Near Misses Part II

Airlines have seriously cracked down on everything. When my mom and I flew to LA on Continental, they stuck tight to the two item carry on rule, no wiggle room allowed. In the past I was allowed to bring my carry on luggage, a backpack, and a purse, but this time they didn't allow it. But wait, let me explain the back story.

During this trip my cousins, sister, and I planned a snowboarding trip. Unfortunately this required lots of gear. My sister had left for California a week before me, and hadn't brought her hiking boots to wear in the snowy mountains. Since I had to bring my rain boots + her hiking boots + other snow gear, I opted to bring a larger carry on. After looking online at the carry on requirements, we decided that this suitcase was within the allowed size. When we got to the security entrance checkpoint however, the lady stopped us and told us to try to fit the luggage into the carry on measurement thing to see if it was too big. The suitcase was fat because I had piled on the rain boots and hiking boots, so it was too fat to fit into the measurement cage. So my mom and I opened up the suitcase to see what we could do. The only option was to take off our regular shoes and wear those troublesome boots. I donned the rain boots. She wore the hiking boots. The whole time we were standing there, laughing ridiculously. We must have looked like fools. We certainly felt like it because, well, it wasn't raining, and we weren't going hiking, but here we were in the middle of the airport, under the scrutiny of two nitpicking guards, wearing these thick out of context shoes. The two guards just stood there stoically while we laughed, which made it even more bizarre. After taking off the top layer of shoes, the suitcase fit the size requirements. But wait, there's more! We approached the guards expectantly, waiting to be let through, when the man stops us with his broken English. "Only two carry on. Two!" He points to my offending handbag accusingly. I sighed and opened my suitcase, again. I smashed the purse into my suitcase, stood up, fish rain boots and all, and walked towards the guards for the third time. Thank goodness we were ushered in. I half expected them to point to my butt and say, "Sorry, too big. Can't let you in." And I would have responded, "Sorry, can't help you there." Hahaha.

Everything on the plane must be paid for now. You're hungry? Want some TV? Too bad, you gotta pay. What ever happened to the good old days when meals came with the ticket and screens dropped down to play a movie? I guess those days are officially gone. Oh well, I'll live. I guess I was just one of the few people who actually kind of liked airplane food. If that makes me weird then so be it.

Near Misses

Merry Christmas! I'm blogging from Los Angeles because I'm here for a week visiting grandparents. The past couple weeks have been a little crazy, but in a good way I think.

I'll start with finals. My finals week wasn't supposed to be very stressful. I had two in class final and three projects. My first final was Tuesday night for graphic design art history. Or so I thought. Tuesday morning I get an email from my creative writing teacher asking why I wasn't present for the final last night. She thought something had happened to me because I've been present for every class, and it was uncharacteristic for me to be absent for the final. Thus began my freak out mode. I had thought that my final for that class was the following Monday. I checked the official finals schedule and sure enough, it was the following Monday. But on the other website she had made it the previous Monday, even though Monday was still considered a reading day. I hurriedly emailed her asking if I could turn it in two days late, and she graciously gave me till Monday to turn it in. Awesome. The testing screw ups should have ended there. They didn't.

Tuesday night was the art history final. All went well. Or so I thought. My teacher pretty much mapped out everything that was going to be on the test, and we had to know slides, unknown slides, definitions, quotes, and write an essay to top it off. On Wednesday morning as I was going to class, I was thinking about the Tuesday night test and realized that we hadn't been tested on term definitions. Offhandedly I mentioned it to classmates in my Wednesday morning class who had taken the test as well, and they told me that there were terms to define. I was really confused. What the heck? It turns out that I completely missed that section in my eagerness to write the essay which was the last section. Shoot. Thankfully since my Wednesday morning teacher was the same as my Tuesday night one, I asked him right after class if I could do (I was going to say "redo" but I can't redo something I never did) the section and he let me.

You would have thought that at this point I had learned my lesson at being careless, but I hadn't. When I went to take my marketing final, I didn't realize that they had changed the room the final would be in, and it wasn't in the classroom where the class was normally held. Therefore I went to the room and no one was there. Please not again.I feverishly (yes, feverishly. At this point I was frantic) ran to the computer lab and looked up the right room number. I was only ten minutes late but managed to be the last one in.

After the first incident with my creative writing class, one would think I would be super grateful and thank God for His mercy and grace. Not so. I was grateful to my teachers, but felt a sort of entitlement because I had been a good student throughout the semester. As if I deserved their understanding. After the second screw up and my teacher didn't give me a hard time about it, I was thankful that I had remembered to mention it to my classmates, otherwise I would have completely missed 20% of the test. But I credited myself for having discovered it myself. It was only after getting my marketing classroom screwed up that I thought okay God, you have my attention now. Everything worked out for the good, not because of me but because God was in control. It was actually a blessing in disguise that I had an extra week to work on creative writing stuff. When I was talking to my classmates about the test the morning after, I wasn't even being serious. It was just something to talk about. But if I hadn't said what I said at that moment then I would have been in trouble. For my marketing final, when I entered the business building, I was alerted to a possible room change when I heard a random, agitated student outside the building talking on his cellphone about a room change. God was truly sovereign, and He showed me that through all the mess ups, and he allowed me not just one, but multiple do-overs. I didn't deserve any of it, because I had messed it up on my own. God reminded me that yes, I am careless and absent-minded and prideful, and I just can't do things right on my own. Sure, I can be more careful next time, and I should be, but I'm bound to make mistakes that I can't really go back and correct, but God provided a way so that I could get myself out of it. Thanks God, and I'm sorry that I'm so quick to attribute things to myself--to try to pull myself up by my own bootstraps without noticing that you provided the bootstraps in the first place.

So this is the lesson: 1) Don't be like me and not pay attention to when/where/what is on the final. 2) When you mess up when/where/what is on the final and God bails you out, give Him the credit. This is assuming that you completely bypassed #1, but even when you do pay attention and get the whens wheres and whats right, thank God that you did. Don't take it for granted.

Stay

I feel the holiday season coming around, and it's something I feel deeply, a kind of eager anticipation, but also a little ache as well. Eager because I can't wait for break and not having the weight of projects and tests and meeting expectations. Ache-y because Christmas always brings a little bit of nostalgia, but for what I'm not sure. Maybe for things that have changed since last Christmas--changes in relationships and locations and growing up. Christmas is kind of like a dependable marker for time passing. There have been wonderful Christmas' in the past, but there have also been bittersweet ones. It's kind of a bummer when you give and don't feel anything in return. I know Christmas is not about that, but I feel like it's so pounded in my head by ads and media and just, the way things are, that it's hard to dissociate the two. I wish I could just make it about Christ and his birth and be completely joyous and content with that.


I just finished reading the book "Some Things That Stay" by Sarah Willis, and it struck a chord in me. It asks some serious questions about what home means, death, life, and faith. I don't really agree with how the author chose to portray all the Christians in the novel, but it brought up some really good questions/thoughts about God and fear and grace from the viewpoint of the protagonist Tamara, who is not a Christian. It made me a little sad by the end of it, but it was a wonderfully written book, full of interesting descriptions and nuances weaved throughout. I wish I could write like this. Also, take a look at that cover! Tamara's father is a landscape painter and their family never lives anywhere longer than a year because her father needs new inspiration for his paintings. Tamara and her family long for a place, a home to call their own. I think the cover does such a good job of speaking about this yearning found within the book. The brush strokes paint over the title, almost completely covering "That Stay" to show that for Tamara's family, "staying" is only transient with an expiration date.

And speaking of things that stay, I'm amazed at the capacity of memories that stay even as the years stretch on. I'm equally amazed and a little disappointed at the ones that don't. This weekend my cousin, who is now thirty, came to stay with us for the weekend. The last time he stayed at our house was fifteen years ago in West Virginia, when he stayed with us for the holidays. He was only fourteen then, and I was five. I remember that he often had indigestion, that he loved nerds and he stole them from his stocking over the fireplace long before Christmas came. He could spin a pillow on his index finger, and I would stare, fascinated, as that silk red pillow spun. He gave our family a Pocahontas cup for Christmas, which we still use now. It has survived while others have died, shattered in a moment of carelessness while washing the dishes, or the jab of an elbow on unsuspecting glass. Fifteen years later, he still has indigestion. Some things just stay the same. Haha.

Our entire family had Thanksgiving together for the first time since 2002. I didn't realize this until my sister pointed it out. In 2002 my dad had moved to New Jersey while we were still in California, waiting for the year to end. To save money he didn't come for Thanksgiving but came instead for Christmas. In 2003 my sister stayed in California for college and the rest of us were in Jersey. Then she stayed there after college too, when she worked. So eight thanksgivings have passed where all of us weren't together. That's a lot of Thanksgivings. Boy, does time fly. But anyways, I was and am thankful that God brought us all together again. It's such a simple thanks, but it's enough.

Bookworm, Artist, and the Strings Between

I am a bookworm. Yes, it's true. But it's not something I advertise because I'm not an avid reader of the great classics or deep philosophical novels. I read a lot of YA literature, which makes me feel a little ashamed for some reason. Some of it is honestly crappy writing, and I'll get through 1/4 and then decide not to finish, but there's some really good stuff out there too: fantasy, science fiction, historical fiction and the such. Actually I wouldn't say that I favor YA books over others. A good book is a good book, no matter the genre. See the thing about good young adult literature is that some of them are pretty easy reads, but challenging in that they do make you think about life and what it means while still having fun with the characters and sparking the imagination. And if it's a fantasy or science fiction novel, magic thrown into the mix always makes it exciting. I guess I'm a little bit ashamed of my choice of books because sometimes I feel childish and that I should be moving onto the great classics that are "honor worthy" of Jeopardy questions and have deep hidden layers of meaning, but I read to be entertained as well as to think, and struggling through a book is not my idea of fun. Given it's all subjective and what I think is a bore might be beyond fascinating to someone else. I am also well aware that I miss out on some really great books simply because I don't have the patience to sit and read enough to get into them. There are a lot of books I wouldn't have read if it weren't for high school language arts classes, and I'm grateful because they were great books. Among them? Native Son, Huckleberry Finn, Crime and Punishment. The latter two were resonating for very different reasons, and it's true that the underlying meanings behind their actions were interesting and incredibly telling of humanity. I must admit though, that I like to read books with female protagonists because I find them more relatable, but I think I should probably broaden my scope more. Here are a couple favorites that stick out.



Anne of Green Gables by LM Montgomery
If you haven't read this series yet, please do. Anne is such a wonderful character, brimming with imagination, personality, passion, and woeful humor that endears her to everyone. I know she certainly won me over. It's such a classic. Read the rest too, they're great, especially Anne of the Island because Gilbert makes many appearances :) hehe. Also check out her "Emily of New Moon" series as well as "The Blue Castle"





Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card
I haven't read this one in years but it's an excellent book. The details of this other world Ender is in are carefully crafted, and Ender is so...human. He's still just a boy but is thrown into extraordinary circumstances. A book about survival, perseverance, and war both externally and within oneself. Also read "Ender's Shadow" for Bean's story/perspective for a different take.






Daughter of the Forest by Juliette Marillier
I saw a lot of people recommend this on amazon, so I gave it shot, and I'm so glad I did. It is a retelling of the childhood story of the seven swans with a darker plot of greed, betrayal, loyalties, love, and the bond between family. Marillier tells the story beautifully, with developed, believable settings and characters that startle resonate with you in their combined fragility and strength. It was moving and I loved the main character Sorcha. One of my favorites. The other books in the Sevenwaters series are beautiful as well, but I think this one is the best.



MEMOIRS/AUTOBIOGRAPHIES

I love memoirs and autobiographies, and regret that I have not read more. Besides "Memoirs of a Geisha," which everyone pretty much knows, here are some other good ones.



Open by Andre Agassi
Agassi had always seemed kind of a jerk on the court, at least from what I read about in his younger days. I tended to have more respect for players like Pete Sampras or Michael Chang, the former because he was always consistent and had an awesome serve, and the latter because he was well, Chinese, but also the underdog. And who doesn't like rooting for the underdog? Anyways, this memoir was honest, real, and refreshing. I still found myself a little skeptical of some things he wrote, but Agassi honestly reflects on his life thus far, the goods and bads, and his love hate relationship with tennis. A good read.



Falling Leaves: The Memoir of an Unwanted Chinese Daughter by Adeline Yen Mah
I read this one a long long time ago and still remember it because I really felt the author's pain and desire for approval and love as she told her story. Her story becomes your story as you empathize with her and everything she has been through.





So there are a ton of other books, and I'll occasionally make other book recommendations in future posts. I know this is a long blog entry so far, but stick with me here. I rarely talk about art and what graphic design means to me personally, but I'm making an attempt. I never considered art as a profession in high school. I took one art class (sculpture and ceramics) freshman year, and that was the only one I took in high school. I liked it, but wasn't super passionate about it. It was only when I came to college and figured out I didn't want to be a journalism major, that I decided to give graphic design a go. At first I was pretty bad. My typography was a mess, composition not too great, and drawing on the computer seemed pretty impossible. I think I've improved a lot since sophomore year, and I've grown to like and really appreciate what good graphic design can do. It's not just about visual appeal but about practicality as well. It must speak directly to the audience, and in that way serve a function. I also love words, I love stories, I love a good book. Those were in my life before art ever made a serious appearance. Good design and a good book are parallels in that each should tell some kind of story. Design through the typeface chosen, colors, composition, image, and words. A book through the characters, plot line, climax, diction, conflict, and words. Ultimately words. Because words have the power to move hearts and convict and bring joy and sadness and tears. And these words are only words written by man. I praise God for words.

I know this last paragraph was kind of disorganized and maybe didn't seem to have a point, but I'm still trying to figure it out too. To draw connections between design, words, culture, and to figure out what exactly it is I'm passionate about. I'm still learning, and this, I think, is a very good thing.

My mom sent me the cutest text. She almost never texts, so it was a nice surprise.

hi tiff,
i had spare rib tonight. it stuffed me. i exercised in the hotel. i'll call you when i get on the train the time i'll arrive. tks for picking me up.
-mom

Wow look at mama hsieh using slang "tks." haha I don't even do that.

So I feel like recently I've been in a little bit of a slump, both spiritually and academically. Sometimes it's just hard to stay motivated and I slack off like crazy. I can honestly say the only thing I have ever been super disciplined in is running. It made me a little sad because life is so much more significant than a running race, yet I spent so much more time and effort to train for a measley 5K, mile, or half mile which is over within the span of a couple minutes, or at most half an hour. It was over so quick, but I knew to make that time count. Relative to a lifetime, those few minutes spent running the race pass in a blink of an eye. Relative to eternity, life on earth is just a split second in comparison. What will I do to make it count? Am I treating it like a race, training with diligence, encouraging other people on my team, and being aware of the opponents that try to take me down from behind? Am I feeding myself with food that will make me stronger rather than weaker, am I working on my form to make it more efficient, breathing in through my nose, out through my mouth, steady, so my stomach doesn't cramp? And most importantly, am I relying on all these things I do to take me to the finish this race of life, or is it all in perspective? The perspective that it is all meaningless if I'm not looking to my Maker as the center of it all, holding everything together.

So it's something to think about.

bring a flashlight

So I've realized something since the last post a couple days ago. I'm trying to knit in the dark, but wouldn't it make sense just to bring a flashlight? Haha, yes I know, corny. But it's so obvious. Bringing a flashlight can look like a couple things. It can be reading God's word and drawing truth and light from that (God is light and he drives out the darkness), or it can mean bringing someone else who can carry a flashlight and help you out, encouraging each other and spurring one another on. And then maybe a third person to bring batteries as a back up. Sounds good to me. Yesterday God revealed a lot of cynicism that had been growing in my heart, but instead of actually being the hands and feet of Christ, I sat back and complained and let my bitterness breed contempt. It's pretty awful and I hadn't even realized it. I'm only one person, but if everyone can come together as the church and work together, that's when things really happen. Put your hope in God, Tiffany.

Writing poetry is hard stuff. I'm taking a creative writing class and we have to write at least four times a week and turn it into dropbox each time. I can go on and on about my life, but no, she wants it in poetry form, which makes it a little trickery. Gots to think of lines and very specific word choice and sound and rhythm blah blah blah. I can appreciate it, but it can get wearisome. It turns out that I'm a lot more trite/cliche than I originally thought. My original thoughts were pretty unoriginal. I wish I were a funnier person but alas...not so. Haha.

But here is a poem that was one of the better of the bunch. I hope I never have to date this many boys. Only one or two men are good enough for me. I hope it makes you laugh and maybe think.

Like the Boy of Her Dreams
after Mitch Sisskind

My cousin tells me Gunther was an ugly boy.
Acne mapped his face like bloody constellations
Toes pruny
No, he wasn’t smelly
But he always had poppy seeds stuck in his teeth,
trails of his morning bagel from 3rd Avenue
and cuffed trousers because he could never find pants
that were short enough for his even shorter frame.
Yet beside Hector, my cousin says,
Gunther was like the boy of her dreams.
Gunther was like the boy of her dreams beside Hector.
For my cousin tells me that Hector was an ugly boy
because he never paid or opened doors.
Chivalry is dead, he said,
And he lived by it too.
Really you don’t need to pay on the first date (it was crappy).
You don’t need to do anything at all.
Yet beside Alex my cousin tells me Hector was like the boy of her dreams.
Hector was like the boy of her dreams beside Alex.
For my cousin tells me Alex was an ugly boy.
He cracked his gum wickedly, charming the girls with his crooked grin
but smooched too long behind her back
and had a book that ranked them all on a scale
like cows in a meat market auction.
His words could be sweet as Splenda,
Sugary but fake, sitting on the tongue to leave a bitter kick
after it’s all over.
Yet beside Sam my cousin tells me Alex was like the boy of her dreams.
Alex was like the boy of her dreams beside Sam.
Beside Sam’s stalwart hand my cousin tells me
Alex was like the boy of her dreams.
His stalwart hand composed and conducted the rhythm of her soul
weaving a haunting tide of false reveries
Passion ignited
Then smothered in a fury of soft white ashes.

When things fall apart

Why does it feel like things are falling apart? It feels like the knitted blanket that surrounded us some time ago is unraveling, unraveling, being pulled by some invisible dark force bent on destruction, planting seeds of lies. The father of lies. And in heaps all around us are yard and yards, miles and miles of yarn, connected but apart and broken and split. What purpose does it serve just lying there unwoven. It cannot clothe, cannot cover, cannot be washed, cannot offer warmth to a heart dry and aching. And oh, it sits there, rotting under a tarnished sun. I wish I could pick up those double swords and knit deep into the inky night, but my hands bleed and my heart weeps and I can't even see the needles so they prick my fingers, pinpoints of red, and there are gaping holes that open to engulf me in a tide of helpless thoughts. The father of lies.

How can it be like this? The church should be together, unified, like each stitch of the needle, one after the other, soldiers prepared for a holy war, and each member is needed, essential to complete the body. Instead I see all these ugly holes, and something in me trembles with the unwavering feeling that this is not how it should be. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy. For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.

in Him all things hold together. Oh Lord, please hold us together, reconciling us to you and to one another in your name.

The other day I was looking at journals in the bookstore to buy one for a friend, and I came across a beautiful one with gold flowers, and embossed on the front were these words: "believe in yourself." I know it means believe that you have the ability to do great things; it's meant to be a self-esteem booster. But if I were going to take it literally, this is what it would look like: Believe that I can do all things through myself who gives myself strength. Believe that through believing in my abilities I can overcome all things and cure all my illnesses of health and soul and mind. "Believe in yourself" translates to "I can save myself," which is a lie lie lie. It makes me so sad that our world spouts this nonsense instead of placing their trust, their belief in someone who is so much more capable, and who holds us, and the universe in the palm of his hand.

the green eyed monster is an ugly, ugly dude. worst of all, he creeps up unexpectedly and explodes in the brain, smearing green guts everywhere, branding the heart with a seal of loathing and unrest and dare I name it? Yes, even a twinge of hate.

But my heart is not his. The green eyed monster will die an even uglier death than he is ugly, and he might reappear, but only for a time. My heart belongs to a King, creator of heaven and earth. My Lord and Savior, you have won the battle for me, and you wipe away the stains of green, yellow, black, of all the different monsters of my world, and replace it with red--your blood shed on the cross for me. And it's a red that cannot be removed in any circumstance. Neither life, nor death, nor angels, or demons can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

:)

Surrender

oh hay
I like your beard.

de de de de.

I had to get that out. This strange beat has been stuck in my head. It's not part of a song or anything I can think of..I can only describe it as four splat-like beats one after the other. It's a cool kind of splat though, quick and snazzy and hip. I promise I'm not crazy, just weird.

God is doing some incredibly awesome things in my life as of late. He is always doing amazing things, but either I'm too blind/stuck in my own world to see it or I have never prayed that God would stick me there at the right place and right time. So much of it has to do with obedience. Go where you're called to go, talk to the people the Holy Spirit is nudging you to talk to, and so much can unravel. It can only be described as a miracle. To be honest, in the past talking to people, even friends, could feel like a burden. I was in a strange catch 22 where I did not want to be around people because it was just easier, but when I was alone it was lonely. These past two weeks have been filled with this desire, not of my own, to talk to people and my eyes have been opened to how much people really need to hear about God's love and grace and most of all, what was accomplished with Jesus dying on the cross.

As I surrender to Christ, I hope not to be puffed up with pride but to walk (or even crawl if need be) to greater degrees of glory, not because I am competent but because Christ is more than competent. Could it be that I can reflect the image of Jesus more and more as his love and glory is revealed to me? According to 2 Corinthians 3, it is so, and I am so so thankful and overjoyed that I am forgiven and continually restored. Restored! Oh, bliss.

afraid

http://www.deviantart.com/#/d2z0yx3


I know I've probably posted about this before, but I'm learning more and more how much of a scared individual I really am. I was not taught this way; my dad is boisterous and brave when it comes to confronting or talking with people. He goes after what he wants and diligently studies topics that he's interested in, pursuing them over the span of years to perfect his interests. He's not afraid to ask, to act. Me? For some reason I am scared, crazy scared to put myself out there. I guess to some extent we all are, but it holds me back from just being me and being comfortable and straightforward with people. This fear manifested itself when I was little, and it is has been a consistent streak through my life. Everyone has their fears when they're little, but I let it dictate my actions instead of learning to conquer them. In our West Virginia house, the kitchen was attached to the stairs that led downstairs, where it was pretty dark. My seat at the dinner table clearly showed that dark stairwell, and I was so afraid that clowns, yes clowns, would peek around the corner and come up the stairs and into the kitchen. Clowns, of course, scared me. For the longest time I had to eat in my room because I was so afraid of these imaginary clowns. When my parents hired a babysitter, I cried the entire time she was babysitting. When my parents came home the babysitter said never again, and my parents had no choice but to call my grandparents in Florida to come take care of me for a couple of years. Day care hadn't worked because I just cried the whole time as well. I was also scared of water when I was a child, so whenever we went to the beach or the pool I would stretch out my arms to try to prevent people from going into the water, and when they did I would start to cry. Scared, crazy scared. Of strange people, of the new, unfamiliar. There was no "getting used to it" for me...I just couldn't, or chose not to. Now it's different, more hidden because we're supposed to cover it up and act like it's all together, but inside the great unease is still there. I am afraid of people, yes people. I guess I'm afraid of being judged, but I'm also concerned with how I'm perceived, whether or not I'll be liked, whether they'll like someone better than me because maybe I'm not interesting or clever or funny enough. Instead of crying now, I avoid. Avoid because it's so much easier than trying, but I always remember, and I am a slave to my own fear.

This weekend was the Restored conference, and we were expecting a huge turnout. Reality didn't meet expectations though, and only about 50-70 people came. It was discouraging, but God still blessed it nonetheless. Shane and Shane led worship and it was so true to who God is. Pastor Tullian Tchividjian was such an amazing speaker, and he really helped me to see how important and central the Gospel is to Christians. It sounds so obvious but I feel like, myself included, Christians think of the Gospel as the initial step, and then move on. We treat it like A-B when it really is the A-Z of this life that God has given us on Earth. The Gospel is a constant reminder to how we have been called to love others in light of Jesus on the cross. It's so important to remind ourselves of the Gospel each and every day to strike down the other idols and voices in our life. I really loved this one thing that Pastor Tullian said. It's so easy to seek and want the approval of others. It feeds our pride and makes us feel good, but it becomes a huge idol because we begin to need it to feel happy and satisfied with ourselves. Through recent events in his life, he came to recognize this idol and to turn back to God for everything he needs. Because he already has everything he needs in Jesus, he doesn't need to seek the approval and nod of everyone else to be fulfilled. He has nothing to lose, because no one can take anything away from Him if all his hope and needs are stored up in Christ. It also allowed him to love other people more, because he could love without expecting anything in return. He was set free from expecting or feeling entitled to receive love back, because he doesn't need their love in order to be complete. This was truly a revelation to me and so incredibly convicting as well.

It's okay to not be okay, because God is okay, more than okay. He is wonderful and all powerful and loving, and my name is written on His heart. I know that while in heaven he stands, no tongue can bid me thence depart. So I am still so crazy scared, but it's okay because I'm even more crazily loved, and this truth, the Gospel, shall set me free.

haha very funny

So there was a family of tomatoes walking down the street, Daddy tomato, Mommy tomato, and Baby tomato. As they were walking, Baby tomato fell behind. Daddy tomato, being hot tempered as he was, went back to scold Baby tomato for being so slow. He walked up to him, squashed him, and said, catchup!

Get it? Catchup=ketchup=squashed tomato? Okay, you get my point. I know..horrible and not so funny. But it's the only tomato joke I know. Our cherry tomato harvest for this year was fantastic. Every time I go home I bring back a big bagful. They are so delicious. I just came across a really BIG cherry tomato though. It looked like it was on steroids or something.






Look at the big one compared to the normal little one! I think the left one is Papa tomato. I would be scared.

7 PM on a September afternoon

Driving at 7 PM on a September afternoon,
down a long straight road.
Fields, pavement, me and my
dented 2002 gold Avalon car.

The sun filters in through the trees
trickling light, sifting, basking
us in a golden liquid. So gold that I
I could turn into that mineral: gold
except, gold is cold, and I feel warm
under this sun.

Slanted hues, unnatural.
Long yearning shadows of a time to come.
Only at 7 PM on a September afternoon.
Down a long straight road.
Fields, pavement, me and my
dented 2002 gold Avalon car.

It's an old kind of light, if light had an age.
The kind of light that warmed souls
as they sat drinking in the clouds and grass
and that fiery orb of yonder.
The kind of light that was spoken into being,
and it was good.
I feel a kinship with the yawnings of time, and it makes me feel
Alive.

I thought I saved a kitten but

I was running yesterday (funny how a lot of my blogs start out with 'I was running') and I came across a kitten on the sidewalk. It was the puniest kitten i have ever seen. It was so skinny that you could see the bones moving in the main part of the body when it moved. There was gunk in its eyes (I later learned that this was due to respiratory problems) and it looked like something had ripped out a patch of fur from its side. Every time it tried to meow, no sound came out, but you could tell it was trying. It looked frail but was still walking around and came up to sniff my shoes. When I looked closer though, I realized that not only was fur ripped out, but there was an internal organ sticking out of the wound. It looked like it had dried out and wasn't bleeding anymore, but it looked bad. So here is my dilemma: let nature take its course and probably let the kitten die, or take it to the shelter or vet. Well there was a plastic bag on the street so I tried to put the kitty in there. Didn't work, plus it would have been kind of awkward to carry no?

Ikeptrunningbutdon'tworry i. came. back! This time with a cardboard box, yellow rubber gloves, and an address that would hopefully save this little sweetie's life. I was so scared that the kitten would be gone when I got back, but he was hiding out in an overturned trash can to avoid the intense heat. His wound was bleeding because he had chewed and torn and licked it. So here I was trying to coax this kitten out of the trash can with my head practically in the trash can, and out pulls a car from the house that these trash cans belong to. I must have been quite a sight...a crazy lady talking into a seemingly empty trash can. Luckily I explained the situation to her, so we both stuck our heads into the trash can to get the kitten in the box. Well I ended up carrying her and putting her in the box, which I hated doing because I didn't want to injure him further and also because I could feel every bone in his body as I lifted him up. I took him to the shelter and when the lady looked into the box and saw the wound, she said that he was dying and might not make it. They took it to the vet in an animal ambulance, and I said I would call back the next day to find out what happened.

I called today. they told me they had to put him down because it was too involved. Basically fixing up the kitty would have cost more than they were ready to pay. How much would it have cost? Would I be willing to pay the price? I can't say that I would. But what if the cat had been a person? A stranger? What would the price be then, and would I pay it? How far would I be willing to go to help or love someone? How deep does that capacity go?

into marvelous light i'm running
out of darkness
OUT OF SHAME

humans are so silly. why is it that everyone walks around as if they are okay when sometimes things are clearly not? when someone genuinely asks, "how are you?" i can recall the hundreds of times i've responded "i'm okay, thanks" when really inside i was not okay at all. everyone is so afraid of vulnerability we put on these masks of stoicism. if i had a cut and you had a cut and we both saw that the other person had a cut, wouldn't it make sense to just help each other out and love the other person? the only difference is that hurt or pain on the inside can't be seen. shouldn't it follow the same rules though? if you have a bruise on your heart and i have one too...lets share and cry together and just be honest and try to ease the pain. i understand that it's hard to be vulnerable, and it's unrealistic to think you'll be able to share and be friends with everyone, but if only we could be honest and not try to fudge our feelings away in public. We're human, and God made us to feel all these things. I just wish we could admit that more. When i feel heart ache it makes me long for heaven when we can worship God as a community, as a perfect church, and be happy. that thought makes me feel better because i know that someday that day will come.

i've realized that idleness really does bring on idolatry and sin. when i'm idle i fall into temptation to just do whatever i want, whenever i want to. and when my soul is troubled, i haven't disciplined myself to turn to God and just cry out to him like the psalmist in Psalms 42. Instead i distract myself with things that aren't worth my time and throw myself in these things with a kind of reckless abandon. this summer i have watched two shows that were cancelled before a satisfactory conclusion could be offered. first show was "My So Called Life" with Claire Danes, and the second show i've been watching is "Joan of Arcadia." Both have the typical teenage drama and cute love story, and i've always been a sucker for romance. There is something about a tv show where you know the two people who seem so right for each other will probably end up together eventually, at least for a time. the writers can't help but do what the audience wants to watch, and the audience wants to watch two people who are totally in love with each other. the producers pretty much have no choice but to make it happen. i get so engrossed in their love stories and the suspense that i totally tune out the love story that has already happened and is also in my present. God's love for me, Jesus' sacrifice for me, and the love that continues even when mine seems to stop. Oh if only I weren't so fickle, then I could truly absorb and be fascinated and this unfolding love story instead of the fake one created onscreen.

today i was at the gym on the elliptical listening to a C.J Mahaney sermon entitled "Troubled Soul," because well, these past two days, maybe even for a larger part of the summer, things have kind of been that way. the gym is kind of loud, what with all those machines squeaking and cranking under the weight of overeager exercisers. listening to music is easy because the volume of the song is generally at a constant and it's just the background music that swells occasionally. plus it's predictable. listening to C.J. Mahaney was difficult though. One minute he's speaking at barely a whisper, an the next second his voice is raised and he's talking in a booming tenor. i was constantly turning the volume up to catch his quiet intense words of wisdom, and then turning the volume down so my ears wouldn't fall off when he spoke with passion. sometimes i do that with God too. when He's trying to tell me things quietly, i'll turn up the volume to try to hear it. But he doesn't want the volume turned up, because he's trying to tell it to me softly. When he is trying to make a more obvious point though, i try to turn the volume down because honestly i don't always want to hear it. God's voice is not a volume we can just adjust at our own disposal though.

so school is starting soon. there are a lot of changes this year that i'm not exactly looking foward to. change and I don't go well together. we're like...chocolate and anchovies (haha i googled "two tastes that don't go well together" for that combination. see here. i could have just gone with oil and water but that's boring). but change can be good too. i must keep telling myself this, and hope and have faith that God will see me through.

7 things I gotta say

1) email people back right away. It's not even that I forget, but I put it off for a day or two (or three or more) to respond. The first time I read the email I give it a cursory glance and look at it more thoroughly later. I don't really know why..it has almost become a habit. A bad habit.

2) call people back. Same deal as above. But for some reason I don't really like to talk on the phone. In middle school, I was all about it. Talked to some people 7x a day on the phone (which was craziness), but I didn't mind it at all. Now sometimes I just want to shut out the world. Sad huh? This is not what Jesus has called me to do.

3) stop watching so much tv. I watch a lot, even when I don't even like the show all that much. It's a distraction, it's easy, and sometimes I almost feel like I need it. Is this called an addiction?

4) Take responsibility of life. I need to spend my time more wisely. Just..my room is a mess. It only takes about 15 minutes to clean it but somehow I don't. I always plan to, but it never gets done. Devos too. If I'm looking for a Godly man in the future who loves God and is faithful and diligent and disciplined, yet I can't do that myself..what kind of double standard is that? And not just because of that, but because my God deserves it, and I am stealing that away from Him.

5) Serve whole heartedly. Love serving, love worship. This is a heart thing that I need to work on, that God needs to work on.

6) Pray. I forget prayer a lot. A lot. It's a direct line to God and I'm missing out.

7) Stop letting Satan tell me lies about myself, about other people. If I could stop listening to all the junk and just focus on what God says, that would be marvelous.

I have been struggling with all this stuff for a while. And I wish I could say I'm working on it, but I don't think I've really started, truly started "working on it" yet. But I really want to. I really do. So do it right? I'll try.

On thursday I went for a run

to the library and saw two trees with their branches extended towards one another as if hugging, or shaking hands. It was the only part of them that was touching. We humans touch when we meet, shake hands and smile even when we don't know each other. In the Spanish culture people kiss each others cheeks as a greeting, even upon meeting each other for the first time. I thought of those two trees, who have stood next to each other for years and years, like companions, old friends, but for so long had never even touched. So the following poem I wrote is about the friendship of these two trees. It is entitled "Hello, My Friend"

Hello, My Friend

I remember when we were young,
toddlers by human measure,
Green and naïve of
the storms and snow
that would come our way.
We stood side-by-side
One month becoming two, three,
until before we knew it
thirty years has passed us by.

You were always scared of the thunderstorms,
of the vicious lightening that struck
close to the core and shook
our branches till we were sore.
I wanted to hold you, to touch you
and let you know that it would be okay.
It will be okay.

I wanted to but couldn’t.
Sometimes when our leaves turned bright
fiery colors of gold and crimson,
the wind would blow a part of you my way,
and gently, just barely, I felt a whisper of you.
We spanned thirty feet apart,
but we were too young and the distance too long to reach,

until now.

Last night I said good night, slept, and this morning I woke, to find
To find,
that you and I, me and you,
we were touching. We are touching.
Hand on hand, branch on branch,
me embracing you.
It took thirty years to bridge thirty feet,
but finally, finally,
“Hello my friend, my dear old friend. It is as if I am meeting you for the first time.”

welcome home

my sister Laura is moving back to New Jersey and she just got back last night. it's nice. i felt like an only child for a while at home but i've decided i like being one of two children at home. but then

we're not really children any more are we? young adults? ..adults? Not yet. I don't think we're quite there yet.

Laura laughs at my jokes. Good to know i can still be kind of funny at times haha.

it's You
and Me
moving at the speed of light into eternity.



Marian Bantjes

Contests and butts

I've been thinking about it and, well, our world makes everything into a contest and publicizes it in whatever way possible. College? Work? Sports? Understandable. But love? I guess love is sort of a contest. People want the best mate for themselves and are picky about who they choose and often come up with a list of criteria the other person has to meet blah blah etc. Shows like The Bachelor and The Bachelorette are essentially contests on screen to screen out who is best fit for the other person. What I don't really understand though is how or why you would begin and end a relationship on national television. and then there are the who can eat the most hotdogs, who can burp the loudest, who can sing the highest contests. Heck, I bet there is a contest for who can pee the fastest, longest, furthest or whatever. I'm really thankful that getting to heaven is not a contest. I..would not do well.

I have been taking classes at the gym recently upon learning that they were free. First was body combat, then was crunch time, and I just came back from a Zumba dance aerobic class. and WHAT THE HECK dancing is so hard! There were multiple points in the class where we had to shake our butt and hips. I can shake hands, I can shake my head, I can shake my hair, but butt shaking is not a regular motion for me. I tried, I really did, but I have concluded that dancing and looking great is very difficult for me unless looking great means jerking back and forth in a spaz-like manner. I hope I am not scaring off any future husbands here by painting such an unflattering picture of myself. I have other talents though so...let us focus on that. haha.

Summer is passing by so rapidly. I need more time please.

Disappointment

It has been four months and this darnned ankle still won't heal. Please just hurry up :(

How I murdered my neighbor's goldfish

Just kidding, I did not kill my neighbor's goldfish. Well at least, not intentionally. They are on vacation this week and asked me to fish-sit. So I faithfully go feed them once a day after work (I don't want to overfeed them, they could die! Look it up) but yesterday when I went to look, one was missing. Their tank is a big plastic trashcan filled with water and it has these pretty lily pads in there. It's quite nice because the fish can swim real deep and hide or stay cool. Anyways, one fish is missing. So I look around the trash can thinking maybe he flopped out. Nothing there. Look around for birds but it's a no go. Finally I look deeper into the trash can turned fish tank and see a slight shimmer of scales. Crap. IS HE DEAD NO PLEASE DON'T BE DEAD. I somehow convince myself he's sleeping. Fish sleep right?

Went home, looked it up. Fish definitely sleep, though not sure if sleeping on their side, which this goldfish was, is normal. Went back a couple hours later hoping to see the little guy awake from his nap. I guess I didn't really fully convince myself he was sleeping though, because I took a fly swatter just in case I needed to fish (hah!) him out. He was sleeping alright, except for eternity. Dead and floating at the top :(. I didn't do it, I didn't kill him! I promise I did not neglect the fish. I'm thinking maybe the other one is a bully and took all the food. Or maybe he was just old and the time was right. Carried him on the fly swatter to our backyard compost pin and buried him. Rest in peace. I dread telling the neighbor's when they get back...their little daughter is going to think I am a killer of goldfish, and hence, a killer of all things good.

On another note I was watching jeopardy the other day and there was a guy named Van. Alex Trabek, when preparing for the commercial break, said "And when we come back, Van goes next." VAN GOGH. bahaha. Laughed out loud. Poor guy, he probably got it a lot growing up. Or maybe not because kids might not know who Van Gogh is. Something I learned about Van Gogh in Contemporary Art History class last week: Van Gogh most likely did not intentionally kill himself. He had episodes of manic depression where he would lash out in weird ways like cutting off his ear or swallowing paint. On this particular day he was painting in a field, had an episode, and shot himself. When it passed he gathered up all his stuff in the field, went back home, and died three days later. Poor Vincent. But he is now a legend in the art world so he will forever be remembered.

I'm looking for the rain after the sunshine

You always hear that after the rain, there will be sunshine. Sometimes it's used as a metaphor for after the bad times, the good will always come again. But does light need darkness in order to be light? Light could not be defined if it weren't for the knowledge of darkness. Scientifically, maybe, but when talking about God, it's not true. God's love, God's light, all that He is, preceded darkness, hate, sin. God just loves us, with or without the sin.

So I've always told myself that after the rain comes sunshine, as if the rain were a bad thing, the villain. Today reminded me that it can be the other way around too. Heat, sunshine, gives life and energy, but too much heat burns, scathes, can make things die. At this point it's the cooling rain that brings life, relief. After the heat wave this week so many plants turned yellow. They're panting, tired, and ready for a change. Then today the steady rain came to take them out of their misery. Hurrah, our grass won't die! Sunshine and rain, the good times and the bad, are all part of life. God has given each a role to restore parts of our life, even though we will not understand or even recognize it most of the time. Perhaps instead of saying to someone, "You're my sunshine after the rain," as a blessing, it should be "You're my rain after the sunshine."

Was feeling kind of down and tired this week and wrote a poem. The Title is "But,"It's kind of sad but hopeful at the same time. The hope comes from knowing that my hope is not in myself, in the people or the world. The hope is my hope that I will hope in Christ alone. "In Christ alone, my hope is found."

But,

You feel so far away
Like the light at the end of a tunnel, but
I’m on the other side
and I can’t move,
Move to be with you.

I want to be in Eden
Where it was all right in space and time,
And the world as we knew it
Stood still in its perfection.
This sadness weighs me down,
A shadow that has volume, shape, a life of its own, but
I can’t move it,
Move it from my side.

Why must I worry,
Why so downcast oh my soul?
I wish
I could be happy, but
If only it was so easy.
Is it so easy?

We were made to love you, but
sometimes it feels hard.
I can’t bring myself to open the book,
Your book.
A book of joy and pain and hope,
A book of You.

But, so many buts,
Excuses, lies, vicious lies
We tell ourselves.
We—a colony of lost people
Some are found but seem lost again,
Wandering blindly on a path that is marked but
Our heads are in the clouds,
Stormy clouds,
and we can’t see.

So I wait for the storm to pass
For the haziness to give way to light,
For my shadow companion to de-personify.
For these buts to be for me, not against me.
Waiting for:
I once was lost, but
now I’m found.
Was blind, but
Now I see.

I Started (Finished?) Writing a Song

I wrote my first song today, haha. Been planning it for a while but never really felt moved to write it. But I wrote it, and maybe one day I'll share it. I just wanted to let you, whoever it is that reads my blog, that I did it, maybe just to validate to someone other than myself that it really happened. There's no melody to it, just words, but for now that's fine.

Recently I've tried rolling down the windows and blasting music REALLY LOUD while driving. It makes me feel cool, even though it's really not that cool. It's kind of obnoxious isn't it? When I was little and I heard music REALLY LOUD coming from another person's car, I always thought that person was so cool, so daring. I know, it's dumb. But then when you're a kid don't you kind of think everything is cool? Braces? Cool! Pop tarts? Whoa! Shiny new jelly roll pens? Oober double whammy cool (Okay, I admit that's a little much)! I thought all those things were pretty poppin. Over the last week though, typical pop music on the radio can get pretty tiring. The same songs with mostly pointless lyrics that I guess are kind of interesting when you're in the mood. When I'm trying to think though, I don't want to be listening to Kesha's MyFirstKissWentAlittleLikeThis. *cue wet lip sound. AndTwist. Just..ugh. Stop. Other songs just sound like loud hazy annoying noise. So I've started listening to classical. I barely even notice it's there sometimes, but it allows me to think more, and when I pause to stop thinking (because I really can't multitask and think and listen at the same time), there's some nice, non-noisy music playing in the background. Maybe I should take that one step further and play this classical music REALLY LOUD with the windows down. This way I can sound intelligent but lame, still think, and be cool all at the same time. Triple whammy cool. Now that's cool.

I think I like parenthesis a little too much. (They're so friendly though, aren't they? Sorta like a hug, but for words. Ah, a word hug. Also, in this post I've said "double" and "triple whammy". "Quadruple whammy" just doesn't work though. When the sentences within parenthesis get too long it gets annoying. And this is getting to be too long now so must stop.)

EDIT//
Wow I just can't stop talking today can I? Where are all these words coming from, goodness. Sometimes, once in a blue moon (Is the moon really blue?) I like to reread old xanga posts just to relive past memories and look at how I used to write. Gotta say, I seem so much happier back then in my writing. I sound super perky and bubbly. And now...wow now I am such a debbie downer. Seriously, I'm always complaining and grumbling and being so gosh darn emo. If I was me in another body but still me in this one, I would walk up to myself and tell me to just stop making things so much harder than they need to be. I think it's okay to be sad, angry, frustrated, down in the dumps. But at some point you just gotta say oh heck, enough with the grumbling and worrying, and keep going. Stop wallowing. Wallowing stinks and worrying will just shorten your life span anyways. It would stink to be extinct (oh hayyy that rhymes) earlier than I need to be. If God cares about the lillies of the valley then how much more does he care about me, about us humans? A whole lot more! So thank you former, younger xanga self for cheering up present, older blogspot self. I really needed that. If you were another person I would give you a hug right now, but you're my past self and it would be weird to hug myself so..yes. Okay, lets stop. Okay. I am talking to myself now.

later kids.

I have this awful habit of responding, "oh really?" to things that people tell me. I'm waiting for someone to say, "yes, really. I just told you so." I will add this to my list of bad habits to get rid of. Oh really? Yes. Really.

Do you remember, the night we set out
Under the moonlight, the breeze was perfect
We were younger then, and naive for sure
But I made a promise to never leave you.

You spent a long night
We’ve kissed the devil
Though we knew that God was never far away
I tried my best for you, please believe that
Oh did I meet your expectations?

We fell asleep then woke,
Suddenly you’ll find
That we were gray and old
Where do these days go tumbling
Oh they disappear
On us.

There are a thousand words I wanna say
But I’ll save it all for morning
Well now I’m fine just laying here
With you
X2

We fell asleep then woke,
Suddenly you’ll find
That we were gray and old.

You didn’t change much darling
No, you didn’t age
At all.

-Jason Min

My grandmother.

There is something softening about old age. Age can really change a person, I think, and even though my grandma is changed, in a way she also isn't. Look at that picture, that face. There is a gentleness that radiates from her in her moments of awakeness that shines with a clarity I have known all of my life: gentleness. When she was younger she was kind of oblivious but in a funny way. And throughout it all, gentle. She passed that down to my mother (both the oblivion and gentleness), and I'd like to think some of it got passed along to me too. Funny and strange that she doesn't remember who we are but she still knows to smile for the camera. Smile grandma, smile. I hope she knows happiness.

i feel like
i am walking in no direction.

is no direction a direction?

I'm looking for the sunshine after the rain

I'm looking for the sunshine after the rain
I'm searching for the only thing I knew
I'm digging to find myself in you
On my knees
In the dirt
Only to find that you were right beside me
all along.
I reach for you with my muddy paws
With pools of sweat gathering at my chin.
Drip.
Running down my forehead, into my eyes
where it marries my tears.

As I hug you I smear brown on your white robe
My hair drips salt into yours
I am a mess, but you don't care.
You hug me anyways.

I've been thinking quite a bit recently about motherhood. What it means, what it feels like, what it entails, the importance of it all. And oh, what a responsibility and a gift. I'm trying to pay attention more when my parents cook, when they fix something or make the wrongs right. Yesterday I watched my dad carefully put salmon on the grill, using a tool I had seen countless times before but never bothered to ask about.

"Dad, what is that cage-like thing you put the salmon in called?"
"I think it's called a fish basket."

A fish basket. Things like these, I want to be able to have, to use, to know. Something as simple as making fish on a grill. I want to know this for my child. Funny that in the past I never bothered to know this for myself. But I'd like to know if for the unborn future, to tuck it into a pocket and rediscover it later.

I can't wait to be a mom, but it's a scary thing too you know?

Boys, more than anything, hate to be nagged. I guess I get it. It's a matter of trust, and nagging someone is sending the unspoken message of I don't trust you to get the job done and well, so I am going to say something to urge you to do it. And even if it's well meaning, even if it is a fair rebuking, it still comes out frustratingly wrong sometimes.

Actually when I think about it, I get rather annoyed and angry when people nag me too. So it's not just boys. I do have a tendency to nag. My poor, poor kids.

what it means to be ashamed

The subject of shame has been on my mind for a couple of days now, and I wanted to write about it earlier but I guess laziness interfered. We were not made to feel ashamed. I know it's kind of like, okay so what who cares, but when I really think about it, that's huge. Adam and Eve were naked and unashamed, innocent before God and in direct fellowship with Him. Once they sinned they realized they were naked, they hid from God because they were ashamed. I've come to realize that it's not while I'm sinning that I feel bad even though I know it's wrong, but it's the after effects that hit me in the gut. That feeling of unbearable shame and guilt and wanting to hide because you feel so dirty and unworthy of Christ...we've all felt it. It's a horrible feeling--like there's this pressure on your heart you feel like crying because you've failed God, you've failed your family, you've failed yourself. It's so easy to be stuck in your shame, wallowing in it and not really knowing what to do, and punishing yourself in the wrong ways.

I remember in high school when I was addicted to korean dramas. It seems so dumb, pshh addicted to dramas. Maybe it's not as bad as being addicted to drugs or alcohol or sex, but watching these soap operas for hours and hours at a time was a kind of escape from reality, and I neglected my family, my school work, my faith. A lot of these late nights occurred Saturday night, and Sunday morning for church I would be so tired, and I felt so incredibly guilty. I felt so unclean, like I was wasting my time and life, and my addiction was a secret I kept to myself. Even if I were to reveal it to peers or an adult, it was always treated as no big deal. "Oh, TV? That's not that bad." But this shame of watching so much and then telling white lies to my parents was eating me up inside, and I punished myself with guilt and by not participating in communion because I felt so bad. My shame prevented me from coming to God, repenting, and laying it all down before Him. Sure, I would whisper a prayer promising never to do it again, but when I prayed that prayer, I didn't believe my own promises. They rang so hollow. I did not fully surrender it to God, and that is something I deeply regret. Instead I was caught in a cycle of sin and shame, sin and shame, and I didn't feel like going to church or reading the Bible, and I was too scared to tell my parents. I felt so incredibly stuck.

Enter this week. I went to church with my aunt last Sunday, and afterwards when we were having lunch I asked her if she went to church every week now. I know that in the last couple of years it wasn't consistently because she had to take care of my grandparents and found going to church inconvenient. She told me last week that she has been going almost every week now, and that for a long time she didn't go to church because she felt like a bad person, that she didn't have it all together. I turned to her and I said in my broken Chinese, "Aunt, church is not for good people." God doesn't care about your resume, your list of good deeds and having it all together in order. That's not what Jesus is about at all. He came to save sinners, to heal the broken, to show compassion to the poor and the weak and the people who do NOT have it together at all. It makes me so sad that for a long time she didn't go to church because she was ashamed of herself and didn't feel deserving to come before God or to fellowship with other believers. It's not about deserving it at all, because we don't, deserve it I mean. When I think about it more and take a genuine look into God's mercy and grace, I am brought to tears of humility. How amazing, how divine.

In so many ways I am still ashamed. Maybe it's more accurate to say that I'm not ashamed anymore, because I know that I am a sinner and that I am forgiven. Jesus covered my shame. He did this literally with Adam and Eve by making clothing for their naked bodies, but He did it through Jesus when he died on the cross for our sins, for our shame. I try not to take that for granted, but I still do. It doesn't penetrate my heart and register all the time. Actually most of the it doesn't, to be honest. I think I'm still scared a lot of the time. Scared of messing up and being vulnerable and being myself. Gosh, just being myself is hard, you know? I'm constantly thinking of how to be polite, of how to not offend, of how to come off cool when I know I'm totally not. Funny that being UNcool is now the new cool and "cool" sometimes comes off as being pretentious. But I don't know how to be either and I'm not used to really being myself around other people. So I'm still trying to figure it out and I have it completely untogether, but I'm hoping that God will change me and use me and that I will not be ashamed. I'm hoping that I can run into marvelous light, out of darkness out of shame.

joy

[White roses in front of my grandparents' house]


How do you explain joy?

Today Joy was when I decided to attend my aunt's church in Los Angeles for the second time, the first time being a couple of years ago, to find welcoming smiles and genuine kindness and warmth among strangers. We had a time of prayer after service and I prayed with two people I had just met, but it felt so right and real.

Today Joy was when I was helping my grandpa garden in his backyard.
Today Joy was when I was helping my grandpa garden in his backyard and while weeding, found a green thing that looked like a grub (a big fat worm) but which, after asking my grandpa, I discovered was the beginnings of a plant that eventually flowers.

Today Joy was when my grandpa asked me who made the world--all those trees and flowers and people. I said "Shen, Grandpa. God created the world." He shook his head and said, "What if God doesn't exist, then who made the universe?" Inside I was worried. Was my grandpa, at age 94, a proclaimed Christian, now questioning his faith, if God exists at all? And my Chinese, sucky as it is, is not advanced enough to try to convince him otherwise. But then, no one can be convinced of God, God makes Himself known to the individual in His own ways and timing. I wondered what my grandpa was trying to get at, so I did the classic respond a question with a question. "Grandpa, who do YOU think made the world?" He didn't respond right away. He looked at me, thinking, and pointed at my watch. "Look at your watch. All the parts that make up that watch were intricately put together to make it work. Humans did that." He paused again. "Look at the world. You think all the parts just came together on their own and worked? No, someone must have done it. God did that. Where would we be without Him?" I smiled back at him, and in my head I was rejoicing. He believed, and even in his old age, even though he's too old to go to church because his ears are bad and he can't hear well, still thinks about God, about the world, and turns back to praise Him. So old and young, granddaughter and grandpa, with seventy-four years between them, looked at each other and knew, knew that we had God to thank for our existence. Something in me felt so still in that moment. Still with peace and gratitude and love.

Today Joy was when I went for my first run in 6 weeks since I sprained my ankle. I only ran for 16 minutes, and I was panting, out of shape but happy to know it and do something about it. Sweat on my brow and a little discomfort in the ankle, but it was okay. I know it'll be okay.

Today Joy was a quiet moment with my grandma. She was half asleep, lying on the bed. I sprawled out next to her on my grandpa's side of the bed, and placed my hand in her open palm, squeezing her hand. Her fingers curled around mine instinctively, and she squeezed back. Maybe unconsciously she knew that is what you do when someone holds your hand, but maybe she also knows that we love her. Even though she doesn't recognize me and barely says two words each day, I hope she knows that she is loved. We held hands for a minute and I looked down at my grandma's sleeping face and remembered, many years ago when her wrinkled, weathered hands held my five-year old ones and told me stories, fed me food, wiped my tears. Oh, Grandma.

How do you explain joy? Sometimes you can't really define it. Joy, like God, just is.

it is the first official day of summer and i am here eating left over kobe beef from last night's dinner. was afraid to heat it up even for 30 seconds because the rare in medium rare might become just medium or done within that short span of time. so the meat is cold but so delicious. funny how massaging a cow and feeding it beer can change the texture so much. oh wait shoot..does that count as animal cruelty?

i got an internship for the summer at terracycle, a company that takes waste and recycles it into other usable products such as bags, picture frames, etc. i'm excited but kind of scared. hope it goes well.

at the beginning of each summer i always come up with a mental list in my head of projects i want to start. the problem isn't starting though, it's finishing. i'd like to do more crafts--making earrings, clothing, and random stuff. maybe designing a product or two that'd be cool. i hope it's a full hearted effort and not half hearted. half heartedness can be so discouraging :(

i think that i will take a chance on this ankle and try finally, FINALLY, to go on a short run today. emphasis on short. haven't really felt the heat of the sun on my back and a face of dripping sweat in a while. yes yes, the queen of sweat is ready to sweat again. i would like to post more pictures. i will begin with this fascination that happened a few weeks ago but is now healing up. i apologize in advance.
















i'll save you from having to see my bruised foot that i took on my phone that i don't know how to upload to the computer, so you're in luck. the blood from the sprained ankle traveled down and formed a purple ring up against my toes. i thought it was all pretty cool until joe told me it was dangerous because it could cut off circulation to my toes. then i was pretty scared. hah. well at least there's visual evidence that my pain was not in my head.

EDIT//

i just finished an artichoke and it has this totally sweet kick at the end. sweet not as in, "oh wow that's so sweet (aka cool)," but as in "wow that pastry is sweet" kind of sugar sweet. weird too because avacado's aren't sweet. okay i think you get the point. buy an artichoke seed, steam it, and peel off each petal thing, dip the end in mayonaise and eat the tip. trust me it's good.

do you ever get this sudden need to write? this pulsating beat that you'd like to dance, to play along with as well, but the steps won't come, and the words are stuck? what do you do when you want to write, write something that will rock someone's world and change something, anything--even if it's so subtle that no one even notices?

oh yes, i would love to do that. but the words won't come. the right words just won't come.

“Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?" Ron Koertge

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.

The Poetry of Bad Weather

Debora Greger

Someone had propped a skateboard
by the door of the classroom,
to make quick his escape, come the bell.

For it was February in Florida,
the air of instruction thick with tanning butter.
Why, my students wondered,

did the great dead poets all live north of us?
Was there nothing to do all winter there
but pine for better weather?

Had we a window, the class could keep an eye
on the clock and yet watch the wild plum
nod with the absent grace of the young.

We could study the showy scatter of petals.
We could, for want of a better word, call it “snowy.”
The room filled with stillness, flake by flake.

Only the dull roar of air forced to spend its life indoors
could be heard. Not even the songbird
of a cell phone chirped. Go home,

I wanted to tell the horse on the page.
You know the way, even in snow
gone blue with cold.
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i was waiting for today, when the stormy skies would clear to open up the joyous blue skies of the heavens--waiting for the sunshine after the rain. i imagine those brooding, northern poets, bundled up by a fire, watching icicles drip from the roof, longing for better weather. each season has it's own unfolding beauty...but after a couple months of winter, i really look forward to warmth and to seeing cute green buds popping out of the rich soil. spring.

hazy

when i come home i retreat, but not really in a good way. the things that are important kind of dim, and lesser things take their place. things like entertainment, books, nothingness, and soon i forget about what i need to do. it's like things are out of focus, hazy. it's so annoying, it really is, but somehow a part of me delights in It. It is this pretend place where work and studying can be put off in exchange for watching a tv show without it creeping up on me to bite me in the butt. but this pretend place also makes me sad. i feel like i'm looking at the world, admiring it thorough a pair of lenses, but not really being a participant in it. is this normal?

why are all my posts so sad sounding? do people enjoy reading this emo stuff? i think i'm just trying to figure it all out. who i'm supposed to be and where i am now verses where i will be. where will i be? i have no idea, and that's what scares me. it really does sometimes. do i have what it takes to be successful? and who and what measures success?

it feels hazy.
i feel hazy.
feel hazy.
hazy.

almost like i'm not really an outline, but rather a scribble of pencil marks, no defined line. so even if i tried to grab ahold of myself, i wouldn't know which scribble is really me. i think i'm just in a funk. don't worry i'll snap out of it.

Prone to wanter, Lord I feel it

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

changing in the dark

so today i felt so foolish. i think that this is becoming a theme, me being/feeling foolish. sorry for the seemingly pessimistic attitude, but really, sometimes, correction most of the time, foolishness works to counteract pride. and believe me, there is a heckuva of a lot of pride stored up in this one fist sized heart of mine.

went to the gym today after my night class, feeling all tough because even though i was super sore from flag football yesterday, i decided to do a light workout and get rid of some of that lactic acid stored up in my poor muscles. got to the gym and had to change into my t-shirt and shorts in the bathroom. problem was that the light to the one-roomed girl's bathroom was broken, so i had to change in the dark. finished changing and walked out into the room full of worker outers only to look down and realize my shirt was very apparently on backwards with the tag sticking out in front of me. embarrassed, i walk into the boys bathroom, which DOES have a light, to put it on correctly. walked out of the boys bathroom to see a boy sitting on the bench in front of the bathroom waiting for it to be available. i felt him staring as i walked past. i wish i coulda told him to read the sign on the girls' bathroom door--LIGHT NOT WORKING--to explain why i was in the men's restroom.

but wait, there's more. i wanted to run on one of the good treadmills and lucky me! someone just got off. there was another boy standing next to it though so i asked him if he was waiting for the treadmill. it took me 4 times to finish asking the question because for some reason i kept stuttering. he said no, and i got another weird look. started running on the treadmill and a minute later a guy tells me he has reserved it for that time. grrreat. i switch to the so-so quality treadmill (there are three kinds) but then! i see a good treadmill open again. get on it only to, again, a minute later, have a girl tell me she had reserved it. so i get off and see that the good treadmills, and the so-so treadmills are all taken. what's left is the crappy treadmill all the way on next to the wall. served me right. siigh.

but thankfully i didn't just wallow in my frustration but instead tried to see it as a lesson. don't change in the dark...it doesn't work, and i mean that in both the literal and in the "transformation" way. things always get messed up, put on backwards, inside out, upside down. you think you're doing alright and then all of a sudden you realize you've dug a bigger hole and there is no way out. you're living in your sin and surrounded by darkness. you can't seek redemption in a broken world. the only way to possibly really, truly change is to step out into the light, that light being found in Jesus. i hope that that's a correct analogy. please correct me if i'm wrong. and as to the treadmill situation, i was trying to get ahead without following the correct procedures. i wanted to get the best treadmill, but it wasn't my time. it took me getting kicked off twice to get it. i guess it kind of relates to my school work too. i desire so much to be a good designer, to come up with clever, original ideas. but if i don't put in the time, if i don't actively learn things, i'm not gonna get better. you can't really climb a ladder without the rungs. well i guess you could but it's a lot harder.

John 3:19-21

This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God."


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saw this going around on tumblr. it's quite true, except sometimes i really do laugh. lol. did i just laugh? um, no.



(via larrylin)