together.
"Fred?" Nebi spoke, breaking the silence. "Do you think that the weather will be like this the entire time? I knew it wasn't a good idea stomping through these woods right after that treacherous storm."
"Nebi, just look at that blot of light yellow, right in the sky. Yes, yes, just right there." Fred spoke, while pointing frantically at the source of the faint light trying to break through. "That sun is fighting a battle. And its hosts are obviously the underdogs; just look at how many cottons of clouds are floating in the sky! But, the persistence of any underdog will be honored with favor. I'm sure that the light would break through, one way or another eventually, and you need not worry."
"I've never been out here before, and I am no expert of the climate, but if you say so, then I trust you," Nebi muttered reluctantly.
"Trust. That is all we really need. It might not predict the future, but it always lends a bit of perspective. Now onward we go Nebi! Just follow my lead!" Fred exclaimed.
It was nearing the afternoon, with no man, woman, boy, or girl in sight. Weary travellers, they were becoming, as their saunters became more sluggish and as their heads stooped lower. Tall trees, scraping the sky was all that was in sight; with nearly naked branches with a small remnant of green leaves left.
____________________________________________________________
There was adventure out here in the woodlands that neither Fred nor Nebi had ever had the privilege to discover. Treading through the mushy soil under their feet along long, winding paths of the seemingly endless wind tunnels with still no sign of penetration from the furtive illumination above. The truth is, even though Nebi could not see, Fred could not help but notice the beauty all around. The moss on the still, immovable rocks was a grand masterpiece unlike any artist could ever create. The fresh sap on the rigid exterior of the tree bark was stickier than any maple syrup the village had ever collected. The small creatures were creeping and crawling all along the surfaces of dead trees; in and out of the wet dirt, and in all sorts of places that were out of sight. The ferns were still outstretched as they are, even after a violent storm, drooping and hanging from the weight of each drop of water, yet beautifully crafted in the form of an outstanding blossom of lush green. For Fred, this place produced a vitality so great and unfelt when measured to the village, that it made him only long to linger a little more. For Nebi, it was a different story. The mushy soil felt as uncomfortable as stepping into the dirty horse manure in the barnhouse at home. The endless wind tunnels made him feel unstable, insecure, and lost in his tracks as if he'd never find home again. On top of that, the sun felt like it was surrendering in a hard-fought battle. After all, Fred did say that it was the underdog so its penetration through the clouds would most likely be slim. The moss on the rocks was as detestable as mold on overdue bread, and the sap on the wood was only useful for destroying one's clothing when one would aimlessly, clumsily bump into it. Creepy, crawly creatures were frightening for Nebi; because he never knew when they would appear out of nowhere to instill trepidation. The ferns may have been the only neutral piece of nature that Nebi had not been irked by but yet it was still of no redeeming quality. This journey was no privilege for Nebi. Not one bit.
Now Fred only wanted to experience more, and so he took twists and turns on the woodland path as he guided the way to the next village. He had heard childhood stories of adventures in the woods, and none of them excluded the warmth and delight of a woodland bonfire. And since it was about time to eat anyways, Fred suggested to stop at late noon to satisfy their stomach's desire.
"Nebi, while you prepare the food, I will make a bonfire. We can share stories over a warm cup of tea to restore our strength for the long journey. It appears that we have a longer way to travel than a simple day's journey as we had anticipated."
"We can't build a fire! There is no dry wood! Everything is wet! And we would be fools to stop here in the middle of the woods just waiting for it to get dark! It is as gloomy enough as it is. We've been taking twists and turns and we have not a clue as to what direction we are even headed! We have not a cabin or a house in sight to ask for stay. And here you are thinking of a bonfire! We will have our food and go. That is that."
"Nebi, you have got to calm your anxieties. These woodlands are the wonder and inspiring awe of God. The light will penetrate one way or another, we must have hope. In the meantime, the cool of the day is upon us, and a bonfire may be exactly what we need to compose ourselves even if it may require a bit of delay. Now, it may be a bit of a task with the wood we have, but I did us the honor of packing some dry wood for such a time as this."
"Okay, okay." Nebi replied ambivalently.
So Fred began starting the fire and the tiny flames were slowly stoked until it evolved into a blazing, hot fire. Although Nebi had been reluctant to agree, he felt that that was exactly what he needed. His anxieties were calmed, he did not set his heart on the delay of time, but rather, he enjoyed the presence of his companion over a lowly and mediocre but hot meal. Truth be told, that was one of the best meals that they had eaten because of the rough journey on which they had embarked. And surely, they told stories upon stories until they felt like time had been slipping away. They once again began their trudge along that narrow and rugged path; yet more beautiful it seemed this time for Nebi.
The gloom had never seemed to fade as Nebi had so pessimistically predicted. They continued along during the early evening, and it certainly never became brighter from there. The pale sky grew into a dark grey, and eventually, the joy of the warm fire and the wonder of the beautiful nature had also slipped away from not only Nebi, but Fred as well.
_________________________________________________________________
The dusk just snuck up on the two companions venturing through the woodlands. In fact, they barely noticed the change in the color of the sky because darkness had seemed to overtake the skies for most of that day's journey. It was not as if they watched the sun slowly drop from the highest of heights to the edge of the horizon; such a situation would have allowed them to calculate their time wisely and accordingly. Darkness had overtaken them. Fred was wise enough to conserve some of the dry wood to light a torch for the evening's journey forward. The flame's light glimmered with hope, shining just enough for the two to see the path before them. If any wild animal was to attack these travellers after such an encumbering trek, they would most certainly surrender and be eaten alive. They were throwing up their deepest, most earnest prayers that their fate would be of much greater fortune than being the feast of a ferocious beast.
Though they did not notice, they were slowly headed towards the direction of the coast. They had in mind that this chill they had felt was simply the after-effects of a violent storm, but it was in fact that coming from the ocean waters. But they were too busy blaming one another for the situation they had currently found themselves to notice such a fact. Their legs were beginning to give out on them, and their stomachs again began to growl. They had thought to pause for a dinner break, but they neither had the patience to trim down any more of their time nor the courage to eat in the spooky darkness of the woodlands at nightfall. They were out of options. The extra food was weighing on their backs and only served to reduce the strength in their bodies. Onward, they pointed fingers, ignoring the multiplicity of issues at hand.
"We are lost! Forget the village, we are in the middle of nowhere. We will be lucky if we ever return home alive! Why did you have to take so many twists and turns when we were on the road? I knew we should have just stayed straight on the path. But you HAD to take a turn to the right here and take a turn to the left there. You wanted to bushwhack through here and there. And look where we ended up! Dirty, wet, covered in mud dried into scabs all across our legs. Look what you have done!" Nebi cried.
"If it wasn't for your negativity, we probably wouldn't be in such a situation. Why couldn't you have helped in directing? If you did just that, we would probably have been further towards the village by now. Instead, you were dragging your feet like a child, pouting without end while I had both the task of navigation and baby-sitting. How could you be pointing fingers?" Fred replied.
"You were the one who volunteered to guide, and I was so generous as to allow it! I have every bit of regret now giving the reins of navigation to such a wanderer as you, Fred. I should have been more wise than to freely follow rather than question your directions." Nebi paused and took a deep sigh. "I guess it really is to no benefit to continue such a pointless dispute." Nebi concluded.
"What do you consider we do instead?" Fred rhetorically replied, out of courtesy.
"I suppose..." Nebi began to speak.
A bright light shone directly towards their sight and completely stole their attention; it was the first sign of radiance they had sensed throughout the entire journey. It began to turn away quickly after catching their attention, and as the two began to listen, they heard the soft sound of waves, crashing along the shore. Again, the light shined directly at Fred and Nebi. They looked forward for the direction from which this light shone. Then, they looked back at one another. They were of one mind, and they knew the other's desires like it was their own. They both, then, proceeded to walk speedily ahead, forgetting about their weariness, to follow the direction of the light. With the torch of flame at hand, lighting the path, they chased after what would be their greatest fortune of the journey. What they did not realize was that this would be extraordinarily greater than what they had imagined it to be -- good was yet to come.
__________________________________________________________________
When light breaks through in the darkness, one naturally gravitates toward the light. Darkness can dominate only when light does not shine, but when light illuminates, darkness has no power to overcome it. And those within the darkness cannot help but move towards this great incandescence -- some inch towards, others walk, some might even run or relentlessly chase -- but all who despise darkness will eventually discover it. This light was never made to be difficult to find insofar as one is willing to walk with dim to no vision, guided by a torch, through the rugged and narrow road, filled with sticks, mud, creepy, crawly creatures, and the occasional beast lurking behind the skeletal trees. Fred and Nebi had experienced this very sensation of radiance. It was like a fresh dose of medicine, curing them from their disease of exhaustion, anger, frustration, despondency, foolishness, and unkindness. In the light, they knew there would be hope. Behind that light had to be one who had controlled it. Light never shines aimlessly, but always with direction. Light came from a source. Even though they were once in such a lost and desperate place; a place where they could no longer trust one another; they threw those hindrances aside and put their faith in the light that had struck the notes of every positive chord within their veins. They continued their trudge, not giving up on the final hope they had left, with the last ounce of energy they could muster.
Louder became the sounds of the ocean waves, and clearer they were able to see the radiance of light. It was a struggle for them in the beginning to recognize this light because their eyes had been so adjusted to the darkness that they could not recognize anything more than the glimmer of their torch's flame. Darkness had that kind of affect on one's senses; but this light was not like any light they had seen before. This light was the finest and brightest of lights so much so that even their imagination could not contrive a light more pristine. They knew that they had been getting closer. As they exerted their eyes, they began to recognize where this light was coming from.
"A lighthouse!" Nebi exclaimed. "I have never seen such a monumental structure before, but wow, it is marvelous! Maybe there are people there who could help us find our way to your brother's village, Fred."
"That was exactly what I was wondering. When all hope seemed to be lost, we were sent a gift from above. We lighted our path with just a torch in hand, and we were able only to see each step we took, but we were given the grace of a bright radiant light, not to make clear to us our entire rugged path, but to show us our destination. Even if they would not have the answers for us, I am certainly grateful, Nebi. There at the lighthouse, we can hopefully spend the night, and arise in the morning with restored strength for the day."
"And with that, a bright hope!" Nebi shouted.
"A bright hope, indeed." Fred said, with deep consolation.
The light continued to shine towards them, and shine away, encircling the entire atmosphere around it to the far distances of the ocean. It seemed that all were in need of this light, not only the weary travellers on these deserted paths. They found the edge of the shore and began to scale the edge of it until the lighthouse was so close that it appeared a giant before a couple of tiny ants. They spotted an enormous log cabin built just next door of this lighthouse, and it seemed to be enlightened by candlelight. Spotted along the peninsula on which the lighthouse had been established was a sign post. Fred and Nebi approached closer and closer to this sign post to make out the words carved out on this post. It read: Lighthouse of Faith. Fred and Nebi could not have felt a greater elation and joy than in that moment.
An old man walked out the door of the lighthouse to greet the weary travellers. He was tall and bearded. He looked as if he had lived 100 years of life, and was ready to live the rest of it out in this lighthouse. Every inch of hair had already fallen off of his head, and his beard was as white as snow. Of course, they didn't notice that until he came forth in the light of the oil lamp he was holding. He was skinny and scrawny, but you couldn't tell unless looking at his face because he had worn layers and layers of clothing, almost unnecessarily. He wore age-old boots, sturdier than any shoes the two had seen before; ebony-brown in color. He had a raspy but soothing voice, yet such a formidable presence. Fred and Nebi did not know what to think exactly as they were being approached by this gentlemen. They were a bit frightened, but yet knew they had nothing of which to be afraid. It may have been his size or his age that intimidated the two; for his presence was warm, and inviting.
"You two look like lost and lonely travellers. Maybe you'd like to come into my cabin for a bowl of stew and some hot dinner leftover from tonight? My wife is one fine cook!" The old man said. "Oh, and I forgot! My name is Josh. You boys can just call me Grandpa J. That's what all the young folks call me these days. What are your names?"
"This is Nebi, and I'm Fred. We have been journeying all day and have wandered so deep into the woods that we've lost our way." Fred said. "We were headed to the next village over to extend an invitation to my relatives to a celebration we'll be having back home. Would you be able to point us the right direction?" Fred inquired.
"I know exactly where that is! It is just half a day's journey north. For young lads such as yourself, it may even be less. Come be refreshed with some food. We have a good number of extra beds for travellers such as yourself. Come, come, come." Grandpa J. said with great delight. "And trust me, we host weary travellers more often than you think. Those woods and that ocean does not often seem to favor those who attempt to make the journey across."
And so Fred and Nebi agreed to rest one night and to continue their long journey onward the following day. They spent the night laughing at all of their adventures, sharing stories with Grandpa J., while Grandpa J. had his own compendium of stories upon stories to tell Fred and Nebi. The Lighthouse of Faith was built to guide the souls of the lost and the hopeless, and it had done that for at least 3 decades now. Grandpa J. had the vision in mind, and though his cabin was not always filled, the souls that did populate the cabin were blessed both by the light that came from the lighthouse, and the warmth of Grandpa J. and his wife's incredible hospitality. They ended the night staring at a sky that was cleared of clouds, and replaced with the millions and billions of shining stars that painted the canvas above their gleaming eyes. Nebi had already fallen fast asleep, and Fred was still mesmerized by the wonder of the sky. Before he shut his eyes, he saw a sparkle of light, in the distance of the ocean shore.
Light may not have broken through the billowing clouds of the day, but it certainly broke through eventually in a way beyond their imaginations. All they needed was a little bit of faith.
Sauntering through these ominous woodlands were two friends -- Fred and Nebi -- sent to deliver a message to relatives in a neighboring town. You see, there was a party; a big celebration being thrown for Nebi's big brother who had just won the bat bludgeon match against a contestant twice the size of himself. And in these days, when celebrations were had, no blood-related individual would be left out, near or far. The ale would be brought out in countless jugs, and the sundry meats would amount to so much that it was nearly endless. The two friends would have to travel through this rugged and narrow road to make it to the next town, and they were not so certain how long of a distance they would have to travel. The moms and pops said it would only be a day's journey, but for two young ones, inexperienced on the open road, and prone to inevitably wander at the sight of almost any intriguing object pleasing to the eyes, a one-day journey could mean months of displacement. So here they were, on this single, most lonesome road anyone could be sauntering through -- but this they did with one another, which made the road seem a little less rugged and a tad bit wider than the normal person. They had packed food for at least 5 days, knowing that they were young and ate double portions of what their elders would have eaten. Wise on the inventory were these two, and this wisdom received directly from their parents. Now Fred was one of Nebi's closest and most loyal companions. And the two would eventually grow even closer through this journey together.
"Fred?" Nebi spoke, breaking the silence. "Do you think that the weather will be like this the entire time? I knew it wasn't a good idea stomping through these woods right after that treacherous storm."
"Nebi, just look at that blot of light yellow, right in the sky. Yes, yes, just right there." Fred spoke, while pointing frantically at the source of the faint light trying to break through. "That sun is fighting a battle. And its hosts are obviously the underdogs; just look at how many cottons of clouds are floating in the sky! But, the persistence of any underdog will be honored with favor. I'm sure that the light would break through, one way or another eventually, and you need not worry."
"I've never been out here before, and I am no expert of the climate, but if you say so, then I trust you," Nebi muttered reluctantly.
"Trust. That is all we really need. It might not predict the future, but it always lends a bit of perspective. Now onward we go Nebi! Just follow my lead!" Fred exclaimed.
It was nearing the afternoon, with no man, woman, boy, or girl in sight. Weary travellers, they were becoming, as their saunters became more sluggish and as their heads stooped lower. Tall trees, scraping the sky was all that was in sight; with nearly naked branches with a small remnant of green leaves left.
____________________________________________________________
There was adventure out here in the woodlands that neither Fred nor Nebi had ever had the privilege to discover. Treading through the mushy soil under their feet along long, winding paths of the seemingly endless wind tunnels with still no sign of penetration from the furtive illumination above. The truth is, even though Nebi could not see, Fred could not help but notice the beauty all around. The moss on the still, immovable rocks was a grand masterpiece unlike any artist could ever create. The fresh sap on the rigid exterior of the tree bark was stickier than any maple syrup the village had ever collected. The small creatures were creeping and crawling all along the surfaces of dead trees; in and out of the wet dirt, and in all sorts of places that were out of sight. The ferns were still outstretched as they are, even after a violent storm, drooping and hanging from the weight of each drop of water, yet beautifully crafted in the form of an outstanding blossom of lush green. For Fred, this place produced a vitality so great and unfelt when measured to the village, that it made him only long to linger a little more. For Nebi, it was a different story. The mushy soil felt as uncomfortable as stepping into the dirty horse manure in the barnhouse at home. The endless wind tunnels made him feel unstable, insecure, and lost in his tracks as if he'd never find home again. On top of that, the sun felt like it was surrendering in a hard-fought battle. After all, Fred did say that it was the underdog so its penetration through the clouds would most likely be slim. The moss on the rocks was as detestable as mold on overdue bread, and the sap on the wood was only useful for destroying one's clothing when one would aimlessly, clumsily bump into it. Creepy, crawly creatures were frightening for Nebi; because he never knew when they would appear out of nowhere to instill trepidation. The ferns may have been the only neutral piece of nature that Nebi had not been irked by but yet it was still of no redeeming quality. This journey was no privilege for Nebi. Not one bit.
Now Fred only wanted to experience more, and so he took twists and turns on the woodland path as he guided the way to the next village. He had heard childhood stories of adventures in the woods, and none of them excluded the warmth and delight of a woodland bonfire. And since it was about time to eat anyways, Fred suggested to stop at late noon to satisfy their stomach's desire.
"Nebi, while you prepare the food, I will make a bonfire. We can share stories over a warm cup of tea to restore our strength for the long journey. It appears that we have a longer way to travel than a simple day's journey as we had anticipated."
"We can't build a fire! There is no dry wood! Everything is wet! And we would be fools to stop here in the middle of the woods just waiting for it to get dark! It is as gloomy enough as it is. We've been taking twists and turns and we have not a clue as to what direction we are even headed! We have not a cabin or a house in sight to ask for stay. And here you are thinking of a bonfire! We will have our food and go. That is that."
"Nebi, you have got to calm your anxieties. These woodlands are the wonder and inspiring awe of God. The light will penetrate one way or another, we must have hope. In the meantime, the cool of the day is upon us, and a bonfire may be exactly what we need to compose ourselves even if it may require a bit of delay. Now, it may be a bit of a task with the wood we have, but I did us the honor of packing some dry wood for such a time as this."
"Okay, okay." Nebi replied ambivalently.
So Fred began starting the fire and the tiny flames were slowly stoked until it evolved into a blazing, hot fire. Although Nebi had been reluctant to agree, he felt that that was exactly what he needed. His anxieties were calmed, he did not set his heart on the delay of time, but rather, he enjoyed the presence of his companion over a lowly and mediocre but hot meal. Truth be told, that was one of the best meals that they had eaten because of the rough journey on which they had embarked. And surely, they told stories upon stories until they felt like time had been slipping away. They once again began their trudge along that narrow and rugged path; yet more beautiful it seemed this time for Nebi.
The gloom had never seemed to fade as Nebi had so pessimistically predicted. They continued along during the early evening, and it certainly never became brighter from there. The pale sky grew into a dark grey, and eventually, the joy of the warm fire and the wonder of the beautiful nature had also slipped away from not only Nebi, but Fred as well.
_________________________________________________________________
The dusk just snuck up on the two companions venturing through the woodlands. In fact, they barely noticed the change in the color of the sky because darkness had seemed to overtake the skies for most of that day's journey. It was not as if they watched the sun slowly drop from the highest of heights to the edge of the horizon; such a situation would have allowed them to calculate their time wisely and accordingly. Darkness had overtaken them. Fred was wise enough to conserve some of the dry wood to light a torch for the evening's journey forward. The flame's light glimmered with hope, shining just enough for the two to see the path before them. If any wild animal was to attack these travellers after such an encumbering trek, they would most certainly surrender and be eaten alive. They were throwing up their deepest, most earnest prayers that their fate would be of much greater fortune than being the feast of a ferocious beast.
Though they did not notice, they were slowly headed towards the direction of the coast. They had in mind that this chill they had felt was simply the after-effects of a violent storm, but it was in fact that coming from the ocean waters. But they were too busy blaming one another for the situation they had currently found themselves to notice such a fact. Their legs were beginning to give out on them, and their stomachs again began to growl. They had thought to pause for a dinner break, but they neither had the patience to trim down any more of their time nor the courage to eat in the spooky darkness of the woodlands at nightfall. They were out of options. The extra food was weighing on their backs and only served to reduce the strength in their bodies. Onward, they pointed fingers, ignoring the multiplicity of issues at hand.
"We are lost! Forget the village, we are in the middle of nowhere. We will be lucky if we ever return home alive! Why did you have to take so many twists and turns when we were on the road? I knew we should have just stayed straight on the path. But you HAD to take a turn to the right here and take a turn to the left there. You wanted to bushwhack through here and there. And look where we ended up! Dirty, wet, covered in mud dried into scabs all across our legs. Look what you have done!" Nebi cried.
"If it wasn't for your negativity, we probably wouldn't be in such a situation. Why couldn't you have helped in directing? If you did just that, we would probably have been further towards the village by now. Instead, you were dragging your feet like a child, pouting without end while I had both the task of navigation and baby-sitting. How could you be pointing fingers?" Fred replied.
"You were the one who volunteered to guide, and I was so generous as to allow it! I have every bit of regret now giving the reins of navigation to such a wanderer as you, Fred. I should have been more wise than to freely follow rather than question your directions." Nebi paused and took a deep sigh. "I guess it really is to no benefit to continue such a pointless dispute." Nebi concluded.
"What do you consider we do instead?" Fred rhetorically replied, out of courtesy.
"I suppose..." Nebi began to speak.
A bright light shone directly towards their sight and completely stole their attention; it was the first sign of radiance they had sensed throughout the entire journey. It began to turn away quickly after catching their attention, and as the two began to listen, they heard the soft sound of waves, crashing along the shore. Again, the light shined directly at Fred and Nebi. They looked forward for the direction from which this light shone. Then, they looked back at one another. They were of one mind, and they knew the other's desires like it was their own. They both, then, proceeded to walk speedily ahead, forgetting about their weariness, to follow the direction of the light. With the torch of flame at hand, lighting the path, they chased after what would be their greatest fortune of the journey. What they did not realize was that this would be extraordinarily greater than what they had imagined it to be -- good was yet to come.
__________________________________________________________________
When light breaks through in the darkness, one naturally gravitates toward the light. Darkness can dominate only when light does not shine, but when light illuminates, darkness has no power to overcome it. And those within the darkness cannot help but move towards this great incandescence -- some inch towards, others walk, some might even run or relentlessly chase -- but all who despise darkness will eventually discover it. This light was never made to be difficult to find insofar as one is willing to walk with dim to no vision, guided by a torch, through the rugged and narrow road, filled with sticks, mud, creepy, crawly creatures, and the occasional beast lurking behind the skeletal trees. Fred and Nebi had experienced this very sensation of radiance. It was like a fresh dose of medicine, curing them from their disease of exhaustion, anger, frustration, despondency, foolishness, and unkindness. In the light, they knew there would be hope. Behind that light had to be one who had controlled it. Light never shines aimlessly, but always with direction. Light came from a source. Even though they were once in such a lost and desperate place; a place where they could no longer trust one another; they threw those hindrances aside and put their faith in the light that had struck the notes of every positive chord within their veins. They continued their trudge, not giving up on the final hope they had left, with the last ounce of energy they could muster.
Louder became the sounds of the ocean waves, and clearer they were able to see the radiance of light. It was a struggle for them in the beginning to recognize this light because their eyes had been so adjusted to the darkness that they could not recognize anything more than the glimmer of their torch's flame. Darkness had that kind of affect on one's senses; but this light was not like any light they had seen before. This light was the finest and brightest of lights so much so that even their imagination could not contrive a light more pristine. They knew that they had been getting closer. As they exerted their eyes, they began to recognize where this light was coming from.
"A lighthouse!" Nebi exclaimed. "I have never seen such a monumental structure before, but wow, it is marvelous! Maybe there are people there who could help us find our way to your brother's village, Fred."
"That was exactly what I was wondering. When all hope seemed to be lost, we were sent a gift from above. We lighted our path with just a torch in hand, and we were able only to see each step we took, but we were given the grace of a bright radiant light, not to make clear to us our entire rugged path, but to show us our destination. Even if they would not have the answers for us, I am certainly grateful, Nebi. There at the lighthouse, we can hopefully spend the night, and arise in the morning with restored strength for the day."
"And with that, a bright hope!" Nebi shouted.
"A bright hope, indeed." Fred said, with deep consolation.
The light continued to shine towards them, and shine away, encircling the entire atmosphere around it to the far distances of the ocean. It seemed that all were in need of this light, not only the weary travellers on these deserted paths. They found the edge of the shore and began to scale the edge of it until the lighthouse was so close that it appeared a giant before a couple of tiny ants. They spotted an enormous log cabin built just next door of this lighthouse, and it seemed to be enlightened by candlelight. Spotted along the peninsula on which the lighthouse had been established was a sign post. Fred and Nebi approached closer and closer to this sign post to make out the words carved out on this post. It read: Lighthouse of Faith. Fred and Nebi could not have felt a greater elation and joy than in that moment.
An old man walked out the door of the lighthouse to greet the weary travellers. He was tall and bearded. He looked as if he had lived 100 years of life, and was ready to live the rest of it out in this lighthouse. Every inch of hair had already fallen off of his head, and his beard was as white as snow. Of course, they didn't notice that until he came forth in the light of the oil lamp he was holding. He was skinny and scrawny, but you couldn't tell unless looking at his face because he had worn layers and layers of clothing, almost unnecessarily. He wore age-old boots, sturdier than any shoes the two had seen before; ebony-brown in color. He had a raspy but soothing voice, yet such a formidable presence. Fred and Nebi did not know what to think exactly as they were being approached by this gentlemen. They were a bit frightened, but yet knew they had nothing of which to be afraid. It may have been his size or his age that intimidated the two; for his presence was warm, and inviting.
"You two look like lost and lonely travellers. Maybe you'd like to come into my cabin for a bowl of stew and some hot dinner leftover from tonight? My wife is one fine cook!" The old man said. "Oh, and I forgot! My name is Josh. You boys can just call me Grandpa J. That's what all the young folks call me these days. What are your names?"
"This is Nebi, and I'm Fred. We have been journeying all day and have wandered so deep into the woods that we've lost our way." Fred said. "We were headed to the next village over to extend an invitation to my relatives to a celebration we'll be having back home. Would you be able to point us the right direction?" Fred inquired.
"I know exactly where that is! It is just half a day's journey north. For young lads such as yourself, it may even be less. Come be refreshed with some food. We have a good number of extra beds for travellers such as yourself. Come, come, come." Grandpa J. said with great delight. "And trust me, we host weary travellers more often than you think. Those woods and that ocean does not often seem to favor those who attempt to make the journey across."
And so Fred and Nebi agreed to rest one night and to continue their long journey onward the following day. They spent the night laughing at all of their adventures, sharing stories with Grandpa J., while Grandpa J. had his own compendium of stories upon stories to tell Fred and Nebi. The Lighthouse of Faith was built to guide the souls of the lost and the hopeless, and it had done that for at least 3 decades now. Grandpa J. had the vision in mind, and though his cabin was not always filled, the souls that did populate the cabin were blessed both by the light that came from the lighthouse, and the warmth of Grandpa J. and his wife's incredible hospitality. They ended the night staring at a sky that was cleared of clouds, and replaced with the millions and billions of shining stars that painted the canvas above their gleaming eyes. Nebi had already fallen fast asleep, and Fred was still mesmerized by the wonder of the sky. Before he shut his eyes, he saw a sparkle of light, in the distance of the ocean shore.
Light may not have broken through the billowing clouds of the day, but it certainly broke through eventually in a way beyond their imaginations. All they needed was a little bit of faith.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
When I Heard An Incredible Story of Giving
I'm so thankful for Thanksgiving Break. This is simply because it gives me a reason to fly home, gather around the table with my lovely family, and indulge in Chinese food to make up for all the lost time I haven't had it in New Jersey. I have finally returned home.
It has been 2 and a half months since becoming a youth pastor, and boy, has time flewn. It was just yesterday I met this filipino community, getting acquainted through the college group, the first youth night, and we cannot forget the first Sunday morning when they presented that awkward, expanded picture they took from facebook to be shown on powerpoint. Now, they've come closer and closer to being family to me. As I've been reflecting on how the Lord has transformed my heart as I've been in this filipino community -- besides daily growing more in love with his Word and experiencing the struggles of ministry -- the word firstfruits have raced into the forefront of my mind.
Let me tell you a story that I was told; a story that we, as a church was told on a Sunday morning.
A young couple was sharing a testimony one Sunday on why they give. They were both born in the Philippines, and they had met at my church, Bible Church International. They eventually got married and lived on a very low budget. Month by month, they were getting by, constantly trusting that the Lord would provide. The husband's income would not be able to pay off the house they owned, nor the car they drove; it took both of them. They knew their expenses were tight. They were living from paycheck to paycheck. Even so, they continued to tithe, knowing that giving to God was their call. They knew that even before building their own houses, that building the house of God was their priority. They could trust in the sovereignty of God in the midst of their finances and they desired to continue in their faithful response of worship to God by giving what they had. One day, the wife saw person after person getting laid off, and eventually she did as well. They had begun to give themselves to despair. How would they pay their rent? How could they pay off their car? It was impossible. The day drew near to pay their rent, and they knew that they would not be able to gather enough scraps to give the full payment. They would be living on the streets! In the midst of this struggle, they believed in the power of God. When the offering plate came by, they handed in the little that they had, praying for the Lord's provision. That day, with many brothers and sisters lifting up their prayer requests to the Lord, two generous individuals within the church gave them money enough to cover their rent cost and more. Their obedience to God gave them a taste of the early church community; where no one had any lack. This is as accurate a story as I can remember.
As I've received paycheck after paycheck, it hasn't been a struggle to tithe enough, but it has been a struggle to tithe even when it is inconvenient. Certain weeks, I'd remind myself of my low budget, promising myself that I'd tithe after the next paycheck. Many Sundays, I'd forget to tithe, promising myself that I'd tithe the week after. The truth is, week by week, tithing is not always convenient; and I also believe that tithing wasn't always meant to be convenient. The imageries within the scriptures automatically come to mind of the Corinthian church. Paul exhorted them for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. And also, the story of the widow's offering in Luke 21, when she threw into the pot everything she had, which came down to two copper coins. The Lord sees this kind of faithfulness. These are hearts -- between the filipino couple, to the Corinthian church, to the poverty-stricken widow -- of profound faithfulness that shouts at the gates of hell, "The Lord is greater than my circumstances! The Lord will triumph over my cumbersome situations! The Lord reigns!" They recognized just how much our God, who sits on the throne, deserves everything we have. We don't just give when we offer our possessions and resources to God, we give back. We have nothing to give to God that was not first given to us.
I believe that this is why we're called to the practice of firstfruits. We are to offer no room for excuses or circumstances to overtake us. The moment we are given our paycheck, before spending any of it, we give to God in the building of his church. Before we do anything with our time during the day, we give him the first of our time by the practice of prayer and the the reading of the scriptures. God wants the first of our time, the first of our money, the first of our everything. This is the practice of firstfruits. Our God reigns and is deserving of everything we can give back to him. Do we believe this?
I do.
It has been 2 and a half months since becoming a youth pastor, and boy, has time flewn. It was just yesterday I met this filipino community, getting acquainted through the college group, the first youth night, and we cannot forget the first Sunday morning when they presented that awkward, expanded picture they took from facebook to be shown on powerpoint. Now, they've come closer and closer to being family to me. As I've been reflecting on how the Lord has transformed my heart as I've been in this filipino community -- besides daily growing more in love with his Word and experiencing the struggles of ministry -- the word firstfruits have raced into the forefront of my mind.
Let me tell you a story that I was told; a story that we, as a church was told on a Sunday morning.
A young couple was sharing a testimony one Sunday on why they give. They were both born in the Philippines, and they had met at my church, Bible Church International. They eventually got married and lived on a very low budget. Month by month, they were getting by, constantly trusting that the Lord would provide. The husband's income would not be able to pay off the house they owned, nor the car they drove; it took both of them. They knew their expenses were tight. They were living from paycheck to paycheck. Even so, they continued to tithe, knowing that giving to God was their call. They knew that even before building their own houses, that building the house of God was their priority. They could trust in the sovereignty of God in the midst of their finances and they desired to continue in their faithful response of worship to God by giving what they had. One day, the wife saw person after person getting laid off, and eventually she did as well. They had begun to give themselves to despair. How would they pay their rent? How could they pay off their car? It was impossible. The day drew near to pay their rent, and they knew that they would not be able to gather enough scraps to give the full payment. They would be living on the streets! In the midst of this struggle, they believed in the power of God. When the offering plate came by, they handed in the little that they had, praying for the Lord's provision. That day, with many brothers and sisters lifting up their prayer requests to the Lord, two generous individuals within the church gave them money enough to cover their rent cost and more. Their obedience to God gave them a taste of the early church community; where no one had any lack. This is as accurate a story as I can remember.
As I've received paycheck after paycheck, it hasn't been a struggle to tithe enough, but it has been a struggle to tithe even when it is inconvenient. Certain weeks, I'd remind myself of my low budget, promising myself that I'd tithe after the next paycheck. Many Sundays, I'd forget to tithe, promising myself that I'd tithe the week after. The truth is, week by week, tithing is not always convenient; and I also believe that tithing wasn't always meant to be convenient. The imageries within the scriptures automatically come to mind of the Corinthian church. Paul exhorted them for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. And also, the story of the widow's offering in Luke 21, when she threw into the pot everything she had, which came down to two copper coins. The Lord sees this kind of faithfulness. These are hearts -- between the filipino couple, to the Corinthian church, to the poverty-stricken widow -- of profound faithfulness that shouts at the gates of hell, "The Lord is greater than my circumstances! The Lord will triumph over my cumbersome situations! The Lord reigns!" They recognized just how much our God, who sits on the throne, deserves everything we have. We don't just give when we offer our possessions and resources to God, we give back. We have nothing to give to God that was not first given to us.
I believe that this is why we're called to the practice of firstfruits. We are to offer no room for excuses or circumstances to overtake us. The moment we are given our paycheck, before spending any of it, we give to God in the building of his church. Before we do anything with our time during the day, we give him the first of our time by the practice of prayer and the the reading of the scriptures. God wants the first of our time, the first of our money, the first of our everything. This is the practice of firstfruits. Our God reigns and is deserving of everything we can give back to him. Do we believe this?
I do.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
If I Teach Nothing Else
I haven't had a lot of time to write as of late. It has been about 3 weeks since I had last written and 2 weeks since I've been meaning to write. 2 weeks ago, I went on a leaders retreat with my youth leaders, and it was probably the highlight of highlights so far during my time here. Sure, I've made some good, dependable friends, I've eaten some unique, mouth-watering, cultural foods, and I've even learned a great deal of lessons from both having a full time job and living on my own, but none have been more satisfying than watching my leaders as they gradually learn to pray.
My title at this church is the "Youth and College Pastor" and my responsibility is specifically to care for the 6th grade-college seniors as a whole. In addition, sometimes I get the opportunity to speak into some of the young adults at our church because I lead a bible study, established by the pastor who was before me, Jeremiah Lepasana. This bible study is called Table and consists of college students and young adults to the age of 30 -- though we're not putting a limit on that, it just seems that most people in the church are married by then and join some of the married-couple groups. Youth and college is structured around the friday youth club we hold, Manna. Most of the college students at our church serve as counselors in Manna, and the kids who come ranging from 6th grade to high school interact with these counselors more than they interact with me. It is structured in this way because community in this younger age is built through common interests and similar struggles. Above all, the role models that these teenagers would more naturally incline to would be those who are cool instead of a youngen who is transitioning into an old-y like me -- at least in their eyes. They look up to the college students, who are close to them in age, but much further along than they in spiritual maturity. Personal maturity? Well, we can talk about that another time. So, basically what I'm trying to say is, at Manna youth club, the college students run the show. My main priority is to pour into the college students what I can in teaching and discipleship and also, to pour into the kids what I can in teaching, while the college students pour into the students in discipleship. Thus far, it has been an effective system that is also basic. In no way do I feel like an expert, but I am constantly learning and prayerfully reflecting.
So that leads to 2 weeks ago. We cancelled friday night youth to leave on a weekend retreat from friday to sunday in Pocono, which is right across the border from New Jersey, in Pennsylvania. We were excited, probably all for different reasons. They were excited because coming out of high school, who doesn't want a retreat where they don't have to do all the work but only get poured into? I was excited because of all that I had written out on blueprint. The Lord had a plan to build unity, equip ministers, and inspire vision. The Lord had a plan to transform us. I told the leaders that this was a retreat for the purposes of feeding them, building the bond within our team as leaders, and casting vision for the year of ministry. And so we did those things. We had team initiatives where we interconnected hands in a circle, half-enthusiastically and half-frustratingly attempting to unravel what was convoluted. We had one that involved a pair of magic shoes and lots of heavy-lifting as the team made their best effort to traverse across a desert of hot, blistering sand. And we also had one that required a blindfolded leader to walk through a field entrenched with landmines while another leader guided by voice but without sight through the signals of one with sight but without voice. Learning to work together as a group to accomplish one task without leaving anyone behind proved itself to be difficult, but the process it took to get there, though was not one filled with elation and comfort, was worth the sacrifice. Sometimes we don't realize that the cost of following Jesus includes the cost of doing it with Jesus' disciples. I think that became more sobering during that weekend.
But even before all of that, my first priority, if nothing else happened at retreat, and if I was to teach nothing else for the rest of the year, was to give these leaders a resource where they could access the Lord Jesus themselves; for it is the Lord Jesus who speaks his revelation into my heart that makes the materialization of these plans and schedules possible. Right when we got to Pocono, we settled down, and gathered into a group to pray for each other. One by one each individual leader stepped forth and sat in the middle of the group to be prayed for as the Holy Spirit had led through a practice I usually refer to as prophetic prayer. Without any request, the person praying for the individual in the middle would speak out the words given to them by the Holy Spirit. Each leader was blessed by the words prayed over them and the words affirming them of their work and the character seen in their lives. There was no holding back. We prayed for 2 hours and the leaders had no intention to stop. They wanted more. They wanted to hear more of the Holy Spirit. They wanted to speak more in the words of the Holy Spirit. They wanted the affirmation of the Holy Spirit. They wanted the guidance of the Holy Spirit. They wanted the Holy Spirit. And that night we worshipped the Holy Spirit and the power and presence therein. That power and presence went forth with us through that retreat and out of that retreat into youth. When the Holy Spirit blows into the caverns of our soul, the spirit of prayer that hungers and thirsts for the presence and power of God becomes not occasional but routine. It becomes not a rarity, but a common day-to-day habit. It becomes like a meal; like a necessity; that if we have not eaten, we are not satisfied. The spirit of prayer, I pray will continue to gradually invade the hearts of these leaders.
We also had some time to cast vision together. We sat for 2 and a half hours, under the incandescent light of a single lamp in the living room, discussing one phrase that would pack together what we want to accomplish for the rest of that year in Manna youth club. Bright ideas were thrown from the left and the right of what we felt were some of the deepest struggles of our youth. I heard passionate voices of individuals who weren't only speaking out empty phrases, but ones who believed in the youth and their susceptibility to the power of the gospel through a saving relationship with Jesus Christ. I even heard fiery passions from individuals convicted that the gospel can transform the youth; speaking only from hearts that had been taken captive for the gospel of Christ when they once were standing on sinking sand. Now, on the solid rock of Christ, they stand. The spirit of prayer led to the voices of passion. The voices of passion grew into hearts of vision. And these hearts of vision, as we continue forth prayerfully, will lead to the hands and feet of Christ. It will lead to praxis that fulfills that vision.
We capped off the weekend with a sermon spoken in the middle of the woods, where leaves of every color were scattered across the damp soil from the morning dew. We sat on a tree trunk that had been blown down, uprooted, and dead while surrounded by leafless trees that scraped the skies like the monumental structures I remembered from my home town. The nature was gorgeous, the sun was out, and the Word of God was spoken. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
What an appropriate ending.
My title at this church is the "Youth and College Pastor" and my responsibility is specifically to care for the 6th grade-college seniors as a whole. In addition, sometimes I get the opportunity to speak into some of the young adults at our church because I lead a bible study, established by the pastor who was before me, Jeremiah Lepasana. This bible study is called Table and consists of college students and young adults to the age of 30 -- though we're not putting a limit on that, it just seems that most people in the church are married by then and join some of the married-couple groups. Youth and college is structured around the friday youth club we hold, Manna. Most of the college students at our church serve as counselors in Manna, and the kids who come ranging from 6th grade to high school interact with these counselors more than they interact with me. It is structured in this way because community in this younger age is built through common interests and similar struggles. Above all, the role models that these teenagers would more naturally incline to would be those who are cool instead of a youngen who is transitioning into an old-y like me -- at least in their eyes. They look up to the college students, who are close to them in age, but much further along than they in spiritual maturity. Personal maturity? Well, we can talk about that another time. So, basically what I'm trying to say is, at Manna youth club, the college students run the show. My main priority is to pour into the college students what I can in teaching and discipleship and also, to pour into the kids what I can in teaching, while the college students pour into the students in discipleship. Thus far, it has been an effective system that is also basic. In no way do I feel like an expert, but I am constantly learning and prayerfully reflecting.
So that leads to 2 weeks ago. We cancelled friday night youth to leave on a weekend retreat from friday to sunday in Pocono, which is right across the border from New Jersey, in Pennsylvania. We were excited, probably all for different reasons. They were excited because coming out of high school, who doesn't want a retreat where they don't have to do all the work but only get poured into? I was excited because of all that I had written out on blueprint. The Lord had a plan to build unity, equip ministers, and inspire vision. The Lord had a plan to transform us. I told the leaders that this was a retreat for the purposes of feeding them, building the bond within our team as leaders, and casting vision for the year of ministry. And so we did those things. We had team initiatives where we interconnected hands in a circle, half-enthusiastically and half-frustratingly attempting to unravel what was convoluted. We had one that involved a pair of magic shoes and lots of heavy-lifting as the team made their best effort to traverse across a desert of hot, blistering sand. And we also had one that required a blindfolded leader to walk through a field entrenched with landmines while another leader guided by voice but without sight through the signals of one with sight but without voice. Learning to work together as a group to accomplish one task without leaving anyone behind proved itself to be difficult, but the process it took to get there, though was not one filled with elation and comfort, was worth the sacrifice. Sometimes we don't realize that the cost of following Jesus includes the cost of doing it with Jesus' disciples. I think that became more sobering during that weekend.
But even before all of that, my first priority, if nothing else happened at retreat, and if I was to teach nothing else for the rest of the year, was to give these leaders a resource where they could access the Lord Jesus themselves; for it is the Lord Jesus who speaks his revelation into my heart that makes the materialization of these plans and schedules possible. Right when we got to Pocono, we settled down, and gathered into a group to pray for each other. One by one each individual leader stepped forth and sat in the middle of the group to be prayed for as the Holy Spirit had led through a practice I usually refer to as prophetic prayer. Without any request, the person praying for the individual in the middle would speak out the words given to them by the Holy Spirit. Each leader was blessed by the words prayed over them and the words affirming them of their work and the character seen in their lives. There was no holding back. We prayed for 2 hours and the leaders had no intention to stop. They wanted more. They wanted to hear more of the Holy Spirit. They wanted to speak more in the words of the Holy Spirit. They wanted the affirmation of the Holy Spirit. They wanted the guidance of the Holy Spirit. They wanted the Holy Spirit. And that night we worshipped the Holy Spirit and the power and presence therein. That power and presence went forth with us through that retreat and out of that retreat into youth. When the Holy Spirit blows into the caverns of our soul, the spirit of prayer that hungers and thirsts for the presence and power of God becomes not occasional but routine. It becomes not a rarity, but a common day-to-day habit. It becomes like a meal; like a necessity; that if we have not eaten, we are not satisfied. The spirit of prayer, I pray will continue to gradually invade the hearts of these leaders.
We also had some time to cast vision together. We sat for 2 and a half hours, under the incandescent light of a single lamp in the living room, discussing one phrase that would pack together what we want to accomplish for the rest of that year in Manna youth club. Bright ideas were thrown from the left and the right of what we felt were some of the deepest struggles of our youth. I heard passionate voices of individuals who weren't only speaking out empty phrases, but ones who believed in the youth and their susceptibility to the power of the gospel through a saving relationship with Jesus Christ. I even heard fiery passions from individuals convicted that the gospel can transform the youth; speaking only from hearts that had been taken captive for the gospel of Christ when they once were standing on sinking sand. Now, on the solid rock of Christ, they stand. The spirit of prayer led to the voices of passion. The voices of passion grew into hearts of vision. And these hearts of vision, as we continue forth prayerfully, will lead to the hands and feet of Christ. It will lead to praxis that fulfills that vision.
We capped off the weekend with a sermon spoken in the middle of the woods, where leaves of every color were scattered across the damp soil from the morning dew. We sat on a tree trunk that had been blown down, uprooted, and dead while surrounded by leafless trees that scraped the skies like the monumental structures I remembered from my home town. The nature was gorgeous, the sun was out, and the Word of God was spoken. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
What an appropriate ending.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Chameleon-ship
I've been in New Jersey for a little more than a month now, and it has been absolutely wonderful; but moving to a new environment never comes without its difficulties.
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.
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.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, September 13, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
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!
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!
Saturday, October 8, 2011
On Dependence
A friend asked me the other day: what is it that brings you the deepest joy in these recent days? Now after a brief moment of simple reflection, my answer was that in this life, what I have found to bring me my deepest joy is my complete and utter dependence; of which I know to be a consistent truth pervading in every part of my life.
It is inherent within our humanity to attempt at being independent, autonomous creatures. As our culture has slowly progressed to this insidiously individualistic convention, we have pursued the likeness of unique identity -- contrived and not discovered. We have created stabilizers within our identities that gives us security and confidence. In a complex identity that gives us every reason to become confident, we have forgotten the steadfastness of the Lord. We do not feel that this dependence is required to exhibit a life of worship. When the time comes that our need is particularly distressing, dependence is inevitable, but if we don't feel dependent in our highs of life, we would greatly appreciate this sort of independence. We love it. Might it be that in the moments when we feel the least dependent, are the moments when we need to be the most dependent? Might it be that moments of which our faith is rocking, our intellectual life is thriving, and our social life is vivacious are the very moments we need to recognize our dependence upon the grace of the Lord?
I have found that it is in the moments of my weakness, when my faith is tested through the fire, when I recognize not only my dependence on the body of Christ but Christ himself, that I've felt the most steadfast in the Lord. They are the moments when I know I am clinging on to the true God. It is in the very moments of my life's highs when I recognize that my confidence has overtaken, my dependence on the Lord has shrunk, and I feel that there is nothing I cannot accomplish in my own strength. Those are the very moments where I feel affirmed in my stabilizing in the various facets of life that are easily accessible such as friendships, intellectual ability, passions, and the like. In our ignorance of our dependence, whether through mental acknowledgment or through emotional desperation, human autonomy will begin to sink deep into our pores. In such a reality, confidence will be seated on the throne of God in our life, falsity will be accepted, and we will fall to our moral ruin. Depravity will be embraced, contrition will be rejected, and life will be reckless -- whether or not it LOOKS tranquil or filled with happiness. The seeming satisfaction in the seeming life of worship will instead be the gratification within the life of excellence.
Dependence is a grace that God has given to us to paint for us the glory of a strength, confidence, peace, joy, and the like that is enamored in truth instead of good sin that is embellished with a righteousness that cannot save.
Monday, July 11, 2011
"...for we are not ignorant of his designs"
Throughout this last week or so, the running theme that has been put on perpetual replay in my counseling experiences have been that of lies, deceptions, and the artificial nature that these lead one to create in complete vanity. For vanity is inherently in the artifices' nature. It doesn't faze me that it happens to be the central topic in a summer camp. I probably wouldn't even be taken aback if at least half the people I know told me that this was a theme that detriments their lives daily. Lies and deceptions, which are contrived by the perceived judgments of another, which stems from the standards of the world that leads to the standards of the self, which ultimately proves in covert ways our fear of the world and subjection to it in all kinds of legalistic ways. This is our battle against the world and the flesh. And if it wasn't encumbering enough, we also have this menace named Satan that messes with us every so often. They do not work in separate parties, but in a fashion that is interwoven. If there is any three we can refer to as the triple-threat, this is them. Three against three, where it is hardly fair -- a certain three has already won, and a certain three has been foretold to be swallowed up by life(Isaiah 25; 1 Corinthians 15:55; 2 Corinthians 5:3).
Let's for a moment highlight the concept of introspection. Introspection, within the Christian culture, has been deemed as a thing more negative than it is positive. It is the deep, keen observance and reflection of the thoughts/intentions/emotions/etc. occurring within the self. Now we will speak of "self" as a neutral term here. The self can be fully subjected under the feet of Christ by the individual himself when discussing specifically about the topic of introspection. It is as Paul says in 2 Corinthians 10:5; we take every thought captive to obey Christ. Every intention captive to conform to Christ in obedience. Every emotion. Every "et cetera" there possibly may be. Thus far, introspection has not stepped out of the narrow road that leads to life. As many may begin to recall Sunday school lessons, James says that it happens slowly, like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind(v. 1:6). We begin to diverge from this narrow road when over-introspection happens. The self and the standards set by the self, according to the world, begins to take its toll. It manipulates the standards of holiness intertwined with the standards of this world. You hear a voice tell you, not out of your thoughts usually, but straight out of your emotions. "You have to be joyous. You have to excel. You have to be adequate. It shows that you're closer to me. If you are not close to me, people will condescend you with admonishment and exhortation. Where is your faith in me? People don't see it." These embellishments that are so thick and completely suffocating, in the most heightened degree of severity makes delusion into reality. The road being traversed on has diverged far from the truth now.
This is even stifling to write. Grace. Grace. Grace. Grace. This is exactly what Satan did in the account of Jesus' temptation in the desert. He recognized Jesus' foundational basis in how he had developed his worldview, and he played straight out of that book. He met Jesus where Jesus was at ONLY in order to stray him out of the safe grounds of truth on which he was planted. Jesus has set standards of holiness for us to live in accordance to, but has also fulfilled all of what we lack by his infinite grace. Remembrance of this truth is essential. So often we believers fall into one of the extremes. We either accentuate entirely on the standards of holiness and forget the grace offered, or we accentuate the grace and forget the holiness required. We embody a continual pendulum swing. We swell up in our apathy when we ignore that immorality is immorality. We swell up in our legalism and meritorious behaviors when we crucify Christ against screaming "your sacrifice was not enough!" through our very actions. Fortunately, this fulmination within us will eventually reach a limit when the reality of the abundant life is revealed to us, following our implosion, by the Holy Spirit. Jesus Christ has exonerated us and we are completely free in Christ. Shackles have been broken. Captivity to sin has been done with. Captivity to law has been wholly vindicated. (And that is, any kind of law; that created by others, that created by yourself, etc.) (The law of faith begins to make a little bit more sense when we understand our complete vindication) Captivity to the uncontrollable thoughts of the mind is vanquished! That same thing, but to the emotions, also vanquished!
And now to conclude with the title. "..for we are not ignorant of his designs."(2 Cor. 2:11) His designs most often manipulates that which we know as truth and invidiously interprets it in harmony with the weaknesses of our flesh. Let us establish the truth of both holiness and grace.Let us reprimand the words of Satan by declaring our inadequacy when expected to gain anything we attempt to gain while on our own, but knowing confidently that Jesus has saved, he has won the victory, and he has offered us the grace. I pray not only that we wouldn't be ignorant of the designs of that crafty one named Satan, but that we would also not be ignorant of the designs of him who has given life. It is done.
For every one of our attempts to gain, it is done. Amen & Amen.
Friday, June 17, 2011
The Battle Against the Self
There are very few things that make me angry. I've experienced them in more moments than I can count thus far this summer. It never seems as though I use to experience such sentiments in these particular moments. The moment I step onto the basketball court, competitiveness overwhelms me. I step into realms that are invidious -- realms that leave me at a completely different disposition than I normally embody. Even beyond that, they are realms that I am becoming more familiar with and boundaries in which I am beginning to accept a mutilating immorality. It seems to be an amalgam of a number of immoralities such as pride, independence, hatred, etc.
These sentiments are only present because of those around me, but they are not triggered by those around me. These sentiments are triggered by the thing called the self. It's an endeavor to overcome not those around me, but that of the self. My desire had never been to win just any game, but to win the game that I could not. I needed to prove something. In the end of the day, when the self has won, who has it proven worthiness to but it alone. What was the purpose of such a stifling emotional investment? The eventual revelation shows to us that it had been a farcical show where we imagined a sold out auditorium filled with masses of people, but in reality, there was nobody. Your mind has done trickery and your self has schemed some sort of design that leaves you beating the air. The battle against the self is always the most difficult especially in areas of life that are especially significant to the one contending against himself. Immediately, the emotions confuse the individual as he begins to attempt unraveling the enigma at hand. You ask questions such as why am I angry? Why did I want to win so badly? What was I trying to prove and who was I trying to prove such a thing to?
When all has been pieced out, there is a discovery. The devil could not deceive you face to face, so his design was to manipulate the self to manipulate the individual. It is not wrong to be honest with your feelings. This self-integrity is righteous, and truthful. It demonstrates the nature of our depravity. Let it be exposed. Though, if one was honestly sensing their desire to worship Baal and the Ashterah, they should not, by integrity to the self, submit to their emotions. In these moments, they are to recognize the bestial nature of the self and the seductive emotions in which the one is experiencing and subject these wretched things under the feet of Christ. The battle of the self is what we are all fighting because Satan has taken form in a fashion that we cannot recognize. If we are to contend, let us do so in something Christ has conveyed as worthwhile, and when we are honest, let us not be honest to ourselves, but let us be honest before the throne of Yahweh.
May God be with you in your endeavors against the self within you.
These sentiments are only present because of those around me, but they are not triggered by those around me. These sentiments are triggered by the thing called the self. It's an endeavor to overcome not those around me, but that of the self. My desire had never been to win just any game, but to win the game that I could not. I needed to prove something. In the end of the day, when the self has won, who has it proven worthiness to but it alone. What was the purpose of such a stifling emotional investment? The eventual revelation shows to us that it had been a farcical show where we imagined a sold out auditorium filled with masses of people, but in reality, there was nobody. Your mind has done trickery and your self has schemed some sort of design that leaves you beating the air. The battle against the self is always the most difficult especially in areas of life that are especially significant to the one contending against himself. Immediately, the emotions confuse the individual as he begins to attempt unraveling the enigma at hand. You ask questions such as why am I angry? Why did I want to win so badly? What was I trying to prove and who was I trying to prove such a thing to?
When all has been pieced out, there is a discovery. The devil could not deceive you face to face, so his design was to manipulate the self to manipulate the individual. It is not wrong to be honest with your feelings. This self-integrity is righteous, and truthful. It demonstrates the nature of our depravity. Let it be exposed. Though, if one was honestly sensing their desire to worship Baal and the Ashterah, they should not, by integrity to the self, submit to their emotions. In these moments, they are to recognize the bestial nature of the self and the seductive emotions in which the one is experiencing and subject these wretched things under the feet of Christ. The battle of the self is what we are all fighting because Satan has taken form in a fashion that we cannot recognize. If we are to contend, let us do so in something Christ has conveyed as worthwhile, and when we are honest, let us not be honest to ourselves, but let us be honest before the throne of Yahweh.
May God be with you in your endeavors against the self within you.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Second Experience of Grace
So here I am at HoneyRock once again. In contrast to last summer, I'm residing here presently for the sake of my studies and ministry/work. The high school program I will be counseling is entitled, "Service Team" and consists of juniors and seniors. And if I may add a subtitle to it, it would probably be ": Learning to Lead a Life of Service."
As some may have known it, throughout the week and a half before I arrived at HoneyRock for two sessions of summer school, I was frantically considering whether or not I would take the opportunity also to work as a Service Team counselor. After what seemed to be a very rushed decision process, I made my decision to leave once again -- this is the second summer in a row now. Why? Well, it was simple. There was one responsibility the Lord was calling me to this summer, and that task was to write. I'll be working on an extensive piece of literature titled Side by Side: Imagining the Heavenly Community on the Earth. [The sneak peek lies in my blog under the title On Earth as it is in Heaven] After a year and a half of receiving the Lord's imparted wisdom and contemplating the intriguing ideas of this theme, the Lord led me to begin compiling an elaborate explication.
It still doesn't sound entirely cogent why I would leave to work instead of remain at home where I had innumerable days of freedom; countless days unscheduled. It is entirely true that staying at home had its positives, and vice versa. For HoneyRock, the same conclusion. Will I really have an increased amount of time while I'm at home writing? Yes. I would have at least 4 hours a day which was the amount of time I had planned to spend on this peculiar project. Would I be more efficient? After much consideration, HoneyRock's context is a much more apropos environment for me to create this discourse. Though I will have less time, I will be invigorated with much more thought and articulate with much more dexterity. But why? It is because my journey of the conscious discovery in regards to the theme of community began in the Wheaton community. This community challenged me in my participation in the body of Christ as an individual and as a part of the whole in its myriad of shapes and forms. So the discourse of which I will be working inherently finds its earthly home in the Wheaton community. This is the reason why even my explication should be more appropriately completed in the context of where it was born. It is not a rule, but it is a preference because of the dynamism of this context's effectiveness.
It is not that I did not consider the suggestions of my community at home, from my fellow Asian brothers and sisters. I did consider their thoughts and challenges. Coupled with these considerations, I was most seriously considering my family's desires for me. After such an extensive amount of thought, HoneyRock was my choice.
I believe that my return to this sacred place will not be a reflection of my past summer, but that I would receive a second experience of grace. Before this post, I was planning on writing a post entitled The Incarnational Grace Found in Equilibrium, and I may still write that post. To phrase with succinctness, grace looks differently when we require a different balance in our lives. Our lives are kaleidoscopic and does not cease to change, and so our equilibrium is our worship day after day. The grace that we begin to see is tailored to the contextual equilibriums to which we acquire, and so the Lord incarnationally reveals to us according to these contexts. This is the reason this second summer will be as Paul quotes in 2 Corinthians 1, a second experience of grace. It is a grace that is illustrated differently from the previous grace received. There is nature around me everywhere, there is the same sort of quietness, and the same sorts of animals singing its sweet melody, but there will be an experience of the Lord, whether through these things or not, unique to this visit. I am excited for each component of this summer, each giant I will be confronted with, each relationship I will encounter, and the realms of thought into which this discourse will lead me.
I am imaginatively excited for this second experience of grace.
And I would greatly appreciate your prayers.
As some may have known it, throughout the week and a half before I arrived at HoneyRock for two sessions of summer school, I was frantically considering whether or not I would take the opportunity also to work as a Service Team counselor. After what seemed to be a very rushed decision process, I made my decision to leave once again -- this is the second summer in a row now. Why? Well, it was simple. There was one responsibility the Lord was calling me to this summer, and that task was to write. I'll be working on an extensive piece of literature titled Side by Side: Imagining the Heavenly Community on the Earth. [The sneak peek lies in my blog under the title On Earth as it is in Heaven] After a year and a half of receiving the Lord's imparted wisdom and contemplating the intriguing ideas of this theme, the Lord led me to begin compiling an elaborate explication.
It still doesn't sound entirely cogent why I would leave to work instead of remain at home where I had innumerable days of freedom; countless days unscheduled. It is entirely true that staying at home had its positives, and vice versa. For HoneyRock, the same conclusion. Will I really have an increased amount of time while I'm at home writing? Yes. I would have at least 4 hours a day which was the amount of time I had planned to spend on this peculiar project. Would I be more efficient? After much consideration, HoneyRock's context is a much more apropos environment for me to create this discourse. Though I will have less time, I will be invigorated with much more thought and articulate with much more dexterity. But why? It is because my journey of the conscious discovery in regards to the theme of community began in the Wheaton community. This community challenged me in my participation in the body of Christ as an individual and as a part of the whole in its myriad of shapes and forms. So the discourse of which I will be working inherently finds its earthly home in the Wheaton community. This is the reason why even my explication should be more appropriately completed in the context of where it was born. It is not a rule, but it is a preference because of the dynamism of this context's effectiveness.
It is not that I did not consider the suggestions of my community at home, from my fellow Asian brothers and sisters. I did consider their thoughts and challenges. Coupled with these considerations, I was most seriously considering my family's desires for me. After such an extensive amount of thought, HoneyRock was my choice.
I believe that my return to this sacred place will not be a reflection of my past summer, but that I would receive a second experience of grace. Before this post, I was planning on writing a post entitled The Incarnational Grace Found in Equilibrium, and I may still write that post. To phrase with succinctness, grace looks differently when we require a different balance in our lives. Our lives are kaleidoscopic and does not cease to change, and so our equilibrium is our worship day after day. The grace that we begin to see is tailored to the contextual equilibriums to which we acquire, and so the Lord incarnationally reveals to us according to these contexts. This is the reason this second summer will be as Paul quotes in 2 Corinthians 1, a second experience of grace. It is a grace that is illustrated differently from the previous grace received. There is nature around me everywhere, there is the same sort of quietness, and the same sorts of animals singing its sweet melody, but there will be an experience of the Lord, whether through these things or not, unique to this visit. I am excited for each component of this summer, each giant I will be confronted with, each relationship I will encounter, and the realms of thought into which this discourse will lead me.
I am imaginatively excited for this second experience of grace.
And I would greatly appreciate your prayers.
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