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.