Beauty Schmeuty

Information Processing

2012-01-14T03:42:00.000-08:00

The first trimester of school passed by so quickly, and now I find myself soon approaching another whirlwind of business and activities. In the last few weeks I've been reflecting on what I've learned thus far in this experience. At the suggestion of a friend, I decided to write down a couple of things that I believe are different about me. The biggest thing is what I've learned in terms of critical thinking. A huge part of conducting research (or rather 'good' research) is the need for diligence in observing certain details. I realized that shortcuts only lead to dead ends and re-writes. I used to gloss over certain information and extract only the neccessery quotes that fit my argument close enough. This time around, close enough is not enough. After a devastating last minute re-write that left me frantic, I realized that good work is hard work. It takes time, time to think, to read, to reflect, and to question. The greatest advice my supervisor gave me was that anything you read should not be taken as truth. Everything is a point of view, an idea postulated by an individual. We have the right to agree, and the right to disagree. Research is really the process in which we "search". It is our reasoning, our analysis, our gaining of insight and knowledge, not just an argument.

Recently, I had a discussion with a friend regarding a video that went viral on a spoken word poem written by Jefferson Bethke, called Jesus > Religion (you can watch the video by clicking through the link. We talked a bit about what we thought, and maybe reasons for why the video went viral. Both of us felt as though perhaps he was a bit harsh on religion. I won't discuss too much on the details of what I think, as there is more than enough information on the internet regarding different positions on the matter, including an article shared by my friend Dorothy on The Gospel Coalition. What surprised me most about the discussion was that there was actually a discussion taking place. I respect Jefferson for putting his point of view out there, and all the others who responded. No matter what we think Jesus' convictions were, I believe that he was a man of reason, open to discourse and discussion. His early life was spent in deep learning, something the gospels made a point of mentioning. He cultivated his wisdom by asking questions to the teachers in the Synagogue. Even during his ministry, he allowed space for discussions. He often engaged people in thought, and asked for their opinions on certain matters. I used to wonder about the story of the Canaanite woman, and asked myself why Jesus was so harsh on her? But I believe that the encounter was a chance for the woman to reason with her own faith and to reason with Jesus. Jesus ignored her request for healing at first, then responded that it's not right to take the children's bread and toss it to their dogs. She responded with a counter reason that even dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their Master's table. She had an opportunity to challenge Jesus, to argue for what she wanted, and she got it.

Have Christians lost their ability to reason these days? It makes me sad that whenever you see a Christian portrayed in a movie or tv show, they're often unreasonable fanatics, or unintelligent uninformed individuals who fold under the powerful reasoning of scientists. Perhaps it is not only Christians, but an entire generation of individuals who aren't encouraged to question, to be skeptical, or to search deeper into matters, to discuss intelligently the ideas put forth. The Internet is strewn with information, and our ability to sort through what we should listen too, and what not to listen too is even more important these days. Robert Bly in his book Sibling Society writes that American culture can no longer demand difficult work from individuals, instead "sloppy technique becomes evidence of honest expression". Close enough is good enough because it's honest, it's human, and human's are made to be imperfect. Has this become an excuse? A reason to not reason? It scares me to see that culture, even christian culture, has become just a talent show. We show off what we can do, our skills, our "gifts", but rarely do we discuss what we do. Rarely do we discuss God, or faith. Rarely do we question the more difficult things. The Jefferson Bethke video opened up discussions between an urban youth culture and perhaps a more scholarly culture. It's a shame that they have to be separate. Does Jefferson have talent? Yes, I believe so. I also believe that he is an intelligent young man who is in search of something, but at the same time, I hope he chooses to listen to some of the counter responses and use them as a chance to grow even deeper in his own understanding, that a poet can become a scholar and vice versa. Faith can exist with reason, just as grace must exist with righteousness. Just because we have one, doesn't mean we forfeit the latter. I hope that in the greater search for truth, christians and non christians alike, we take the time to reflect and learn, to work through the more difficult things with patience instead of lowering the standards to make things easier.

Standstill vs. Stand Still

2011-10-26T13:34:00.000-07:00

I love the play one words. In a nutshell, I've been feeling like my life has come to a complete standstill. I know from the outside, it seems as though I've been swept away onto another adventure, and yes, at times I do feel that way. But even in unfamiliar settings, I feel those very familiar feelings. I am an anxious person to put it mildly. On good days, I go through my mental list of things to do at least three times before I've had my coffee, and on bad days I'll cry about the impossibility of that list being accomplished. It seems to be a lifetime struggle for me to ever feel like I've accomplished anything. Being back in school only reinforces those fears. I'm reminded of the time that's passed so quickly, and to be honest, there's even less time to lament for a youth long lost. The proverbial clock keeps ticking and I'm struggling to keep up with the seconds as they mindlessly tick by me. Seems that I'm always chasing after time and always coming up a step too late.
I've been really challenged to think about the idea of being at a stand still, and, well...just standing still. One feels very passive, and the other is an active role. I've always felt the first, as though I've been slotted into some evil purgatory where nothing happens, where I wake up five years later and I'm still blogging about "sad feelings" and unfulfilled promises in my underwear, alone, in bed. (Emphasis on the alone). I am now that five years later sad sad woman vaguely resembling a washed up Bridgette Jones. Self deprecation aside, there is another way of viewing things that I'm trying to wrap my mind around. Maybe it's not a standstill I'm in, maybe it's an opportunity to stand still. I was reading a blog today about the busy life of a mother trying to juggle her job, kids, and faith at the same time, and feeling as though her faith kept losing. I understood the difficulty of her feelings of not having personal time to sit and think, and reflect on God, or whatever else one reflects on, and to be honest, I felt a little lucky. As much as I want to complain about how nothing's happened in the last decade for me in terms of life-changing, I feel lucky that I've had so much time to explore. I must confess that at times I get a little lost in that exploration, and end up in places I shouldn't, but the chance to make mistakes and learn seems valuable in some way. But the journey often takes me to that desolate place, the place Dr. Seuss called "The Waiting Place". It's the season when you are just in-between everything, where your neither going or coming, seeking or finding. It's frustrating, more so when it seems to be not by choice. I think if I can manage to see it as standing still vs. a standstill, it eases some of the uneasiness. It's a rare opportunity these days to have to wait for something, especially when life is zipping by at a million miles/second and things are even more accessible than they've ever been. But waiting is the only way we'll know who we truly are, and to know who God truly is. It's the moment where we can think, and be disturbed, uncomfortable, lonely, confused, and most of all, be at rest. For those at "The Waiting Place", take encouragement in knowing that you are headed for great things, for every great person needs great rest. Be still, and wait, for the right time and for the right purposes. In the valley's of life, remember the high places, remember that promises unfulfilled are opportunities for miracles to happen.

I've also attached a copy of the Dr. Suess Story, "Oh! The Places You'll Go" below for some extra encouragement, happy readings!

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
by Dr. Seuss

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care. About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.” With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet, you’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.

And you may not find any you’ll want to go down. In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town. It’s opener there in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen and frequently do to people as brainy and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew. Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.

Oh! The Places You’ll Go!

You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed. You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead. Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best. Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.

I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true that Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.

You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch. And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump. And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.

And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun. Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked. Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked. A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin! Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in? How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And if you go in, should you turn left or right…or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite? Or go around back and sneak in from behind? Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find, for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused that you’ll start in to race down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.

The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.

Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting.

No! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying. You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing. With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high! Ready for anything under the sky. Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done! There are points to be scored. There are games to be won. And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all. Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too. Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.

And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance you’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants. There are some, down the road between hither and yon, that can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.

But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.

You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!

The Ugly Truth

2011-09-08T07:37:00.000-07:00

There's a new -ism in town called "lookism". I first read about it in the gossip section of the Daily Mail while intruding on the lives of the beautiful. Once in a while you catch an article about some dowdy mom losing 2 stone (which I found out is the British way of saying 28 pounds - go figure), or one woman's epiphany on how she's not exactly a swan in flock of mallards. In one article, it was mentioned that we're a society slowly falling into a new category of bigotry based off of the outward appearance of individuals. I'll be honest, I've been a perpetrator of lookism probably more than once in my life, it's happened to the best of us. My inability to overcome what may be a new social epidemic, lead me to years of depression, comparing myself against those who had it all in my eyes, and wondering why my life looked so dismal, so ugly, so much like a naked mole rat in comparison to the elegant swans around me.

I felt marked, scarred physically and emotionally, and at times even suicidal. Most recently, I've had the feeling of wanting to peel off my own skin in disgust, never quite living up to my own sense of what a young, bright Christian should look like. We live in an age where we want it all, the looks, the money, the honor, the high reputation amongst peers and co-workers. Eventually, we have to face the ugly truth. I love how truth is referred to as "ugly", categorized by the same lookism we fall into. So what is the ugly truth? Well, if asked this question a couple of days ago, I would've said it's accepting the fact that some of us will never have it all, and some will. It would be accepting defeat, admitting to a cruel fate that does not allow you to thrive as you wish you could. Then, I read an excerpt from Michael Moore's book, Here Comes Trouble: Stories From My Life, featured in the Guardian article below:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/sep/07/michael-moore-hated-man-america

It made me think a little deeper on what exactly is so ugly about the truth? In his infamous Oscar acceptance speech for Bowling for Columbine, he said something that got those rusty gears turning in my head: "We like non-fiction, yet we live in fictitious times. We live in a time where we have fictitious election results that elect a fictitious president. We live in a time where we have a man sending us to war for fictitious reasons." Michael Moore was right, though not evident at the time. Though is commentary was towards political reasons, we could generally still agree that these are indeed fictitious times. Maybe my idea of an ugly truth is really based off of a reality that's not real at all. My lookism created an alternate world that said I had to be successful, or that God's favor meant blessings galore and respect from my peers, but this is a fictitious story. It's a story the world creates and the church adopts as well. Here's the non-fiction we live in: nothing matters but God. That's right, not you, not your job, not your car, not what people think of you, not even the money in your account. It's a hard truth to grasp, which is probably why we call it ugly, but if we dare to turn our own worlds upside down for a minute, we'll realize there's nothing ugly about it at all, in fact, its the most beautiful thing I will ever try to wrap my mind around. There's freedom in that truth, freedom in knowing you will never be asked to be anything except yourself. I realize that's a very big picture to see, and sometimes its difficult to apply big picture things to everyday life. Understanding that truth doesn't always dispel the feelings of inadequacy or low self-worth, or the feeling of wanting to accomplish something in this lifetime. In my process of trying to separate the fiction from the non-fiction, I begin to see that one does not exclude the other. Nothing matters but God, but nothing matters to God but you.

Somewhere along the lines, truth became fiction and fiction, truth. We've bought into the kool-aide of self-love, self-worth, and self-acceptance that society pushes so much for, and traded it for what the gospel offers. We obtain on our own the very things that God intended to give us, in hopes of taking an easy route towards happiness. The stories I read in the bible ar wrought with hardships, rejection, people who must stand alone, voices that cry out in the wilderness. Mingled in all that doom and misery is something so beautiful and so easily overlooked, something completely non-fiction, something that is the truth, pure and simple. It is the will of God. Complete submission to his will is so hard, because it does mean pain and loss, I've personally felt it for years, never quite understanding what it is all for. A lot of us will choose instead to incorporate just enough of God into our lives where we feel like our salvation is minimally guaranteed, weaving an intricate fictitious theology and faith. That's just not enough anymore. We've become spoiled, gluttons for good things only, including insurance for the after life. But things spoiled never bear fruit. So here's the challenge, for myself, and for anyone else who dares to face a bit of that ugly truth, let us release the fictitious world, and ask for the real one, no matter what pains, what misery, what suffering may come from that. Let us choose to live a life examined, a life surrendered, and a life unhappy at times, in exchange for fruitfulness for the greater good. And here's the beauty in it all, you will see a heaven, even here on earth. So take heart, those who have tasted suffering in your walk. Remember, you are the lone voice in the wilderness, a light into the eyes of those who've become accustomed to darkness, a beautiful melody in an orchestra of clanging cymbals. Continue to submit, because God will never disappoint, though you may feel that way at times, and never stop seeking for truth.

A Virtual Domicile

2011-06-09T07:46:00.000-07:00

I usually don't have philosophical mornings, but today I found myself turning over an idea in my head. For the last year, I've worked as a graphic designer for Barney's web team, and that usually equals obscene amounts of time surfing the web on various blogs, fashion sites, YouTube (yea, maybe that's more for personal pleasure than research) and the whole slew of information and visual bytes floating around in the inter-webs. It's interesting when you stumble upon a new blog you've never seen before, or a collection of someones photos (or collection of photos from others photos) that just inspire a certain awe in a person. As much as I love this online universe, there is a part of me that starts to think if it's healthy. The sharing and re-sharing of information seemed like a great idea to begin with. I miss the days of blogs formatted in simple HTML set up, usually reflecting the thoughts of some world traveller / scholar hoping to share ideas with a wider range of individuals. Now a days, it seems we are overwhelmed with various sites both visual and intellectual. It's harder for me to imagine who is actually behind these sites, posting photos and commentaries. Who is this person writing clever quips on today's fashion and politics? The cool thing is that most of these "experts" are actually laymen like me and you. Empowering isn't it? But nonetheless, you can't help but wonder if the information you're absorbing is actually something worth absorbing.

For example, I was perusing information about Croatia today in hopes of planning a future trip there, and found myself on someones page that had a collection of beautiful photos from Croatia. When I read the captions a little more clearly, I realized that the person had never actually been to Croatia, but had posted these photos in hopes of going there one day. I do this myself...create a virtual domicile, a life completely built upon wishes and hopes and dream versions of places and things I want. Interesting, isn't it? How our virtual lives can sometimes over shadow the reality of who we are and what we've actually accomplished or experienced. The Internet is a great facilitator in our games of pretend. It's an easy guise to wear, an avatar created based solely on how we want to be perceived, rather than a discovery of who we really are. I love the sharing and re-sharing of things uknown and unseen, but sometimes I wish it could happen in real life, like real air breathing, walking talking life, and not just a mouse click away life. Are we a generation trapped in our virtual domiciles like some form of digital house-arrest? Have we stunted our own capacities to self-reflect, to change, and learn and engage, or are we engaging in a different way? I haven't completely reconciled all these questions myself, but I often just feel as though I spend so much time trying to "catch up" on things happening on the Internet that I miss out on living my actual life...

This also made me think about the fear of man, vs. fear of God. When I look through Facebook sometimes, I see these perfectly crafted lives, and I have to wonder if people are ACTUALLY that happy and satisfied. Maybe they are, who am I to judge, but sometimes I feel like people filter out the bad (who would want to post up photos of family fights and teary faces anyways...bleh!). We, on the other end, can only see the good, but only that person will know what kind of toils lie beneath the surface of the happy photos being posted. But alas, the fear of man makes us afraid to be seen as either sad, depressed, sometimes struggling people. For a very long time I felt as though I was alone in my sadness and depression. The more I pressed into God, the more I began to realize that this is actually OK to experience. Through my troubles, the Psalms comforted me. The candour and honesty of David eased the uncomfortable feeling of shame in myself for being so troubled. If the Psalms were written in a blog today, I wonder if anyone would find it edifying, or would we just think to ourselves, "There goes that depressed David again, ranting away"? This leads me to the inquisition of this whole post; Are we hiding more than we are sharing our lives on the Internet? Does it help us in the process of self-discovery, or hinder us from growth? Does it increase even more our fears of man rather than push us further into the truths of God? Perhaps the answer is both, but we'll never know unless we have the courage to step away from our virtual domiciles, and examine our actual hearts.

Food for the soul: A Story of a (Minor) Miracle

2011-04-05T06:22:00.000-07:00

Two years ago, I said goodbye to my friends and my family as I boarded that plane to Taiwan. It was a move that would change the course of my life, and interrupt everything I thought I knew about God. I had hoped that the change of scenery would bring some rest for my weary soul. I had gone through a tough year, unemployment, sickness, pain, loss of a friend, loss of my own sense of self worth, loss of financial security, loss of dreams. My mother left her job months earlier and it only seemed like there was no place to turn for help. I worried for her, I worried for myself, and I worried about all these things that seemed so emphatically out of my control. Despite all the heartaches and headaches, I clung on to what I thought would be an
unshakable relationship with God.

Two months into my stay in Taiwan, things only got worse. My sister was attacked in the city for no apparent reason, and left injured and shaken. I felt so angry that I couldn't be there to support her, and even more angry that God could let all these things happen. It was the straw that would break the unshakable relationship. I wrote a letter to my pastor laying out everything I had felt. That maybe, perhaps, I was wrong about the whole God thing. I couldn't bring myself to believe in a supernatural being that could cause such pain, what little it may seem in the realm of this fallen world, but it was enough to break me. In my darkest moment, I laid on my bed and I cursed His name. I deserved to die right then, but God had other plans, a very audible phrase, "hang on". So I did, conditionally and with caution. I figured I would still believe in his existence, but not in his goodness.

I'm not really sure when the actual turning point was, but God was able to use this dark time to show how truly good he can be, whether we believe it or not. After several late night conversations with good friends, and support from unexpected places, I knew that God was ministering to my soul. At that time, I was reading a book called The Ragamuffin Gospel (Brennan Manning) after my friend Dorothy had recommended it to me. I knew I needed to remember the gospel of grace and goodness, and to remember that pain is sometimes part of the process. Brennan Manning wrote:

Unlike Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame, we need not
hide all that is ugly and repulsive in us. Jesus came not for the
super-spiritual but for the wobbly and weak-kneed who know they
don't have it all together and who are not too proud to accept the
handout of amazin' grace. As we glance up, we are astonished to
find the eyes of Jesus open with wonder, deep with understanding,
and gentle with compassion.

What a God we worship. Here I was, a loser, broken, faithless, unsuccessful in all I tried to do for years, and Jesus still came for me. Now here I am today, back in New York, neither fully healed, nor fully restored, but I can testify to the goodness of God. I spent my remaining days in Taiwan trying my best to enjoy the time God had given me there. I wanted to remember the passions and dreams I had let die, so I began to write again and share on this blog, and I picked up my camera and started shooting photos. The picture above is one I snapped while hanging out with my good friend Tatami. I entered the photo into a competition under the title of "Cinderella Noodles", something I found fitting upon hearing the story of this little noodle shop. It started with one lady and one cart. In the need to support her family, she made the one thing she knew how to well; noodles. Years later, same cart, same noodles, same street corner. The only difference was she now owned the entire building on that block. When Tatami told me that story, it really moved me. I took the chance and entered the photo into a competition. Her Cinderella story would lead to my own. Weeks later I found out that the photo had won first place and would be featured in a book to be published. After years of barren land, this was the first sprout of life I would see in my own life. What a blessing from God to see a dream of mine fulfilled, and for such a great cause. "Let's Do Lunch" was a photography competition set up to fight hunger across the US. Entry fees and book sales were donated to local food banks across the US. Below is the link where you can purchase the book the photo was featured in. 20% of the proceeds will go to benefit the Food Bank of New Jersey:

http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/2116882

I call this a minor miracle story because I know that God is capable of even greater things. This only paved the way to press deeper into a faith that can move mountains. I am so excited to be able to share even greater stories in the future; testimonies to how God moves for the good of his people in foolish and lavish ways, amen.

Mercy or Sacrifice?

2011-03-14T07:35:00.000-07:00

This post took especially long to write for me. I started after Ash Wednesday and really didn't find clarity on the subject until now. Seeing people walk around with an ash smeared cross on the forehead reminded me it was that time again. Lent and Easter seems to pass by so quickly like Christmas and New Years; the anticipation always leaving you a little dumbstruck when the moment actually comes and goes. Out of habit, I quickly pick something to "give up" for forty days and convince myself this is what God wants from me - extra brownie points for when I reach my final home. This year was chips and chocolate, my two vices. Two weeks in I hit withdrawal, tremors and everything. Two weeks and a day in, I start to cheat. Having given up my two loves besides God, I had become Grouchy Mcgee, running with more stank in my tank than I would've liked. I should just move into a trash can somewhere on Sesame street. As I plowed my way through a bag of Sun Chips (a new flavor I convinced myself I just had to try - LIMITED EDITION PEOPLE), I contemplated what the point was to all this Lent stuff anyways? Ok, I had macaroons too, but they were free, FREE!! No one in their right mind passes up free macaroons.

If I were honest with myself in the beginning, I would've known that my sacrifice was more about my waistline then relationship with God - a red flag pointing straight to failure. Sacrificing arbitrary things that I thought would make me a better person was an Easter tradition for me, failure going hand in hand. Lately, God has been challenging my habits. I wondered if I could ever find success in the things I so desperately want to give up to God: the idols, the negative thoughts, the habits that rule my life, the need for control over my own destiny. I just want to make God proud, but I lack the discipline to show Him he matters more to me than anything else in this world. As I banged my head with the hammer of guilt and disgrace, I called to mind that passage, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice". It's one of those lines we repeat in Sunday school, but this was the first time I actually thought about it. In all my sacrificial endeavors, maybe I had forgotten the one thing God asks of us all; Mercy.

Every Easter, my heart is so focused on what I can do for God, that I forget to think about what I can do for his people. After all, God needs nothing, He asks nothing, only that we worship him. My feeble attempts at sacrifice will always remain feeble, simply because its out of my own strength. Mercy, now that's even harder! No one is born merciful, or full of kindness, which is why we are in such desperate need of Jesus. Our humility in sin draws us close to our Saviour more than any sacrifice could ever bring us. And our closeness to God moves our heart towards compassion and mercy. There is no way I could ever successfully give anything up unless I understand with all my mind and spirit that I am undeservedly loved without limits, that God is good beyond all comprehension, and generous beyond all imagination. As we approach the day of greatest joy, I hope that we all can examine our hearts rather than our deeds since mercy is a matter of the heart. Have we loved well or have we withheld our compassion for God's people, and most importantly, do we understand that God has been so merciful to us? Maybe one day I'll be strong enough to give up chocolate, and perhaps even out of my own strength, but the greater challenge is to ask God to expand my capacity for love, something I could never do on my own. So this Easter, I give up "giving up", and simply ask for a deeper relationship with God, and with those around me.

Happy Valentine's Day

2011-02-14T18:24:00.000-08:00

I heard this poem today, and it really touched my heart. This is for the suffering saints, may you always remember you are loved:

When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth. Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love. When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

(When love beckons - Kahlil Gibran)

2011...Arise

2011-01-02T17:42:00.000-08:00

Another year to be reviewed, another year to be lived; the moment come and gone. 2010 was a year I entered into broken, wounded, waiting for a healer...2011, I am still waiting, though with different wounds, broken in different ways; a work in progress in which only the Maker knows the date of completion. The love has changed; deeper, stronger, more patient. His words to me for a new year:

Song of Songs 1:10 - 13

Arise my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.
See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.

In 2011, I will follow you.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall...

2010-11-19T07:55:00.000-08:00

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...

2010-10-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

...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...

2010-09-26T05:48:00.000-07:00

(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

2010-06-21T19:13:00.000-07:00

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

2010-02-21T22:57:00.001-08:00

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?

2010-02-08T07:32:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-03T22:17:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-24T20:56:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-07T06:09:00.001-08:00

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.

How Quickly We Forget

2009-10-17T22:00:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-10-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-08-31T12:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-07-19T07:56:00.001-07:00

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

2009-04-04T01:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-26T11:00:00.000-07:00

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.

How To Deal With Narcissists

2008-10-29T10:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,

For those of you who are unfamiliar with my blog, this is my first entry. What's my pitch you ask? Consider me the Jerry Seinfield of the blog universe (except I'm not Jewish, and hopefully will be a bit more humorous). I will devoutly blog about nothing, except my own thoughts and opinions, and whatever random complaints I have about humans and existence as a whole. With that said, I figured I would start off with an entry about the joys of existing in the blogosphere, enjoy!!

How To Deal With Narcissists:

Who hasn't encountered a narcissist in their life? This rapidly pro-creating creature has become some what of a norm in our modern society, especially with the availability of blogs and youtube, which are nothing more than public bragging forums where we get the shining chance to show everyone how "different" and "fresh" we are from our peers. Everyone seems to have an opinion these days, and I never thought this was a bad thing. I'm somewhat of an indecisive individual, so I welcome the bilge of advice and opinions offered from a spectrum of individuals such as the highly educated professor, to the no-nonsense housewife raising ten kids on her own. But have we become a culture of Narcissists? Surely the chances of becoming a celebrity nowadays are greatly increased, and sometimes it takes just one good boob flashing to land yourself in Youtube stardom, but what will this do to our formation of identity? Perhaps nothing...but I will confess that it has raised my levels of stress and anger.

I find it increasingly more difficult to deal with individuals on a one to one basis, and living in New York, this was never a simple thing to begin with. It seems now, that everywhere I turn, someone is trying to advertise something about themselves. Whether its their political views (if I see one more "Barack the Vote" t-shirt, I am going to impale that person with a rusty nail), or a passing conversation peppered with beating around the bush bragging. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with networking, as I myself work in a business that requires it. What I'm speaking of is bragging for the sake of bragging.

Narcissism is also a very real disease. According to the DSM, NPD - Narcisstic Personality Disorder is defined by the following:

A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:^[1]

has a grandiose sense of self-importance
is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love
believes that he or she is "special" and unique
requires excessive admiration
has a sense of entitlement
is interpersonally exploitative
lacks empathy
is often envious of others or believes others are envious of him or her
shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitude

Honestly, I can check off at least two items on this list that I've been guilty of, but enough about me, let's get back to the matter at hand, my hate for narcissists. I once had a friend who suffered from all 9 of these symptoms, she later went on to become a successful individual with a lucrative career, but I'm the one who gets to wake up every morning and slip on those fabulous sweat pants stained with Big Mac sauce and enrich my mind with the latest episode of Jerry Springer, so look who's laughing now?

*If you or anybody you know suffers from the above condition, please stay out of my neighborhood. Oh yeah, and I think there's a hot-line you can call too.

XoXo
Beauty Schmeuty