I was coming out of Feinberg Hall when the ninja in me was suddenly awakened. Forget about being a grad student who had just turned in a Greek exegesis paper on the finer points of remaining in Christ found in the 15th chapter of the Gospel of John, I just had to jump the 6 foot wall and climb up the hill to my freedom, or the sidewalk. A shortcut, no doubt, but quite a dangerous and unnecessary one at that. And before I knew it I was already on the wall. I decided to use the momentum to run up the hill, ignoring the red flags in my mind warning me of what happens to mud after rain. After all, I was equipped with level 5 feather legs. I took two quick steps up the steep hill when my feet slipped under me like I was on a treadmill on max speed. I instinctively grabbed on to the ledge on my left and tried to pull myself up, but it was too late. My feet flailed under me at least 7 times in less than a second as if I had come straight out of Compton a cartoon. I might as well have yelled out "meep meep!" or something. The dramatic battle ended with me on all fours on the side of a hill underneath Calvary chapel with thick, gooey, wet mud all over my hands, sweater, and shoes. The first thing I did was to look around to see if anyone else saw my awesome ninja moves, and to prepare myself to look like I was "researching" the various mud patterns left by the recent, uh, cloudbursts... in the sky. At that point my tainted pride mattered more than my painted hands. In defeat, I jumped down the wall and swiftly made my way to the nearest restroom, and luckily, or unfortunately, no one asked about my muddy hands and the big trail of mud I left behind. I ended up spending a good 10 minutes just cleaning myself up in the restroom.
And that, my friends, is a pretty accurate picture of my finals week.
Nevertheless, I decided to reward myself for completing one of my toughest semesters ever by checking out the Lord of the Rings trilogy from the library. Just a bit of light reading for the holidays.
Woke up today to clattering windows. Even the wind grows restless at my prolonged slumber. Maybe it's because I indulged myself last night to taste and see, or see then taste, the candies I undeservedly amassed on Monday. But then, how can you say no to mini-Crunch bars? You can't, unless you are about to go to sleep... but I did anyway. I'm a rebel like that. I eat the candies and go to sleep right away. I also eat the foods and go swimming right away. Take that, mother! But of course I would forget to cover up my wrapper trail, and I vaguely remember mom waking me up in the middle of the night and making me brush my teeth. I think the battle lasted a good 10 minutes, but in the end I ran out of bed sheets to hide under, and resistance was futile.
As I lay there on my bed, thinking of my busy day ahead, I realize my life is a running contradiction. I am constantly restless, but I get plenty of rest. I am passionate, but I am also apathetic about the same things. I have plenty, but I desire more. I never remember songs, but I am always singing. I am always learning, but I am not learned. I am always growing, but I am already a grown-up. I am never satisfied (in my circumstances), but I am satisfied (in Christ). I am full, but I am still hungry. I don't want much, but I want much more. I am in need, but I don't need anything. I am a bottomless cup that is overflowing. I am a flying fish or a swimming bird. I don't belong, but I am always belonging. I am already, but not yet.
My passion and my views remain the same, but I guess now my channels are changing. A part of me says, "Relax, God loves you" but another part of me says, "I know. That's why there must be more." The result of this clash is a long list of 'could-haves' and 'should-haves' and barely any 'been-there-done-thats'. I cannot say for certain if it is merely a contradiction or a lack of conviction. Both are troublesome and undesirable, but one thing is for certain, as the great theologian Yoda once said, "Do or do not. There is no try."
It's the end of the day now. I went to school to learn about God and His Word, not to mention in the original languages. I went to church to learn about God and His Word and to fellowship with brothers and sisters. But these questions still remain: What did I do today that required complete, total faith in Jesus? Have I become more like Christ today than yesterday? Am I loving God more and walking closer with Him as a result of whatever may have happened today?
In any case, I'm eating another mini-Crunch bar. Not to worry though, I'll make sure to brush my teeth tonight. Tomorrow, well, tomorrow is tomorrow. For now, I'm just learning to be faithful in the small things.
In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9
So I was in the lounge at school and a girl walks over to where a bunch of guys are sitting. Then I overheard a conversation that went something like this:
Girl: Hey, your name was... Mark right?
Guy: ReMARKable, you got it right!
Girl: Hahaha!
Guy: You seem like you get good MARKS in class.
Girl: Hahah (the room grows more silent as he continues)
Guy: Well you should MARK that on your calendar.
Girl: Hahah
Guy: With a MARKer.
Girl: Haha
Guy: MARK my words.
Girl: Hah
Guy: They will put that in hallMARKS.
Girl: Ha...
Guy: Or on a bookMARK. Girl: H...
Guy: And you can buy it at the MARKet. (by this point, the room is completely, absolutely silent)
Girl: This is gonna go on for a while huh.
Guy: Ok, I'll stop now. I'll make no more reMARKS. (the most awkwardest silence ever known to mankind permeates the room, choking everyone to despair)
Girl: ooookaaaay... soooo.... yeaaaa.....
That's when I learned a very important lesson in life:
I will never name my son Mark.
I'm living life in transit, a sojourner with a stake in the ground. Next move is unknown, but the next move must be made somehow. Whether it's go or stay, it's never stay for a long time. Fleeting and temporary. Such is life. That is, life on earth. A good reminder that there is an eternity ahead of us. No, eternity has already begun. It only makes sense to invest in and sow into whatever makes an impact in eternity, the things that last forever.
This year is the year of the octopus. I got my feet stuck in too many things. Naturally, it looks quite ridiculous to serve in more than 3 different ministries plus full time school and TA. Yes, this is boasting in myself, more specifically, boasting in my lack of discernment and self control. They all began with an innocent open door of opportunity, but now I can't even concentrate fully on a single one. Ironically, in my attempt to overcome the fear of being "stuck" and making no true impact in my life, I stuck my feet in too many things and now the impact is too thin, too shallow, and too short to satisfy this hungry soul. Jack of all trades, but master of none. Or so it seems.
At the end of the day, there is only one thing that keeps me going: calling. People can play devil's advocate all they want or perhaps even genuinely doubt the call in my life, but that's like trying to convince me that the sun will not rise in the morning. If this sounds like I'm in denial, you are right, I am. I am in denial of mediocre mentality, lukewarm living, and compromised Christianity. My goal is not to be heard or seen or recognized; rather, my goal is to live. Really live. Truly live. To the full potential of what God has for me. I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live but Christ lives in me. I will do anything and everything to find out what this looks like in my life even if it takes a lifetime. I only live because He lives. Though I may lose sight of it at times, His calling - knowing that He wants to use someone as inadequate, incompetent, and undeserving like me - is what always brings me back to cling on to a Life with Purpose.
Simply put, when I look to the cross of Jesus Christ my King, I want to live and die by it, not merely sit and be moved by it.
Folding up my tents and folding up my legs. It's the year of the fish.
Gravity is not a feeling, but the heaviness is always the same. The weight of doubt and the doubt of waiting for what lies ahead looms over my head like a dark cloud crowding in to clutter up the coming forecast of fading, curtailed clarity. I'm deep inside a well of opportunity as well as a steep, shadowy quicksand valley; it all depends on perspective, really. If I don't move, I know I'll keep on sinking. If I do make a move, I either come up on top or I sink deeper still. Sleep and chill or take the red pill. Follow the herd and your sheep get killed. This is what I call a quarter life crisis. You realize you don't fully know what your life is. You realize you've been living off quarters not benjamins. You realize there's been no changes and all you've been saying is, "Don't cry sis." There is definitely more than this.
If the end is clear then the means are clearer. If the means are not clear then I know my end is unclear. In other words, if I'm running a race and I clearly see the finish line before me, the way I get there will be clear. But if the finish line is hidden from view or too blurry in the distance, the path I take will be full of zigzags, uncertain choices, staying in place for too long, waiting on the wrong things and wrong people, and ultimately "pressing on" to no avail. In further words, if the hope of heaven and Christ in me, the hope of glory, is not heavily and completely impacting the way I live on earth, then I must admit and acknowledge that I have not fully grasped what it means to hope in Christ as a citizen of heaven. A "hope" of heaven that does not affect the everyday life on earth is merely a excuse to escape the realities of said life on earth. This kind of false hope gets me stuck. I get stuck doing things, even in, no, especially in a ministry setting, that portray the false "hope" - always running, but never leading; always turning, but never changing.
Hope without action is no hope at all. The kind of biblicalhope that I'm looking to is not a personal wish or a whim. It is an expectation and a trust in Him. It is an "already."
I will become even more undignified than this, and I will be humiliated in my own eyes.
What are we dancing to, lifting our hands to, closing our eyes to, singing passionately to? Sometimes I feel like we're worshiping worship itself. It's like, "Who cares if God hears us or not? The show must go on." So what if the drums are missing? What if the singer is tone deaf? What if the sound system breaks? What if there are no instruments? What if there is no stage? no microphone? no lyrics? no hands? no feet? Could we still worship in spirit and in truth? Would God still be pleased?
Worshiping with songs is one thing, but what happens when the music stops, and the retreats and mission trips end? Can we be undignified in other areas of life or are we only called to be "abandoned" to God in praise?
I wonder what it means to be undignified in reading God's Word. Undignified in sharing God's Word. Undignified in talking about Jesus. Undignified in talking with a friend. Undignified in watching a movie. Undignified in a family meal. Undignified in a midterm exam. Undignified in heavy traffic. Undignified online. Undignified in the workplace. Undignified in everything.
Or if that's too much or too radical to think about, we can just play some chords, do some fancy double strums, roll a pretty fill-in, sing a perfect harmony, do an awesome offering song, perform a touching skit, chit chat in small groups, volunteer for all the conferences and mission trips, and call it a day.
And we get surprised when God actually does show up.
There's something behind the melody, behind the words, behind the actions, behind the life that pulls the strings that breathes purpose and gives meaning. On the outside, at the surface level, it looks the same, but with a keen eye and heartfelt perception, you can detect whether the spirit is dry and thirsty or wet and overflowing. You can see the strings and perhaps even the hand behind the strings. It's the same reason why one note sung by a famous Broadway singer in a sold out theater is different than the same note sung by a homeless drunkard on the empty streets. Who's got 'the soul'? Well every night is different.
When the show is over and the story has ended, there's more behind the curtains. When the lively music has finally stopped there are deadly voices behind the character played. The chatter, the laughter, the joys, the tears, the fears, the anger, the bitterness, the disappointment, the pain, the sorrow. And off the stage the drama follows. The line between acting and reacting becomes blurred.
What makes you, you? Parents, siblings, friends, race, genes, circumstances, choices? What are you? Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you headed? What are you doing? And why?
But what does it all mean? Asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer. “It means” said Aslan, “that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before time dawned, she would have read there was a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards....”
- The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis
The volunteer went up and took the seat in front of the professor, who was also in a seat. She let out a deep breath to calm herself down and to take her mind off the eyes of her classmates. Then she spoke. Then the professor. Then back to her. The professor again. Now she had tears welling up. The professor pointed that out. And now she had her face in her hands and she was crying in front of 20 strangers.
"I don't want to waste my life."
10 years in ministry. Feeling stuck. Wanting to pursue more. Passion for God through another medium. Afraid to leave one. Uncertain whether to do two. Anxious to jump on three. Fearful of mediocrity in all. Life to count. Life to mean something. Life to be fulfilled. God's will in her life. No voice. No answer. Darkness. Loneliness. Don't want to live by man's expectations. She did not want to dishonor God.
The class applauded, the class prayed for her, and the volunteer went back to her seat.
The professor continued with the lesson and told the class to choose a topic to share and to do the same in groups of two or three. The volunteer was my partner. I thanked her for her courage and how much it resonated with me before going back to the assignment. "On a happier note," she said, she began sharing about her recent 10 year anniversary with her husband. She went on about how her marriage was the greatest thing that has happened in her life, second only to her salvation in Christ. She told me how even after walking out on big arguments where she was determined to win, she would secretly be giggly and happy because of how much her husband was determined to do whatever it took to work things out, to simply let her know how much he loved her. She was overflowing with so much joy that I could not help but be joyful myself.
>
Then I thought, like always, the thought that keeps me up at night, keeps me up in the clouds, keeps me never satisfied with what I see, and keeps me hungry and pressing on for more: there must be more than this. (oh no, here we go again). In this case, there seemed to be a disconnect between problem and solution, revelation and confirmation. The volunteer was still left with her tears. We stopped at the rejoicing and the smiles. Is that it? How do you really minister to someone in the midst of his or her sorrows and joys? Only by the Holy Spirit speaking God's Word in their life. Only by God's very own compassion through Jesus Christ............but how, how, how?
I'm beginning to feel the gravity of ministry, the weight of God's people, the burden of sharing in the sufferings and even the joys, and with all of that, I'm realizing more and more the absolute need for His power. And I mean Power. I'm still too green and unwise. I haven't even thought through or experienced an iota of what people go through, but one thing I do know is that my God is the Great Counselor, not the great therapist.
My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power.
The squirrel came stealthily with a big green acorn in his mouth and started to dig. He placed the acorn neatly in the groove and covered it up with his tiny paws. Then he patted the dirt down to smoothen the ground and absconded the backyard as swiftly as he came leaving no trace behind... or so he thought. Mom had observed the whole burial service from the kitchen window, which is not a surprise considering her love for squirrel watching (she thinks their fluffy wiggly tails are the cutest things ever).
So she summoned me from the sweet, lazy comfort of my room and directed me outside to the location of the buried treasure. I dragged myself outside, in all my sweat pants and pajama shirt glory, while protesting and pleading mercy for the poor squirrel who is preparing food for the winter for his entire family... probably. But she ignored my false compassion and signaled through the window. "To the left, to the left! No, too far! A little forward... right there!" I spotted the small, barely noticeable mound of dirt, and I was now genuinely curious and interested. So I squatted down, and started digging/poking with a twig. And I could not believe what I found.
That's amazing! Just like dad said (in unbelief) when mom told him about our backyard ninja scroll squirrel, this only happens in fairy tales. After taking the picture I carefully put the acorn back just as I found it, covered it up, and patted down the dirt, not with my hands lest he sniff me out, but with twigs leaving no trace behind... or so he will think. haiya.
Then I went back to playing angry birds while sluggishly rolling around in my bed... only until I got my three stars...
I love ice cream. Cold, smooth, sweet, fluffy, soft, creamy, melty, and magically delicious. Korean ice cream is always good, although, I'm not a big fan of anything with paht (red beans?). As a kid I loved Flintstones Push-Ups. I also had a Snicker bar ice cream phase in college. So good. You can never go wrong with McD's soft serves. But as yummy as these are, none of them compares to my favorite ice cream of all time:
Nestle Drumstick King Size Triple Chocolate
What shall I compare this kingdom of drumstick to? It is like Inception. [Spoiler alert] Multiple levels of excitement and constant questioning of reality. It's just too good to be true. First, you have the swirly creamy milk chocolate sprinkled with a rain of chocolate chips (or crunchy roasted peanuts) nestled in between the valleys of amazing. Then on the second level, you get more chocolatey smoothness lined with dark chocolate swirls as you encounter the hall of vanilla right before hitting the chocolate ring elevator. Now it gets real on the third level as you climb your way down the rocky mountains of waffle crisp layered deep in vanilla snow. And last but not least, you get to the final stage, the purely concentrated chocolate chip cone of limbo that makes the whole trip worth it in the end.
And there you have it.
Next time on "Please Don't Blog When You're Hungry": My favorite cereal.
First day of school. Again. The wheels are slowly turning and the cogs are barely spinning. I still have Christmas lights in my head. Then again, I'm the type who leaves the decorations up all year long. California livin' has dulled my ability to discern between seasons. I simply categorize my seasons as cold, hot, or awkward... Cowabunga!
The conference this past weekend was much needed. If anything it brought back the reality of the intimate relationship and genuine fellowship with God. In college I used to doodle in class and I would scribble things like "I <3 HS" and people would ask me, "Who is that?" heh. I was crazy. Crazy in love. The late night skate runs in the underground parking structure were always thrilling adventures. Exploring secret corridors on the top floor of the apartment were quite memorable as well. I would say many major decisions in my life were made up there as I trusted in God to determine my footsteps. I don't like the word "less," but I must admit it is different now than before. The constant 24/7 interaction with those who were hungry for and desiring God was the perfect culture for that passion and fervor to grow, multiply, and infect others. The forest was dry and the trees were thirsty.
New setting, new map. The fire is the same, but now I'm in the ocean. I've had my share of Red Seas and Jordan Rivers and it's discouraging at times, but it's also exciting at the same time. "Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid." It's the kind of wave that kindles the desire to ride it. Impossible? Absolutely. And that is precisely why I press on. "Not by might, nor by power, but by the Spirit of God."
The HS conference in one sentence: Be filled to be spilled.
Speed is not everything. Speed will often times give the perception of diligence and direction, but it may well be rushed and reckless. "So that you many have great endurance and patience..." Whether it is a decision to make or an action to take, patience never fails. If we are ever wondering about or doubting the reason for a certain difficulty or difficult choice in our lives, we must begin to think about what we would be doing and where we would be without that hindrance or stumbling block. Would we still be seeking God with the same desperation and cry for deliverance? Would we rejoice in God and give thanks to Him if the road was always smooth? No matter the speed, as long as we have a GPS (God's Positioning System) we are always in good hands. Missed exits, traffic jams, and wrong turns give us another opportunity to hear from Him again, to become more intimate with Him so that next time around we could hear more clearly and obey more surely. "He guides me along the right paths for His name's sake." Speed should never be derived out of worry or fear of failure because in the end, He will make sure you get to your destination. He is the author and perfecter of our faith. The place where there is a need for speed is in our turning to Him. How quickly do we turn away from our circumstantial anxiety and turn to Him, the solid Rock of Salvation? That will depend on how well and how readily we remember God's promises in His Word. Godspeed on God's speed.
If we truly knew how deeply we are loved and forgiven, we would be dangerous. We would be a threat to the devil and his demons. We would be at the throat of our circumstances telling them to back off and leave. We would not be phased by the words of man. We would love furiously those who are unlovable. We would admit openly and humbly how even more unlovable we are and yet Jesus Christ loved us and gave Himself up for us. We would be passionately offensive to apathy and the lack of concern for the lost and the abandoned. We would cause severe discomfort and disturbing awkwardness to our complacency of being satisfied with where we are to the point of being moved to being satisfied in Christ alone. We would pour godly salt on those sensitive wounds of habitual sins and secret shame and pull out the roots before they can bear any more fruit. We would shut up the roaring lion and make the enemy flee as we firmly dig our feet in solid rock and resist. We would ruthlessly beat down, knock out, bind up, and put into submission the useless affections that attempt to steal our first love. We would shoot down and take down whatever clouds our heavenly perspective and eternal values. We would boldly touch heaven and fearlessly change earth by God's dynamite power and fresh anointing. We would use bombs for alarms to wake up from spiritual slumber. We would swiftly and constantly reload and be ready and equipped with the sWORD of the Spirit so as to never grieve or quench the Holy Spirit. We would drop kick, rip out, and shatter our pride and humbly reconcile with our debtors just as He has reconciled us to Himself. We would desperately repent of and turn away from our prostitution with the world, and plead mercy for our whorish, unfaithful ways in our laziness, lust, lies, and love for conformity. We would have fervent, undying hope in the resurrection, in Christ who is our hope of glory. We would have absolutely no agenda or selfishness of our own except to do God's will and follow God's commands knowing that He, who has given us His own Son to be tortured and murdered on our behalf in order to deliver us from that same fate, knows what is best for us.
We would earnestly and diligently seek our Abba Father and spend every hour, every moment in sweet, comforting communion with Him. We would realize He is our breath, our life, our everything.
We would realize that without Him our hearts would stop beating physically and spiritually. We would be in anguish, sorrow, and pain. We would scream. We would panic. We would yell. We would call. We would cry out in desperation.
