turns out i'm not supergirl

Well my dear friends, it has been awhile, but I got hurt today. It's funny how a long streak of good health and fast recoveries make you forget that you are not invincible. But after this afternoon's bike accident, I sit here with a sore jaw and swollen lip, skinned hands and a bruised leg, and a dull headache on the left side of my head where I hit the trail. I'm glad I wore a helmet.

Fortunately the roommate Rosanne and I were together, and I had my phone (which is another thing I don't always take with me, but today may have me convinced otherwise).  She called down the list of all our church friends who were nearby, and it was another one of those moments that I realized...times have changed in Sacramento. There was a time a year and a half ago when an injury or accident felt a lot more isolating and lonely, when I had only so many phone numbers within a 10 mile radius.

The boyfriend would laugh at my how I make dramatic conclusions or life lessons out of small things, but here we are: as I sit here with my head hurting and my body tired, I remember that some things take time and I can't control how fast my body heals. That I am made human and humans get hurt. And I am thankful that God gave friends and people to care for you.

On other notes, I put on the socks Jane gave me from Korea because they make me happy on this slow, tired night. It's the small things, guys.

On Idolatry

I think it's an obvious fact that many Asian American students and families have an academic idolatry. But tonight was the first time in awhile that I remembered how alive it is in our churches. At the high school senior Grad Seminar, a handful of questions were asked about balancing life, how to handle academics, where to put your time. There was a variety of answers: figure out your goals, choose your priorities, put God first. etc.

It wasn't till I drove home that I realized what was bothering me about our panel responses: when we talked about grades, we talked about it like it would be our choice. If I failed, it's because I didn't prioritize it enough, I didn't manage my time, or I didn't care enough about it. Nowhere did we say, "The Lord gave, and the Lord takes.." Nowhere did anyone say, "You might study all you can and still fail."

We are still in the grip of the idol, thinking we can control it. I'm churning thoughts off of Andy Crouch's Playing God as he talks about idolatry, how it "embodies a false claim about the world's ultimate meaning." And we think that the world will work right and in our favor if we study correctly. Nowhere does our Chinese Church narrative tell us that following God will leads us to an F.

Now, there are a lot of idols our churches have, a lot of things that are in the Bible that are missing in our teachings. But tonight this whole thing about good grades and academic success leads me to success. Because idols (again, borrowing from Crouch) will ask for more and more, while giving less and less, until eventually they demand everything and give nothing.

I remember this in undergrad. I remember when a low result on a midterm drove classmates to give more and more for their time, but to no avail. Individual classes or semester loads that demanded friends to give everything--all their time, energy, emotion--to their grades, and then gave nothing. In one case, the "nothing" turned out to be failure still: not passing, not making it, not understanding material regardless of hours put in. In others, that "nothing" came in other forms: withered relationships, tired people, purposelessness and depression.

In all honesty, it is the first case of "nothing" that I irked me: as I started this post, I wished that these incoming college freshmen knew that academics and grades were not in their control. They are not guaranteed success no matter how they put in. Try as they might, they may get an F. But as I write, I am convinced that that second "nothing" is all the more terrifying yet invisible: that they could walk out with the grades after they put in and not realize that it will demand more of them. We've seen it: the bigger idolatry of success transfers easily from academics to career and position.

These thoughts are incomplete. It's been awhile since I've paid attention to this idol in my community. But tonight the language and our illusion of control over this has given light to it yet again.

finding contentment in limits

For the knowing

I don't really like long days of silence and solitude. Correction: I don't even like one day of silence and solitude. For someone's whose instinct when life happens is to call someone and tell someone--good news, bad news, surprises, joys, angers--a whole day with no one to tell is lame to me (not to everyone, I know). Truth is, I do my best with people. My best ideas come when I'm talking out loud, I often figure out who I am in the company of those who know me best.

But the reality is that as much as people are good for me, it's easy to wrap my life around them. This week I found myself in that quiet but persistent urge for approval again, even in matters as dumb and subtle as wanting to defend my bookshelf because I'm not reading the "right" authors. I am wondering my position at letting women teach the youth but not the adults, of leading devotions and applications but not interpreting and preaching the word. I have in my hands my performance review of a job that takes deep heart and serious spirituality but I know if I'm going to do this for years more my roots had better sink deep, deeper than they are now.

And even with these specific needs and issues aside, I need to let my Creator speak. Spaces where I just be, where no one else speaks, hears or knows me remind me that, while my life is woven into the community around me, it is, at its best and at its purpose, fully centered around God. And in the middle of career decisions, resurfacing goals to please and perform to those around me, and awareness of doubts of who I am, no other voice will be more important.

So here's to silence. I know better than to set expectations for that day. But at the very least, I know that I need this.

New Clothes

What are the scripts I follow? The role I'm born into, a narrative handed to be at birth: the words and roles for the youngest daughter and the little sister, always looking up to someone older with more experience. I might be the most responsible and capable in the room, but I'll downplay it or at least not draw attention to it. The lessons that tell me never to be proud of myself, to wait and let others praise me. The training to see critique first, and maybe a sliver of success. The script I've been given puts authority and pride in a confusing gray area, mixes confidence and arrogance so I can't tell them apart and am afraid to show one in case it's misinterpreted as the other.

It takes practice to hold back the lines I've recited my whole life, and to replace them with ones that I still feel unsure about. My supervisor says I am not allowed to say, "I don't know what I'm doing" anymore, as it undermines my own authority and just reinforces my own self-doubt. So I stop. But even if those six words don't come out of my mouth, I find my insecurity wanting to creep out in other ways: I want to double check my instincts with my supervisor in the room even when I'm the one leading, I am tempted to speak in hesitancy and doubt instead of confidence and direction. I want to remind everyone that I am new, inexperienced, and figuring it out.

But I hold back, even if it means the five hour meeting is filled with choices of what to say and what to hold back. Say my decision, hold back my hesitation. Say my instinct, hold back the need for affirmation. Say my plan, hold back my doubt. There are many places for feedback, discussion, teamwork and collaboration, but I can create those spaces well as a leader. This is practice, this is discipline, and it makes me more aware than ever of my lack of confidence. Who would have thought?

Last summer I told a staff director that the influence and authority I found myself with felt like new clothes. New clothes - they fit, they're right, they're good, they're needed. Still, it takes some getting used to. It might actually fit perfectly, but it doesn't mean that the for awhile, I will still be very aware that I am wearing my New Shirt when I put it on. But like a perfect-fitting shirt, I will choose to wear the leadership that is made for me and that fits me well. New shirts are good things.

Home

It's been awhile. I checked my archives: With the exception of last month, I wrote at least one post a month for the past three years. Which means this two-month gap of not blogging was the longest I've gone without writing. Not even a draft, not even a written-but-unposted piece.

There is a lot I could write about in absence: the continuing journey of voice, ethnicity, and ministry; D at long last entering his last month of school; his job offer and the short-lived hope of not being long-distance; the slump of post-Mark Camp-is-the-school-year-over-yet? and finding energy to keep going amid that; etc. etc. etc.

But today, I will write about home, Sacramento-home, specifically. This blog has had its share of displacement angst and even its own "transition" tag, chronicling my move from Stockton to here. And while I've been here for two years come August, and as much as I love Sacramento as a city, it wasn't till two weeks ago that I really found a home. Long story short, I moved in with two friends from church and everything changed. The rest it's given for my heart, my subconscious, my emotions is amazing. I didn't realize how much I had wound up in a year and a half of non-ideal housing. I never really relaxed in that first condo I lived in, as differing values, life stages, and resentment built up into angst. The room I rented for six months was in a house that was never really mine, and I always felt like talking to my housemates then was making small talk with women who would never understand my lifestyle.

I think our lives of following Jesus involves some level of displacement. But these days, I am so grateful for God's grace that says, "Not right now." That says for this next season, let your heart rest and feel at home. Settle and unwind and find comfort in your physical dwelling. Another day, you will be on the move again. Another day, you will be placed in a place you don't fit. Every day, remember that this world is not your home. Yet for now, right now, grace comes in the form of a home-space, a physical belonging. And I don't know how to explain it to anyone enough, because I think it takes feeling never-quite-at-home for a long period of time to really, really appreciate home.

Home is a lot of things. It is having a place where the chopsticks and spoons belong, instead of having your Chinese soup spoons be awkwardly put on the counter because your roommate doesn't know where to put it. It is having a shelf for board games again, instead of stacking then in a box that has to move to different corners of the your room as you shuffle it around. It is actually unpacking every box, finding a place for each thing and finally throwing out the items without one instead of letting it all sit in a box you shuffle through as needed. It is finding the compromise in chores, groceries, and sharing instead of inwardly rolling your eyes when someone else's preference trumps yours. Home is no shoes inside the house. Lots of rice in the pantry but also pasta and canned vegetables. A sauce cabinet with Lee Kum Kee, soy sauce, dark soy sauce, chili oil and sesame oil but a spice cabinet with cumin, cinnamon, and Lawry's. Walking with your roommate to your friend's house two streets down. Carpooling to church and offering your home-cooked leftovers. Home is eating at the dining table and wanting your roommates to join, it's leaving your door open all the time and not trying to avoid your roommates.

Sometimes, you best know something by what it's juxtaposed against (can you even use that word like that?). These days I'm realizing how little everywhere else felt like home now that I have this to compare it to. And I'm so, so grateful for the grace in this season and moment.

my exodus from apa

The three days of our APA Conference were beautiful. While the roles I played on the planning team felt relatively minor, watching all the elements fall into place as we moved, executed, planned on the spot was incredible. I sat there on Saturday night in the dimmed room and thought, "This is more than I had even hoped this conference to be." I remind myself that God can succeed our expectations multiple times over, and I'm also in awe of Matt's leadership and vision that was bigger than mine.

I took the past two days off, and it kinda still feels like APA was just yesterday. A majority of my thoughts continue to center around it, partially as I think and dream for next year (that deserves a separate post), partially because it was just a damn good weekend and maybe the most solid thing we've offered our APA students.

Now that my body has enough rest (read: slept in without an alarm two days in a row) and my room a little more sanity (read: I finally cleaned), I'm ready to pick up campus work again. Unfortunately, after five days of being off campus I'm a little disoriented: following up the first week of new student outreach with a second week full of conference details leaves you a little confused by the third week. How do I pick up where I left off if the momentum for the semester hadn't even started? Am I re-starting now, except that we're already three weeks in? 

And just as I was getting ready to settle into bed, a solid, present sadness hit me. Two days ago, I loved, hugged, and said goodbye to my APA family. And tomorrow, I wake up and walk back into the world of explaining and calculating and code-switching and speaking up. Where my values don't always line up with my teammates, where I've chosen to translate and speak and fight and care over and over again...where I walk as the only Asian-American staff on a staff team in a fellowship that is predominantly white. 

I remember this sadness last fall, as I left the comfort of my friends and peers at Area Time and walked into my daily life where I am not quite as understood. I didn't think this would reoccur. But as I think about the myriad of things I loved about the weekend, it comes hand in hand with what I say goodbye to as I step back onto my campus. The innate and elegant servanthood of our community, always watching out for other people, whether it means bringing out extra chairs or offering a refill of the bottle. The fact that many of us were tired but not once did I hear a complaint or regret. Our honor and respect for elders and our investment in the younger generation.  How we watch out and make space, even if it's just physically for people in chairs or tables in the crowded dining hall. Our standards of excellence. And so many, so many hands always ready to help, always ready to serve. 

I could apologize and be understood. I could speak in facts and directness if I wanted to, but I could also tell stories and examples and not worry if the listener got the main point. I didn't have the question floating in the back of my head, "Does he get what I'm trying to say here?" So many words from up front made perfect sense--our speaker Jonathan spoke to a life of in-between and never settling...that, my friends, that is my life right now. Nate's spoken word pierced in so many levels, so many ways, and I've listened to and read the the pieces over and over again and there is comfort in someone speaking straight. straight to my experience. Bianca and Mary step in and make a seminar for the APA Women, and while an itty bitty part of me feels as if I have failed in not having one prepared (I tried, but a few things fell through), another part surges with pride because these girls, these women are my sisters. And our prophetic voice will speak loud and clear, and I am so proud to call them my peers and my sisters. 

And I carry this pride, I carry this love...and I walk back to campus and I feel alone. As the staff team asks, "How was APA?" how will I choose to respond? The weekend was powerful and many left embracing their ethnicities and cultures, and here I am feeling tired of standing alone. Fighting to love who I am and still partially hating that it sets me apart, that on this team I am still different. This team which loves students yet awkwardly I've ended up in the most trusted relationships with the students of color. And as I stare at a rigid agenda and fill out another evaluation, I also realize there are some missing values here. Ones of relationship and harmony that make me sense guilt and shame in certain situations, certain situations where I feel forced and awkward to move on but hey, something about efficiency or intention or whatever mis-matched value and I guess it's time to go to the next bullet point. 

I leave my APA family where we have just begun airing out our brokenness, our hurt, our idols. This weekend we called our students to choose to live in between dichotomies but right now, I'm not ready to straddle that line again.