Joy in Christ thrives on being shared. That is the essence of Christian joy: It overflows or dies.
John Piper, When I Don't Desire God
I don't want my life to be explainable without the Holy Spirit.
Francis Chan, Forgotten God
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Love Is Here
Pretend that we're back in 3rd grade and it's "Show and Tell" time. You're sitting on the ugly classroom rug and it's your classmate Victoria's turn to share with the class. Just picture me dressed in...I dunno, a pink t-shirt and overalls with pigtails. Real hard to imagine, I know. Especially the overalls.
With a HUGE smile on my face I pull something very large out of my bag, my Mary Poppins bag. I pull it out with much ease, because I was born with MAN! muscles. And the whole class gasps, because...
I pulled out my family dining table.
And this is my speech:
HELLO class. This is my family's dining table. We bought it at a local furniture store in the center of town for one thousand dollars. Every night, my family eats our dinner here.
I AM SO PROUD OF THIS TABLE!
Okay, I'm done with pretending. I'll just talk about this table now, as if I were 23.
At this table, I have learned what it's like to be loved. It's where I've felt safe, after many years taking it for granted. This is where I have seen my family at its best, and at its worst. I have learned at this table that trusting God doesn't mean that we're always happy, it doesn't mean we're constantly smiling. But I've learned that trusting God is a joyful stillness as we wait for God to show Himself faithful, time and time again.
This table is the setting of my most vivid memories with my family.
I remember staying up until 2am one school night with my dad, as my father did my entire science project for me because I didn't understand parallel circuits...heheheeee.
I remember getting in major trouble at this table.
I remember laughing so hard that a grain of rice flew out of my left nostril. Let me rephrase that. It SHOT out of my left nostril.
I remember how tasty that Taiwanese cowtail dish with the carrots and celery is. Mmmmmm...
I remember feeling so good on the inside when I told a joke and my parents started to cry from laughing. This was a pretty big deal, because I laugh exponentially more than the rest of my family.
I remember feeling so helpless at the table when my family was led into desert seasons of silence and confusion.
I remember everyone in the family crying, not all at once, but we cry. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears of shame, tears of love- the tears that just come with vulnerability.
It is at this table that my family has forgiven each other. It is here that we confess our fears and our mistakes. It is here that we have learned to laugh at life after crying a lot about it. Here, we realize that apart from the love of Christ, we are absolutely nothing.
I have found that the more vulnerable we are with each other, the richer our experience at the table.
I tell my family everything. And I realize...that's weird. I come from a strange family. My coworkers think I'm weird when I tell them how much I love eating dinner with my family. But I feel safe at this table, safe to be me, and nothing but me.
If there were only one tangible thing I could save from my home, it'd be this table.
In many ways, this table has pointed me to the sweetness of fellowship with Christ.
Hanging out with Jesus is kinda like dinnertime with my family. The more I have done it, the more I have been assured that Jesus loves me, just as I am. The more time I spend with Him, the more His grace is apparent. The more I chillax with the Lord, the more I just thirst for MORE Jesus, and...coffee :) Because the more vulnerable I am with Him, the richer my experience at the table.
It is in my hiding place with my family, with my Jesus, that I am most free. And it's addicting, man!
And just imagine, the true feast we will have in Heaven!!! :D
P.S. If any of you know where I could find a chair that complements the table (see picture), let me know, PLEASE AND GRACIAS! (dark green backing and legs, mahogany butt seat) One of the chairs broke when we moved to the west coast. Whenever I drive home on weekends, I have to sit on a lame non-matching folding chair during dinnertime (ALSO IN PICTURE LOL).
With a HUGE smile on my face I pull something very large out of my bag, my Mary Poppins bag. I pull it out with much ease, because I was born with MAN! muscles. And the whole class gasps, because...
I pulled out my family dining table.
And this is my speech:
HELLO class. This is my family's dining table. We bought it at a local furniture store in the center of town for one thousand dollars. Every night, my family eats our dinner here.
I AM SO PROUD OF THIS TABLE!
Okay, I'm done with pretending. I'll just talk about this table now, as if I were 23.
At this table, I have learned what it's like to be loved. It's where I've felt safe, after many years taking it for granted. This is where I have seen my family at its best, and at its worst. I have learned at this table that trusting God doesn't mean that we're always happy, it doesn't mean we're constantly smiling. But I've learned that trusting God is a joyful stillness as we wait for God to show Himself faithful, time and time again.
This table is the setting of my most vivid memories with my family.
I remember staying up until 2am one school night with my dad, as my father did my entire science project for me because I didn't understand parallel circuits...heheheeee.
I remember getting in major trouble at this table.
I remember laughing so hard that a grain of rice flew out of my left nostril. Let me rephrase that. It SHOT out of my left nostril.
I remember how tasty that Taiwanese cowtail dish with the carrots and celery is. Mmmmmm...
I remember feeling so good on the inside when I told a joke and my parents started to cry from laughing. This was a pretty big deal, because I laugh exponentially more than the rest of my family.
I remember feeling so helpless at the table when my family was led into desert seasons of silence and confusion.
I remember everyone in the family crying, not all at once, but we cry. Tears of joy, tears of sadness, tears of shame, tears of love- the tears that just come with vulnerability.
It is at this table that my family has forgiven each other. It is here that we confess our fears and our mistakes. It is here that we have learned to laugh at life after crying a lot about it. Here, we realize that apart from the love of Christ, we are absolutely nothing.
I have found that the more vulnerable we are with each other, the richer our experience at the table.
I tell my family everything. And I realize...that's weird. I come from a strange family. My coworkers think I'm weird when I tell them how much I love eating dinner with my family. But I feel safe at this table, safe to be me, and nothing but me.
If there were only one tangible thing I could save from my home, it'd be this table.
In many ways, this table has pointed me to the sweetness of fellowship with Christ.
Hanging out with Jesus is kinda like dinnertime with my family. The more I have done it, the more I have been assured that Jesus loves me, just as I am. The more time I spend with Him, the more His grace is apparent. The more I chillax with the Lord, the more I just thirst for MORE Jesus, and...coffee :) Because the more vulnerable I am with Him, the richer my experience at the table.
It is in my hiding place with my family, with my Jesus, that I am most free. And it's addicting, man!
And just imagine, the true feast we will have in Heaven!!! :D
P.S. If any of you know where I could find a chair that complements the table (see picture), let me know, PLEASE AND GRACIAS! (dark green backing and legs, mahogany butt seat) One of the chairs broke when we moved to the west coast. Whenever I drive home on weekends, I have to sit on a lame non-matching folding chair during dinnertime (ALSO IN PICTURE LOL).
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Writing
Writer's Block, in plain English.
Moonkyung: it's like constipation
ha
i always felt like i was constipated when writing
rarely diarrhea
but i just had to push it out
ha
gross
me: lol
yea
i had diarrhea writing splurges
a couple times with this personal statement thing
so luckily i'm not starting from nothing tonight
but i'm like trying to mix my diarrhea from two nights
into one solid poo
Moonkyung: it's like constipation
ha
i always felt like i was constipated when writing
rarely diarrhea
but i just had to push it out
ha
gross
me: lol
yea
i had diarrhea writing splurges
a couple times with this personal statement thing
so luckily i'm not starting from nothing tonight
but i'm like trying to mix my diarrhea from two nights
into one solid poo
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
True Story Part II
On Saturday morning, I called my family, just to say hi.
Mom: Hey, I was just going to call you.
Me: Oh yea?
Mom: I found a church for you to check out. I think it may be a good match.
Me: Interesting…
Mom: It’s called Chinese ... Church
Me: MOM, CHINESE?!?!? CHINEEEESSSEEE?!?! You know I don’t like Asian American Christians!
FREEZE. Let’s rewind a little bit. Kdfj;klsgjhlkajf;lgkajf;lkadjf;lkaj.
For the past month or so, I’ve been checking out different churches in the Bay Area. Of course, being the extreme female that I am who over thinks just about everything, plans in advance, AND forgets that God doesn’t ever work the way I expect, I secretly had a recipe for my ideal church in mind. Laugh at me, but I seriously have been looking for one with:
1. A predominantly white congregation. The less Asian American Christians, the better.
2. A super funny white pastor because white people are so funny. It would also help if the pastor had a Texan accent, liked sports, and quoted a lot of the other awesome pastors that I like, because those characteristics would just make him so cool. Like, SO COOL.
3. A worship team better than Hillsong United because I thought the worship team at the SJ church I attended was better than Hillsong.
Dude. Sounds blasphemous, doesn’t it?! Looking for all the “unimportant” things. Yup, I’m preeeetty superficial.
As much as I didn’t want to go to a Chinese church, if there was anything I learned in college, it was that my parents are wiser than me. So, I reluctantly took my parents’ word for it and checked out this Chinese church on Sunday morning. My prayer before service: “God, I need to hear the gospel today.”
My mom had made it sound like the English congregation would be full of Chinese working young adults. To my surprise, although there were some younger people, the majority of the congregation had gray hair.
Not only did they have gray hair, but these old people also…spoke PERFECT ENGLISH! WHAT THE CRAZY?!
Having grown up in suburban Massachusetts, any Asian above the age of 40 was probably a fob because they were the parent of one of my friends. So, hearing grandpa-aged Asians speaking perfect English…was wicked strange, but ahaha, really cute! A church full of white-washed old Asian people- who would’ve ever thought?!
Anyways, long story sorta short- these old people had this genuineness to their demeanor that really struck my young foolish heart. Just one look at these elderly people and their eyes would tell you, “Jesus loves me, this I really know.” Their Jesus faith and friendliness just seemed…real, and this realness was incredibly refreshing.
So although I was just about ready to discredit almost all Asian American Christians forever, God told me in a still small voice:
Christ in me, the hope of glory.
God reminded me Sunday morning that the only hope anyone had in being any good was in Christ alone. The reason why these elderly Asian Americans seemed to get it was because they had Jesus living in them for all these years, and in Him, they had been transformed. They’ve been refined over and over, and the mustard seed of faith that was planted in them in the 1960-70s had blossomed into good FRUIT.
It’s pretty cool when a face by itself can tell you this: “This journey of faith hasn’t been easy, but it’s been so damn good, because my God is alive and amazing.”
And so the moral of part two of my true story: there is hope for all broken people who have Jesus as their Savior, even Asian American Christians, because God’s people are always in construction. And while I would like to think that the solution to phony Christianity is to avoid all phony people, the truth is: I need to pray.
Side Note:
You know how I love stealing quotes and ideas from old people?
I got a great idea from an old deacon dude and I think I’m SO going to steal it! Don’t tell my parents, just yet.
One day, if I ever live to be like…I dunno, 55, I think I’m going to get a tattoo with the Chinese character for “faithfulness.” Because I’m sure God’s goodness will just be so overwhelming by that age that I will want to imprint it on my Chinese skin cells.
Or maybe, I’ll get it at age 25 because I kinda already want one now. On my BUTT! Just kidding. I would never want someone to artsify my butt cheek. Maaaaybe my left arm, because God is faithful to left-handed people, no matter what right handed people say. :P
Hm, artsify. Ha, how’s that for a word. Almost as good as WOWmazing.
Mom: Hey, I was just going to call you.
Me: Oh yea?
Mom: I found a church for you to check out. I think it may be a good match.
Me: Interesting…
Mom: It’s called Chinese ... Church
Me: MOM, CHINESE?!?!? CHINEEEESSSEEE?!?! You know I don’t like Asian American Christians!
FREEZE. Let’s rewind a little bit. Kdfj;klsgjhlkajf;lgkajf;lkadjf;lkaj.
For the past month or so, I’ve been checking out different churches in the Bay Area. Of course, being the extreme female that I am who over thinks just about everything, plans in advance, AND forgets that God doesn’t ever work the way I expect, I secretly had a recipe for my ideal church in mind. Laugh at me, but I seriously have been looking for one with:
1. A predominantly white congregation. The less Asian American Christians, the better.
2. A super funny white pastor because white people are so funny. It would also help if the pastor had a Texan accent, liked sports, and quoted a lot of the other awesome pastors that I like, because those characteristics would just make him so cool. Like, SO COOL.
3. A worship team better than Hillsong United because I thought the worship team at the SJ church I attended was better than Hillsong.
Dude. Sounds blasphemous, doesn’t it?! Looking for all the “unimportant” things. Yup, I’m preeeetty superficial.
As much as I didn’t want to go to a Chinese church, if there was anything I learned in college, it was that my parents are wiser than me. So, I reluctantly took my parents’ word for it and checked out this Chinese church on Sunday morning. My prayer before service: “God, I need to hear the gospel today.”
My mom had made it sound like the English congregation would be full of Chinese working young adults. To my surprise, although there were some younger people, the majority of the congregation had gray hair.
Not only did they have gray hair, but these old people also…spoke PERFECT ENGLISH! WHAT THE CRAZY?!
Having grown up in suburban Massachusetts, any Asian above the age of 40 was probably a fob because they were the parent of one of my friends. So, hearing grandpa-aged Asians speaking perfect English…was wicked strange, but ahaha, really cute! A church full of white-washed old Asian people- who would’ve ever thought?!
Anyways, long story sorta short- these old people had this genuineness to their demeanor that really struck my young foolish heart. Just one look at these elderly people and their eyes would tell you, “Jesus loves me, this I really know.” Their Jesus faith and friendliness just seemed…real, and this realness was incredibly refreshing.
So although I was just about ready to discredit almost all Asian American Christians forever, God told me in a still small voice:
Christ in me, the hope of glory.
God reminded me Sunday morning that the only hope anyone had in being any good was in Christ alone. The reason why these elderly Asian Americans seemed to get it was because they had Jesus living in them for all these years, and in Him, they had been transformed. They’ve been refined over and over, and the mustard seed of faith that was planted in them in the 1960-70s had blossomed into good FRUIT.
It’s pretty cool when a face by itself can tell you this: “This journey of faith hasn’t been easy, but it’s been so damn good, because my God is alive and amazing.”
And so the moral of part two of my true story: there is hope for all broken people who have Jesus as their Savior, even Asian American Christians, because God’s people are always in construction. And while I would like to think that the solution to phony Christianity is to avoid all phony people, the truth is: I need to pray.
Side Note:
You know how I love stealing quotes and ideas from old people?
I got a great idea from an old deacon dude and I think I’m SO going to steal it! Don’t tell my parents, just yet.
One day, if I ever live to be like…I dunno, 55, I think I’m going to get a tattoo with the Chinese character for “faithfulness.” Because I’m sure God’s goodness will just be so overwhelming by that age that I will want to imprint it on my Chinese skin cells.
Or maybe, I’ll get it at age 25 because I kinda already want one now. On my BUTT! Just kidding. I would never want someone to artsify my butt cheek. Maaaaybe my left arm, because God is faithful to left-handed people, no matter what right handed people say. :P
Hm, artsify. Ha, how’s that for a word. Almost as good as WOWmazing.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
True Story
If you're not aware by now, let me give you a little background information. I'm not a fan of Asian American Christians.
Aite, end of background info.
As I was BARTing back to the eastbay on Saturday night, I got stuck in THE car with all the...Asian American Christians. Not just any, but a specific group of Asian American Christians, whom I shall not name.
Anyways, the moment I realize who I'm stuck with for the next 15 minutes...my immediate reaction is like that episode of HIMYM when Robin finds an engagement ring in her champagne and thinks it's from Ted, and she just looks at Ted in terror and says..."No. No, no no no no no no. No NO NO no no no!"
Ha. Yea, that was totally me. Seriously, could I get any more judgmental?
I know the truth. They are my brothers and sisters in Christ. But man...I have little to no love for them, even though I'm just another Asian American sinner saved by the same grace of Jesus.
The feelings of hatred and bitterness towards them and I guess, their entire "culture" in general, has been a deep rooted issue for a couple years now, maybe longer. Probably longer.
And then, this morning, after saying "Good morning, Jesus. I'm really mad at Asian American Christians"...
I opened the WORD to 1 Corinthians 12, because yesterday was ch 11 and tomorrow is ch 13,
22 On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, 23 and on those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor, and our unpresentable parts are treated with greater modesty, 24 which our more presentable parts do not require. But God has so composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, 25 that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another.
...and I let out a wild MOOOOOOAAAANNN as my face fell flat on my table in disbelief.
Funny, God. You're real funny.
Dude, I 'm missing the gospel somewhere in this heart of mine... There's no way I'm going to be able forgive and love these people on my own.
Aite, end of background info.
As I was BARTing back to the eastbay on Saturday night, I got stuck in THE car with all the...Asian American Christians. Not just any, but a specific group of Asian American Christians, whom I shall not name.
Anyways, the moment I realize who I'm stuck with for the next 15 minutes...my immediate reaction is like that episode of HIMYM when Robin finds an engagement ring in her champagne and thinks it's from Ted, and she just looks at Ted in terror and says..."No. No, no no no no no no. No NO NO no no no!"
Ha. Yea, that was totally me. Seriously, could I get any more judgmental?
I know the truth. They are my brothers and sisters in Christ. But man...I have little to no love for them, even though I'm just another Asian American sinner saved by the same grace of Jesus.
The feelings of hatred and bitterness towards them and I guess, their entire "culture" in general, has been a deep rooted issue for a couple years now, maybe longer. Probably longer.
And then, this morning, after saying "Good morning, Jesus. I'm really mad at Asian American Christians"...
I opened the WORD to 1 Corinthians 12, because yesterday was ch 11 and tomorrow is ch 13,
22 On the contrary, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, 23 and on those parts of the body that we think less honorable we bestow the greater honor, and our unpresentable parts are treated with greater modesty, 24 which our more presentable parts do not require. But God has so composed the body, giving greater honor to the part that lacked it, 25 that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another.
...and I let out a wild MOOOOOOAAAANNN as my face fell flat on my table in disbelief.
Funny, God. You're real funny.
Dude, I 'm missing the gospel somewhere in this heart of mine... There's no way I'm going to be able forgive and love these people on my own.
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