(What exactly did I learn in Animal Behaviors class?)
Dear Manjournal,
I taught dad how to play the saxophone. He blasted it all night long. The next morning he was playing it again, and this time he played the First Noel by ear. It was quite good. We all applauded. It's easier to teach an open heart. It's easier to learn with an open heart... (I probably shouldn't mention that he has perfect pitch). Christmas season was good this year.
"I don't believe in New Year's Resolutions. It's like saying on Thursday, 'I'm gonna go to the gym on Monday.' Why not go on Friday?" - brother M
Well you would believe in New Year's Resolutions if you were in need of one, and when people comment about you "my, my, how you've changed" you can just credit your resolution. "I know."
The only question to ask tonight is, "What is my New Year's Excuse?" Then maybe I'll be ready to lift them all up in the mountains this week, and I'll let Him know that I give it up all to Him. He's the only one in the business of changing hearts. I ain't messin widat. "If it weren't for you meddling kids, you would have turned the world upside down by now."
I pointed excitedly towards the playground as soon as I spotted a row of tricycles parked near the fence. Dad led noon and me away into the main office of Monte Vista Elementary School where we waited in big uncomfortable chairs as he filled out some forms and chatted, in sign languish (sign language + sporadic grunts in English) with Vera the secretary. After many more bla blas and blur blurs I found myself standing in front of about ten intensely curious 5 year olds, sitting neatly in individual little boxes drawn on the floor with masking tape.
"Wook."
The secretary introduced me to my kindergarten class, and from there on my memory is vague and dreamy. I do remember riding the tricycle and racing around the track. I remember learning "Bubble gum, bubble gum" (and figuring out how to count cards people before they asked me, "How many pieces do you wish?"). I also remember a kid named Andy McSomething who called me by my kindergarten name up until middle school. We talked about basketball.
This blurry memory fast forwards itself to 13 years later. I remember a friend of mine in college, who invited his suitemate to a Christian club meeting. The suitemate lashed back and told him to stop trying to convert him. And that was the end of that. 1 Peter 4:16 I look back and I rejoice for my friend to the point my heart aches because I see the Father say, "Well done!"
Time tells the tale. I've been blessed with K-12 education and beyond x2. I'm done counting monetary greens. Now I'm being led to greener pastures. Life is moving quickly here and there's no time to even wish for diligence. Hard work comes to those who work hard. There may be trials now and they may only be training for more suffering to come, but Peter encourages me to lift my eyes from the footprints in the sand. He's got his eyes on something way beyond the horizon. Somewhere. Someone.
Rejoice in sharing in the sufferings of Christ. Rejoice. I do not lose hope for His joy is my strength. His joy is my joy. Again I say, rejoice.
Looking back at a seemingly linear flow of events transcended by what we call time, I'm beginning to see past the backdrop of tricycles, bubble gums, classrooms, and diplomas. There's another introduction to be made somewhere over the fence. And I wonder...
Perhaps joy comes when we simply step away from the frame and behold the Picture.
After a long day at dad's office I tagged along with the staff to get some cheap all-you-can-eat meat at O-Dae-San (I should get paid for this). As the others were being seated I decided to do some business (pronounced binness). On my way to the restroom I was looking down at my right foot and walking in big strides to avoid a shoelace that came untied. Right before the doorway into the bathroom I got down on one knee to tie my shoes, but right then I heard someone coming up behind me, and because I am such a gentleman who doesn't like clogging up narrow passages I quickly tucked my shoelaces into my shoe and went straight into the bathroom. The man followed behind me and I quickly claimed a stall. As niagra was falling I wondered why I hadn't seen any urinals because if I had, I would have preferred them over stalls (locking the door is a hassle). Suddenly, I heard high heels clip clop into the restroom and a surprised, shocked, disgusted female voice asking:
And the man who had followed me into the bathroom said:
"Oh, I just... this g... oops, sorry, wrong bathroom... mumble mumble"
(niagra still falls mightily as the conversation goes on)
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNDRAISER!!!
The man left quickly for the right door, the man door. Although the man was 'sheepish' enough to follow me in he had enough fuzziness to save the face of a fellow stupid sheep. Thanks. for nothing. I stood in the stall, helpless, like baby Moses as his mother put him in a basket in the Nile river. But I couldn't flush yet because that would give it away. I was pretty relaxed given the predicament I was in because I planned to wait until she either got into a stall or left and then ninja my out of there. But then I thought, oh shoot.the female must know already because girls don't usually stand... omg there's a monster gap in between the hinges, and my shoes omg my shoes are showing and I'm facing the toilet, omg she could totally see me. So much for privacy in public restrooms. At that point, my delayed fight-or-flight senses kicked in and my thought process went something like - Fear. Freeze. Sweat. Pee. Ice. Heroes. Stop. Time. Invisible. Disappear. Ding. Southwest. Commercial. Laugh. Joke. Shut. Up. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Idiot. Moron. I'm. Scared. Jail. Die. Then I calmed myself down in between shallow breaths and regained my statue, yes, statue.
The problem now was waiting for the female to leave. My prayer was that no more females would enter into this public domain. I waited for her to enter into a stall, but she had other business in mind. All I heard was the ch-kunk ch-kunk of the paper towel dispenser, then the clip clop of her heels to (please... outside) the sink, then the pshhhh of the faucet, then silence (finally?), then the clip clop of her heels to (c'mon... this time) the paper towel dispenser, and repeat the same process 5 times (no exaggeration added). Now I was getting frustrated... What is she doing? Writing a message on the mirror with wet paper towels? (in which it would have read "pervert in restroom call 911"). The 6th deadly silence in her fixed action pattern ritual was unusually long and that convinced me she was finally out, and without a second guess I flushed the toilet, unlocked my stall and...
CLIPPITY CLOPPITY!
... my heart dropped as I saw the female, with only her back visible, leaving the restroom. She knew. My guess is she was actually at the sink (in the silence), but when she heard me flush and unlock the stall she didn't want to embarrass me so she quickly left without finishing her face painting. Aww how niCELEBRATIONVICTORY! I lagged behind a few seconds and finally escaped. The next second I found myself entering the right door into the men's restroom. I walked in, closed the door behind me and thought, "Why did I come in here again?" According to my post-analysis, my manliness subconsciously needed to right the wrong and do something manly even if it was too late.
something like that.
I went back to my seat and told the party of my folly and it instantly became comedy. But my concern is that the man and the feman might be having a comedy show at my expense: "Dude, lol, there was, lol, this guy... lol"
On the plus side, the meat was scrumptiously delicious!
Mood: Thankful.
Moral of the story: Read your bible.
"Leave them; they are blind guides.
If a man leads a blind man, both will fall into a pit."
"We pray that your time here will be challenging, a blessing to you, and greatly useful for God's service."
It's been a while since the family knelt down together and prayed. Thanksgiving. It was coming though because today was just filled with God's grace. The fundraiser surely 'raised the funds' and many were blessed as many more were a blessing. Then I came home and got a letter of acceptance. Nostalgia is not exactly the word, but it's the closest expression of today in my limited vocabulary. The next closest word would be urgency. And finally, peace.
A little bit like this clip that noon sent me. Although, she might be trying to imply something... that starts with "mom's favorite" and ends with "you wish."
Here's a little venture into the ink well. I would name this daring company... Ace, if I had the intellectual property to mine own (although it may be grammatically incorrect, it does sound more boozgjwahzi than "my own") but sadly I do not. It will, without my bidding, be rightfully called The Horse and His Boy. Ahem. I shall continue with my superior tone and my eyes half shut with no regard to the winds or loose eyelashes.
There is a peculiar aesthetic to be had, noticed and observed in the telling of metaphors, in particular, metaphors within stories (oh how I was tempted to be redundant and write 'within metaphors' again and again about 3 times, but I am currently in the process of refining myself and these long winded parenthesis are a former shadow of me self arr). They must be strictly observed, but never highlighted because to highlight means to set in stone, or paper, its meaning and interpretation solely for the highlighter and no one else. It is to select just one wavelength in an infinite array of white light. There is nothing wrong in that just as there is nothing wrong in eating only the red skittles in a bag and ignoring the rest. I say "balderdash" (because it is a fun word to say).
Only the one who shines the light knows exactly where, and thus the reason for, the light to shine where it shines. When an observer sees where it shines it is important to see the whole of the shining, rather than the limited portion in which he (assume "/she". I'm not sexy racist) wants to see. This is unlike a buffet, where one can choose to eat whatever he likes for the pleasure of his appetite. If he does not pick up the Honk-Kong-style-fried-noodle soup, the "preparer of the food" (I will refrain from using the word 'chef' for I may offend the 'food is art' crowd save John Mayer and little children in high chairs) will not be offended or thought to be misunderstood as to why the "eater of the food" didn't try the whole palette of prepared food. This is more like a painting. And you can fill in the parallel blanks I am mentally (not) making in my head. And if you are a child of the King of Kings...
Alright, alright. I've had horrible ratings for my transitions (the latest being 6/10).
[Meanwhile], the metaphor hidden in a story is quite unique. The one who pens the story wields the power of revelation. It is not a mere show and tell, but a touch and feel; not a shallow dip in the water, but a total immersion; not a picture of a stranger, but a reflection of one's self. The former(s) is for prideful, assuming eyes that will simply narrow in on personal gain (what's in it for me? what can I learn from this parable?) and either be content, or frustrated with seeing very little. The latter(s) is for humble, lowly eyes that will not only open wide to discover the masterpiece at the light's end, but also gaze upon the beauty of the Artist. What becomes naturally highlighted, or we might say spotlighted, then, is our humble star gazer who now stands in the light in order to see the Light. Now this becomes a proper paradox for it is now personal, yet not for the person on his own account or his aiming of the spotlight on himself, but in light, and in the light, of a greater Person who originates and receives the splendor of it all.
(KABOOM! that's the sound of all my brain cells self-destructing simultaneously)
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning... The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
I heard on the radio (99.5) the other day about Phil Vischer. He is the creator of Veggie Tales. He has created another franchise for children's ministry called JellyTelly. Check it out!
yo! move over gabba gabba!
Here is a quote by Phil Vischer:
"It's taken me 14 years to learn this lesson, I'm hoping I can save you a few. Do you dream of the work that you can do for God? Do you carry ambitions for changing the world in His name? When you're ready to put them on the altar, to kill them, to let them go, to live your whole life without them resting solely on your relationship with God, you're ready to be used by Him."
Last night I was sitting in on the Good News Club (GNC) teacher's training hosted by CEF. As the pastor was giving us a message, I was led to pray and praise and give thanks (in my seat, on my own). I was filled with His joy as every Word dropped like honey. Then...
"John! Why are you touching your lips like that?" whispered noon who was sitting right next to me. Before I knew it I was giving her the coldest stare in the universe of DC comics. Then I semi-rolled my eyes, took 3 scoots away from her chair, and started picking at my lips again (a bad habit I picked up from who knows where). I was angry at her for "ruining my moment" but I knew on the spot (as I was giving her the I-can't-see-you-from-the-corner-of-my-eye treatment), that it was completely my mistake. I was all worked up because of nothing she said, but because of my short comings and how I reacted to what she said. And only His Word will be the last word.
Round 2
After the GNC meeting I was driving home and once again I was giving God the praise and thanksgiving and having a revival service in my car (also for teaching me and correcting to me in round 1). I got off the freeway and I was going up the street when a bmw who was up to no good, started making trouble in my neighborhood. I was ahead on the right lane and signaled left, but for half a block this guy was teasing me (benefit of the doubt: he was probably hesitating whether to pass me or let me enter). Every time I sped up to make my move he would match my speed, and whenever I slowed down to get behind him he would also match my speed. He finally hit the gas and sped up to pass me. Right then, I stopped praying and glared to my left to freeze him with my eyes as he passed by. It was an old lady looking ahead without a care in the world...
Again, I realized what I had done as soon as the car passed me. haaaaaaaa (that's the sound of a deep mournful sigh). My prayers quickly turned into repentance. Only His Word will be the last word.
Round 3
This morning at church, I put my keys in the ignition to start my engine. kekekekekeke* =D kekekekekeke* =O kekekekekeke* =| kekekekeke*! -_- Helga wouldn't start. It was like she was snickering at me. kekeke. "Don't get me started Helga!" Since this was right after morning prayer, I got fired up and began to cry out and intercede for Helga while gripping the steering wheel super tightly like it was Lazarus' mummified head. kekekekeke* haaaaaaa. More than anything, I was frustrated at God thinking, "Why now? Why after a wonderful time at morning prayer? C'mon now!" honk*
This happened and that happened and finally PT jump started my car and suggested I go straight home or to a body shop because it's likely that the battery is out. I chose option two and got a new battery. And PT was right. At the body shop the mechanic switched the engine on and off about 4 times and Helga was out. That's right. If God had miraculously started my car when I prayed and I stopped my car again, I could have been stranded in a worse situation. He allowed me to take out the root of the problem instead of trimming for a temporary solution. If only I could have seen that, I would have been peacefully eating the fruit of patience instead of choking on whine and cheese.
Continue? 10. 9. 8. 7...
Lesson learned, get some more coins and keep on playing praying.
Jesus' Victory > my victory
My victory had blinded me.
My pride had destroyed me.
But His humility rescued me
from every trial and temptation.
So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall!
I was planning on going to Fresh 09, but ended up accompanying dad to "sharing festival." Our mission was to spy on them to see how they set up the event so we can use some ideas when we do ours for CEF next month. Unfortunately, we got there right at closing time when everyone was cleaning up. Fortunately, we still wandered around and observed. We realized YN has major man power (and now three whole blocks) and that ours is probably going to be 1/25 in scale. Though I still have my eyes on those inflatable jumping houses.
The church brought back memories. VBS, choir, Tijuana, seminars. Since then, they have further built and expanded their empire. It's incredible. I feel like I'm in the pyramids. Seriously, I even think the church asked the city to make a special green arrow left turn on their street, and that bridge into C-town is probably church property too, and those factory looking buildings nearby are where they hand make bread and wine for communion and research and develop vbs body worship and crank out bibles of every language and produce missionaries who will fulfill kingdom purposes. "I am Missionary T2000. He'll be back." The church has so many resources at the tip of their fingers. Unbelievable. How do you keep all that in check in the midst of (and on top of shepherding) thousands upon thousands in the flock? Hm.
bloop bloop
I'm thinking of bubbles. Its edges are fortified from within to keep things out. There is a sign in them that reads "Comfort Zone" right above a crossed out "Fellowship." Everyone inside is smiling, but everyone outside is not. The bubbles grow larger and invade new territories, but are never affected by outside forces, neither do they ever affect their foreign obstacles. The crowd around it grows like a cloud forming from vent up rain. Safe. Warning. Caution. Danger. Caution. Warning. Safe. Warning. Caution. Danger. Soon the inevitable. Inescapable. Needles drop and the bubbles pop. Suddenly there is no difference between outside and inside. Superficial rainbows kept the soapy spheres hardened with pride. Religion fades like distant tongues within evanescent smiles and what remains is an orphan, a widow, a compromised man. Who in the cold stream will have a heart of yielding clay? Who in the flood will have a heart to build an ark? Bubbles pop. Hearts stop. But Love never fails.
Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices
I was shivering in my basketball shorts and from the cooled sweat from my drenched t-shirt. The La Crescenta night breeze was refreshing and cool while running on the courts, but now at the outdoor benches of the restaurant it was getting chilly. It didn't help that I was sipping on ice cold pink lemonade. There was the usual small talk when dealing with a stranger, but all I could do was wait for someone to lose. I was stuck. Then the old man with the potty mouth asked, "You know Acts 2:38?" I was surprised at first that this unkempt, rancid, chess infatuated old man would recite a bible verse. Then I was disappointed at myself... "No."
"You got a bible on you? Where's your bible? You said you're going to seminary aren't ya? Maybe you can learn something tonight."
I didn't. I had left my bible at home after church that evening, but my pride took me to the small parking lot. I searched my car in panic and luckily found a Gideon pocket bible (which I didn't know I had) at the bottom of the middle compartment under all the trash and old receipts. "Holy Spirit, please give me wisdom." I took it back to the outdoor tables and the old man, focused on the game and without even a glance in my direction, said, "Read it out loud, nice and clear." He stopped me at Jesus Christ as he slammed down his rook to capture my friend's bishop. "hah!"
He turned to me, "Pastors are liars. You don't get baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit. You get baptized only in the name of Jesus Christ. Try telling your pastor that. Lost for words I tell ya. Don't worry kiddo it took me 30 years to figure that one out."
what?
Then he went on to talk about how he goes to an apostolic church and that they got the real deal - a real choir, and a real organ - not the fake worship with phony instruments. His response to my stuttering defense (full of 'well's and 'I think's) for the heart of worship was, "No no no no. Don't give me that."
what?
all I need to say is "Jesus Christ" right? all I need to recite is John 3:16 right? what the funnel cake do I say to all of that nonsense?
Checkmate. I sat in silence until the old man overtook my friend's king. We parted ways and went home, and in my state of defeat, only one thing was running through my head- WORD.
Read the WORD. Know the WORD.
"Preach the Word; be prepared IN season and OUT of season; correct, rebuke and encourage - with great patience and careful instruction."
2 Timothy 4:2
It wasn't mere coincidence that God humbled me at In n Out.
Two days ago, I cut some nose hairs (like.. not a lot) because they were getting unruly and getting too excited whenever I smile real loud (and because I can never man up and just pluck 'em out, tear*). One hair in particular was about 1.5 centimeters long and as thick as a single bristle of a toothbrush. No, I did not measure it. 1.5 is just a good number.
Yesterday, I was sneezing like a panda. It was not the infectious kind since I have no cold, but the allergy kind where one sneeze opens the floodgates of the Ol' Factory Dam and costs 2 tissues (re)used wisely or about 7-8 squares of toilet paper.
Speaking of paper (and unexpected messes), I read in the news the other day about Egypt and her hasty solution to swine flu:
When the government killed all the pigs in Egypt this spring — in what public health experts said was a misguided attempt to combat swine flu — it was warned the city would be overwhelmed with trash.
The pigs used to eat tons of organic waste. Now the pigs are gone and the rotting food piles up on the streets of middle-class neighborhoods like Heliopolis and in the poor streets of communities like Imbaba.
What seems like a quick solution leads to yet another problem. I want to say "Hah! Serves you right!" but I would be pointing at myself. It's like taking pain killers for wounds that kill instead of running to a Doctor for healing. For wounds internal. For wounds invisible. Don't go for the quick fixes that never satisfy because true satisfaction is eternal. Holla~ "We want Jesus!"
"We want Jesus!"
Today I won't be picking my boogers (at least not in public). They are my last line of defense... the first, my windows...
ashes, ashes, we all fall...
ACHOOO!
... aftereffect - the true reason for my allergic reactions was due to the dormant ashes picked up by the winds that started up yesterday. Last night our house was covered in ashes and the kitchen floor was ashy and the culprit was Ash. (funny: 1.5/10). Even with the fires put out in our mountains in LCr, the ashes are still left to do airborne damage on top of the actual burn of fire damage. This is what you call consequence.
Sin and its consequence. PR6:27.28 "Can a man scoop fire into his lap without his clothes being burned? Can a man walk on hot coals without his feet being scorched?"
Hot dam~ Our own ashes from past mistakes may linger around, we may even have winds of circumstances that poke at our scars, but we must not be disheartened or downtrodden because God is the lifter of our heads. He is faithful and just. The day is coming when He will clear the air and we will breathe a new heaven and new earth. So look to Jesus and put faith only in Him who took on the heap of ashes and the ultimate Consequence of sin for you and for me.
"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord."
"What would my Father in heaven say of me?" not "What would people think of me?"
We say with our mouths that God's mission is to seek and save the lost, but in our actions we keep hiding the lost from a faith that Jesus calls child-like. We go on and on about the rules and regulations of "hide n seek" when God simply says He will seek those who are lost and hidden. By the end of the foreword to the gospel message, salvation in Jesus Christ becomes merely an academic exercise that only the top scholars and instructors and scribes can share due to their knowledge and expertise and experience. Then out of a sense of duty we begin to rely on our own wisdom to lead someone to the true Wisdom of God. Versions of the word turn into diversions from the enemy to create divisions in theology that lead straight to secondaries, tertiaries, all the way down to the study of the bond between bone and marrow and its relationship to God without ever thinking of moving the muscle called "faith" that leads to the Author of the Word Himself. When it finally comes time to share the Good News, we (at least among my peers) do not feel ready enough or good enough or godly enough or experienced enough, and with all the discouragement wrapped up as a gift with yellow "caution" ribbons all over it every soul treads fearfully and cowardly as we share the news that is supposed to bring about the joy of salvation. By the end of the "presentation" the curtains close and the spectators are left without a way to present themselves before a holy God. The words spoken to them are cold and textbook-like. They leave with even more doubt or worse yet, a false sense of salvation.
"Do I care?" "Do I love?"
From God. By God. In terms of experience, the apostle Paul himself began to preach the Gospel only days after his conversion. "And immediately he proclaimed Jesus in the synagogues, saying, "He is the Son of God." I am of the opinion that sharing is not a skill we can hone and master, but rather an attitude we must choose to bear. In order to share, we must have, and what we have is the power of God for salvation. Sharing is simply extending out our arms out and giving to another. Sacrifice. When we share the free gift of salvation it's about freely giving what we have freely received. And to think/say that brother/sister so and so is not fit or ready already puts us in a seat of judgment, one that requires us to be the judge (or more accurately, the doubter) of their salvation because to share means to have what you share. And to think/say that "I" am not fit or ready requires a personal scrutiny of our relationship with God that goes beyond "I think God loves me." because believe or not, Christians are called to share the Gospel. Now that sounds radical. Too extreme. Too intense. Too hardcore. Too difficult. Too much sacrifice. Too passionate. Too much time. Too not-for-me-more-for-them. Too impossible. But God reminds us it is the Holy Spirit who lives in us who gives us the conviction, the courage, and the words to go out and become true witnesses for Christ. It's not about me. It's all about Jesus. Surely God will take care of the salvation of His children.
Great conviction. Great Compassion. Great Commission. I hold on dearly to these convictions so that next time there's not a single bit of uncertainty or guilt or man's opinion that disqualifies me for the mission of leading souls to Christ, which every child in His name is called to do. I also hold on dearly to the grace and mercy that God pours out upon me as I turn to Him with a heart of repentance, knowing that God is still faithful. I have a familiar feeling this won't be the end of it, but it's high time to put down the instruction manual and start following what it says.
I took Chris back to the pastor's wife. "He's good to go!"
I thanked her and thanked God for the second chance.
And my heart was pierced and sunk to my stomach. I stared into her eyes as she wiped a tear from her cheek. I replied in hesitation. "Possibly." I looked at my student and then back at the pastor's wife and said, "Can you please give me 5 minutes?" She nodded.
I took Chris behind the basketball court away from the chaos of children in exile and began an excursion of our own into the depth of our hearts. I had my Wordless Book ready and I shared the message of salvation. He seemed familiar with the news, as if he had seen it in a church play once, but didn't know the details. When we got to the white page I asked, "Would you like to receive Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?" he nodded quietly. When we prayed together my heart was gripped with a grace that moved my convictions, making them intense to the point of sorrowful guilt then making me sense the complete freedom from a guilty conscience.
Throughout the cef children's camp none of my students raised their hand to receive Christ at the end of the message. Assumptions were high and despite my years of experience at camp I lost sight of the importance of sharing the Gospel to every single child under my care. I truly know the Gospel was preached throughout the camp and through Pastor Daniel's messages - there was no doubt in that. There was doubt, however, in whether or not each child that God entrusted to me had an opportunity to ACCEPT Jesus Christ not just hear about Him. I felt my conscience roundhouse kicking me in the head even as I thought to myself "they're all from church so they'll probably get it someday." In light of "doing it right" I left out doing it Righteous, and that's where my true convictions lied.
In the end, I know it is up to God to grow the seed we have sown. But I also know that this isn't a license to go into battle halfheartedly then come out with an applause for every soldier for the sake of phony 'feel good encouragements' and 'keeping the peace' and 'ending on good notes.' What needs to be rooted out must be rooted out - no matter how painful and destructive and unpopular it is - before it spreads, infects, and stunts not only one person's growth but also his or her brothers and sisters in Christ. I can already imagine (and know of) a child growing up with everyone around him, including himself, assuming and learning that He is saved because he went to church or he went to camp and then later realizing he was never a child of God in the first place. "I never knew you."
"It's been a long time comin' up here now. From the streets to the church - all in your ears now."
3 months. It's been 3 months of post college life. But I'll get to that later. I can describe it in full, and at the same time I can't say I know in full. It's like a puzzle. I see what the picture is on the puzzle box, but I would be lying to say I put it all together unless I connect the actual pieces.
As the words and sentences connect themselves...
Hm. I sound like I'm up in the clouds. I can feel it in my face. FYI here's a little secret: The face expression you have when you write is the feeling you will convey to the reader. (Just a small nugget of wisdom I discovered by reading what I write.) If ya don't know, now you know n. So in the first paragraph I looked all types of scholarly and high and mighty, but right now I look like a bum... J-bum... like one who is unable to take off the weights of oppression and rise above the race. H12. At the end of the day, your expression is your expression. Love or hate comes from your love or hate. You are you. Nobody else to sue. Makes it all the more hopeful and glad to be made in His view. I mean image.
Back in gear. Happy back to school! UCs are starting up this coming week, but you see, I will not be participating this time around, no, not I. This is the first September in 17 years of public education that I'm not going "back-to-school." I write this as I artfully dodge 10 pound text books and hosts of office supplies and Revelle (echo. echo. echo.) breakfast burritos and origami knives made out of class schedules and syllabi and virgin longboards launched from fort Peterson. Just a few words to all ya haterz still kickin' it old "school," if I may... na. nanana. nana. nana. canttouchthis.
It feels good and bad. Chorus is necessary. Though I am not physically going to school I still had to worry about school. After spending the majority of summer poring over the application process, I finally submitted my application to Talbot this week. Praise the Lord! It is all in His hands. (This paragraph was written with a big smile.)
Now on to the main dish. The title is a misnomer. (Yes! I finally used misnomer... always been on the look out for that one. *check* next word on the list is platitudinous). Hiatus would mean that there's been a break or gap in the process, but that is not entirely true. The writing process may have been stagnant, but the life behind the curtains has been filling the gap, so to speak. Filling the gap of this cavity. Being shaped and reshaped. Broken and remade. Molded and remodeled. JM18:4 It's amazing to know that our Father is always at work in us. J5:17. All glory to God.
This has been a trailer for more to come. Puzzle pieces are GO!
I'm starting to smell again. It reminds me of my adolescent days. I used to put on this deodorant scent named "Spring breeze." I forgot the brand name though. I learned of deodorants and such in the locker rooms during p.e. I didn't think I needed it because I never smelled, but I noticed that whenever I play Super Smash Bros. (any console) my armpits become a spring of living water (lower case "l"). Sometimes it misses the sleeves of my t-shirt and trickles along my field of eves down to my pants. raging waters!
This one time during a piano lesson at my piano teacher's house my teenage hormones went haywire, or string. I was under a lot of pressure because I had crammed a week's worth of piano homework into 10 minutes right before my lesson. She was testing me on Für Elise for the upcoming recital. So I was pretty much sight-reading the piece, which I am horrible at, and as I nervously fumbled through the first couple measures I heard something drip. Drip... Drip... Drip... When I finally got to a break in the piece and came off my stress high I looked down and saw small puddles in the grooves of the piano chair between me and my teacher (by this point, she saw it too). I thought, "hmm, that's strange." And immediately, my teacher (who knew exactly what was going on) got up and went to the kitchen and came back with a paper towel. "Oh, don't worry, my... previous student... probably spilled some water." She wiped it clean and I didn't think much of it so I continued. Then it happened again. drip... drip... drip. And that's how I created the Southwest commercials. "Wanna get awahell yea."
Drip! You are now free to sweat profusely.
Right now my armpits smell like persimmons that are ripe and in season - the kind you eat with a spoon because it's mushy. I can't stop smelling it. It smells... kinda good. I just might make a perfume that contains the essence of my sweat in every bottle...
I can't stop smelling...
...and I can't stop thinking of how we are called to be the aroma of Christ. (transition: 6/10)
But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumphal procession in Christ and through us spreads everywhere the fragrance of the knowledge of him. For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task? Unlike so many, we do not peddle the word of God for profit. On the contrary, in Christ we speak before God with sincerity, like men sent from God. 2 Corinthians 2:14-17
Being a pleasing aroma to God means to perfectly submit and surrender to His will because we were created for His pleasure. Sniff sniff. When He smells us, does He smell rancid sin or the blood of Christ that washes our sins away? Would that all my brothers and sisters become fragrances whom God is pleased to spread everywhere. Yet like high quality perfume, this comes with a price. The price of Jesus becoming the sacrifice for our sins puts value to the price of His lovers to become living sacrifices, broken and undone, for God's purposes. This spiritual act of worship is what His people were created for and the perfect act that God has given us to follow is His Son Jesus Christ. As we know, His act of worship led Him to death, even death on the cross.
Worship bleeds out of the ones truly abandoned to God and truly stayed on His Word. "For in the midst of their physical and emotional pain, their loyalty to Christ grows pure and perfect. And in the face of persecutions, their love and worship toward God become all-consuming." The ones who will become this aroma are the ones who will lay it all down to become true worshipers of God. Flowers yield their strongest aroma when they are crushed, and God has more than a crush on His people. Undying love. It will undoubtedly be more difficult, but as Jesus says of Paul, "I will show him how much he must suffer for my name" we must pick up our cross daily and pursue our Lover just as He has pursued us. His joy is our strength. His pleasure is our pleasure because we are His pleasure forever.
thank you. thank you. I knew I should have majored in linguistics.
<3
I'll end with a poem I recently wrote (modified for general audience, rated G):
The Potter has fearfully and wonderfully created a beautiful jar of clay And has placed in you the aroma of Christ which you unashamedly spray Like a sweet, pleasant perfume exuding the fragrance of life For me and everyone in Jesus Christ
May you forever be a pleasure to God Fulfilling the Lord's purpose for your creation And become a servant of God who embraces every crushed petal Just as He has embraced your surrender and obedience as a pleasing aroma unto Him
On a semi-related note, this article is from Desiring God:
Missionary to India, William Carey, once exhorted a Baptist gathering in England by saying, “Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God.” I love that quote.
But we must heed the Bible’s warning through Simon the Magician: if we attempt great things so that others will see us as great, we are in grave spiritual peril.
...
We can all relate to Simon. We are all are tempted to pursue our own glory, even in the work of the kingdom. When we recognize that familiar craving we need to deal severely with it. We must confess it (often to others, not just God), repent, and resist. Because, if left alone, it can develop into a spiritual cancer that can blind us to real glory, and may ultimately kill us.
So, let us expect great things from God and attempt great things for God. But let us take Peter’s advice and do so “by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 4:11).
And that's how the cookie is devoured.
Don't want to lose my soul for what I believe is practical I'm a prodigal coming back from a world that is temporal So why gain it back and lose what's eternal Flesh out the spirit and spirit away the carnal By the Spirit-led revival through Jesus Immanuel
We used to make up bad words - words that would hurt the target and satisfy the shooter. Being in a church setting, we had to keep it PG not because we had a choice, but because that was all our elementary minds knew. We bullied 4th graders because we were 5th graders. We bullied 8th graders because two 5th graders made one 10th grader. Our created words were the funniest things to us, and we would ping pong back and forth to see who got the smash hit that would irresistibly cause the ball to, well, have a ball and laugh to tears with us. "You have a wrinkle-butt!"
"Your face is a butt-crunch!"
Any time the word 'butt' came up, it was automatically too funny to be an insult. But words were only the beginning. We would run around the church and start wars, using old dolls, stuffed animals, and children's books as weapons and chairs and tables as forts. All this would be happening while the adults were eating lunch in the kitchen.
"Yah! needul bahp muguh!" (Hey! You guys food eat!)
We would eat as quickly as possible and then take a box of matches up the hills into the back lot where we would light any animate object (usually insects) on fire. We used to stomp on bees and see their guts spill out (which was usually white and not yellow like honey) and explore the tropical deserts as we endured the pines that pierced through our socks. Then it was time for fireworks. I would buy these tiny tnt looking firecrackers, which were probably illegal, from the Mexican ice cream truck, place it on the playground swings and then light them on fire. "Just like looney tunes!" One time we lit one string and ran to a safe distance, but when the cracker didn't go off for awhile I boldly but cautiously crept up to check ifBOOOM!...and myface blew up. or at least I thought so because it stung like a bumble bee, or a hornet.
Speaking of Hornets, we used to play basketball on top of the parking lot hill that doubled as a full court with only one basket. Playing ball was tricky because there was a steep 47 degree hill right behind the hoop, as in the pole was cemented into the very edge of the cliff. This made airballs deathballs. If you made an airball then you would have to climb all the way down the weed infested hill (which was waist high) to retrieve the ball as everyone stared you down and let you know how bad you are. That's why I never make airballs now. Three words. Magic Mountain baby.
After all that we, or now I, would get into fights and throw handfuls of rocks high in the air, first as a scare tactic, and then... never again after one of my bullets decided to hit the pastor's son square on his head - instant fruit punch fountain from the think tank. Ohhhh yeaaahh noooo! I got yelled at and then ran out to play again like nothing happened. I did feel bad though. Like bada~~!
But running and playing wasn't all fun and games. We were avid readers as well. There was one Sunday in particular when my friend brought to church Dragonball Volume 42, the last and final and most epic and gg pwnage and long-awaited manga in the history of saiyankind. We hid in the backseat of a car and read through as much as we could before the evil androids caught us saving the world one panel at a time.
When church was over we would walk to each others' houses and play N64 all day long and then watch a video. Sadly, I was rarely allowed to sleep over friends' places (but allowed to have friends sleep over my place. weird. my parents love me.) so the 4 or 5 times that I did, I. was. so. excited! while everyone else was thinking 'eh another sleepover.'
Then I would count down to next Sunday.
Oh and of course I remember the people too, especially the ones we were a nuisance to. I remember Mimi and Gina teacher in particular, the twins who did body worship and bible studies and everything in between. I thought that was how all churches did it - hire twins as ushers, or body worshipers, or offering basketers, or anything that's good in pairs. I heard that back in the days before the internet was in the average household, the twins would listen to Christian radio stations and whenever they heard a new song they would write down the lyrics, learn the piano part, create the body worship, make the transparency for the overhead, and introduce the final product to us on Sunday mornings. Now that I think about the dedication and effort they put into teaching us God's Word I can't help but thank God because I still remember not specific words they said (except 'Oh my peanut!' sorry another story), but their love in their actions and their sacrifice.
When all the "church activities" are done and all the discussions settle down the only thing that's left is His perfect LOVE for me in His Action and His Sacrifice. So take heart my heart. Dedicate once again and even more so to making disciples of all nations. Laugh, but this time give Words of Life. Make war, but this time in the spiritual battlefield. Set a fire, but this time fire up a passion for Jesus name. Read, but this time read and meditate on God's Word. Fight and throw rocks! No, don't fight, pursue after peace. Play, but this time spell check and pray. Visit, but this time go over to each others' spiritual houses. Count down, but this time wait for the Lord and take heart.
The walk of a snail. But slow and steady wins the race. Here's a little update for the uptake. I am under heavy pressure right now. But pressure is diamond. bling*
College you've been good to me. They say it's real life from here on out. I say omg. But friends and fan-mily, I do not worry. My mind is clear as if I've poured out my thoughts into a Pensieve. I look back and memories are distant, but Love is nearer than ever.
I had a dream the other day. I was in a room with fellow students and I felt this uncomfortable sense of urgency - as if I had procrastinated for a lab report that was due in one hour, which I had not started. Unfortunately, that was the exact scenario of my dream. This felt so real and I remember thinking that I was going to die and never graduate, and in my state of panic I shoved my lab partners out of their seats so I could finish everything on my own. "Get outta here!"
When I woke up and realized I was at home on my bed I couldn't help but smile real big and stupid-like. "It's over!" That's when it hit me big time - I am done with college! 17 grace-saturated years in the making (including kindergarten my favorite) and it's finally over. WIN!
Just like Fisher's smile at 0:43. It's the smile of knowing that victory is here. You know the outcome before the income. You see the finish line and it's the final stretch. No more pacing. No more tracing the dotted line. No more trailing behind. No more sulking about past faults and mistakes. You just smile because of Jesus and only look to finishing the race. this. is. CAKETOWN!
.
so.
now what?
Now I look back into the Pensieve because I accidentally poured out all my thoughts and I can't remember a single thing... ah, there we go.
For the time being this boy is headed to seminary. Lord willing, I'm aiming for Talbot. I dread the application process because I've dreaded every application process before it. My life is laid bare before the admissions office and scrutinized based on my past achievements and my merit. "Wait, but I heard... everyone gets into seminary." uh, whatever. I pray this will go smoothly and quickly.
Let's see here what else do I remember. Yes. I now have an ice cream. She is pretty cool, but not as cool as luigi.
ew don't touch me.
This will be one grand adventure. I see two sets of footprints in the sand, but our desire is we'll only see One as He carries us through and through. Rules and regulations out of love and honor because Love came down and rescued me.
Here's another memory that's fresh in my mind that I hope can encourage. After a fun filled day at magic mountain with a few of my friends I came home and slept around 2 am. Before going to sleep I prayed, "God, I'm super tired, but remember how I said I wanted to go to morning prayer everyday from now on? Well, I give up because you know how bad I am at waking up. So I give it up to You! Thank You." So I set my alarm to 5 am since mp is at 5:30. That night I had a dream and during the dream I woke up naturally, which is very rare considering I slept so late after a long day. And I said, "If the alarm goes off right now, then I'm going no matter what. If not, then good night world." And the very next second - BEEEEEEEEEEEP~!
OH MY....... LORD I WILL GO! SEND ME! HERE I AM!
So God led me to a blessed time at morning prayer! Praise the Lord!
This stuff is eating me alive at 4 in the morning.
Random spasms of screaming and yelling and crying all throughout the day. And there seems to be no end in sight as of now.
Not blasphemy. Think catastrophe.
I hope I never forget this so I can make sure to always obey and share what God has in store instead of what I think sounds cool. No other passion but Jesus Christ passion.
Oh, how He LOVES us! This song is so powerful. It's so raw - like a child trying to describe God's love. Abandoned to Your praise! YEA!
And I realize just how beautiful You are And how great your affections are for me
I don't have time to maintain these regrets When I think about the way...
He loves us!
And that's how it starts.
Daddy is jealous over us so don't make Holy Spirit grieve over our sins because we'll be in a mess when we realize the King Himself has been rejected, has stepped down from His throne to run to us, and took up our cross to embrace us. This is LOVE.
But it can't end there with mere words or else we're no better than a useless clanging cymbal.
People are in need of deliverance and a deliverer. People need the Lord. We all need Jesus. So badly. We need to become more sensitive to HS's calling to intercede for and reach out to one another. Broken, empty hearts are standing next to us and walking by us. Downcast souls are masked by smiles. Burdened shoulders carry the weight of family issues. Distraught minds are entrapped by past memories. Name calling. Habitual sins. Physical abuse. Wandering eyes search for a purpose or at least a job just to get by. Life is holding on thirstily to the hope of an abundant life that quenches eternally - True life in Jesus Christ. Only a true encounter with God's perfect Love through His Word, His Son, His Spirit can resurrect and resuscitate the lost and backslidden! We commit our lives because of and through the Life God has committed for us and given to us.
If you feel like "I never got love," it's absolutely vital to have (or remember) the correct biblical view of God. "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." Justice has been served through Jesus Christ. This is Truth. There is no sin that is too great for God to forgive no matter how much you think you've consciously disobeyed God. Jonah. That's what's up. And if that was not true, then Jesus' death on the cross and His resurrection means nothing. Jesus came to seek and save that which was lost. So KNOW that you fit the requirement to receive God's beautiful grace and mercy. KNOW that Jesus actually died in place of you. KNOW that God has removed your sins as far as the east is from the west. KNOW that God's love has never failed anybody, except Jesus Christ, His only son, so that you and I can experience His unfailing love. KNOW that He has promised His children to take them Home. KNOW that he leaves the 99 behind to go after the 1 lost sheep. KNOW that God is running after you, takes great delight in you, rejoices over you with singing, and quiets you with His love.
And for those who feel like "I got love," it's your duty to give that love away. If all you're doing is smiling about how good life has been, how much love you got from your parents and others and thinking "I must be a lucky one. God blessed me." then consider yourself the most selfish, wicked, vile person on earth. You're holding onto a barrel full of fresh water and rejoicing over it all the while staring right into the eyes of a withering man parched and dying of thirst. Yes, salvation belongs to God, but if that's your excuse for never getting down to pray for whom you consider 'unlovable' and in dire need, never reaching out your hand for the sick and weary, and never sharing Jesus Christ, the Living Water, then that's bad theology - and that's when I say (bad) theology is not important when all it does is sits in your head and never travels to your heart. Does your heart break for broken hearts? Are you willing to take in everything that a person is, the pretty and the ugly, or do you treat people like a buffet? Do you have the hope and assurance that the Gospel transforms and changes lives and God uses YOU to do exactly that? Is your LOVE motivated by God's Love or by whatever sympathy you can muster up in your heart for others? If you've been loved on so much and God has shown you His great love throughout your life, it's only because you are called to share and give it ALL away and become the lowest of low, just as Jesus showed us. It's ALL about living for and loving God and living for and loving others.
Because no matter how good (or bad) you have it you cannot live for yourself. We weren't made that way. It's impossible. If life was about self-improvement, reaching self-enlightenment, receiving good karma based on personal, individual deeds, and becoming a better you then NO ONE would care about peace, friendship, marriage, children, orphans, widows, the hungry, and all of social injustice and relationships because anyone apart from you would simply be a stepping stone to get where you WANT.
But in Christ and only in Him, Jesus became the stepping ROCK on which we stand to get where we NEED, not by our own merits or accomplishments, but by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, our friend, our brother, our lover, our Savior, our God.
KNOW the love of HS embracing you so dearly. This is not just a feeling. This is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. This is Jesus Christ.
Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:29-32
home is sweet, but Home is heaven. Fambam happy birthdayed (go away red squiggly line) me last night with homemade banana cake. woot! Today I spent all day helping dad with his VBS seminar at OMC. Exhaustive but very rewarding. There were so many volunteers and contributors and participants. It's awe-mazing! When you're doing God's work it's a guarantee that God will make a way. At the end of the laborous day I was feeling slightly fatigued. Then dad reminded me he was off to japan and korea tomorrow for more seminars/revival services for a week, and then to Seattle, Washington - then Vancouver, Canada - then Honolulu, Hawaii (of which he must sacrifice my gaduation for) - and then the world as usual. As we were eating all you can eat korean bbq (score!), I told him "Just do God's work diligently, mang." Okay, not exactly, but something like that.
On a sidenote the OMC head pastor was walking by and gave my dad a signed (or more like personally messaged) book that he wrote (Deep-Rooted in Christ), but it was in English so he gave it to me. I hope I read it. The sub-title is The Way of Transformation.
and OMG. oh, how tempted i was to graffiti the many OMC indoor signs to spell OMG. Just cross one line baby and sin has already entered. chika chika wha? Oh! Missions Go!
Noon, my wardrobe provider, came home with a b-day present. 2 'new-style' t-shirts from somewhere (I don't remember) that fit me perfectly, but said 'small' on the tag, which is strange because I'm a "medium" kinda guy. And so I says, "This says small." And she be like, "It would be if you had muscles."
More confirmations this week. First with the lovely prayer book. Thank you so much la myun man. I'll put it to good use for Him! Then yesterday at dad's office he gave me a thick magazine/booklet that talked about the 4/14 window in light of the 10/40 window. I was wondering where in the world is 4/14, but the author was talking about age group. Wow. Come on now! Jamone lee! It's time for a new generation of radical Jesus lovers to rise up and carry the Gospel to the ends of the earth! Every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord! Floor us with Your LOVE!
What a birthday. I don't need presents. I need God's Presence.
And You move me just when I thought that I had it all together And You move me just when I thought things could not get any better
I am ready come and move me once again I am ready come and move me once again
And You move me Closer to You closer to Your heart I see clearer so much clearer than before And You move me
I speak out of the overflow of my heart. My mouth does a good job at letting me know what's on my heart. These past few days have been very revealing of the limit of the measure of my love (which I don't have at all apart from Love Himself) especially when it's hard for me to love - those who I hypocritically label as the 'unlovables'. I need arms like Jesus. I need a heart like Jesus.
God is Love. God is Love. God is Love.
It's spiritual check up time again, or at least in my conscious mind because I've been giving myself brownie points for every 'good' thing and downplaying the seriousness of other sins. Following Jesus is not a balancing act. We had already fallen and we were already dead. Following Jesus is a love contract. He has put all in and He bled instead. I am free to love dangerously when I have Jesus as my foundation. The past is long gone and so I stand, not balance, on the Rock of Salvation.
So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don't fall! 1 Corinthians 10:12 Let's move.
Remix #11: Remixed, to think upon Love before I speak and act.
Gospel choir was so fun. Will we be singing like that in heaven?
I am still recovering from food poisoning. You know your stomach is weak when you have two FP stories on one blog page... It's time to train - little by little.
So I'm watching my diet and being cautious of what I eat (i.e. resisting all my cravings) and in comes Danny back from Ralphs with temptation in his hands.... omg. I now present:
BAM!
Cheetos® Giant Puffs Flamin' Hot Cheese Flavored Snacks!
The picture is big for a reason. I only got to try one, but once I finally got one Giant Puff in my mouth I had to wrestle it down to submission. The sensation was something between eating fire and rock, which seems to melt away like ice cream, but treacherously has just enough corn syrup solids to keep its form in tact in an effort to cover up the presence of autolyzed yeast extract and to tease the mouth to bite into the ball of monosodium glutamate. I'm starting to feel battle scars in my mouth, not to mention the actual drooling it causes. This is what Fire Mario's fireballs probably look like.
Eat this!
mmhmm. just as I imagined.
Why. Whydoyoudoit.
I remember growing up I used to be addicted to hot cheetos. So addicted, in fact, that mom had to hide bags (yes plural) from me before dinner. Those were some tough times, but what can you expect from a School of Hard Knock graduate. Now even away from the shadow of mom's wings I realize how precious it is... college you've been good to me.
Less than one more quarter. It's bittersweet. More sweet though because now I'm diving into big waters. I can start saying things like, "This will be the last bag of hot cheetos I eat on the last Thursday of the the last 3rd week of the last quarter of my last year in college."
Catch me world!
Will I splash or will I crash? Okay that was a little cheesy. (been waiting for that all post long).
Regardless, my only aim is to spit hot fire for the
'true One
want to make you new One
the only begotten Son.'
Fire fall down.
Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.
Do not put out the Spirit's fire; do not treat prophecies with contempt. Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil.
May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it.
