Got 'em... maybe.

There is the glance across the room, the peripheral vision encounter, and then the quick turn away as soon as the windows to the soul line up. One more time. And it's now confirmed - the fish is on the hook. So this time you change it up. Look to the wall. Scan for the clock. Pretend to check the time. Swivel your head back around. Dramatically squint your eyes and gaze beyond the target while you stretch out your neck here and there as if you're looking over an invisible wall in search of an invisible person. And you keep at it...

... until one day you realize you're the fishy; you're playing the same game you thought you were never going to play. We all live in a yellow submarine after all. Though at the moment, I'm up and away for some fresh air and new perspective because in short, what I see is not what I get. What I see is not what it seems.

I'm noticing more each day that what I see is not matching up with what I know and the growing disconnect between knowing and doing. Everyone knows how to speak right. They know how to soothe the mind. But preacher, 'teach me how to live when the tongue is done.' What I want is the real deal, not a mere projection of what should be, could be real. Movement. I want someone to divide soul and spirit, joints and marrow. Oh wait, that sounds familiar, and yet so foreign.

When I don't move, they say go. When I move, they say stop. This is the definition of messin' with yo mind. I laid my heart out, put it on the table, and bled in front of them, and all I got was an analysis of the state of my mind - a thousand miles away from the border of my heart. The one thing I learned is that my communication skills need much improvement because I know their intentions were good and pure. But good intentions don't provide food on the table. Likewise, poor communication is no excuse to miss breaking bread together.

This one was up in the clouds, I know. But there will be a rainy day soon enough.

Rain

There's a moment when the full moon hides

Where the ready waters reside

Ready to scatter worldwide

Where the high tides rise

And the high rises collide

There's a power in the silver light

As it free flows in flight

Free to fall despite

Gravity

Fall to free write

Depravity

There's a source of that reflection

Which highlights the imperfections

Then covers them in redemption

And gives light and gives direction

There's a time and a place and a reason to shine

And the same reasons not to

Too early, you're blind

Too late, you're behind

So listen and wait

To illuminate

Listen and wait

To illuminate

Middle

I am almost at the midpoint. This semester is going by quicker than the last one even though I'm on campus a lot more. From the beginning I knew that living far away was going to be a blessing for me since it forces me to study throughout the day, all day. I'm definitely counting my blessings. No, my blessings are way too numerous to count. Every single thing I do points to His provision. The 40 cent color copy I made today was God's provision. The 50 dollar gas on the way home from school was God's provision. Having a good working arm to wash my windshield was God's provision. Coming home to a hot meal from mom was God's provision. And that was only a fraction of today's events. It's a miracle that I'm going to school learning what I want to learn. It's a miracle that I am able to keep up with the workload. It's a miracle that I am filled with His joy despite my circumstances. It's a miracle that the valleys cause me to lift my eyes up to the mountains. It's a miracle even to desire to seek Him, let alone pursue and obey Him! It's a miracle that I was known before time began. It's a miracle that I live and breathe and move. It's a miracle that my Jesus knows me and loves me and has made a way for me to know Him. I'm a walking ball of miracles!... or... a miracle ball? Hm. That sounds more like a bathroom cleaning product from an infomercial or one of those "wellbeing" products from Home Shopping...

It's times like these where I can more readily lay down my own agendas and let God have His way in me like it was meant to be. Looking back at my sorry track record, that's rare. I've proclaimed, announced, and projected my lofty goals to many people and at times to groups of people and whole congregations, and every single time I think - not in doubt, but in expectation - "Really?"

Well, really, if the Lord is willing. If not, then it wasn't meant to be. Easy said, easier done.

Interestingly enough, people still genuinely ask me what I'm going to do when I grow up (more specifically, after I graduate). As a kid I used to automatically say Nascar driver. I always thought that was hilarious... I still don't know why. Nowadays, I kinda freeze up when I'm asked that question. I mean it's easy to say "missions" or "ministry" and I could easily put up a front by going into the details of what I would like to do, which usually makes it look like I got everything down and I know exactly what I'm going to do. But I don't. Actually it's more like wondering if I really mean what I say. That same "Really?" begins to see doubt.

"I don't know why John is staying with us when he could go somewhere else."

I thought I was over that hill. I thought all the gray clouds had rolled on by and my days of confusion were long gone. I thought the grueling decisions were already made. But here I am again standing at the crossroads.

In light of all the blessings and miracles I've recounted above, I would be contradicting myself if I thought God was not in control and that somehow He has left me alone to stumble through my own decisions. At the same time, the silence I hear is piercing, the darkness I see is clear, and the emptiness I feel is concrete. It may be only for a moment, but the quantity in no way diminishes the reality. The good news is that this is the equation and the framework in which God moves: in the places where my back is against the wall, in my weakness and confusion, and in my longing to seek Him for deliverance and guidance. In humility.

If I really heard from God clearly and effortlessly and I knew which paths to take without a second guess, I wonder how far I would go or how long I'll take before I become like the 1 leper (out of 10) who returned to thank Jesus. Again, my track record testifies against me. Perhaps for others it's not even a problem to hear and to obey, but as for me, I would most likely be working hard for the "godly" services and tasks laid before me with only a nod to the taskmaster who has "provided" for my career and given me a "purpose" in what I am called to do. I would be the King Saul who does royal business with no respect to the One who gave him the royalty in the first place.

It's amazing, overwhelming even, to know that God loves us for who we are in Jesus Christ, not for what we can do for Jesus Christ. In the same way, God desires His children to love Him for who He is, not for what He can do for us because in Christ, He has already done all we ever need. We may or may not have what we want, but until God takes us to a place where we are seeking His face and not His hands, we will find ourselves in the dark, so to speak, because in the end God Himself is the only light we ever need. His people can only truly be at peace and have joy in all circumstances when they love God for God's sake, not for love's sake. And as an added bonus, if I may, it makes us grateful and humble servants in the presence of the great and humble King.

All I can do now is wait in the Word.

Mantle

This morning dad came in the room to print out his sermon notes. I rolled over to my phone alarm and saw that I had 1 more hour in dream land. I pretended to go back to sleep, but then he asked me to print them out for him as he got ready. So now I was on my desk with my sleepy head resting in my arms waiting for the laptop to startup. (I definitely can't handle sleeping past 12 anymore.) I got the notes printed, handed them to dad, and saw him off at the door. "Hwaeeting!" What he didn't know was as soon as he left I quickly ate breakfast, got ready for church, and made my way to Lighthouse Mission Church where he was invited as a guest speaker. I sneaked in and sat near the back. Dad was preaching from Galatians 2:20.

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.

As he was preaching I was secretly rooting for him and praying for him as if he was playing some sport and I was on the bleachers cheering him on. The congregation was responding passionately to God's Word and I was blessed as well. I even learned something completely new about our family background and how God perfectly provides for us. He saves the good stories for his sermons. No fair. But I must say it makes it that much better. I always knew dad was a fiery evangelist, but today was different. Today, I felt the fire. It was the first time I actually thought of and realized the spiritual lineage and how the gospel has been passed down from generation to generation, and somehow, by God's grace, it has reached someone so undeserving like me. Spiritual heirs. Truly, I am standing in the harvest field of those who sowed with their tears. I am standing on the shoulders of giants, as they say. From the saints of old to the saints who are still bold, we are all connected, simply passing the baton and continuing the preaching of the Gospel to all nations. "one Lord, one faith, one baptism..." It's time to pick up the pace because we never know - we might be on the last lap.

After the sermon, I sneaked out and went to church. I thought I was all types of slick, but when dad came home he said he spotted me in the back. Of course. What was I thinking? I was practically on fire when I assumed my father's mantle.

Luckily I had extra tissues in my car.

Food

"My food," said Jesus, "is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work. Do you not say, 'Four months more and then the harvest'? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest."

Matthew 4:34-35

Bread

"Honey, I'll get it for you....... later," the pastor said to his wife, who was pointing at a set of colorful plates with cute cartoon cat faces drawn into them. It was the running joke whenever they passed by a mall vendor. Whether they were in the Jacksonville countryside or now in the Los Angeles city, they knew their place, or rather they were reminded by their circumstance of God's calling in their lives. Reformed or not, theology was now in motion. As for the title "missionary" in a foreign land they fit every letter perfectly, both in speech and in action.

I was sitting in the leasing office yesterday waiting for the pastor and his wife to finish the application. The three of us had spent the afternoon looking for an apartment for the family to live in. They finally decided on the street side room; they valued sunlight more than quietude. The location was perfect because right across the street was the church he was going to serve at beginning in September. The apartment was small, the rooms were cozy, and the dining area was the awkward space where the living room morphed into a kitchen. In one word, it was cheap. Their humble beginnings were admirable and clearly visible enough for the land owner to express in numbers her financial sympathy for them (bless her soul), but their boldness and courage caused them to appear like warriors stepping into a battlefield, and their faith outweighed the circumstantial walls of Jericho. Some call that foolishness. Others call that trusting in the Lord. It was another gentle reminder of the path set before me. Outside looking in it's like I'm hanging by tattered threads over a deep, dark, endless pit - unsure of what is beyond and doubtful of what is at hand. But the view from above looking down, I'm safe and secure in His mighty hands.

I sat back in the armchair to relax realizing that the application process would take a while. I was musing over the grace of God in the pastor's life when suddenly it began to growl. I was hungry, but the growl missed my stomach. It had resonated from my heart and I was hungry for God. My body ached to hear the still small voice. please speak speak speak speak please. At that moment nothing else mattered except to hear God's voice, to seek His face with all I am, to taste and see how good He is, to know God more, and to love Him more than anything, more than everything. At that moment it didn't matter if I was rich or poor, healthy or sick, full or empty. It only mattered if I was filled with spiritual Bread.

broken and poured out all for love.

That's when it became clear that I would rather starve physically than starve spiritually. It became clearer as to why anyone would do what this pastor is doing - why anyone would have the world behind them and the cross before them - why anyone would choose the hard way of life for the benefit of others. "Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God."

And it was One Man who was broken

for us to hear what was spoken...

"It is finished."

Jesus is all I need and Jesus is all I have.

Sound

Today I went to the Walt Disney Concert Hall to see noon accompany Kim Tae Woo of the late g.o.d....

No big deal... right?

The main performances of the benefit concert were by classical musicians (orchestra, quartet, pianist, haegum soloist). One thing I noticed in these youth musicians is that the majority of them looked so unhappy. Every sequence of notes they play seems to translate "mom made me do it." When the pianist came out and the orchestra was waiting for their part to come in there was one guy in the front row violin section who sat back all the way in his chair (sagaj style) and sighed loudly enough for everyone in the terrace level to hear. I give them some sympathy though because they are the ones who weren't strong-willed, independent-minded, and stubbornly disobedient enough, like me, to defile and resist every piano lesson their parents threw at them. Yea. No regrets. Baby. Just ignore the salty discharge from my eye.

After the orchestra was done, this kpop star pops out and brings out the storm after the calm while working the crowd in all its 1 and 3 beat, ahjuma clapping glory. I heard noon's piano clearly throughout the first two songs, but when he (and the whole orchestra) busted out "I Believe I Can Fly" noon was lost in the sound waves and unable to reach the terrace where I was sitting. He was quite good. He came out for an encore performance, which by the way was more like a "2nd Movement" because he had prepared 3 whole tracks along with 3 background rent-a-rappers rapping along side him to 90's kpop. I actually did enjoy this strange raucous crossover in such a pristine, classically ambient concert hall, but I must admit that I couldn't help but cringe a little at times knowing that mom, dad, and our guest pastor's family from hip town Jacksonville, Mississippi were sitting on the opposite side of the hall.

Mr. Kpop left the stage on a high note with people (mostly those youngsters dressed and ready to go clubbing after the concert) out of their seats dancing and groovin' (not grooving) to the catchy beats. The concert hall was now full of energy but what everyone forgot was that the youth orchestra had their final piece to play. The hall suddenly became uncomfortably silent as the conductor came back on stage and the orchestra began to play Symphony No. 9, a fairly upbeat piece in classical music standards, but definitely not as upbeat as Mr. Kpop's runs. To "kill it" even more they did an encore piece (no one asked) called "Arirang" a Korean traditional folk song.

In short, the whole concert was like listening to someone's ipod shuffle. Enjoyable yet incoherent in my humble opinion. At least I got in for free and at least I get some bragging rights that my very own sister was on stage with... Mr. Kim.

On the way back home, I was left with one question:

When all is said and done, to whom does the glory go to?