Waiting

This has been a season of     w a  i  t   i   n g.

for daddy's health test results.

for job applications.

for phone calls. 

for emails.

for responses.
for answers to prayers.

In all this waiting, I have grown restless--inexplicably so.

In this strangely difficult period of somuchfreetime, God has been teaching me:

1) I am so awful at resting. Not just physically but spirituallymentallyemotionally.

2) I am full of myself and a taste of humble pie once in a while will do me much good.

3) He is worthy of worship--a worship not contingent on my circumstances.

Because while I simply want to do do do,  He simply i s. 

In the crushing cries of rejection and dejection,
I hear His sweet whisper

“Be still, and know that I am God;I will be exalted among the nations,I will be exalted in the earth.”
-Psalm 46:10

Lord, teach me to be still.

So so very still.

September Rain

[Saturday early afternoon]

[gentle whirl of the ceiling fan]

[the quiet static from the radio blending with orchestral harmonies]

It's not until mom puts down her knife on the cutting board

and looks up when I see what catches her sudden attention outside.

The kitchen window starts to blur and I see water droplets already sliding down the screen.

Rain. A drizzle that soon picks up the pace to a steady pouring. 

Mom, still with her apron on, gasps before quickly opening the back door.

Barely getting her sandals on, she rushes out into the falling rain. 

Confused, I call out to her to grab an umbrella. 

Without looking back, she yells, "the neighbor's car window is open. I need to tell them!"

Before I know it, she's already past our lawn and making her way across the street.

Minutes later, she comes back wet and defeated.

No one is home.

My moment of frustration with her getting wet quickly melts as I see her heart.

That moment then turns into a humble rebuke because she has seen what is greater.

I assume she did all she could and expect us to resume our work in the kitchen.

And yet, she is not done. 

She is back in the garage now and rummaging through our items.

Her face lights up when she finds the family tent, and I know what she's thinking.

This time, though, she invites me to join her.

We unzip the bag and unfurl the thin grey waterproof covering. 

We walk back out into the rain and cover the car with our makeshift car blanket.

Excited, we laugh about how confused our neighbors would be upon their arrival.

I look back to see mom, even more drenched in rain, smiling contentedly.

And once again, I'm reminded how blessed I am to call her my mother.

“Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor."
-Romans. 12:10

Clinging On

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, 

so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope." 

-Romans 15:13

En fait, c'est moi.

Seigneur-terraces, French -- 

People who sit in coffee shops for an extended period of time without spending money.

"Kang"isms

Father who...
replaces his toothbrush head with mom's toothbrush head after each use of his Sonicare
murmurs frustration at my coughing and drags my stubborn self to the doctor
unwinds the hose every afternoon to water the plants that mom so dotes upon
surprises his son with a new set of obnoxious boxers after spotting them at the mall
wakes up at ungodly hours and drives his car to church to pray for the family
willingly becomes guinea pig to my mom's senior center dance routines

Mother who...
buys dad an apron to insinuate that she could use a kitchen partner
wraps the peanuts so they don't absorb water from the cut fruit in my lunch container
purchases a set of four gloves to subtly ask for more help in her primitive garden
cooks traditional Korean stew in the baking Texas heat to feed a sick friend
tries to read the name tags of cashiers so she could address them by their names followed by a "dear" (John dear, Tanya dear, Riley dear, etc.)
sleeps in my bed whenever I'm not home

Brother who...
makes his rounds nestling his face into everyone's beds before settling down in his
lays his saxophone case in the puddle so his sister could walk across without getting wet
tucks mom in at night until she's wrapped like a burrito and giggling to no end

goes to drop off a youth student at home and ends up returning after hours of conversation
deposits $20 into sister's bank account and texts her to buy the book she's been eyeing

excitedly brings home a gallon of milk whenever the sister bakes fresh cookies 

Believer

How would you pray if you knew God was listening?

How would you sing if you knew God could hear?

Unwelcome Guest

After weeks of driving down the same highway,

pushing through those heavy wooden doors, 

flipping through the same magazines,

and entering that sterile waiting room,

we thought he was gone.

It didn't bother me anymore 

that the doctor spoke too loudly

or that the office only served coffee

instead of cold water or even tea. 

Laughter ensued and we were happy again.

We joked, laughed, but deep inside

I wondered if this was too good to be true.

An annual scan finally caught the fellow

lurking hiding burrowing itself 

in the bones of the best man I know. 

Laughter soon becomes more forced

and the usual how are you hangs with a sense of dread.

The doctors are suddenly speaking too loudly

and the waiting room is too sterile for your liking.

The guest had returned without permission.

Do you think if it had feelings it would leave?

Do you think perhaps

...it would have never come at all?

Note to Self

“We’re far worse than we ever imagined, 
and far more loved than we could ever dream.” 
-Tim Keller

Rooftop Musings

Sfax, Tunisia     //     Summer 2013

I recall a conversation with an American MK on the rooftop one night.

Her family allowed me to sleep over and spend time with her

since she didn't have too many friends close to her age here.

She had her own closet full of arts&crafts materials.

She loved and collected American duck-tape.

She also loved quiet evenings on this rooftop where she confided:

"Even though I was born in the United States,
when I go back I don't feel like I belong there. 

I'm not sure where I belong, but I feel more at home here."

I'm not sure why, but
I felt a deep sense of comfort that night.

This is Why

Sfax, Tunisia      //     Summer 2013

When the pastor introduced me to the congregation,
I had no idea how many would show up to my "conversation hours"

or what those hours would even look like.

The discomfort brewing inside me was a mixture of fear and excitement.

When the first day arrived, I showed up early with a whiteboard from the schoolhouse

and a brief slideshow prepared on my iPad (an honestly last-minute item I had packed). 

After moving a few chairs about, I decided to form an intimate circle.

Perhaps 5 or 6 students would show? Even that felt like a lot.

Again that feeling of fear and excitement exponentially grew stronger

with each student walking through the door, some coming in pairs until we had about 15.

More chairs were brought in and the circle grew larger.

"Fake it 'til you make it"  I was taught in Philly.

So I did. I tried to exude confidence and pretended to know what I was doing.

Who was I kidding though? I was questioning every word and move I made.

As I nervously clicked to my slideshow and looked up, however, I was confronted by

the sight of 15 heads bowed down and pens rapidly setting up notebooks for note-taking.

I had become so desensitized that I was taken aback by such dedication. 

I was moved by their deep desire to learn.

And then I realized...God was blessing me.

The challenging last two years in Philly of having to

createmyowncurriculum-differentiateforstudents-adapttolastminchanges-buildclassculture

led to constant complaints and words of frustration leaving my lips.
But I realized then THIS IS WHY. He was preparing me.

After facing so many class challenges and difficult situations in the room,

it was refreshing to see this posture, this thirst.

They asked to stay longer so we extended 1.5 hours to 3 hrs 3x a week.

They asked for homework, so I started to email them assignments.

Oh grace, why is it every time I go to serve, God ends up blessing me more?

So much that I can NEVER say I did anything for Him.

Anything I try to offer Him, it's His already. All that I had, have, and will have.

It's an endless cycle of drowning in His grace.

Empty Evening

Sfax, Tunisia     //     Summer 2013

The night the family and I drove to the local park during Ramadan

in hopes of meeting locals and sharing the Gospel.

After an hour of waiting, the little ones got tired so we drove home.

The reality of long-term missions.

Sometimes there will be nights when no one comes out.

Times when you will be greeted with empty swing sets, 

see-saws, and the low rumble of cars driving by.

Keep pressing on, family. Thinking of you tonight.

"He has made everything beautiful in its time.
He has also set eternity in the human heart;

yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end"

-Ecclesiastes 3:11

Bucket List #5

Finish an ENTIRE coloring book. Start to Finish.

This will preferably be a joint effort completed with beloved family&friends.

Now I just have to find the perfect book....  :]

Confrontations

"I’ve learned that if someone asks you for advice and you tell them the hard truth and they fight you in response, they weren’t really asking for advice — but self-affirmation to keep doing the wrong thing. That’s asking for less love, not more. And I can’t do that to you. Love means I have to tell you everything, even if my voice trembles and my hands shake and my eyes burn with weeping. Love means I will throw my body in front of you when you’re heading towards the cliff. It will cost my comfort with you. It’s a cost I’m willing to pay." - J. S. Park

God's Love.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/02/19/brother-christian-isis-victims-forgive_n_6713310.html

“The love for equals is a human thing--of friend for friend, brother for brother. It is to love what is loving and lovely. The world smiles. The love for the less fortunate is a beautiful thing--the love for those who suffer, for those who are poor, the sick, the failures, the unlovely. This is compassion, and it touches the heart of the world. The love for the more fortunate is a rare thing--to love those who succeed where we fail, to rejoice without envy with those who rejoice, the love of the poor for the rich, of the black man for the white man. The world is always bewildered by its saints. And then there is the love for the enemy--love for the one who does not love you but mocks, threatens, and inflicts pain. The tortured's love for the torturer. This is God's love. It conquers the world.” 
― Frederick Buechner, The Magnificent Defeat

Remain IN ME

At first everything told me this job was a bad move.
The salary is unsustainable. What about your college loans? The transportation is grueling. What will you do spending 2 hrs in the train every day? The location was dangerous. Will you put yourself there again? The job will put me further behind for grad school plans. When will you go back?

Now that I look back, it was the most senseless yet rewarding place God led me to.
The salary is enough. I can cut back and cook more dinners (for friends&family). The transportation is a blessing. Spending 2 hrs on the train impresses upon me each morning that the economic gap is glaring and that I need to go where people don't want to. The location was surrounded by God. He placed such good people in my life to befriend in this community. The job has only given me a greater desire for grad school and the trajectory that I need to take. I will apply when the Lord tells me to.

Even further, He has allowed me to support the very same teachers with whom I've worked alongside in Philadelphia, develop relationships between school admin/teachers/students/volunteers/nonprofits, befriend a local church that is deeply committed to engage with and serve the community, connect my own church to community outreach, and gain experience in nonprofits that could help others.

I'm reminded that sometimes the most impractical move in the worldly sense leads to the greatest blessing in the gospel sense. Why? Because God is radical and He works in radical ways.

“Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It's the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too. ” ― Frederick Buechner

Lately I hunger for more compassion. For those in my youth group who are burdened by the pressures in a teenage world and are buckling under parental expectations. For those in the under-resourced public schools who are economically disadvantaged and show up to school either tired and/or hungry. For those overseas who are suffering at the hands of injustice and constantly running from nightmarish terror and relentless heartache. 

Like a close sister had shared with me, I must not let physical needs deter me from seeing the true spiritual need of Jesus that these people all share. It is not for clothing nor is it for food. The deepest hunger dwelling in each of them is the hunger to know a Savior who created and loves them.

And to serve, I must hunger for and eat more.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing" -John 15:5

"I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world" -John 16:33