This sister

She saw the beauty within me, passed her hands over my arms, shoulders, resting it on the curve of my cheek and smiled. That smile reminded me of hot desert dawns on the West African plain, smelling burning trash and the atmosphere’s heat as I opened my eyes. Then, there were afternoons of throwing crooked paper airplanes into the brush, to be searched out of the thorns by the eager prying hands of the village children. Children there were darkened by the sun and God’s design like the deepest secrets of the African sky. She loved them with a love beyond her own capacity.

The moment passed and we stood in the soft lights of the coffee shop, suddenly harsh in its present reality. We looked at each other– in our eyes, a mutual understanding and a slowly strengthening grasp of purposeful confusion, crossroads, and peace. To part like this, without looking back, rings to me as true sisterhood.

This city

Yo, LA.

I gotta say: You are a stunning lady. Truly, a piece of work.

Curves and beaches that slide into Sunset, bright city light lips with neon licks. Stubborn chin, hands on your hips, with skinny jeans and hot street kicks.

You are the hub of culture, music, art, drama, fashion, and film. Props. Totally disproportionate in the influence you have on the rest of the world. Totally disinterested in a world outside your addictions.

I walk down your streets and they’re dirtier than TV says. I stand next to a woman of broken dreams and broken promises, dressing like Marilyn Monroe– wondering if she goes home and cracks open a beer, catches her face in the mirror and asks when Hollywood would give her a break. I watch a Korean ajuma with cracked hands that caressed a lover, son, daughter, sister, rummage through the garbage for bottles for change. An unwashed white woman tucks her knees and entire body in a tattered sweatshirt and raises her big sky blues to me to say eff off, spitting poison at my feet. I look at a black brother that waves a CD in my face with yet another “smash hit” that plays the same beats that we’ve all heard in the same place where Rodney King fell, shots rang, voices raise, and blood ran forgotten. I walk down your dirty, gummed, cracked streets and I hear traffic and conversations, sound and fury, signifying nothing. I walk past these black and whites into the between, into the grey: those with nothing and those with Nothing, the addicted and hopeless, the ignorant and the apathetic, the blind and the mute. I walk into your heart and I find that its broken. And I find that I am among your brokenness because… I am.

Jesus. You are.

You are the Strength in the weakness. You are Love to the broken. You are the Joy in the sadness. You are God of this city, of Los Angeles. And there is still great work to be done here.

¹²And so Jesus also suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through his own blood. ¹³Let us, then, go to him outside the camp, bearing the disgrace he bore. ¹⁴For here we do not have an enduring city, but we are looking for the city that is to come.  Hebrews 13:12-14

an overview of the year: my lips like suga

Looking back on the year, I can only say: He is so good and so faithful. Wordle says the rest.

Been reading a lot of Oswald Chamber’s lately and I give this a resounding high-five and my own parenthesized commentary:

“Joy means the perfect fulfillment of that for which I was created and regenerated, not the successful doing of a thing… we have all to find our niche in life (word, yo), and spiritually we find it when we receive our ministry from the Lord. (how?) In order to do this we must have companied with Jesus; we must know Him more than a personal Saviour…if you have received a ministry from the Lord Jesus, you will know that the need is never the call: the need is the opportunity. The call is loyalty to the ministry you received.”

I moved all of my belongings to San Francisco this past Wednesday– say whaaat. I left Urbana and my home of 4 years, tempered with unspeakable growth, deep friendships, comfortable relationships, and I am in blindingly sunny California, surrounded by lush foliage, delicious food, and people only over the age of 40. Huh?

True story: My life has been a series of logical, safe “next-steps” with an occasional side adventure.

New story: That’s over. Now, there are many logical next steps and many… next steps. I could skip a step, walk in place, or throw myself down the stairs– all feasible, all not necessarily bad, and all over-metaphored.

But as tempted as I am to flag, stop drop and roll over and sizzle with this step into a very temperate skillet of entertainment/media industry and law school, I hear the call of loyalty to persevere and hope with full assurance. His Word getting pretty dang sweet at the tip of my tongue– encouraged and drinking as much of it as I can.

Stayin’ loyal. Stayin’ joyful. Stayin’ faithful.

Post-Afrique

I know its been an irresponsible period of time since my last post and I can say for sure that my (non-sexual… hello) little black book is chock full of things I want to shake loose from my fingers. But what happened in Africa is for another day…

As a recent graduate, still finding the red dust of Africa under her nails, I am restless for more. Not necessarily more of Africa, or missions, or bucket showers and mosquito nets. Not for a color explosion sunset with a darkness peeling back in a morning epiphany. Not for the endless sand dunes of the Sahel, and the creeping darkness of the desert punctuated by the cries of horrified goats and hunting geckos. Africa was beautiful, but beaten. She was weary and draped her arms casually around my neck, leaving burning, bruised imprints on my throat. I cried when I left but still I ran back, thankful, home to America. Still, I’m restless.

I’m restless for this life after college and exams, free from an environment that ticks and tocks around an academic and bus schedule. My own fears and obligations and sense of duties could not chain me in Africa. I felt the joy of serving because I served One, not for myself or for others because a contract told me to. I felt the impact and the joy of prayer because I sat before Him and saw His creation and I couldn’t help but say “DANG”. Look at the night sky in Africa and I dare you to say God isn’t real.

I try to incoherently explain how I feel. Does it make sense that I just want to jump off a cliff, open my eyes so wide that I can see music that I’ve never appreciated before, watch films that confuse me, drink deeply from a cup of hot chai so that my eyes can’t peer through the steam? All at once I want to travel, study languages, take photographs, compose music, dance and yell! and run straight into His arms.

So for now, I am restlessly thankful in Urbana; slowly and surely, I fish my heart back from Africa and look forward to what will come.

the beginning of the tip of the sahara

my name is Joseph.

The LSATs done and behind me, I couldn’t stop the mental buzzing of logic games, contrapositives, and other nonsense. After trying to drown it out with SNL clips and random movies, I went for a run. I have this love-hate relationship with running. The white noise of weariness, the thud of the feet against the ground, and the breathing that seems to envelope the space between my eyes– literary devices make it so romantic, but running kind of sucks– its hard. I enjoy it for the peace it affords me after I’ve hit that threshold of tiredsauce, the music fades and my mind unravels its knots, tangles, and jams. 

On my way home, I get a call from a friend soliciting caffeine. A fellow addict is a friend indeed, so I stop by the local gas station.

Two cokes please and thank you. And as I wait for my receipt, the person behind the counter surprises me with dialogue outside of the normal buy-sell transaction:

“I like your cross, miss”

I look up, really kind of startled, “Er… thanks,” I hesitated and immediately my hand went up to roll that cross around my fingers. I continued, “My mom gave it to me”.   

“So that makes you a Christian, right?”

I blink. “Yup, I’m a Christian,” I pause with the follow up question balancing on the tip of my tongue. Do I ask this question? Is there a better way to word this? Too late, this long silence is getting awkward. I fumble with my words, “uh yeah huh… um are you?” Call me eloquent, mang. But that was it– the pivotal conversation starter was out in the air and there was no turning back.

There we stood: him still holding out my receipt, me feeling the cokes sweat into the crook of my arm. He explained he was seeking, still looking, enjoying the experience of reading the scriptures. We talked about churches and how to prayerfully consider a body of Christ. He said he would check out TCBC next week. Funny how it takes the most random and simple interactions to clear your head of the nonsense of this world. A gas station attendant named Joseph reminds me of this ever growing, beautiful body of Christ. 

We parted and I unconsciously raised my fist in a salute.

“Press on, Joseph”

I lowered it. Man– was that too overdramatic? I was in a gas station. A GAS STATION. I was juggling two cokes, a foot away from a rotating hotdog machine, raising a fist to man I just met. The strange worldiness of my surroundings hit me. 

But he raised his fist into the air and smiled. And it cleared my head. 

“Press on, sister!”

when the dust settled

So. I’m still reeling from it, but:

LIGHT and TIBS. What a beastly combination.

 

Tired, grateful, amazed, and brown. Pictures courtesy of Christina Cee Lee (express delivery).

 

 

More comprehensive recap later, but dang yo– I had a blast. 

Highlights:

• “Get up off of that thang” for hours, choreographed by Chris Sotelo and Justin.
• Rocking the Jabbawockees masks, courtesy of Jed.
• Yukes, Renaissance Man, Peter and I tickled pink at winning Spin Relay. 
• Richard and Wayne (and Tek) completely killing the pushups.
• Murphy bridged the gap THREE stinkin’ times to place us in the Finals.
• Feeling the support of the ISR home base and other LIGHT/TIBS supporters as we pulled, but unfortunately did not win to the eventual CRH champs.
• Prayer before and after every event = blessing fellowship between two growing ministries. 

“so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.”  Romans 12:5

we roll on mondays

It is coming. 

TiBs. Live and in technicolor, in your face, bigger than life, and hot off the press. More than cliche and trite: TiBs be REFRESHING. 

Monday, Sept 15. Tune in 6:30pm at Campus (Covenant) Oaks #202. 

“You ain’t seen nothing yet!” — a wise old man. Word, my friends. Word.

 

I know y’alls are praying, thank you immensely. Just a couple more to throw on that prayer grill: For those that are coming, may they be hungry to seek and open to listening to His truth. For those that are preparing and serving, may our sole desire in this ministry be to please and serve Him no matter the circumstances. Pray that we grow in our faith and remain faithful through it all. 

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men” — Colossians 3:23 

Reference pulled fresh from Prayer Meeting, word to PJung. BAM!

TiBs: more than bubble tea

So I’ve hesitated to write this entry. And I’ve been trying to think up of a wise way to talk about this. I’ve actually been staring at my lovely stucco ceiling for many nights in mental constipation. It’s quite distressing. So this is my heave-ho.

I guess the only way to start this is to make one thing is very clear: 

Dang. God is so faithful.

 

Sometime last year, an almost silly idea from a friend took the form of group called Taiwanese Outreach. I’m not sure if we were meant to do something more, but all we did was pray. Watered with weekly prayer with yo-yoing attendance from a hodgepodge group of us, something took root. We prayed for our people, just a random group of 2nd gen Taiwanese Americans. Spring came, and it began to weigh heavily: to love the lost and bring them home.

There was a burden that was placed right in front of us through the Taiwanese American community. I could write endlessly and rap albums about how TiBs came to be– maybe I’ll save that for another post and go platinum. But let me tell you, TiBs attests to something that is far more important.

What God can listen to such broken prayers and respond with such powerful grace? What God can so faithfully orchestrate this crazy chain of events with such purposeful elegance? What God can love a people so displaced, so nondescript in that you can’t tell us apart until we speak Mandarin, so different in our own ethnicity, and somehow joined together by the fact that we love bubble tea, stinky tofu (maybe not the smell), and identify ourselves as Taiwanese Americans? What God can do all this and will blow our minds with the prospect of this year?

A God of the small, of the last and lost, of the ones that have run away. He is a God of love. He has come to save.

As for the person who hears my words but does not keep them, I do not judge him. For I did not come to judge the world, but to save it. — John 12:47

Please partner with Taiwanese Investigative Bible Study (TiBs) in prayer! Pray for softened hearts in the TaiAm community and that we would always remember that in the chaos, drama, tears and laughter, and the hustle and bustle of this year, sweet sweet salvation is by His grace alone.

In fact, just pray for everything. Its kind of disgusting at how much doubt and fear I have about this year. Even in spite of God’s faithfulness and His gentle reminders to just look at Him, I just gape at the winds around me. Its gonna be tough. Holler please if you’re interested. I would love to talk about this anytime.

the run of the mill hill

He catches you right before you fall. 

Have you ever run your last stretch of a long distance run uphill? Get this: you’ve slogged through mud and miles of path. You’ve passed or been passed by runners with the same goal in sight. Your legs are numb, all you can feel is a surround-sound of your heartbeat and ragged blue breath. Your tongue stopped existing by the 3rd mile and all you taste is your wind-torn throat and blood. You pay your fellow runners no mind, you can only see the world in a shaken martini motion with white dots of exhaustion everywhere.

At this point in running, I’ve always been so struck with how self-centered my thoughts are. Granted, my body is technically dying and all my soft suburban instincts are screaming: WHERE IS YOUR CAR? THE PURPOSE OF A CAR IS TO AVOID RUNNING.

Somewhere, inside, you have this mixture of rage and pride and exhilaration. This is flippin’ dumb. Why am I killing myself? Oh yeah: to win. That’s right. Mang– I love winning. You’re focused on just the place of rest, that ring of glory, your glory beyond this final, God-forsaken hill. 

You dig your toes in and pump your arms wildly. And run right into a hole in the ground.

Oh I forgot how hard we fall when we’re so focused on things other than Him. But with grace, He catches you before you fall. He’s been watching you slog around in this meaningless circle, doing it your own way. And He is that steady, understanding gaze that tracks every step of your journey. His eyes pierce through your haze. And He is the love behind those sturdy hands that brace you as you skid and roll down that hill. My ego shatters, my hope dashed, but His skin tears and dangles, His bones snap and gleam through His flesh. 

 

 

And how could i not moved? How could i stand before you and see Your torn body, Your brokenness that i am the cause of? Have Your way in me. What little i am, have all of me. I want my races to be Yours.

Watch my feet

The past 72 hours has been a whirl of interviews, deliberation, and debating. Perhaps I can rightfully call ourselves a bunch of college kids taking ourselves way too seriously, but I know there’s a greater purpose to where I find myself with the Asian American community at UIUC today. This weekend has come with a realization that next year needs to be fraught, gutted, and padded with prayer for the Taiwanese American Students Club (TASC). I was just elected to be President for next year. It was a scary proposition that I prayed through and it is a daunting year that lays ahead. And DANG, prayers are not done.

My prayer is that I would love this group of flippin’ cool people, brought together by powerful hands, knitted by His grace and all-knowing love. 

My prayer is that I would give up all pretenses of my own very human ambitions and have Him reveal His Son in me. More of Him and less of me. I really want that.

My prayer is that He would be glorified in my ineptitude. Through all the twists and turns, and the inevitable scrapes and burns, may I turn to Him for joy, strength, wisdom, and grace. 

“For Christ sent me not to baptize, but to preach the gospel.” 1 Corinthians 1:17

 

TASC at ITASA Midwest 2008 @ Northwestern University. Yes. We roll deep.

Oswald Chambers in My Utmost For His Highest says “The one passion of Paul’s life was to proclaim the Gospel of God. He welcomed heartbreaks, disillusionments, tribulation, for one reason only, because these things kept him in unmoved devotion to the Gospel of God.” 

Yikes. Where is my comfort rhetoric, mang? But this is truth. I want to walk that path, unmoved in my devotion to His good, sweet news.