I sit down to a chai latte at Coffee Garden this morning. First off, where's the latte art? Don't all latte's come with a frothy leaf? One of those insignificant things you don't think about, but are surprised at it's absence. I take my first sip and the thought that crosses my mind is It's not as good as Empresso's.
Two minutes later and a couple more sips in, I know that's not entirely fair. The chai is good, just not as spiced and a bit more milky than I'm used to. But what can you say when "used to" means Empresso, the only coffee shop where you've actually had chai lattes? Bigger realization: If there's only one coffee shop you've really loved, isn't everything going to be compared to that? I realize there are many, many reasons why I miss the coffee shop on Miracle Mile, and I think it's because I started going to it so much, I loved everything about it. Everything about it became what I want in a coffee shop now. The balance of conversation buzz and people working. The cartoonist smoking and doodling outside. The customers who walk their bike in the front door and prop it by the wall to order. My favorite spot in the stool by the corner, looking out onto Pacific Ave. And Empresso was where I started drinking enough coffee shop beverages (but not actual coffee) to develop a list of favorites: mango black iced tea and cherry lime Italian soda for the light days, twisted mocha's and chai lattes when it was cold, occasionally a blended drink or white mocha for variation (then there was the time I tried vanilla lattes to see if I'd like them. Didn't last long). I'm so used to these that I expect beverages at any other store I visit to taste like them.
So now when I try to find another place, all I can compare it to is Empresso, because it's the only coffee shop I've ever really loved. Yet no other shop will make the same chai lattes or have art displayed from a local artist I've actually met. And D reminds me with a part animated, part sarcastic voice that if I keep looking for Empresso, I'm going to miss out on things that I could end up loving. I know he's right, and I know he hints at a bigger picture of loving but letting go of the old and finding the new, but I'm just not quite there yet. It takes time to love something.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Lessons from Kids
I'm sitting on the front steps of a driveway covered in chalk, watching kids covered in even more chalk. I can't remember what it's like to be their age: spending an entire day playing, riding their trikes back and forth and back again, deciding to roll their tractors and Danny Dozer in the dirt, then getting back on their trikes for more rides of exhilaration.
I remember bikes. I remember my tricycle--it was purple, white, and red. I remember all the games we made up in the front yard: roasting our dumplings (folded leaves stuck on a twig) as we camped; running up and down the driveway while playing Red Light, Green Light; Mother May I, or 1-2-3-Stop (all variations of the same game, right?); or hiding in the same bushes for yet another round of hide-and-seek (really, there are only so many hiding spots in front of two houses).
These two energetic boys (M, age 4, and E, age 2) that I'm babysitting are not just making me remember my life twenty years ago (well, what little I can remember, but watching them live their lives of pure play while learning to share, use their manners, and play nicely is teaching me some lessons...
Life is messy.
Or perhaps even more appropriately, life is not meant to be clean. Just yesterday, minutes before his mom pulled up in the driveway, M decided that he wanted to lay down in the dirt. No reason, not for play, not for pretend. He just wanted to lay in the dirt, both sides of his cheek. And today they're playing with chalk: 'painting' their trikes with them, crushing them with their plastic tires, and spreading the color everywhere. This also means they're covered in chalk, from their bare feet and shorts to their t-shirts and face.
Mealtime is always a mess. E does not let anyone feed him, but he also doesn't always know how to get food in his mouth. Last week we had applesauce for lunch, and I think half of it ended up on his shirt. If it's not applesauce on shirts, it's Cheerios on the ground, or apple springs across the table, or crumbs on the chairs. Or all of them at once.
But that's okay. You do laundry, you wipe it up, you take a bath at the end of the day. You hold your breath when you change his diaper and put the soiled one in the trash. The world goes on, and it's all right if it's absolutely filthy right now...truth is, some things will never be clean (like the bottom of M's feet?).
Life is not quite as fragile as you think.
I'm the kind of older sister who wants to keep you from running too fast so you don't fall and hurt yourself. Or stays away from slightly dangerous activities just to make sure you don't die.
It doesn't quite work that way. These boys run and climb and find themselves upside down. They walk barefoot in the backyard and want to pick up the earwig that's crawling around. And when the toe gets stubbed or E falls flat on his face...it's okay. Often, he can pick himself up and go on. But when he can't...
Sometimes, all you need is a kiss.
On more than one occasion, the boys have run into each other. E has tripped when I was looking away. M has run into something. And they come to me, ask Auntie Audrey for a kiss, and when I ask if it feels better afterwards, they say yes and go back to playing.
That's it.
I remember bikes. I remember my tricycle--it was purple, white, and red. I remember all the games we made up in the front yard: roasting our dumplings (folded leaves stuck on a twig) as we camped; running up and down the driveway while playing Red Light, Green Light; Mother May I, or 1-2-3-Stop (all variations of the same game, right?); or hiding in the same bushes for yet another round of hide-and-seek (really, there are only so many hiding spots in front of two houses).
These two energetic boys (M, age 4, and E, age 2) that I'm babysitting are not just making me remember my life twenty years ago (well, what little I can remember, but watching them live their lives of pure play while learning to share, use their manners, and play nicely is teaching me some lessons...
Life is messy.
Or perhaps even more appropriately, life is not meant to be clean. Just yesterday, minutes before his mom pulled up in the driveway, M decided that he wanted to lay down in the dirt. No reason, not for play, not for pretend. He just wanted to lay in the dirt, both sides of his cheek. And today they're playing with chalk: 'painting' their trikes with them, crushing them with their plastic tires, and spreading the color everywhere. This also means they're covered in chalk, from their bare feet and shorts to their t-shirts and face.
Mealtime is always a mess. E does not let anyone feed him, but he also doesn't always know how to get food in his mouth. Last week we had applesauce for lunch, and I think half of it ended up on his shirt. If it's not applesauce on shirts, it's Cheerios on the ground, or apple springs across the table, or crumbs on the chairs. Or all of them at once.
But that's okay. You do laundry, you wipe it up, you take a bath at the end of the day. You hold your breath when you change his diaper and put the soiled one in the trash. The world goes on, and it's all right if it's absolutely filthy right now...truth is, some things will never be clean (like the bottom of M's feet?).
Life is not quite as fragile as you think.
I'm the kind of older sister who wants to keep you from running too fast so you don't fall and hurt yourself. Or stays away from slightly dangerous activities just to make sure you don't die.
It doesn't quite work that way. These boys run and climb and find themselves upside down. They walk barefoot in the backyard and want to pick up the earwig that's crawling around. And when the toe gets stubbed or E falls flat on his face...it's okay. Often, he can pick himself up and go on. But when he can't...
Sometimes, all you need is a kiss.
On more than one occasion, the boys have run into each other. E has tripped when I was looking away. M has run into something. And they come to me, ask Auntie Audrey for a kiss, and when I ask if it feels better afterwards, they say yes and go back to playing.
That's it.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Observation
Sacramento has a bunch of things to make you slow down when you're driving:
- Speed Bumps
- Speed Humps
- Speed Table
- Undulations
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Cold calling a Chinese church
Dear church manager who picked up at 9:45 pm on a Saturday night,
Thank you for providing me with far more information than I asked for, and for validating my experience as a minority and person of color. While I never asked for it, you openly and willingly named other Chinese churches that I could consider in the area, giving me the sense that you wanted me to know the options and go as God leads, instead of grasping for me to join your congregation. You were upfront that your teaching pastor is leaving at the end of next month. Much of the English congregation loves his teaching, but just be aware that he's leaving and the church is actually in the search for three (where did the other two come from?) new pastors.
Some of this is really unnecessary to a newcomer attending your church. But you demonstrated a mature way of gauging things: "It sounds like you are familiar with church?" "I am not sure how long you have been a believer, but..." Perhaps not the smoothest of questions, but I appreciated the clarification, appreciated that you didn't make assumptions.
But more importantly, as I awkwardly tried explaining I'm looking at both multi-ethnic churches and Chinese churches, you comfortably and easily said, "Of course, it's a decision every minority needs to make." And I took a deep breath and knew you were right, and that it was okay.
You don't know that I was just told yesterday to "open my eyes" by my white student. You don't know that I think I'm getting emotionally tired of adjusting every thing: feeling like I'm begging students take off their shoes to come inside my house, wondering if they are looking at me differently, constantly getting caught off guard by my Caucasian roommate's assumptions and attitudes. You don't know that I've been asking God, "Am I ready for this?" when I think about leading students who may have never really has an Asian friend...in addition to being older than me and don't have a built-in respect for authority in quite the same way. That sometimes conversations with a group of white people feel too fast and too aggressive and I'm too tired to squeeze my voice in. That I feel a little guilty for wanting breathing room with friends of like culture, where I can do a whole lot less explaining and whole lot more just being.
It was refreshing to hear you weave between the terms ABC and OBC. I felt a sense of familiarity just knowing what you were referencing, in your using the term "first generation born" just like I do. And even if I don't know if I'll end up at your church, tonight, I am grateful.
Thank you for providing me with far more information than I asked for, and for validating my experience as a minority and person of color. While I never asked for it, you openly and willingly named other Chinese churches that I could consider in the area, giving me the sense that you wanted me to know the options and go as God leads, instead of grasping for me to join your congregation. You were upfront that your teaching pastor is leaving at the end of next month. Much of the English congregation loves his teaching, but just be aware that he's leaving and the church is actually in the search for three (where did the other two come from?) new pastors.
Some of this is really unnecessary to a newcomer attending your church. But you demonstrated a mature way of gauging things: "It sounds like you are familiar with church?" "I am not sure how long you have been a believer, but..." Perhaps not the smoothest of questions, but I appreciated the clarification, appreciated that you didn't make assumptions.
But more importantly, as I awkwardly tried explaining I'm looking at both multi-ethnic churches and Chinese churches, you comfortably and easily said, "Of course, it's a decision every minority needs to make." And I took a deep breath and knew you were right, and that it was okay.
You don't know that I was just told yesterday to "open my eyes" by my white student. You don't know that I think I'm getting emotionally tired of adjusting every thing: feeling like I'm begging students take off their shoes to come inside my house, wondering if they are looking at me differently, constantly getting caught off guard by my Caucasian roommate's assumptions and attitudes. You don't know that I've been asking God, "Am I ready for this?" when I think about leading students who may have never really has an Asian friend...in addition to being older than me and don't have a built-in respect for authority in quite the same way. That sometimes conversations with a group of white people feel too fast and too aggressive and I'm too tired to squeeze my voice in. That I feel a little guilty for wanting breathing room with friends of like culture, where I can do a whole lot less explaining and whole lot more just being.
It was refreshing to hear you weave between the terms ABC and OBC. I felt a sense of familiarity just knowing what you were referencing, in your using the term "first generation born" just like I do. And even if I don't know if I'll end up at your church, tonight, I am grateful.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Word of God, speak
I'm reviewing the talk on Biblical justice I wrote last year because I'm giving it again next week. But as I'm reading it, I'm wondering how on earth we thought this was possible. Summarize a huge topic woven throughout all of scripture, fundamental to all of life...into twenty minutes.
I wish I had my brainstorm poster up again, I wish I had all the documents I read and researched up to get my brain on the topic. I know some of the thoughts I've inserted into my talk are not my own, but I can't exactly remember where I read or heard them either. I feel like I'm not giving it my all because I'm not steeped in thinking about this talk like I was last year.
At the same time, it's a lie to say the topic has not been present and affecting my choices, explicitly or not. And I can see even clearer now gaps that these twenty minutes can't hit. Our responsibility in personal lifestyle, the tug I am feeling to eventually buy only fair trade (or thrift?) clothing. The way justice is woven with a lifestyle of simplicity, because if we are to seek shalom in all areas of our lives, then they come together. How shalom encompasses our human relationships and speaking up for the marginalized...or even simpler, the people on campus who are not present (correlation to not feeling welcome and belonging?) in this group. Or systemic issues, like the environment, legal issues, or oppression. All these pieces. All these pieces, and I can't fit them all in.
My heart weighs heavy with my own lack of knowledge and application, and a hint of guilt from knowing my life is far from righteous. But I remind myself of God's grace and the power of his spirit: first, that He only is just and righteous and we will always, always fall short. Thus we are forever in need of his grace to cover us. Second, He moves and speaks and stirs to his timing. May these words spoken convict where needed. It is not my responsibility to lay out the upcoming twenty steps for a student to take...the Lord will lead them to the next one.
I wish I had my brainstorm poster up again, I wish I had all the documents I read and researched up to get my brain on the topic. I know some of the thoughts I've inserted into my talk are not my own, but I can't exactly remember where I read or heard them either. I feel like I'm not giving it my all because I'm not steeped in thinking about this talk like I was last year.
At the same time, it's a lie to say the topic has not been present and affecting my choices, explicitly or not. And I can see even clearer now gaps that these twenty minutes can't hit. Our responsibility in personal lifestyle, the tug I am feeling to eventually buy only fair trade (or thrift?) clothing. The way justice is woven with a lifestyle of simplicity, because if we are to seek shalom in all areas of our lives, then they come together. How shalom encompasses our human relationships and speaking up for the marginalized...or even simpler, the people on campus who are not present (correlation to not feeling welcome and belonging?) in this group. Or systemic issues, like the environment, legal issues, or oppression. All these pieces. All these pieces, and I can't fit them all in.
My heart weighs heavy with my own lack of knowledge and application, and a hint of guilt from knowing my life is far from righteous. But I remind myself of God's grace and the power of his spirit: first, that He only is just and righteous and we will always, always fall short. Thus we are forever in need of his grace to cover us. Second, He moves and speaks and stirs to his timing. May these words spoken convict where needed. It is not my responsibility to lay out the upcoming twenty steps for a student to take...the Lord will lead them to the next one.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Wanted: Friends
Please, please don't let this be awkward.
They tell you that, when you move, it takes time to make new friends. What they didn't tell me is that trying to do so makes you feel like a sixth-grader again. Awkward, kind-of desperate, wondering if you look too desperate. Trying to be yourself, but not entirely sure who that self is.
I met Julie from my women's ultimate league a couple months ago. A couple days, she sent a text inviting those who were in town for the long weekend to a pool party. I eagerly responded because I had just realized that I had nothing fun planned for the three-day weekend, then wondered if I was even a close-enough friend to accept the invitation. Would it be full of people I didn't know? Friends who knew each other more than I knew any of them? I had a back-up plan to bring an old classmate of mine with me, but she couldn't make it.
Today Julie sent out another message, saying that only two of us had responded but we were still welcome anyway. Uh, did I know the other person? Still, I had talked myself into going despite all my hesitations, and I was actually looking forward to getting out of the house.
Yet as I walked up the driveway with board games in my hand and a bag of Lays in my bag, all I could think was, "Please, please don't let this be awkward." I could think of several scenarios. Dead, awkward conversations. Wondering if Julie doubted her invitation when I was 50% of the guest list (I really don't know Julie well). Feeling pathetic that someone who loves people so much could find herself in such great need of just friends to be with on a three-day weekend. Wondering how long the party would last, and how long I would last until I made an excuse to leave.
I walked back down the driveway five hours, half a bottle of home-brewed beer, a game of Ticket to Ride, a walk around the block, a carpese salad, and many conversation topics later. The other mysterious guest turned out to be Kim, one of the ladies from my summer league team that just ended. We had enjoyed the last half of the season together, as well as a fun hour at the sports bar a couple weeks ago. Kim, Julie, and I: three girls who don't quite know each other, but I get the feeling that we all kinda need friends. Well, we know we all have friends: good ones out of town, old friends who've moved, others that we occasionally see...but maybe (wishfully?), we're all looking for people to get to know a little better and even more simply, just to hang out with.
Earlier in the evening, Julie mentioned that when she was inviting people over, she realized just how few people she was really friends with in the area. What I heard between the lines was: Maybe you guys can be some real friends.Whether this was her real meaning or not, who knows? All I know was we enjoyed ourselves, and we all hope to do it again.
And on making new friends in the post-college world, here are some thoughts I have:
The new girl in town
They tell you that, when you move, it takes time to make new friends. What they didn't tell me is that trying to do so makes you feel like a sixth-grader again. Awkward, kind-of desperate, wondering if you look too desperate. Trying to be yourself, but not entirely sure who that self is.
I met Julie from my women's ultimate league a couple months ago. A couple days, she sent a text inviting those who were in town for the long weekend to a pool party. I eagerly responded because I had just realized that I had nothing fun planned for the three-day weekend, then wondered if I was even a close-enough friend to accept the invitation. Would it be full of people I didn't know? Friends who knew each other more than I knew any of them? I had a back-up plan to bring an old classmate of mine with me, but she couldn't make it.
Today Julie sent out another message, saying that only two of us had responded but we were still welcome anyway. Uh, did I know the other person? Still, I had talked myself into going despite all my hesitations, and I was actually looking forward to getting out of the house.
Yet as I walked up the driveway with board games in my hand and a bag of Lays in my bag, all I could think was, "Please, please don't let this be awkward." I could think of several scenarios. Dead, awkward conversations. Wondering if Julie doubted her invitation when I was 50% of the guest list (I really don't know Julie well). Feeling pathetic that someone who loves people so much could find herself in such great need of just friends to be with on a three-day weekend. Wondering how long the party would last, and how long I would last until I made an excuse to leave.
I walked back down the driveway five hours, half a bottle of home-brewed beer, a game of Ticket to Ride, a walk around the block, a carpese salad, and many conversation topics later. The other mysterious guest turned out to be Kim, one of the ladies from my summer league team that just ended. We had enjoyed the last half of the season together, as well as a fun hour at the sports bar a couple weeks ago. Kim, Julie, and I: three girls who don't quite know each other, but I get the feeling that we all kinda need friends. Well, we know we all have friends: good ones out of town, old friends who've moved, others that we occasionally see...but maybe (wishfully?), we're all looking for people to get to know a little better and even more simply, just to hang out with.
Earlier in the evening, Julie mentioned that when she was inviting people over, she realized just how few people she was really friends with in the area. What I heard between the lines was: Maybe you guys can be some real friends.Whether this was her real meaning or not, who knows? All I know was we enjoyed ourselves, and we all hope to do it again.
And on making new friends in the post-college world, here are some thoughts I have:
- It takes time, but it also takes putting yourself out there: saying yes to invites, and potentially even inviting yourself sometimes. Kind of tiring, but I guess like everything worthwhile (and like all good friendships), it takes work.
- There are probably people looking for friends as well, just like you are (this is actually Kim's story of her first league team: new to the area, new to Ultimate, and looking for friends...and thus new friends were made)
- Expect awkwardness
- It's okay to be afraid and to feel like you're back on your first day of Kindergarten. Speaking of that, did you know I had two first days of Kindergarten? I went to one school, then three days later we transferred to another school--the only time I've ever been the new kid at school (I don't really think it counts).
- Admit to yourself that you need friends. It's a human thing and it doesn't mean you're desperate (because you do have other friends, just not here). And it doesn't mean you're hanging out with people just because you need friends, either.
The new girl in town
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Leaps
I wrote a piece for the InterVarsity National Blog!
Confuse a Freshman = Priceless
When I heard Amy recruiting for blog writers at ONS, I was both excited and hesitant. I want to write, and I'm also in the process of working on some of my lesser-known interests. I feel strange volunteering myself for something I feel unqualified for, but I also know there are times you need to jump on the opportunity.
So in the middle of my first couple weeks of Sacramento, I plopped down at a coffee shop and crunched out a piece on a topic I feel strongly about because I have been so blessed by it. It wasn't my best piece, and it doesn't have the tone of eloquence I occasionally (rarely...?) have. And part of me thinks they'd let anyone write...and by "anyone", I mean sub-par writers like yours truly. But there you go.
More than the buzz of being (kinda-)published, I think I'm excited that I did it. Tried something new. Did something I'm not exactly the expert at, that people don't know me for. And in the theme of "voice" that I've been pondering for the past month: I used it. Used it in a very vocal, real, practical way. Not on a profound topic or with a very loud volume, but regardless: I used a voice God gave me. Words, communication, thoughts, ideas, calls to action.
And so I write so words would not be forgotten. I write to add my voice to the dialogue. I write--young, 23-yeard-old that I am--to share, to communicate, to learn. In my lack of experience, it feels like I'm wincing and second-guessing myself as I jump...yet here we go.
Confuse a Freshman = Priceless
When I heard Amy recruiting for blog writers at ONS, I was both excited and hesitant. I want to write, and I'm also in the process of working on some of my lesser-known interests. I feel strange volunteering myself for something I feel unqualified for, but I also know there are times you need to jump on the opportunity.
So in the middle of my first couple weeks of Sacramento, I plopped down at a coffee shop and crunched out a piece on a topic I feel strongly about because I have been so blessed by it. It wasn't my best piece, and it doesn't have the tone of eloquence I occasionally (rarely...?) have. And part of me thinks they'd let anyone write...and by "anyone", I mean sub-par writers like yours truly. But there you go.
More than the buzz of being (kinda-)published, I think I'm excited that I did it. Tried something new. Did something I'm not exactly the expert at, that people don't know me for. And in the theme of "voice" that I've been pondering for the past month: I used it. Used it in a very vocal, real, practical way. Not on a profound topic or with a very loud volume, but regardless: I used a voice God gave me. Words, communication, thoughts, ideas, calls to action.
And so I write so words would not be forgotten. I write to add my voice to the dialogue. I write--young, 23-yeard-old that I am--to share, to communicate, to learn. In my lack of experience, it feels like I'm wincing and second-guessing myself as I jump...yet here we go.
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