How Quickly We Forget

I woke up this morning in a pool of clothes with a lovely imprint of my laptop branded into my arm. I searched around for my glasses only to find that I had slept on them, again. I took a good look around my room and as I inhaled the scent of dirty socks, I realized how quickly I forget things. I had told myself that I would be diligent in my efforts to keep things clean and organized, which lasted for over a month (a new record). But being in a good groove sometimes takes conscious observance.

My life seems to work in cycles, which may just be the curse of woman in general. There are weeks when I feel motivated, weeks when I feel tired and lazy, weeks when I feel like indulging...which at times can be ok, but the one thing I'm lacking is consistency. At the end of the day, I'm simply a dog chasing my own tail.

My friend often tells me I'm fickle and perhaps that's due to the fact that I'm constantly being ruled by my emotions. Yes, I can simply just tell myself, "hey, that's just the curse for scoring an F on the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator", but eventually, there has to be some freedom from moodiness. It took me weeks to decide which instrument I wanted to study before settling on the viola, and even longer to figure out whether I liked living in Taiwan or not. 30 minutes before I commit to buying shoes and 10 minutes to convince myself what I ordered to eat was the right decision is all pretty standard in my life. This doesn't take into account the days of sleepless nights to follow, wondering if those silver flats really will match with everything. Clearly living life like a walking mood ring can't be healthy for a person's psyche. I realize that my cyclical indecisiveness not only affects me, but those around me.

I had a dream where I was about to marry a man I did not love. My friends were helping me slip into this hideous wedding gown and the whole time I was thinking, it's ok, I can back out of this whenever I want to. As I tried to tell my friends that I didn't want to marry this guy, they all responded that it was too late. The invitations had been sent out and guests were already filling the chapel. The groom had taken his position and I remember this feeling of doom coming over me. One of my friends got mad because she thought I had taken the idea of marriage for a joke. As I watched my friends arrive for the wedding, I tried to convince myself that I could be happy with this man. I thought about the dream, and although I'm still unclear about most of its underlying meaning, I really thought about the idea of making a commitment. Marriage is perhaps one of the greatest commitments we will ever make in our lives. There's no receipt that comes with it giving an option to return after 30 days. We're stuck with the decision we make through sickness and health.

The idea of an emergency exit in every decision I make comforts me, and I often demand the freedom of pulling that parachute cord whenever I want to bail out. It's ironic however, that my need for freedom is actually what keeps me trapped in this cycle. My failure to commit, whether its to a particular goal in life, or to a promise I might make to someone, is really beginning to take a toll on me. I think the laxity I place on my word can often be hurtful and quite selfish. There's a reason why God tells us to let our 'yes be yes' and our 'no be no'. Trust is built on how well we can follow through on our commitments and how well we can hold to our word. It's a true exercise in discipline, which I know God is still working through me. I so often forget the promises I make to myself and to God and I know that it is no excuse. The Israelites forgot many times and wandered the desert for 40 years. It's rumored they acutally walked in circles for part of their journey. Forgetting the Lord and His promises only prolonged their suffering. I hope I don't fall into the same trap. The ways of God are always funny to me; one has to lay their life down in order to gain life. Perhaps my freedom can only be gained if I learn to lay down my need for it, and finally, I could break free of this cycle.

The calm before...

It's been about a little more than a month since I've been back in Taiwan but time always seems to be moving at warp speed here. Somehow the 12 hour time difference seems to propel you even faster through space and time like a 1980's Delorean.

The first couple of weeks in Taiwan were some of the happiest most peaceful times I had experienced in life thus far. I've discovered that deep skepticism and complaining are both traits of my family, and having suffered from the "Liou gene" all my life, naturally, my first instinct was to wait for the other shoe to drop. The kids I teach were well-behaved, I was spending time with God every morning, playing the piano everyday, starting art lessons...and life just seemed so together. I thought to myself, "wow, this might be it, this might be the time my life permanently changes for the better, where God's favor will rest on me." I still hung on to the skepticism, wondering if that shoe would drop, but I tried to fight every natural instinct that told me to keep an eye out for disaster.

As the week passed, God had brought me into a time of complete disaster. Sometimes that calm before the storm can be deceiving. I knew my guard was down, and more than that, my pride was up. I thought I had finally cleaned all the sin out of my life, but like the verse says:

When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, 'I will return to the house I left.' When it arrives, it finds the house unoccupied, swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first. That is how it will be with this wicked generation."

Boy did those spirits come back with a vengeance! I always have a tendency to want my life to be in order, which isn't a bad thing, but I realized its how I react to things when its not in order. I went through a week of just complete chaos, struggling with every sin from the past I thought I had already dealt with. The change was so noticeable that one of my roommates even joked that it seemed like I was slowly mutating into some trashy version of myself. There were late night drinking sessions, cigarette smoking, junk food...everything that I swore I would give up in order to clean up my life. There were battles with lust, envy, and malice. Everything that used to get to me before just started to rise up again. I spent hours on face book looking for reasons to feel bad about myself, reasons to think I'm a failure in life. I felt so angry just thinking about certain people in my life and how I felt mistreated by them, and how angry I was at God for not punishing them, but only punishing me. The happy weeks seemed so far, and I was so disappointed at myself that I just couldn't seem to keep things in order.

On Monday, I had crashed into a ball of misery. I wondered if my life would ever be a reflection of God's holiness, if I would ever make it to there, not even knowing where 'there' is. I wept in shame, grieved and burdened with my own guilt. In the misery, we're taught to seek God's grace, but sometimes shame is so heavy, it makes us run even further into sin and darkness. I live so much of my life in the dark, just hoping no one sees me or the sin in my heart. Holiness seemed like something I would never be able to attain. However, in my brooding over failed righteousness, I thought about whether its the darkness I love so much, or just the simple fact of hiding. When things were going well, was I really living a righteous life or was I only hiding from sin? As Christians, I believe we're taught that we must "cross over" to the light once we are saved, but how many of us hide behind the light just as we hid in the darkness? Perhaps I was wrong in gauging my closeness to God by the things I do. Was I really any closer to God when I thought my life was in order, and I'm I any further from Him when I fall into sin? I'm not sure what the right answer might be. Yes, I believe that we should live holy lives before the Lord and that the wages of sin is death, but what does it mean to be holy?

In my endeavors to reach holiness, I realized that I was merely hiding from my own sinful nature. I replaced the grace of God with my own personal righteousness, and when temptation came to reveal the sin in my heart, I ran to hide in the darkness. So often in the Christian community, there is a pressure to give off a guise of righteousness. We live by a "don't ask don't tell" policy where we are ashamed of confessing our sins to each other in fear that our image will be tarnished if people knew the deep dark things we struggle with. In my desperation these past few weeks, I felt a burden to confess, not just to God, but to my brothers and sisters as well. It was obvious that I needed help to fight through the rough waters and it took a lot to swallow that lump of shame in my throat in order to ask for help. My sister shared with me that she was praying that God would show me what it means to be holy, and I believe in the midst of my most recent battles, he has revealed a glimpse of what that looks like. Holiness was not something I could attain on my own, neither was it something that could be squeezed out of the avoidance of sin. When Jesus walked among us, he was holy not because he lived in this magical land of light where darkness could never reach. Jesus was holy because he was a light in the darkness. I so often imagine this divide between light and dark, where light is a place separated from sin and sinners. The fall of Adam is so much a part of my nature its inescapable, but this is why I need Jesus even more, because he is a light into my darkness. It's still unclear to me what holiness might look like or mean, but I believe that our lives are to be the same as Jesus, that we are called to be a light in the darkness, a representation of grace in the face of sin and shame. In my brokenness, God shines. In my weakness, God prevails, and whether I am good or bad, God is always near...now its just a matter of believing it.

New Roots...

Age: Still 27
Occupation: Hasn't changed
Weight: Definitely going to pass on this today!
Goal for Today: Not be a slob in front of the TV


After spending three months overseas, I got the chance to spend some time at home with family and friends in New York City. The time I spent with my mother these short weeks was perhaps the sweetest. I remember spending most of my younger years avoiding conversations with her, as they would often result in some unnecessary comment about how my face got fatter, or how I still don't have a boyfriend. Though these quips still remain in our conversation, I find myself learning a lot from this woman. I used to always think that I knew more than my mom did. Maybe because of my own prejudices against her F.O.B (Fresh Off the Boat) status, or my own fears of her being taken advantage of because of her kindness, but I'm starting to see that there is a lot to learn from her.

About a year ago, she lost her job. Money was always a source of anxiety for our family, even in times when there was no need to worry, so of course, I had many sleepless nights over what would happen to our family, our house, etc etc. To my surprise though, my mother barely batted an eyelash. I knew deep down inside, she worried deeply. The quite stoicism and brave face in times of trouble is a quality certainly lost on our generation. It was hard for me to comprehend. Her rigid response was read as indifference to me, and my sister and I took up the slack for her lack of worrying. But I think she understood something me and my sister didn't...the importance of just resting and not worrying too much over the things you can't control.
In the beginning, she spent her months of unemployment the same way any one else would: In front of the TV. When I left for Taiwan the first time around, she began an interest with gardening. Inspired by the fresh tomatoes our neighbors would drop off now and then, she began to plant her own. At this time, she was still at the beginning phases, cleaning, weeding, planting seeds, taking care of the menial things. When I got back three months later, our fridge was bursting with fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and berries! I couldn't believe that just three months ago, our backyard was bare with the exception of a few rotten apples and stray cats. The most spectacular sight was the pumpkin patch that began to grow. The leaves sprawled themselves over almost the entire backyard. My mother said that all she did was take one seed from a pumpkin and planted it in the dirt.
Most often in my life, I rarely make it past the "cleaning" phase. I once tried to keep a bamboo plant in my room, which I begged my mom to buy for me, and surely after three months its chutes withered into an unrecognizable pile of crap. I couldn't even imagine planting a garden, but that's what God asks us to do. We are called to sow in faith in order to reap in victory. Sowing in faith however, takes much more than a desire; it takes discipline. My mother, in the worst time of her life, had the discipline to grow a garden, and God blessed her with an abundant one. I know that God isn't done weeding me yet, and my heart still clings to many weeds, but I hope that I would have the discipline to work on such a garden. He promises to lay new roots in our hearts, to replace bitterness with joy, hopelessness with faith, and tears with singing...and there in the middle of it all grows a tree of God's goodness, an understanding that in hardship He never changes. When the winter season blows bareness in our lives, He is still there in the garden, waiting and watching for the fruit if His goodness to grow in us. I hope that I could learn to be such a disciplined and faithful gardener, so I could continue the work He's already done in me.

Bridget Jones got Nothing on Me: A new Diary series in growing up

Age: 27
Occupation: Teacher, Graphic Designer, Curator, Photographer
Weight: 127 pounds
Goals for Today:
Laundry!!

When I was a child, I loved playing a game where I would clean out all my clothes and toys, grab two large hefty bags from the kitchen, and shove all my stuff into them. I would carry the bags around through out the house and look for a new place to "settle" down in. I loved building little forts with chairs and sheets, and making it my new room. It was a fun game for me, I loved the idea of picking up my stuff and finding a new place to settle. My mom never saw it that way. She used to call me "bag lady", which is a name that has stuck with me even until now...

She often reminds me that I live like a homeless person, and she's right! Quite frankly, my life is a mess....not just my room. I figured there's no time like the present to re-vamp my life. I woke up this morning and had a hard time dragging myself to the bathroom to even brush my teeth. For some reason, the rank taste of last night's pasta lingering on my breath didn't seem to bother me all that much. The thought quickly came to my mind, "have I really become like a homeless person like my mom so often tells me?" I mean, if someone has a hard time even brushing their teeth, what does this say about their life? After five minutes of reflecting (before wasting 3 hours of my life watching bad TV), I realized that there are a lot of changes that need to be done in my life.

I've always been quite a straight-forward, balls to the wall kind of person, so I figured there is no detail too embarrassing that I would withhold in this process of change. There are a lot of long-term goals I would love to achieve in this process. I would love to really build my career, finish writing one of the five songs I've started, publish a story, become a musician...but for now, the focus is on LAUNDRY.

I have a terrible habit...sometimes I put off laundry for months, my only catalyste to push me is my most limited underwear supply. There is a heirarchy to how this all works...when the supplies are low, I tap into the thong supply. Thongs are the worse for me, they make my butt cheeks sweat and the feeling of a constant wedgie isn't exactly appealing to me. After thongs are gone, I start using bikini bottoms....after bikini bottoms, I'll scrounge around for other people's underwear!! Ha...yes, we've all done it before! Desperate times call for desperate measures. At least, this is what I used to tell myself. For some reason, it never occured to me that this is not how life should be lived...scrounging around for a clean pair of underwear?

Today, I hope to take some control over my life...no more scrounging, or just skating through live on passable standards, its really time to up the anty. In college, I was ambitious, I made goals for myself and reached all of them successfully. After that, I'm not sure what happened...the underwear supply dwindled, years of failure buried that fire I once had, I settled for thongs and bikini bottoms when I could have so much more. In all this, I don't believe that failure is a bad thing, but I've definately allowed it to stunt all the great things that God might have in store for my life...I hope that this year in my life will definately be one where I allow myself to change and be changed, to raise my standards again for what I want in life, and hope that my relationship with God can be restored, and the dreams he once gave me will really begin to take shape....but for today: LAUNDRY!!

Leaving Neverland...

This summer, I found myself teaching English to a class of sixth/seventh graders in Taiwan and the book we selected was J.M. Barrie's, Peter Pan. I was excited to read this book as I thought it was a good choice for the little one's who are finding their way towards maturity in the uncertain waters of adolescence. Eventually, we all must learn what it means to grow up. I had hoped they would catch this theme, but I found myself questioning if I have ever left Neverland?

When I was younger, I remember being awed by the adventures Peter had, but cheered when the children returned home to a mother who never forgot them. It was the best of both worlds!! They had experienced the ecstasies of make-believe never having suffered the consequences of reality. Reading the book now, I found myself almost imploring Wendy, John, and Michael to not be deceived by the careless ways of a far away land. I thought for sure that my well developed cynicism had created a wisdom in me that could see through the veil of a perfect world. Only then was I confronted with another question: In all my well-lived experience, had I ever left Neverland myself? Or did I merely get lost on the way home?

I desire all the amenities of adult hood, such as falling in love, raising children, keeping a home, but realized that these fancies are all possible in Neverland. After all, Wendy found herself a band of boys to mother, and Peter was well able to play a father despite his fleeting ways. How often do we believe that the things that make us adults rests purely on the ability of balancing a check book. For a long time I've played the game of maturity, but I wonder if I've really grown, or have I forced that inner child to catch up with the slowly aging capsule that carries it like a prison?

When life gets hard, my initial response is to escape. I long for the adventures of life, but shake my fist in anger towards God when they do not "pan" out the way I expect. When things went wrong in NY, I ran to Taiwan, hoping that new life experiences would cloud my mind with unbridled happiness that I would soon forget about the misery. I found that even at the age of 27, I am no more an adult than Peter, or Wendy, or the lost boys. The only marked difference are the furrows above my brow carved by years of sadness, but my heart hasn't quite caught up. That inner child still screams to me to run...to fly....right out that window and to never look back.

It still longs for the beauty of innocence it believes it lost. If I were just happy and carefree, then I will be beautiful, my eyes will sparkle as one loved by God : these are the words it tells me. After all, this is what we learn. We idolize those who's beauty seems to rest on a pedestal unaffected by tragedy. But perhaps, we only make believe we are over comers, and hold on desperately to the appeal of youth and jolliness. But who will implore us to not be deceived? Can I trust that there is another beauty in myself to be found, one that can only be found when I can manage to "grow up'? Can I accept and weave the tragedies and realities of my life into the person I should become? Perhaps I still need to find my way home, through that window that has been left open where a loving father waits with open arms. I can not help but think as the children did in Peter Pan, that perhaps that window has been closed, and perhaps my father has forgotten about me, and I should turn right back around to avoid the pain of this....or perhaps I have forgotten...what it was like to have a father, to be loved and cared for. Perhaps I should be a child just a little longer so I can believe, not in Neverland, but in the reality that the window will never close. And once I find my way home, then perhaps I will learn to desire the life that comes with age and see the furrows of tragedies as merely God's fingers, pressing into my life as he molds the clay.

A Late Night Rendez-Vous with God

Sometimes I can't sleep...and I'll write crazy things:

You've called me to sit beside you on this hill beneath a tree. I resisted, and insisted that my work was not done below, there is no time for rest. But you called despite my protest. So I sat next to you to humor you, but secretly condemned myself for the laziness and cursed my idle hands. But you still held me, and laughed with a light heart, and gave me that sweet familiar smile. And on that hill, you showed me what beauty is, beauty you can only see from above. And when I finally relinquished my anxieties and calmed the strife that beat against my breast, it came to me.

There were hills with grass kissed by the morning dew, valley's nestled between mountains that held the treasures of majestic waterfalls, and the light shattered into a million colors as it danced upon the lighted sky and water. But my soul only longed for the toils of the gravel pits. Beauty we feel we do not deserve, but labor we understand. Perhaps a cruel punishment we put upon ourselves for our own sense of worthlessness. What makes me think I deserve to see all this, to sit beside you on this hill, to be held and stilled by your embrace? This love we do not comprehend, but it burrows a hole so deep in our hearts and a yearning to receive it. But we hate ourselves, and deny the gift that was paid by blood. Our eye's are unwilling to see the beauty in us, so we keep our heads low, and we seek the comfort of the pit, because in that pit, we can not be exposed.

Grape Pie

For my audience of two, its no secret that the past few years have been a time of testing for me. Since my graduation from college, finding a job or career has been one of the most depricating, kick in the crotch things I've ever had to figure out in life. Currently, I'm unemployed....again...and when I look at my resume, I think I'm the only person who has consistently made less over the course of the years. A step up would be working at McDonalds, which quite frankly isn't such a bad career.

It's been hard to find self worth when the world tells us that our importance is based on achievements and success. But its funny, how in God's world, our failures and shortcomings are what makes a man. Character is shaped and purified in the fire, in our tests and trials, in the ebb and flow of our sadness, bitterness and joy.

During the days where I thought I was doomed to be a loser wandering this earth, it was hard to know that I was loved, or worthy. It seemed no one knew I existed, or had talents, or skills. It was during this time, where God showed me what love really was, and where he introduced me to Grape Pie.


Grape Pie is a dream I had one night. I was sitting at a dinner table, and there in the center of the table was Jason Mraz. For those who are unfamiliar, Jason Mraz is a talented singer and the center of my obsessive fatal attraction for quite a while. I was convinced that I would have his babies...and hey, its still possible. Anyhoo's, I remember sitting at the table with Jason, and across from him was my sister, and next to him was a good friend of mine. There was a light that seemed to beam from his spirit. It was sweet like honey, and I remember the feeling of just wanting to be near him. Suddently, a woman comes bursting through from the kitchen, and in her hands she had prepared Grape Pie.
"Grape Pie?" I thought to myself. It was quite peculiar, the thought of slimy grapes shoved inside a crispy crust, but in the dream, it worked. It was a wonderfully unique pie. At the table, Jason was completely rendered by my sister's charisma. In reality, my sister is a wonderful speaker, engaging and beautiful. It was hard to compete with that growing up. I became the "wilting flower"...shy, introverted, uncertain in speech, awkward in mannerisms.
She held his gaze, and Jason was utterly mesmerized and delighted by her. I felt in my heart a jealousy and sadness. I wished he would look my way, or that I could captivate him with my witty banter (which is merely an aresenal of "yo momma" and fart jokes). He reached over, and gave her a slice of grape pie. Then, he turned to my friend who was sitting next to him. She was quiet, and turned away, afraid to even look at him. But he was kind, and held her gaze, even when she wouldn't. He cradled her face with his hands and pulled closer to her. It wasn't creepy or sleezy, but kind like a father's touch. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek and seemed to be so in love. I hated her for a second. This was the man I had pined for, dreamed of, stalked...and here he was, kissing her. The desperation rose up in me, and I gave a light giggle and said, "where's my hug and kiss?" I wanted him to pay attention to me so desperately, and where the heck was my piece of Grape Pie? He had served every one first. The fear of being forgotten crept in and settled itself in my pool of insecurity. That's when he turned to me, held my gaze, and said, "For you, I have something better. Me and you, we have a lot in common, and I want to take you on a date." I could've died right there...it was all I would hope for from Jason, but I knew the dream was deeper than just a dream date with my obsession.

Sometimes, when we don't get what others have, we feel rejected, unworthy, lost in the sea of mediocrity. But in God's eyes, being served last is no reflection of how much he loves someone. He loves all of us in our own ways, captivated as a friend, father, and lover, simply by who we are. And sometimes, those who are served last aren't loved any less. Maybe they're the ones who can wait to see others being served first. In the end, we get exactly what we had hoped for. I had only asked for a hug and a kiss, like what my friend recieved, but God had so much more for me. He had a personal relationship waiting, more than anything I could even imagine asking for. So I guess...we all get a piece of Grape Pie in the end, some of us just get to eat before others, but no one is every forgotten. Patience only grows taller roses when it rains.