Summer

I finished my last final on Thursday. I can honestly say that this was one of my most favorite semesters of any school ever (not including grade school because nothing is better than recess). I loved the material that I was learning. In fact, I was blessed by the lectures, the professors who taught them, and even the times I spent studying the material. During lecture, I would sometimes get those chills because I would suddenly be reminded of the truth of God's mighty powerful, magnificent, awesome, sovereign grace and mercy and love. Ok fine, I can only remember one time. It was when my reformation professor told us the story about how right before John Hus was burned at the stake in 1415 (with Wycliffe's manuscript bible used as fuel), he prophesied, "in a hundred years, God will raise up a man whose call for reform cannot be suppressed." Lo and behold, exactly 102 years later in 1517, a man with a hammer nailed the 95 thesis on a church door in Wittenburg. His name was Neo, or better known as Martin Luther.

Mm mm mm.

Learning what I wanted to learn was definitely surreal, and of course exciting. Now, that doesn't mean I was a perfect student (or on time all the time), but compared to the old general biology student, this new kid had something called [divine] motivation. It goes something like this:

The Voice: "Why. Why are you playing Mario Kart right now? You do NOT need to get 3 stars for every race."

John: "C'mon, I just need to finish 4 more in mirror cup and I'm done."

The Voice: "Don't make me say it."

John: "No. No no no."

The Voice: "You're in GOD SCHOOL!

John: "Ahhhhhhh!!!"

The Voice: "You're getting PROVIDED for this! Change the world my BUTT! What happened to picking up your cross and following DAILY?!"

John: "Ah dang it. Fiiiiine!"

The Voice: "That's more like it. Go do your Daily Scripture Interpretations..."

John: "Oh ohhh. I'm almost at the finish line!"

The Voice: "NOW!!!!"

Hm. Indeed.

But as much as I loved school, summer. And yes, that right there was a complete sentence because any sentence with "summer" is complete in my grammar book. Summer. I was summer. I'm gonna go summer. Summer breeze is. If summer, then. Why yes, summer. Summer really is something else. It's so liberating, at least when you're in school because (as d.drum.c reminded me) summer for people without school is business as usual... wow. That's unthinkable, but I know it's coming soon for me so I better sit back, relax, and cherish these moments while they la...

Welcome to New Life Children's Bible Camp!

Where your kids will have new life at a bible camp!

Welcome to the High Seas Expedition!

Where your kids will experience the deep, rolling waters of God's love.

Welcome to Summer Missions!

Welcome to Summer Retreat!

Welcome to Summer Festival!

Welcome to Summer Jobs!

Welcome to a full summer of service!

Welcome to Dongmakgol!

Welcome HOME!

... oh. right.

And so it begins...... matey!

Contemporavant

Contemporary + Relevant = Contemproavant

"brilliant parody"

via Worship Matters

on a totally related note,

spam + rice + seaweed = spariceweed

or spam musubi (mmm~)

.

sorry mr き, i win. =]

Cowaballin'

So I was ballin' up some foos at my high school courts recently. Then a couple of guys they were up to................ about my height, maybe a little taller, and they challenged me and jcha to 2 on 2. "Alright. Ya'll look like you missed Valentines... cuz I'mma crush you!" said the inner yeoman. First game: We lost 6 to 11. whatevers. I wasn't even trying, but I admit, I was furiously disappointed that we lost. So we ran it back. Second game: We were up 10 to 6 and I was like"YEEEE game point SUUUCKKAAAAS!!!"

thenwelost.

Assuming that there is not another game right after, usually what happens is the winning team lingers on the court and shoots around like they just claimed mad monopoly territory. It also proves that they still have so much energy left (but really they're barely hanging by a thread called pride). It's the street ball version of dog pee pee. It stinks. The losing team, on the other hand, drags their sorry bottoms to the sidelines to drink from the one pity-bottle that one guy brought for himself, but now has no choice but to share the shame with his fellow non-winners.

All this to say,

I hate losing (basketball games especially) with a passion. It might be because of the traumatic loss in my little league finals in middle school, but that's another story for anever time. The only difference between me and the guy hurling the ball across the court is I'm hurling my heart across my chest - I hold it all inside. I say the guy doing the hulk smash is more honest in a strange, twisted way. Really, I do, but in the end, both end up as sore losers. No one likes to admit it, but the things we get most worked up and passionate about tend to be the things we put most our value and worth into - whether it's a win or lose or neutral. "If I'm good at this, then people will acknowledge me or acknowledge me more."

But there's a golden lining in the clouds because losing (in most cases) leads to a strong desire to win (hopefully, unless you like losing... you lewser). "I hate losing! I'm going to win next time! BERSERKER BARRAGE!*" This is why the word comeback resonates with so many people, nay, everyone because everyone has lost at one point in their lives. Yes, even Chuck. wut.

There is an overall sense of resolve to do something about not losing next time if there even is a next time to pwn those kids on the court, or wherever/whatever you consider your "court" to be. "I'm gonna run more and build up Superman stamina. I'm gonna work out like 300 and then squish them with my evil eye. I'm gonna ownage pwnage fo shonage!" Or for students, "I'm gonna go to every lecture 2 hours early and stay behind 2 hours after! I'm gonna destroy the makers of facebook and tetris friends! I'm gonna make a 9th floor in Geisel library with just my brain p-p-p-p-powerrrr!" Or of course if you were thinking what I was thinking, "I don't want to lose to that temptation again! I'm gonna read my bible 366 times this year! [Insert spiritual discipline here!]" etc.

Looking back at my track record, however, "I'm going to do better" is like saying "I'm going to fly." (Even as I write this, my strong resolve to win next time around is beginning to relax its muscles compared to right after the game when I wanted to run laps on the track). Of course, there is a way to fly but only with HS Airlines. My own efforts at improvement are like splashes in a puddle or a chasing after the wind, while his words alone calm the raging storms into stillness. Transformation happens only when the puddle is totally imbibed by the storm and wholly captivated by the stillness - when my will is surrendered to his will. So I take my loss to the cross because my identity is not found in my loss but in the One who carried the cross.

In short, fiery resolve doesn't have to involve whipping out the claws and ripping off heads. Rather, true resolve flows steadily with the river and carves grand canyons on the way to its destination. Next stop, ocean. Slow and steady does it.

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I like turtles

or tortoises.

Stay Tuned

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I thought I had already been here before, but I couldn't be sure. No, I didn't want to be sure. I only wanted to know if I had moved forward, not in circles.

"Am I there yet?"

Dark gray slabs of concrete made up the walls around me. Dark gray clouds of confusion made up the air above me. The rhythm of my untied shoelaces slowed down to a lull and the ringing in my ear finally seemed to fade away just as gradually as it had come. My deep unsettling frustration was muted by the grinding of my firmly clenched teeth. The endless hall was silent once again. I had arrived at another crossroad.

"left... or right..."

And there I was, contemplating life in a labyrinth. Then I heard a voice erupt from the podium and flood my inner stadium:

"God is invisible so that we would look for him."

Amen, professor. Amen.

Stay tuned. Commercials only last a moment.

Dirty Jazz

I realized why I like jazz.

Ever since I graduated from Super Mario Piano Academy with a double major in Chopsticks and Rugrats, jam sessions with noon have been rare. We had completely mastered that one song everyone knows from birth and suddenly remembers whenever two people get on a piano (just googled it and it's fittingly called "Heart and Soul"). We even created a techno version of that other minor sounding duet song. That's right. Acoustic techno.

I always say, "I taught her well" whenever someone compliments noon, but really, I taught her well... (good thing she doesn't read this blog, I think). One of the minor reasons why I quit piano lessons was because I didn't like the idea of losing to noon at an instrument, so my solution was to be awesome at the guitar. Unfortunately, I lose to myself in that as well. The major reason for quitting? Collecting stars in Super Mario 64 > Collecting star stickers for practicing piano. woo-hoo! I got it!

Then I met jazz. It was love at first sound. More technically, it was the blues (King Jesus is All) and in this context I'm referring more to the improvising aspect of jazz (that'll calm the jazz enthusiasts). When I heard improvisation for the first time, it was just... weird in a good way! I was so drawn to the idea of making music on the fly that I wanted in immediately. Reason? I didn't have to read a single note to play! (duh!) and of course the freedom I would have in that! So I learned the blues scale and forced my way into the circle and began to learn more riffs and styles to expand my limited sound. Though I admit more than half the time, no, 99% of the time, I don't know what the funk I'm playing, but with the scales as the tracks I can keep up with the groove all day. choo choo. Even as I play predetermined chords in a sequence and notes in a scale, there is an infinite possibility of patterns and syncopations. This is what I like to call dirty jazz - unpolished, unlearned, low level, newbie improvisation (but it still sounds kinda cool).

Now fast forward to last Saturday: Noon and I were at tfpc last Saturday helping out with dad's seminar. During lunch time, we sneaked into the main sanctuary to jam on the grand piano. I sat on the right as usual. "Play something." She began playing this brightly syncopated, upbeat counter-melody and added in a catchy, funky 3 note riff on the spot. Then that spark of genius landed on my hands and I was now setting off firecrackin' melodies based on the 3 note riff as noon continued to comp on the lower ends. After a few minutes we had a smooth pattern down. We looked at each other and said, "Record this, now." We both took our phones out to record and ended up recording (maximum recording time on my phone: 1 minute), more than 5 times. What I realized was that every single time we recorded, it was different. Like way different. And it was perfectly fine that it was different.

And that's when I realized - I absolutely love how there is no way of reproducing that same improvised sequence and vibe (and repeating everything perfectly is different from being able to reproduce that exact moment in time, the thoughts and the emotions you have, etc.). Some runs you like. Other ones you don't. Sometimes only a measure of one recording is good or one bad note seems to kill the whole recording. It makes that moment that much more special. It makes it one of those "you had to be there" moments. It makes the world go around.

In short, I like jazz because I'm a slacker who can get away without any practice not because I'm good (seriously), but because I can pretend and make stuff up.

doo doo beep boop boppity doo!

Just wait for the album.

/poorly written SAT essay