It's my first late-afternoon run, and with a late start, I'm pushing into dusk. I run westward along the American River, telling myself over and over again that this view here is exactly why I love sunsets and sunrises, with the setting light casting a golden glow on everything around me. I'm aiming for the longest run of training thus far: five miles, though come May, I will be ready to run eight more in addition to that. The four miler earlier this week left me a bit out of breath, as I think I'm still building up my cardio for the season. But as I feel the rhythm of the ground beneath me, my legs pumping, my shoes hitting the ground...I know five miles is going to be nothing. This feels good. The rhythm. The cool air along the river, brisk on my skin. The sporadic warm pockets that hint of a warm spring to come. The soft rushes of the river. The bare branches, dignified in their winter nakedness. The push to finish before dark. The good pain of soreness turning into strength. This is why I run. This is good.
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I love my supervisor. Her wisdom, her ease with words, her ability to create a space where I churn thoughts I didn't realize needed churning. Her experience in leadership and ability to give me just the challenge I need to make me even more excited about the work I get to do, even if that means I need to put my vision into words and send it to her as an assignment. We also talk about the dog comment and how to approach it. She re-frames it for me, that it's not a race thing but a discipleship thing. I can come in with the angle of hospitality instead of being an angry Asian woman. I leave thinking: I can do this.
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Every time I make it to campus mid-day, I wonder why the heck I don't do it more often. I look at all the students and think, if you knew what your life could be. I wonder how much of the population doesn't know Jesus. I think about what we could do here, what God might already be cooking up, how to find that and jump in. I love the buzz of conversation, the pockets of people everywhere I look. And this day, I also talk to H. about that dog comment, and it goes so well. He is sincerely apologetic and recognizes he has much to learn (in general life). We talk for awhile, about intent, ignorance, perception, hospitality. At some point during the conversation I think, I love this! It's been awhile since a sit-down discipleship conversation, where I get to help a student work through some stuff and help them see a bigger picture of God in their lives. I'm having so much fun that I ask him about small group too, and I excitedly share how his desire for application-based study is not mutually exclusive from the inductive focus. This is good.
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I wrote a blog a few weeks ago about dating as an first-generation Asian-American. I was so excited once I started thinking about it, that I actually took up one of my evenings just to write it. But upon re-reading it a week later, I wasn't impressed anymore. Who is to say this experience is different? Will it sound offensive, limited? It doesn't cover everything, but does it cover enough? But I sent it in anyway, and took the gutsy move to share the link on my facebook (Self-promoting still feels awkward). What do you know? Several friends are grateful and agree. Even more surprising are the comments and likes from acquaintances and old high school friends. My mind leaps to thinking: What if I what I had written was even more related to faith and Jesus? Is this a possible, far-out witnessing tool to people I don't really know? I think about my staff friends who are thoughtful and maintain open conversations through virtual media, and wonder what kind of testimony could unfold from this. Or if they clicked around after wondering what site I was even wondering for. Imagine that--dropping hints of a faith worth believing in through sharing a piece I've written that's relevant to them?
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A few of our favorite students came up last night for Steph's talk. I'm reminded about how we scatter seeds, sometimes nurture them for a bit, and then leave them to God or whoever is taking care of them next. Keaton tells me how he's starting to talk to his dad again since we did prayer ministry a year ago (almost to this date!). Kayleen tells me that studying abroad has changed her, that she isn't superficial like she used to be. Dang. Sarah's love always makes me smile; in some ways, I feel like she loves me to a depth that I don't deserve. Jon is clever and hilarious as usual. Friends. I love friends. And today, Lauren visited and we had lunch while catching up on life, family, and friends at the cutest crepe place in Midtown. I'm reminded of the things I love in this city already: so many cute, delicious restaurants; the long path along the American river; and the numerous opportunities for Ultimate (I'm playing another league in a couple months). So many friends this week, and the best is still yet to come.
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It's been a good week, but it's going to get even better. Because tomorrow, four of my best college friends are coming over, from as far as Bakersfield all the way to my apartment. Two are already married, but somehow we're pulling off a sleepover. I wonder if I'll find the words to tell them how grateful I am for them, for taking me into their lives despite being three years younger. I feel like these are the friends who knew who I was even before I figured out myself: sacrificially loving, forever extrovert, photographer. These are the girls who listened as full-time ministry first became an option, recognizing both the talent and smarts I had for engineering, but also the deep commitment I already had to loving students. These are the girls who called me out when I considered going back to cubicle land just to pay the bills, who reminded me of how I could simply not thrive there. I have a feeling we will just sit around a lot, laugh and giggle, talk and think. And it is going to be good.
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