staying in

Days and nights like this will become normal enough as the years go on. But for now, six months in, I smile and cherish. It's a rare Saturday night without plans, so we thought it'd be a fun night to hang out with friends, only to discover everyone we tried was out of town. Then I thought it'd be fun to go out, stroll in the city, get dessert and talk late like we used to when we were dating. But after we finished our homemade dinner of steak, corn, and potatoes, I told him I'd be fine staying in. After all, there were two loads of laundry waiting to be put away and a party to get ready for in a few days.

So he washed all the dishes and pans; I scrubbed down our toilet and tub. He cleaned the kitchen; I folded laundry. The game was on in the background, and when it was over, I switched it to my spotify playlist. Then we picked out what pictures will go on our wall.

It's a mundane night. It's a pleasant night. And we're still learning how each other puts away their clothes.

P.S. Soon it'll be time for a new blog. Five years is a long time to house words and thoughts, and I'm different now. I'll save these words but I think it's time for something beyond just an url update. 

West

Today obedience is putting on running shoes
And going west
Chasing the ever-changing brushstrokes of this glowing evening

Invitation beckons, so
Leave your the usual trail
Run with eyes on the sky
Take the roads that lead you closer
To the beauty of the sunset

And then - the houses are behind me
The river is before me
The clouds are glowing
And here I stop, thinking:

Jesus heard my prayers this morning:
I miss sunsets - I want to see one again
I miss my camera and looking for beauty
And tonight, I know that I heard him
As I watched the clouds twirl in yellows and blues on my drive home
Telling myself, I should go for a run tonight
Quickly throwing on my shorts and shoes
Turning abruptly from my normal route
To head expectantly westward

In the dusk I recognize God is in the rhythms -
Quiet mornings and a settled pace
But that he also calls urgently, desperately
Put on your shoes and come
Chase the beauty, the silence, and the waiting
I am here,
and this is for you.

Today,
Obedience is putting on running shoes
And going west.

Charleston

Tonight, I must write.

A couple of months ago I picked up Bound for Cannon: The Underground Railroad and the War for the Soul of America. History is one of my weakest subjects, but as I see over and over again that the life we live is not isolated in a vacuum, I've begun to wish for a better understanding of the world we live in.

Specifically, I picked up Bound for Canaan after listening to a multiethnicity webinar and hearing the names of men and women who gave up their lives, reputations, and careers in both the abolitionist movement and eventually the Civil Rights movement. This book fascinated me and my own ignorance astounds me -- it lays out the slave trade before the Union was even formed, highlighting the many who opposed it or knew it would threaten the Union later on yet were unable to give it up. It walks through the early days, long before a sophisticated network was formed, before the railroads were invented and thus before language of stations and conductors were in use. It tells the story of countless men and women, slave and free, rich and poor, named and nameless who either believed deeply or were merely sympathetic enough to help a human gain his freedom. It does not shy away from the fact that even when fugitives made it to the safest of northern states, they were still never truly free (Canada wins here).

There is so much I can say about what I am learning and what I do not know. One of the earlier themes that struck me: the heart of the abolitionist movement was driven by Quakers and Protestants, by people whose faith drove them to form Anti-Slavery Societies, to shape laws, and even to break them. The abolitionist movement was a way that many people found an active way to live out their faith and their prayers. Many were driven by their conviction.

"We may perform works of benevolence and kindess that are 'acceptable to God and approved of men,' which require but little self-denial. But wen duty calls us to engage in such, that are unpopular, and in the discharge of which we risk the loss of friendship of those we love to be faithful therein, requires more devotion to principle and more firmness than many possess, and yet it is the path which leads to the enjoyment of that peace and consolation which the world can neither give nor take away." -Isaac Hopper

"I was led to show that the Gospel, if complied with, led every true follower of Jesus Christ to endure every burden, break every yoke, and let the oppressed go free," he proclaimed, "and those who did not comply therewith, were not true Christians, but deceivers of themselves, and therefore, anti-christians." He preached to everyone he met, drilling away at complacency, sanctimony, and self-justification. He had only contempt for those who "chose to stop, curl down on their fathers' sins, making that a couch of security," by condemning slavery in principle, but accommodating it in practice as a "burden" laid upon them by their ancestors and now impossible to change."

And here we are, in church pews that must work intentionally to connect our faith with social action. Here we are, congregations stagnant, apathetic, or worse--completely unaware of the movement that is Black Lives Matter. Of social media bringing to light, trying to wake us up to a reality that our brothers and sisters have known all along.

I am trying to hold back from impassioned statements, from letting my love for words fuel this post on its own. But I'm going to keep going. Because I read these stories in this book and have to, have to draw a parallel. Have to ask if we are missing a moment to step out.


And then, Charleston.

Since Darrell and I got engaged in April, progress through this book has been slow. I brought it with me to Disneyland and to SUP, but otherwise leisurely reading (not that reading about slavery is leisurely) has been replaced with wedding plans and ideas and dreaming. And in some ways, I feel like my ability to leave this book on my nightstand and not touch it for weeks parallels my attitude towards McKinney, Rachel Dolezal (of significantly less importance), Charleston. As in, I have a choice. I have a choice to engage. I have to choose to still learn, I have to choose to still care.

I don't know where to go from that sentence.

Somehow with a white man shooting six black women and three black men at a historically black church in South Carolina where the Confederate flag is still flying, something inside me tells me to press in. I do not feel lament. I have felt frustrated but anger is not stirring deep within my soul if I am to be honest. Maybe I am numb. Maybe it is hard to hold tragedy in one part of my brain and excited anticipation for marriage in the rest of it. Maybe I know I should care but I have to try to. I don't know, I'm trying to be honest. The most honest thing I know is to pull up this unfinished journal page from Multiethnic Staff Conference and tell myself that every person Imago Dei, an image of God. And I force myself to click a few links on the victims and #saytheirnames and to read and to learn, even when I'd rather work on our wedding website. But press in is the call for these things, right? And right now pressing in...is finishing this book.

After making some progress this afternoon, tonight I am recalling and piecing together these sentences I have been telling myself about "this book I'm reading about the Underground Railroad" (the words I've used to tell others what I'm reading these days). And I'm realizing there are some lies and this is why I'm writing. Because I need to remind myself of the truth.

I have told myself that I, that we, have the choice to learn about our nation's history. Parallel: Likewise, it feels like I/we have the choice to care about Ferguson/Baltimore/Eric Gardner/McKinney/Charleston/Walter Scott/Trayvon Martin/is the list long enough yet? Like we get to choose if (1) we want to remain ignorant of racial reality, or (2) if we want to choose to care. But that is a lie. That is a lie because (1) the gospel compels us to care and to hurt when another part of the body is hurting, and (2) it is a lie because these things hurt us all. White supremacy and racism and model minority all form and shape our nation. all hurt the people who are in it, and (3) the half-quote you see on that entry says, "Acts of treason we see against people are acts of treason against our God." This sin and violence we see towards others. is sin and violence. against our God. and so. Do I have the option to not care? I don't. I have to learn. I have to pay attention. I am a part, whether I want to our not.

But you know what else is true? How easy it is to leave this book untouched. How engagement and my personal life and exciting and happy things keep me away from pain, lament, suffering with those who suffer.  Jesus, you did those things so much better than I do.  

I've also told myself and others that I am reading this book to learn about those who lay their lives down in the abolitionist movement. But as I formed that sentence again in my head in the shower tonight (I have told many people this because everyone asks because it seems an unusual topic to be reading about), I realized - No. More importantly than reading about the underground conductors, the leaders, the speakers, the pastors...regardless of black or white...the stories I must learn to treasure are that of the slaves. The lives lost, the lives captured, the deep treason and injustice of imago dei. How easy it is to marvel at the leaders who sacrificed so much, when in those very pages are the stories of such injustice and wrong. Not to say those stories have not stirred me or angered me...but even so. My verbal response has been I am learning about the leaders. But to hold that with integrity, I must acknowledge, pay even deeper attention to honest truth about slavery. The stories and names and lives lost and dignity destroyed in the horrible uncountable number of slaves. 

And when I think about Black Lives Matter - will I listen to those stories? Countless lost. Countless families hurting. A whole subculture I don't know about or understand (made obvious through the #askrachel twitter feed). Parallel: Grow my heart to care about these untold stories. About this injustice that I...am turning a blind eye to? That I am accommodating, like the excerpt above? I don't know, but I know that in my suburban world I don't know how to pay attention. 

My friend/colleague posted his album of lament, asking us to listen only if we will try to lament. [His words: Please only listen to this if you intent to TRY to lament. You don't have to know how. Just try. Tell the Lord how terrible this is. Tell him how you feel about it. Tell him to do something, NOW. Tell him to bring justice. Don't ask. Tell. And when you run out of words and all you have are tears, give those to Jesus too.] Yesterday, I couldn't click the link. There was the bustle of home life, there was soaking in the excitement of parents and future in-laws, there was a red wedding dress hanging in my old room, there was a little brother at home. There was a temptation to not care. There was feeling like a hypocrite for thinking I should post something on social media yet knowing my family and my friends around me didn't hear me talk about it or "do" anything. I didn't listen.

I think I'm ready to try. I think I'm ready to listen. I think I'm ready to try even if I sound fake or hypocritical but I have to at least try to speak and call others to pray. I think, I think in picking up this book again, in realizing how I thought I had the choice to care, how I've externally/with my words paid less attention to the stories of the slaves/the stories of those under oppression...I find myself caught in this too. Find myself here, at the end of this blog post, saying Jesus, I need you too.

More moments

• I forgot to mention - that qipao we found for my mom? Well, we didn't buy it on the spot (hole-in-the-wall Chinese stores don't exactly have return policies). When we left the store to go to the mall, I asked her if she was sure she didn't want it. When the mall proved fruitless and we left to go home, I asked her again. She said no. Then an exit away from our house, she said she wanted it. So we went back. 
• Teaching my mom more American things: "Well, in America, traditionally the mom may come with the bride to look at the dress."
• Bringing my parents with me and Darrell to put down a reservation at a Chinese restaurant. Learning to include my parents as much as possible. 
• Dancing with my dad for perhaps the first time in my life in our kitchen after making zongzi to practice for a Father-Daughter dance. I think my mom teared up. My dad hummed, as I hope he will the day of the wedding. There were iPhone videos recorded. 
• My mom and my future-mother-in-law texting back and forth
• Watching my mom cook mee goreng. Wondering how many more times I will be around for this. 

Basically engagement is heightening a lot of emotions and things I want to reminisce about later. I want to seal a lot of these memories. My parents are excited, it feels like my dad has upped his protectiveness, my mom is sometimes giddy, I'm learning to read my future in-law's excitement. And at the same time, every 10 days Darrell and I learn about another level of the gravity of marriage. What are we saying yes to? What are we saying no to? This marriage thing takes a lot of intention, we're learning. And these six months are in anticipation for life changing forever. 

Moments from this engaged life

of a Chinese-American bride-to-be

• "Wait. You mean Caucasians don't wear multiple dresses?" -Anthony
• Finding a long sleeved, velvet purple qipao for my mother to wear before I found one for myself
• Shopping at the mall with my mother for the first time in a long, long time. Dropping my five different shoe stores to scope out gold shoes. Did not find any. 
• Invited my mom to come see a qipao I found on craigslist. She and my dad forgot and ended up going to church that morning. Tried on the qipao, thought it was beautiful but not quite what I was looking for. Showed my mom pictures two days later and she loved it. Now I'm going back to get it. Wise mom. 
• Inviting my relatives in Malaysia to my wedding via WhatsApp
• Not wedding related: fresh rambutans for the first time in a decade, bought and shared by Cyrus and Anthony
• Sometimes $60 almost-perfect options are bumped to perfect because of the cost savings and, maybe even more importantly, the time savings
• Thank you Craigslist. Thank you!

On Belonging

In the silence and solemnity of this holy weekend
I have asked my God
what are the words for this sacred season
Because
I feel the pause, the holding.
The silence.
That makes today's joy all the more pronounced

The answer comes in my soul at rest
Peace
Home

Belonging
Being known
at a house on Pamplona Avenue

Where beauty is Josephine with uneven bangs
And belonging is her between me and Auntie Natalie
Where rhythm is not only Kai's beating on drums
But the shrill of "Auntie!"
And feet on hardwood floor
Coming faster to knock me over
With love

Davis - soft comfort when transition was hard on my soul
Furniture switches rooms but the address stays the same
Painted walls and mounted decor where I found roots
Closets that weren't storing packing boxes for the future

Grace has always abounded in this home
Where I was never expected to be perfect
Broken pieces and held-back tears meant that
only Jesus could make all things whole
Staff worker, daughter, auntie, sister
To be all of them or none at all
The freedom to carry every identity but also just one
One with the Father

The blessing of seeing a real home -
Trivial arguments, imperfect understanding
Mistakes that cannot be hidden
That selfish lashing out
Yet
Hugs and bedtime snuggles
Apologies and love
The messy normal of family life
Daily mistakes causing me to
release my grip on perfection
a little bit
more

Amid the messiah's death overturning order
Is hope not just trickling down
But declaring, loudly - joy, wholeness, redemption
Something right and beautiful knowing that
I have and will always have a home
That this sacred belonging is a gift
My Father promising his daughter
Belonging instead of wandering
Love without working
Joy in mere presence
Comfort in silent and listening
Ceasing to strive

Resurrection Sunday revealing the promise
Of beauty in our broken world
Of love abounding
Of right relationships
Of Jesus lived out in real people
in a house on Pamplona Avenue

Microaggressions: The Gender Edition

I am sharing about what's going on for me this year, next year. And I tell them that my team leader is on paternity leave, so I am leading the team and the fellowship for the first few weeks. "Wait, you are?" Not exactly a tone of excitement. I am suspicious about their hesitation, but I will gloss over it at the moment.

At some point someone points out that all the women, save myself and two other girls at my table, are all sitting together in the other room. I pointedly tell them that this is always the case, I keep telling people our church always self-segregates like so. But he asks me what's really wrong with that, especially if the alternative is the youth groups that are all over each other. "All churches are like that, right?" No, I point out--your sample size of two churches, one being our church and another being a church plant based from our church, does not constitute "all churches". And under a quick breath I murmur that you will miss out on the gifts, perspectives, and life from your fellow sisters but this is not the place for theological arguments, this is not the place to point out how patriarchy in its broken form hurts all of us, and this is not the place to argue for redeemed relationships between men and women, and so we go on.

And they talk about their college fellowships, and one of my friends shares about how it "went downhill" his year. By downhill, he talks about how a guy friend of ours was asked to be admin (which I gather is the leader title of this fellowship) but turned it town, and then asked a girl instead. A girl. "You know this isn't good when they can't raise up leaders," he says.

And they ask me about our fellowship dynamics and I admit we have way more females this year than male and as he shakes his head several times, he says, "That's not good. That's really not good." And he asks me if I lead Bible studies and I can't tell if this is with the women-teaching-in-authority question in mind so like a coward I tell him that this year I sort of co-led one but next year I won't be. Somehow I've lost my confidence and my authority appears to be hiding behind a bush.

And I look around the room that is full of men and a handful of women and I wonder who will have the eyes to see what's going on here. I wonder what it means for relationships between male and female (for He created them both) to be beautiful and co-existing and flourishing. I desperately want a robust grasp on my position on egalitarianism or complementarism yet I fear the stronger I stand, the more I won't fit in here. But I suspect that some already get a hint. And I suspect perhaps that their view of gender--be it in leadership, appropriate distance, assumed dynamics--may impact the fact that few new women have joined the group as I see it. But who am I to say?

In the meantime, I am about to run out of fingers for number of times I hear these comments about women leading ministries spoken in doubt or disagreement. It's like I need a file for them, how to interact with the people who say them, and how to articulate my own convictions, but it's so complicated because it encompasses the emotional, theological, professional, relational realms and much, much more.

And so this advent season I will remember Mary. Mary, who in the gender roles of her time, said yes to an incredulous task with all its associated gossip and presumption and the destiny of never fitting in again. "Let it be to me according to your word," she says. Oh Mary. Did no one expect God to speak through you? No one expected the Messiah to come from you, did they? We can look at Paul and we David and all the men of scripture, but I also won't forget that this woman was a favored one. "And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord."