Power, resources, flourishing. Two days ago, my roommate and I successfully hosted a dinner that brought together a couple different circles of church friends as well as two new friends who moved to Sacramento within the past six months. In the 48 hours since that successful hamburger night and while I try to finish Crouch's Playing God (yes, another reference), I've been mulling over those three words and how they played out in our evening of cheeseburgers and dessert.
Crouch defines power as "the ability to make something of the world" - to transform your environment, and the ability to interpret and make meaning from the world. And as I think about why Ro and I threw together this dinner party, we wanted to make community happen. I saw new friends in positions where I was not too long ago: showing up at group-hosted events but otherwise having little to do on weekends. Slowly finding their life in this new city but still a-ways from having a home. These two years in Sacramento have made me incredibly sympathetic to newcomers, re-locators, and transplants. I remember being there. And I hope they will find a home here sooner than later. In that sense, we had the power and used it to create connections, relationships, and communities among our newer friends and our church regulars.
Our other undercover, personal mission has been to bridge gaps between our young adult and career adult groups. Both of us have dabbled in both and have recently been churning thoughts about their similarities and differences, for better or for worse, as they both reflect God and also our broken human selves. While there is no need for the groups to merge, this summer I've found myself wanted to erase the lines that unnecessarily separate the groups. So here I am -- about a year and a half into knowing these church friends and already mixing up social groups and guests lists. Transforming the environment indeed.
But what a dinner party it was. The word resources is included above because prior to moving into this home, I wouldn't have the space to host a dinner where 11 of us could sit around a table. I think of the power we used to create a space for people to flourish through our hospitality: as resident and host of this home, I made the choice to put two tables together so all of us could sit around and face each other. Even that choice versus the paired-off seating of group parties was meant to communicate come, join our family. Tablecloths and set placements said, We're ready for you. And in really cheesy, practical ways (no pun intended), we allowed for creation. We had gaps in our planning that made it so Joe and David were at the stove during all of prep time. We picked a menu so that everyone could contribute and together we created our dinner.
There is no perfect community on this side of heaven, but as I play my part in a kingdom-like community here, maybe this is a new start: using my power and resources to have mealtimes where people sit around a table with a whole group, where old friends meet new people, where people are invited to participate and contribute something to the table, where I create space for joy, laughter, communion, and fellowship. And may it be a place where people and communities may flourish.
Monday, August 11, 2014
Thursday, August 7, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, July 11, 2014
Saturday, July 5, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, May 23, 2014
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.
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.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)