Crossing the Charles River

"Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow."

-Mary Jean Irion

Being in a 9-month graduate program is like experiencing freshman and senior year at the same time. It's my first year and it's my last year. It's my first fall and my last fall. It is almost as if I came with a set notion that I will leave soon. While this mindset has allowed me to really reflect before making every decision (where I will live, what church I will commit to, what courses I will take, etc.), I am also realizing that it has almost convinced me that I am in control of everything. That there is ONE right path, and I must choose the right one because my entire future is at stake. I've been feeling very  s t u c k  while grappling with these decisions, and I almost envy the Charles River, which I pass on a frequent basis. 

I love that it just flows. There are ripples and not all are the same. It invites the city to admire it, enjoy it, bask in it. Honestly, it's not really that special (actually quite dirty if you ask me), but what makes it beautiful is its surroundings. How the sun's last rays dance across its surface, how the city lights cast its glittering lights across it. It just is. 

Lord, you called me here. You uprooted me from a deep, loving community in Dallas and gently placed me here all the way out here in Cambridge. So during this season, help me to be present. So present. I do not want to lose what you have for me today because I am already eagerly chasing after tomorrow. 

So here's a humble reminder that tomorrow is not guaranteed.

But the Lord's goodness and faithfulness I can rely on. 

And a gentle reminder that He is with me now.

Concern for Our Neighbor

When she asked about the weather, I thought she was checking up on us.

Nope. She was concerned about the bunny that visits our backyard every morning.

Yep. 토강 is its name.

On Death

Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other, 
That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight? 

I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.

All is well.

Nothing is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before only better, infinitely happier and forever we will all be one together with Christ. 

-Henry Scott Holland

Rain and Provision

After a series of clouds and spouts of rain, I was a bit blue this morning.

Dad was getting his annual bone scan, a sure interruption to daily life at the Kang's. 

It's a sudden-and yet sometimes necessary-jolt telling me that all is not as it appears.

That we are constantly battling the consequences of sin in this world. 

That we await a day when there is no sickness or disease ravaging our bodies.

As deep in the trenches as we may be in this season,

God nudged me to text a fellow sister who also had been battling sickness in her home.

Her update humbled me to the core. Dear sister, we know a God who is far greater.

But that was not all. He had more planned for me. 

I walk through the school doors and feel an urge to stop by the nurse's office.

My friend's eyes well up in tears at the news and a boldness betrays her thin frame.

Papa was the nicest one to me, but he kept getting cancer. It would be gone and then another would pop up. And then another one. It became so incessant that even the church members would just tell him to give up and ask God to take him now. And yet, he kept thanking God for allowing him to live another day. Whether we are healthy or sick, we are never guaranteed today. He knew that and decided to use the rest of his life to read God's word from cover to cover and journal about it. I asked Papa to leave that as a gift to my daughter. To this day, that is the most precious thing we own in the house. God will be glorified in whatever the results will be today, Cathy. You just wait and see. 

How amazing is His word. How immediately it could bind two souls together in one room.

Today in that small nurse clinic, I was reminded of eternity. I walked out with more than myself. I walked out with hope that will guide us through the darkest of places. Thank you Jesus for this. Thank you for your divine appointments.

Resurrection Sunday

 Devoted disciple, what will be your extravagant sacrifice?

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