Mirror, Mirror on the wall...

It's the stuff epic tragedies are made of, used by writers of all sorts as a cautionary tale for children and adults alike. It follows hubris, mingles with jealousy and consorts with malice. Vanity, it is an age old friend to us all. We all remember that scene from Snow White: Evil queen with drag makeup looks adoringly at herself in looking glass, and says those unforgettable words, "Mirror Mirror on the wall, whose the fairest of them all?" (cue ominous music). There was a part of me that always felt bad for her when the mirror responds that Snow White, her younger, fairer, au-naturale counterpart has succeeded her as dominating enchanter in Make Believille. As a child, we all rooted for Snow White, as an adult, there was a part of me that secretly hoped the hired huntsman would return with that little strumpets heart in the box. Age allowed me to understand the evil queen a little better. What woman hasn't been there before? As we hit certain milestones in our lives, we begin to meet younger, more beautiful woman who inevitably threaten us in one way or another. And as we progress in aging, that number increases. These women remind us of two things:
1) we're getting old and will never regain the beauty of our youth
2) (in direct correlation with #1) less attention will be focused on us.

One of the greatest human fears is to be forgotten. It is an inescapable fate to feel the sting of insignificance. In recent weeks, this issue of vanity seemed to rear its ugly head in my life. I'm not exactly sure what triggered it. Turning 28 was difficult; turning 28 and still living the single life was gruesome. If I'm honest with myself, a part of me felt like I wasted my best years waiting for "the one". When you're young, you feel like you can afford to be picky, at 28, you feel as though that luxury is no longer accessible. I couldn't shake the nagging anxiety that inevitably, our bodies will change, and our skin will sag, and we will become less attractive, at least superficially. No woman will readily admit that these thoughts go through her head. Hell, I had always thought I was better than this myself. I thought I could be someone who aged gracefully, who wouldn't let an image driven world determine my thoughts about myself, but as I sat in the plastic surgeon's office receiving my first consultation, I knew that I wasn't better or stronger than anyone else. There's a reason why the fashion industry is so profitable, and why plastic surgeons are the biggest money makers in the medical profession, why Sephora became an overnight empire, and why sex always sells. We are a vain society. If we go deeper, we find that behind all the vanity is one thing we all long for; to feel beautiful.

In my attempt to formulate a remedy, I turned to all things that were not God. My anxiety had turned to obsession, and my obsession into depression. The more I worked to "improve" myself, the crappier I felt. I was burnt out! It's an exhausting endeavor to fight against nature. I was so unhappy with what I saw in the mirror, and at times it disgusted me. The more I tried to remedy my insecurities, the more they sprang up. Last night, as I was chatting with a friend online discussing our crazy insecurities, she mentioned how it reminded her of a scene from Mean Girls where Lacey Chabert and Amanda Seyfried are hating on themselves in front of the mirror. It was the only scene where she felt like was not an exaggeration of reality. It made me realize how fragile women can be. We are critical and unnecessarily harsh on ourselves. Words have lasting effects on us that stick through our entire lives. As I went to bed that night, I prayed that God would free me from these insecurities. I've always wanted to be a person who could empower woman into believing they are beautiful, worth it, no matter what the world has lead them to believe. How could I say these things to anyone if I couldn't believe it in myself?

That same night, in true epic fashion, I was awakened by the loud bang of my mirror falling off the wall. It lead me to an unexpected revelation; I had displaced God and his truth from the center of my life. Vanity became an idol, and the more I chased it, the more I lost the truth of who I was. In essence, God was casting down that idol in my life as the mirror fell face-down. I didn't need it to tell me who I was, or what I was worth, only God can do that. Darcey Steinke once wrote:

"One has only the choice between God and idolatry...If one denies God ... one is worshiping some things of this world in the belief that one sees them only as such, but in fact, though unknown to oneself imagining the attributes of Divinity in them.”

How often do we chase the things of this world to make us feel "whole"? I know it's difficult to detach ourselves from our surroundings, and to wholly rely on God's truth, but that's why we call it an exercise in faith. It takes time and practice to choose to believe truth over lies. The greatest tool Satan uses against us is to keep us focused on ourselves. He knows we are broken, utterly sinful in nature, insecure, depressed, fragile...if he keeps us focused on all these things we fall further away from God's truth. In turn, we replace that void with idols. We look for things to make us feel better, rather then to understand that we already have something better; salvation. David Powlison says, "to 'keep yourself from idols' is to live with a whole heart of faith in Jesus. It is to be controlled by all that lies behind the address 'Beloved children'" We are beloved children, adored by a loving God, made to shine in our own unique manner. I don't believe I have ever met anyone I didn't think was beautiful in some way. When you can see the divine in the earthly, it gives you a whole new perspective on things. In casting down this idol, I hope I can do what the evil queen in Snow White couldn't; not listen to what the mirror has to say about your worth, and to walk away....into the loving arms of a Father.

Home...

...Is where, they say, the heart is. I've been thinking a lot about what home actually means to me. When we use the word, it often evokes warm, sentimental feelings, especially when we think of things like,"grandma's home-style cookies". They reflect something personal and intimate, not merely a pre-packaged chips ahoy. Recently, I've experienced a loss of "home". I used to think I had a nomadic spirit. There is something so adventurous about letting the wind take you wherever it pleases. As desultory as my life may have seemed, I've seen things I've never imagined, experienced beauty beyond words, met wonderful people whom I would have never known existed. As much as I am grateful for all these exploits, there is something to be said about the feeling of permanence. Stability used to be mean being complacent to me. Complacency always made me feel lazy or unambitious. When you've lived most your life by the motto of carpe diem, its hard to sit still. I took home for granted. It was always there, somewhere I knew I could journey back to, an Ithaca for my Ulysses spirit. The funny thing is, so often we take for granted the things we think we will always have. The human spirit is always in search, always prone to wander, always seeking for things is has not possessed.

It wasn't until my recent move where I began to think more seriously about what "home" means to me. It wasn't just changing locations this time, but an experience in the loss of relationship and familiarity. My home used to be me, my sister and my mother. And yes, living with 3 girls is exactly how you imagine it to be; chaotic. My sister was the first to leave. I won't lie, it was difficulty to cope with the fact that I would lose her to her husband (though he is a wonderful man). I knew she was on a journey to build her own home and start her own family. As she cleaved away from us, I felt like I had already lost the corner stone to my home. She was always there for me, the one I would run to when I wasn't getting along with mom, the one I cried to when I got my heartbroken; she was my rock. And now, here we were, down to two. It wasn't easy and for a while, my relationship with my mother was like a roller coaster ride; when it was good, it was great, but more often than not, it was taxing. My mother had a hard life, and I know it isn't easy being a widow raising two children. There was a part of me that always imagined I could help her heal if I were just patient and kind enough to her. We all hope that somehow, our love will be enough to fix someone, but the truth is I couldn't manage to even fix myself. We were tearing each other down more than we were building up. I knew this was something I needed to walk away from; and now, here I was, down to one.

What scared me the most about moving out was the idea that I would possibly never have a place to return to. Things changed so drastically this year. The room I had lived in for the better half of my adult life would soon be occupied by someone else. In a naive manner, I imagined that I would always have this home, but now my Ithaca was gone. It all hit me my first night in my new place. The change of scenery triggered a deeper emotional response I didn't expect. As I lay in bed crying, I thought about how alone and uncertain everything felt. Life felt fugacious, and for the first time, I longed for something permanent and stable. As I searched my bible for some word of encouragement, I came across a passage in Isaiah:

¹ This is what the LORD says:
"Heaven is my throne,
and the earth is my footstool.
Where is the house you will build for me?
Where will my resting place be?

I never thought of what it means to build a house for the Lord. You always imagine Him to be this omnipresent being hovering over you at all times. Through all the journeys and unexpected wind-tossing, God would be looming above me somewhere in his home in heaven. But to imagine, that he would ask us to build Him a dwelling place amongst us. The lost I experienced made me long for something permanent, a refuge in the tempest of existence, and here is God, asking me to build a resting place for Him. There was a part of me that had forgotten the permanence God longs for with us. In my pain, I had withheld relationship, and in my joy, I had forgotten to give thanks. I began to realize that there is something so important in the act of building a house for the Lord. His resting place would become mine as well. We all know that life is filled with unpredictable variables. Some of us have family to turn too, some of us may not. Some may never feel in want, some will be in need. Some may never wander, some may play the role of the Prodigal Son and eventually find their way back, and some may never be that lucky. Despite the cards we're dealt by the hand of fortune or fate, the truth remains that we will never be homeless. There is always a place we can return to if we would choose to build a house for the Lord in our lives. Sooner or later, we will all return to our true home, where no one will ever feel like an orphan again. There is an overwhelming sense of comfort in that truth. Before that time comes, I can only hope that God would allow me to build a new Ithaca, with a family and a husband, here on earth. I hope it will be a home filled with laughter and love, and above all else, filled with God's presence.

A Brave New World Indeed...

(This is actually a post I wrote about a month after returning from Taiwan, but never had the chance to publish)

It's been about a good month since my last update on this blog. I have to confess that since returning back to the NYC, I've become a hermit of some sorts. The reverse culture shock took its toll, and at the suggestions of several friends, I tried to spend some time adjusting back to an American lifestyle, American food, American T.V., American relationships...

Taiwan had changed me a great deal as a person. Being back in New York almost made me bitter. It was a challenge remembering what I used to be like as a person and seeing how others had changed. My first ride on the 7 train was a true test of patience. All flushing-ites have collectively suffered through the numerous "signal problems", "debris on tracks", "all local trains" announcements in the morning. I felt the joy I once had in Taiwan erode away slowly as that good ol' new york city cynicism came flooding back into my bloodstream. That was the beginning of the end for me...as the weeks dragged on, my bitterness towards society and this city only deepened. Every conversation I happen to hear revolved around accomplishments, jobs, where we went to school, who we're dating, what kind of home we're buying. People seemed ONLY interested in knowing these things. It was all about what you can show on paper to validate your existence in this world. I was swimming in a sea of Alpha males and females as a noticeable Beta Minus.

It was difficult not to be bitter about my own shortcomings in life. I was angry at New York, angry at people, angry at God that I had to come home and face all the things I tried to run from before. New York is beautiful but brutal. It's a world of extremes; you're either somebody or nobody. Perhaps in all big cities, there are roles that need to be fulfilled and occupied; rules for success, prescriptions for fame. As an Asian American female, you feel the pressure to have to be that accomplished, well polished size 2 individual. We are groomed at a young age to be musical, mathematical, ambitious, with a taste for all things I.V. league. In a church group, its even more important to exhibit said list and somehow appear gracious and humble about it all. We know each other through our labels, job titles, spaces we occupy in society, how well we achieve or fall short of expectations. For some of us, we hide behind all these things. We'll never have to take a deeper look at ourselves, or examine the very core of who God made us to be. Those who live outside the realm of conformity find it difficult to ever find self acceptance. Let's face it, as cool as the Matrix made it seem, would you be willing to take the "red pill" and all that comes with it? Questioning the deeper things of who we are and why we're here brings a lifetime of insecurity, difficulty, and pain. I'll admit that no matter how much I feel like I've fallen short of occupying the societal "role" I'm supposed to, I still strive to achieve that. There's a sense of safety and satisfaction in worldly success.

I appreciate Aldous Huxley's book, "A Brave New World" for this very reason: he understands that breaking the mold is not something glossy, or exciting, or world changing at all. Sometimes we just end up as outsiders, mad men exiled...perhaps still waiting for some greater change to sweep across humanity. We say that Jesus was a rebel, and for Christians, we've even glamorized it to seem like he was such a bad-ass, saving the world through his bad-ass, law breaking ways. But let's be honest, the story is brutal. We haven't even seen it finished to know for sure the fullness of the redemption to come. As far as some of us know, He is still a carpenter crucified as a criminal left to die in shame.

I used to believe that I could have some impact on this world. Perhaps it is still true, though not in the way I used to imagine. We all want to be heroes, mold-beakers, world shakers, life changers...but there is a reality we must face; brokenness and inability. I am broken, forever a Beta Minus trying to be an Alpha plus. I am a coward, afraid of pain and failure. Through it all, I still believe that somehow this "bad-ass carpenter" will redeem my life. I'm not sure what the full story will look like, for myself and humanity, but I still choose to believe that it will be something beautiful, something brave, something that was worth saving.

Scrutinizing Scrooge

We all remember Charles Dickens (thank you Paul for the correction) famous Christmas story about a grumpy miser who learns what the Christmas spirit is all about. Through all the re-tellings and re-makings of the story, Scrooge always appears to us in the same manner; old, grumpy, bony fingered, beady eyed, and well...white. His image forms the cautionary tales of what greed can make of a man. For a long time, I thought that greed was exactly what Scrooge portrayed; rich men with an appetite for power and money that far exceeds their compassion. White upper-crusters who's drive for industry produces a frightening vice that exploits all those who encounter them. Greed is something we see in big industry, in oil company exec's who's morals are as dark as their commodity, in Wal-Mart, in Martha Stewart, in Wall St. bankers. As an ascribed middle-class citizen, I shake my head in shame and disappointment with the rest who believe that greed does not touch our own lives. We often believe that this "disease" does not afflict the modest and the poor. The face of greed is a stranger to all of us when we examine the inner workings of our hearts.

These past few months, I am forced to scrutinize the Scrooge within myself. In Timothy Keller's book, Counterfeit God's, we are presented with the concept that greed is not a vice only reserved for the wealthy. Money doesn't always make a man greedy, neither does a greedy man always make money. The issue goes much deeper than that. Greed knows no race, religion, or economic status, it touches all of us at one point in our lives. As Keller points out, most of us will never think we're greedy, and perhaps its because most of us will never consider ourselves in that 20% that holds 80% of the nation's wealth. I never used to think that greed was something I would ever struggle with, but lately I can see how selfishness manifests itself in other ways. So often we come across shocking self discovery when we're busy condemning the specks in the eyes of those around us, while God is pointing at the log lodged in our own. I've seen money issues tear my family apart, I've seen it change people, and like so many others, I've been a victim of those who seek only for themselves. In my own blinded self-righteousness and pity, I forgot to contemplate all the times I look after my own best interest. I am greedy at the dinner table when I take the biggest steak; I am greedy on the train in the mornings when I push my way past an old woman just so I can sit; I am greedy when I look at the things my friends have and covet in my heart. I am materialistic, insecure, and hopelessly fearful of being poor. I used to believe that I was modest, but now I understand that I merely did not have the wealth to be lavish. How much I have so often determines how I live, and so often determines the standards of character I set. I've been forced to ask myself a question: Do I live a modest life because I'm forced to or because I choose to? Do I seek God because I have nothing, or because I choose to have nothing? It's easy to justify my righteousness through all that I do not have. But isn't that the very essence of false humility? Often times, Christians find a sense of moral haughtiness in poverty. We are taught to point the finger of judgement at the rich, to place the face of Scrooge on the wealthy. We are afraid of teachings of prosperity, and wary of those who give thanks to God for their wealth, and at the same time, we are ashamed to ask for wealth because we're taught that money corrupts.

I'm not sure if anyone else feels this way, but I for one am tired. I am tired of always feeling guilty when thinking about money. Why shouldn't a believer in God ask for wealth? Why must we always assume that those who have much are secretly corrupt in their hearts? Yes, there is truth to the saying that it is harder for a rich man to enter heaven than to thread a camel through the eye of a needle, but we miss the fact that it is still not impossible. So what does it all come down to? How can a rich man enter heaven? The same way a poor man does; through grace alone. The issue of greed is never about money, its about where we place our worth. When we fundamentally believe in the generosity of grace, things begin to change. Yes, its always easier said than done. I still battle on a daily basis with my greedy tendencies. Sometimes the guilt is overbearing and I begin to "sacrifice" more for God, but then find a sense of righteousness in what I've given up. We've all heard this story before; the good christian sacrifices something out of a guilt driven conscience then declares they are closer to God, but we should not be fooled into believing that its purged us of our greed. It's our closeness to God that leads to sacrifice, and even then, its not what God asks from us. Mercy is greater than sacrifice, compassion and love is more valuable than what we give up for God. The one thing that was able to transform Zacchaeus (an infamously greedy tax collector), was the abundant grace of Jesus. He sacrificed because he knew he was loved and forgiven, that even he had a chance with God. He was willing to face the scrooge in himself, and the grace of God allowed him to see that nothing else mattered except the friendship of Jesus.

A Beginning and an End

Today marked the end of the Chinese New Year Holiday here in Taiwan. It's always a bit difficult to get myself back into the swing of things after a nice vacation. I spent a week up in Taipei with great friends just relaxing and enjoying my experience, and it reminded me of how precious these moments really are. It's been a month of new beginnings for me. The last three or four years have been an arduous walk through the desert. As I lay that season to rest and prepare for a new beginning, I'm compelled to think about the idea of life and death.

On Friday I was fortunate enough to catch the sky lantern festival in Pingxi. The festival happens once a year where thousands of people release paper lanterns into the night sky. The idea behind it is to write your wishes on a paper lantern, and then release it into the sky hoping that a God will see and grant your desire. As I watched my friends release our lantern, I felt overcome with a sense of thankfulness that moments like these could be written in my memory. It was a bitter sweet moment; I had the chance to reconnect with old friends, meet new ones, and was reminded that I must say goodbye to others. As the five of us stood around this lantern covered in our blessings to family and friends, I had secretly made another wish that this moment could last just a bit longer for all of us - but like many experiences, we must release it and watch as it drifts beyond the horizon.

When we think about time, we think about a line that moves progressively towards a terminal point in which we call death, but everything around us tells us otherwise, that time is like an endless circle. The earth spins on an axis and revolves in an orbit, and end always signifies the beginning of something else, death in winter brings life in spring, night brings another morning. I've watched my own life travel peaks and valleys, always coming full circle to the beginning of another chapter. If all human existence was marked by lines travelling in the same direction, lives would never intersect, we would never experience the pulse of existence, which like a human heart, pumps the flow of energy through a circulatory system in the universe. When I hear about death, it makes me sad, but if in fact all things come full circle, then even the tragedies will find redemption. The idea of the gospel I so much believe in revolves around the concept that death will bring new life. It gives me some sense of comfort and connection with others to know that my life is not a solitary line, but that I am part of something bigger, something that has no end, something that allows experiences to overlap; an infinite number of points circulating together on some greater journey conducted by a greater being.

Does Anyone Else Feel this Way?

I'm going about my regular daily task of thumbing through my Facebook updates, collecting my crops on Farmville, and checking up on my employees in Cafe World. I realize that I, like many other people around the world, waste numerous precious hours obsessively updating my virtual doppelgangers and stalking out other people's posts about their new accomplishments and projects they're currently working on. Afterwards, I usually experience a period of jealousy and depression, followed by shame. I love Facebook for many reasons, but there are days when it becomes like that piece of cheesecake you scarfed down last night; it tastes great in the madness of it all, but you always end up hating yourself the next morning.

Perhaps I need a hiatus from all this social networking. There are times when I feel like it all just makes me ungrateful for the things I already have. Of course the reality of it is that Facebook doesn't actually do anything, it just digs up the dirt that's hidden in all of us. I acknowledge the responsibility I should take in the matter, but there's still a part of me that feels as though it's partially responsible for fostering the narcissism in us all.

In the book, The Culture Of Narcissism, Christopher Lasch wrote about how the availability of fame and decline of the family would lead individuals to obsessively focus on themselves and ultimately lead to a weaker sense of identity. I feel like this everyday of my life. I obsessively focus on my insecurities, wallow in my own failures, pity myself because I haven't occupied a creative niche to call my own, all while blaming God for my feelings of emptiness. Does anyone else feel this way? Does anyone else feel more like a loser the more socially connected they are? If I'm honest with myself, I know its only because I long to be special...I want people to see me as worthy, successful, creative, beautiful...but I know that Facebook can't give me that, even if I had a million things to boast about. I am angry at myself most of the time when I realize that for some reason, God's love isn't good enough. I want more, I demand more. I've become like the old lady who lived in a vinegar jar. She was sad and wished for a humble cottage. When a little bluebird heard her wish, she granted her the cottage because the bird was kind. But after a short year, she demanded more; a house, then a mansion...until nothing would satisfy the old woman besides becoming queen of the world. Because the bird was kind, she granted the old woman's desires each time, even when she never thanked the little bird or thought of her. Finally in the end, the old woman ended up right back in the vinegar jar, where some argued, she belonged all a long. Nothing satisfied her because she couldn't see what she was given out of love.

Have I become ungrateful? Have I replaced the love of God for the desire to be loved by others? Am I incapable of being thankful for the things I've been given out of kindness? It's a difficult journey to find satisfaction in life, and even more difficult to find it in God. It would seem so simple, who would turn down such a great invitation for love? To be loved unconditionally, irrevocably and abundantly; it's a gift I turn down everyday. My fear of being a nobody pushes me further away from God's loving arms. To Him, I could never be a "nobody". Every inch of who I am was created out of his love and creativity. He exhorts me even when I've done nothing to warrant praise. It's difficult to believe all of this, especially when the rest of the world is clamoring for attention with everyone exerting their own uniqueness. It's hard to not get caught up in it all....and exhausting to keep up.
'

Dream State

I had such an interesting dream last night that I had to share it. Some of you may know, I have an incredibly active dream life. Sometimes the dreams can be prophetic, or meaningful in a cryptic manner. In last night's dream, I was running away from someone. It's not a new thing for me, I've had numerous dreams where it was necessary to flee from some sort of danger. In this dream, I'm not sure how it all began, but the man was evil. I had a relationship with him for a brief time, but decided he was not the one for me. But for some reason, he couldn't take no for an answer. He tried to lure one of my friends into his car as well as revenge for the breech of relationship. I remember running into the car and pulling my friend out. We spent the next few hours just running and hiding from this man. For some reason, I wasn't frightened. I just knew I had to escape.

I pulled my friend under a porch to hide as he came looking for us. Luckily, we went undetected. We continued our escape, and I remember distinctly running to different countries and cities, always feeling relieved that we had managed to stay one step ahead, but little did I know, the chase would end soon.

It must have been a holiday of some sort, there were fireworks everywhere and crowds of people lining the streets. I grabbed my friends hand and we walked through the crowd. I wanted to stop to see the beautiful display of lights and explosions, but was afraid that we would be caught. Sure enough, there was the man, right in the crowd. I knew he had spotted us, so I let my friend go and told her to hide in the crowd as I did the same. I crouched behind spectators, hoping he wouldn't notice my shoes (for some reason, I was very afraid I would be recognized by my shoes). The fear turned into paranoia, and I thought the best solution would be to make a run for it. My friend had the same idea. I bolted after her and we ran through a building near by. A woman tried to stop me, she grabbed my arm and asked, "Are you Betty? Wait...you have to know something!" I ignored her caution and continued running, but I knew I couldn't run any longer. I was tired, and knew I would run out of places to hide. His cleverness was just too great. I knew there was only one thing left to do; stop running...

I could see him in a distance, calling my name, approaching closer. I didn't feel fear, or sadness; I felt empty. As he came up to me, I saw in his hands two cakes. I wasn't too sure what they were meant for. He stretched them out in my direction and said, "these are for you...let us eat together, and would you forgive me for all that I have done." There was no hesitation, no second thought, no confusion; I stretched out my hand and said, "All is forgiven brother". I called out to my friend to let her know there was no reason to run anymore. I remembered the woman who tried to stop me, she had tried to tell me the same thing...that there was no reason to run anymore.

It was a profound dream...and yes, I have spent the last couple of years running...exhausted, unable to conceal myself in new jobs, new cities, new hobbies. There comes a time when we all must stop running, I guess my time is now. I don't know who the man is, perhaps failed relationships, perhaps betrayal from friends, perhaps the pain of loving someone who doesn't love you, or perhaps even myself and my own sins. But wouldn't it be a wonderful thing, to stop, and to stretch out our hands and say, "All is forgiven".

A Poem Every Week

I want to try to post a poem every week. Since graduating from college, I feel as though I've lost touch with a lot of the literature I used to enjoy so much. I'm tying to refresh my knowledge and inspiration. The first is a poem by John Milton, British poet and author, best known for his work, "Paradise Lost".

When I consider How My Light is Spent

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
and that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true accounts, lest he returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait."

2010 Resolutions

I love the feeling a New Year's celebration gives people. There's always a renewed sense of hope and ambition as the concept of entering a new chapter with a tabula rasa invigorates the lost dreams to life again. The eve offers a unique cross road in the human existence. It's the one day where we can look towards a life yet unborn while reminiscing about the past year soon to become distant memories. We strike a balance in the way we view our lives; where we've been and where we will go. The first week of January is a valuable time for me. So often, I live the rest of my year thinking only of the past. I relive every failure, every embarrassment, every criticism and I let it paralyze me from moving forward, sometimes even fearing what the future may look like. In college I was the complete opposite, only thinking about the future. My only concern was to build a career for myself, perhaps achieve fame, recognition and success. This way of thinking had cost me great friends and relationships, while dwelling in the past had cost me God's calling. I appreciate the chance a new year gives me. It allows me to re-focus on the task at hand and what my life should really look like, as a complete story rather than fragmented chapters.

Part of my resolution this year was inspired by the Princess Diaries. I enjoy Disney and Pixar films because they use fantastical situations to illustrate human truths. And like the new year, they strike a balance between dreams and reality. I remember the compelling moment where Ann Hathaway makes her decisive speech, dripping wet wearing a frumpy hoodie. She had her most princess like moment when she looked the most disheveled. The idea of being princess of a country frightened Ann, especially understanding the scrutiny that comes with such a position. Her flaws, whether real or fabricated, were exhibited in front of the world. She thought of the burden, and thought of the price of giving away such a position, then comes her touching line...."then I realized how many stupid times a day, I use the word 'I'"

One of the hardest things to do is to get over ourselves. I realized that I had placed on a shelf many of God's promises needing some outside source of confirmation to tell me what I'm meant to do. It's not to say that I missed out on anything, but in order to move forward, I have to acknowledge how self-centered I am, how self seeking some of my desires were, no matter how nicely I covered them in altruistic intentions. It's tempting for me to dump my failures on the fact that I "wasn't ready" to walk in the calling, but I don't believe this is true either. There are many successful people out there who work out of selfishness. The matter at hand doesn't revolve around success or failure, as I used to believe, but rather around obedience through love. I know that God had lovingly given me a calling to be a wordsmith, but my crippling fears and raging jealousies had pushed the calling into the realm of impossible. I lamented over the loss of the calling, but never wanted to own it in the first place. I was reminded of a dream I had a long time ago. I was in Africa, and I walked into a classroom where there was a little girl who walked up to me. She had a book in her hand and she told me that one day, she had accidentally wandered into the class. The teacher had been reading the book to the children. She told me that the story had changed her life. It had given her hope in her own future, and allowed her to see the worth she had in God. I wept...

I knew that I wanted to be that kind of writer, but that dream somehow lost its way in the deep depression that was to come. I only recently recalled it back into memory when I came upon the cross-roads of the new year. Owning a title or a dream is not an easy thing to do, as Ann Hathaway so courageously illustrated, but when we are able to realize the weight and significance of that title and what it means to others, we no longer carry a burden but a gift. If I could think less of myself, perhaps God's words could reach that girl, or even a nation. The word resolution actually means to set upon a course of action, if I were to give myself a resolution, it would be to put into action the passions that God gave me. Writing is only a tool for the greater calling to love both God and his people. I could only wait to see what 2010 will bring and I hope that it will be a year where I think of others and God, and allow my own ambitions to become a distant memory in the realm of what He has called me to do.