Hello Again

It's been about 2.5 years since I last wrote here.  Coincidentally, little one is (nada!) about 2.5 years old!

Returning to this blog has been on my mind for quite some time, though.  My mind and heart have been so busy, and so...tired...lately.   And yet I can't help but suspect that God is actively working, perhaps more than usual, in my life.  Over the last few months, He has used numerous events, people, friends (old and new), songs, sermons, and moments to poke, bolster, nudge (or maybe shove), rally, and move me.  

God made you different on purpose; embrace it!

I went to a women's event at New Church recently.  There were 94 women in attendance, and my inner introvert was frightened out of her mind.  I brought a friend, though, and we survived together.  :)  After a very nice dinner at the horse farm (of all places), we heard from a speaker.  And one of the things she said that stuck out to me was this notion that if God made us different, rather than bemoan the difference, we should embrace it, because He did it intentionally.  

My immediate reaction was (and is) to bristle at this, because one of my key differences (race) is something I've almost never embraced in my life.  But race aside, the underlying principle resonates with me: I do believe that God does things deliberately, and each person is His creation.  And we know He doesn't make mistakes.  

As someone who loves to admire God's creation, the idea of celebrating God's creativity in all of its forms should come easily.  Somehow, though, when it comes to me being Asian, celebration doesn't really come to mind.  Because...

Being Asian is a liability, but it could have been worse.

It's interesting.  New Church is super-white.  Super-duper white.  And super-duper home-schooled.  And super-duper lots-of-kids-per-family.  Everything my family growing up was not.

Rascal and I have been at this church now for about six months (so long already!) and we've had a lot of New Church folks come to dinner at our house so we can get to know people.  It's been good.  But what I never expected--ever--was that our short little time at New Church would lead to our meeting Dan (hapa) and Alyssa (Filipina), and having a meal with them in which we discussed our experiences with growing up Asian (or half-Asian) in largely white contexts.  *MIND BLOWN*  That was such a fun gift to receive, such a sweet surprise.  And the discussion was so refreshing. Here we were, a group of strangers, all dumping out our stream of childhood insecurities that stemmed from looking different and being different from our peers and general society.  Here we were, as adults, all able to say, out loud, words that we've always thought deep down, but never brought ourselves to say:  Being Asian is a liability...but it could be worse.

It's hard to trust God with my weakness and insecurities, the parts where I feel broken.

New Church Pastor gave a sermon recently where he talked about our failures to trust in God, especially in the things we're good at (because we rely on ourselves).  I reflected on that, but felt that I actually do trust God in the two areas of my life that consume the most time and attention right now: family and work.  I trust God with my family--and in particular my parenting--because I know I'm incapable of being the mom He wants me to be without His daily provision of wisdom, patience, kindness, energy, perseverance, and love.  I also trust God with my work (mostly) because the things I do at work often have tremendous consequences, and I've experienced (at least once or twice) the awful feeling of failing at work and seeing some of those consequences come crashing down.

So there I was, feeling kind of good about myself, when New Church Pastor went on with his sermon.  And he said, some people don't struggle to trust God in the things they're good at (me!).  Instead, they struggle to trust God in their weakness and in the parts of them that need healing.  They persist in their self-pity and brokenness, and don't turn all of that over to God.  

Well turn on the waterworks.  I was a puddle of tears for the next half hour because I knew that was me.  

Where this all began...

You might be wondering by now...where is all this coming from? What is going on??  

Welcome to my brain! I've had the same questions over the last few months as all of this has come creeping out of the woodwork.  It all kind of coincided with our transition to New Church in April.  Rascal and I had been praying about moving to a new church for more than one year, and come early 2019, we felt like an imminent change was necessary.  By April, we were at New Church, where three of my friends already attended.  

New Church was different from Old Church (where we had spent the previous three years).  It's hard to pinpoint exactly why.  It's partly because we were in a different lifestage, partly because we had more points of intersection with people in the congregation, and partly a whole bunch of other things that I'm not thinking of.

One thing that I immediately noticed about New Church, though, was its makeup--and the fact that it reminded me so much of the church I grew up in (i.e. Home Church).  The whiteness, for starters--but not just that.  Also the homeschoolers.  And the multiple children.  And...just...something.  And that really bothered me, and made me very apprehensive about making a home at New Church.  Because I had sworn before in my life that I would never put my kids through what I went through as a child.  And I kind of half-broke that promise by moving to Palmtreeville.  And if New Church was like Home Church for them as it was for me, then I really would have broken my promise, and I did not want that for my kids.

I can't explain what it is, but New Church triggers all sorts of things for me.  And it scares me, because the triggers are resurrecting someone I knew long ago, but who I left behind in favor of a better life--a life in which I belonged, or at least created spaces where I belonged.

I left her behind, but I didn't know it...

I've spent a lot of time analyzing this.  I'm sure that I haven't nearly begun to figure it all out, but I think I've figured parts of it out.  And in my more lucid, less emotional moments, I can spell it out without breaking out any tissues.  It goes something like this:

Growing up, I didn't feel like I belonged.  I was on the outside, looking in on a group of people who belonged to each other, and loved each other, and took care of one another.  They delighted in one another.  I did not belong.  I did not feel loved.  I did not feel cared for, and I certainly did not feel delighted in.  This was at Home Church.  

Thankfully, I didn't feel like GOD said I didn't belong (to Him, anyway).  So I served on the worship team, made friends with some adults, and taught Sunday School to younger kids, to give myself something to do and a way to avoid the awful feelings of not belonging.  I did this while not paying very much attention to my feelings.  Do more, feel less.

This persisted until I went away to college.  Looking back, I largely avoided interaction with Home Church on breaks from college.  I was part of a Bible study here and there, and even formed some friendships here and there, but much of it felt forced--probably on both sides.  

Then I went to law school.  There, for what felt like (and probably was) the very first time, I found a group of people who were truly my people.  And what a magical three years that was, for that reason.  Many of those people are still beloved friends today, even though we are scattered around the globe.  I'm so thankful for the transformative years I had in a safe place to truly experience Christian community in a group setting, for the first time. 

From there, I moved to New York.  And there, for the first time, I experienced church community where I truly felt like I belonged, I was loved, I was cared for, and even delighted in.  I spent seven years there, and believe God did a lot of healing in that time.  At NYC Church, I finally felt like I was part of a church family.  Even if I wasn't close to all 100+ people, they all felt like they belonged to me, and I to them. 

In other words, many good things happened me in the 21st century.  But what happened to the person I left behind?  I became someone else along the way, but being at New Church makes me realize...the person I thought I left behind is still within me.  She's still there, and still wonders if the world is still the same as it ever was.  She's been hiding from a lot of people, and she's comfortable hiding.  New Church and its triggers are like flashes of light, tearing away a heavy shroud and shining light on something (someone!) kept away for years and years and years.  It hurts to see the light.  It's more comfortable to stay inside.  Broken, but safely so.  

Let's talk about cake.

Approximately two decades have passed since I left Home Church.  What I'm realizing has probably happened in those two decades is that I learned somewhere along the way that the cake (i.e. true me) isn't very palatable--especially not among God's people.  (I should take an aside here and give a shoutout to my college friend SINE, who has always shown me incredible love and acceptance.  SINE, if you're reading this, none of this is about you, and in fact, you were one of the first friends in my life to show me selfless and forgiving friendship, and in doing so, you changed my life.)

And so, over the past two decades, I have taken it upon myself to decorate the cake.  Not externally (ya'll know I'm not a girly girl), but more so in terms of the "life resume."  That is, I have a cool degree from a cool school.  Since graduating from my cool school, I have had four very cool legal jobs, each more cool than the previous one.  In my four very cool legal jobs, I have gotten to do uber-cool things, that only cool people get to do.  In other words, I do cool things.  I am cool.  Please like me, because I do cool things.  Please enjoy this cake, and admire this cake, and be friends with the cake, because--look, it has fluffy frosting and really fancy fondant decorations, and ooh! a sparkler at the top!

Add to that "life resume" my human attachments--my loving husband, and my (mostly) adorable and truly beloved children.

Oh and--for all the Christian men and women who have ever made me feel like I am a sinner for being a mom who works outside the home--guess what, I bake delicious things and I sew my dresses and Halloween costumes for my kids.   And I raise freaking monarch butterflies in my spare time.   There's a defensive indignance, and perhaps a twinge of a sinful flip-the-bird (if I'm really honest), in my domesticity.

And allathat is the stuff that I pile onto the cake, and subconsciously, I rely on that to define who I am to others.  I point to the stuff on the cake with arrows and shining lights, and use it to shroud what's on the inside because... well, I know from before, don't I?   Home Church already taught me that the inside (my inside, anyway) doesn't belong. 

I haven't thought about most of this in about 20 years.  It hurts to think about it now.  I don't like to think of myself in these terms.  

Just to be clear: I don't have this issue with everyone...it's pretty church-specific, I think.  And I mean church in general.  Because along the way, there are absolutely a group of people (some in New Church, and a whole bunch at NYC Church) who love the cake and couldn't care less about the frosting and accoutrements.  I am so thankful for all of those people, because their love and the difference of their love has helped me to identify the defining lines.

Songs that spoke to me

In all of this, the Lord has blessed me with several songs that have spoken to my heart.  Some of these play on the radio.  Some of these were sung at NYC Church retreat, which we were at recently (for the first time in five years!).  The most meaningful excerpts are these:

A refuge for the poor

a shelter from the storm: this is our God

He will wipe away your tears

and return your wasted years: this is our God

A father to the orphan

A healer for the broken: this is our God

He brings peace to our madness

and comfort to our sadness: this is our God

So call upon His name, He is mighty to save, this is our God

[Chris Tomlin]

***

I am your beloved, your creation

and you love me as I am

You have called me chosen for your kingdom

unashamed to call me your own

I am your beloved

[Vineyard]

***

Wide awake while the world is sound asleep

too afraid of what might show up while you're dreaming

nobody, nobody, nobody sees you

nobody, nobody, nobody would believe you

every day you try to pick up all the pieces

all the memories, they somehow never leave you

nobody, nobody, nobody sees you

nobody, nobody, nobody would believe you

God only knows what you've been through

God only knows what they say about you

God only knows how it's killing you

but there's a kind of love that God only knows

God only knows the real you

there's a kind of love that God only knows

For the lonely, for the ashamed

the misunderstood and the ones to blame

what if we could start over, we could start over, we could start over

'Cause there's a kind of love that God only knows

[For King and Country]

***

If  I didn't know what it hurt like to be broken

Then how would i know what it feels like to be whole

if i didn't know what it cuts like to be rejected

then I wouldn't know the joy of coming home

maybe it's okay if I'm not okay

'cause the one who holds the world is holding onto me

Maybe it's all right if I'm not all right

'Cause the one who holds the stars is holding my whole life

If I didn't know what it looked like to be dirty

Then I wouldn't know what it feels like to be clean

If all of my shame hadn't drove me to hid in the shadows

then I wouldn't know the beauty of being free

Father, let your kingdom come

let your will be done

here in my heart as in heaven

[We Are Messengers]

***

A King is coming to this city

and crowds around are following 

if I could see, i would follow too

He heals the sick with his hands

as He walks by, they reach for Him

if I could see, I would reach out too

The blind won't gain their sight

by opening their eyes

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, I want to see

Son of David, have mercy

I cannot leave this gate since I cannot see my way

But I can stand and call His name

No, I could never leave this gate

but I will stand and shout His name

and I will count on His grace

The blind won't gain their sight

by opening their eyes

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, have mercy on me

Son of David, I want to see

Son of David, have mercy

Do you want to be healed?

We recently went back to NYC Church retreat (with our kids, this time) for three days, and it was such a rich time of reconnection with church family.  The very first activity that I was able to attend was personal devotions time.  They had all these different devotion guides posted around the room, each bearing a different subway line to differentiate them.  I chose the 2 line, since I spent several years riding that line to work.

The passage was from John 5, about the man who was sick for 38 years and lying by a healing pool.  Jesus saw him there and knew that he had been sick for a long time.  Jesus asked him whether he would like to be healed.  The sick man replied that no one has helped him into the pool.  Then Jesus told him to get up and walk, and the man was healed.

The initial questions posed in the devotional struck me.  What did Jesus ask the man?  (Would you like to be healed?)  And how did the man answer? (No one helps me into the pool!)  The man dodged the question with an explanation of why he was not healed.  I'm sure this passage has other spiritual implications, but I couldn't get past the immediately applicable parallels.

When Jesus asks me, in view of all that I've been processing, whether I would like to be healed, what do I say?   Would I like to be healed??

And the honest answer is...I think so? But I don't know.  Because a big part of me is scared to confront the past.  I'm scared of what that may feel like (because even the bits that keep creeping to the surface keep making me cry, and I often don't know why).  I'm scared of how long that may take.  I'm scared of change, maybe?  There's a lot of fear holding me back.

The hero's journey

I was sharing all of this with very close friends in New York last week, and our friend Peter told me about the hero's journey.  Apparently it's a common template in mythology, and it generally follows a circle.  You have the hero of the story starting out at home. Then he leaves into the unknown for an adventure.  During that adventure, he changes because of all that it requires of him.  Then he returns back the known--but now as a changed man.  

I blinked at Peter.  "And?" I asked.

"That's where you are:  you're back at home (in a way).  And now the question is...what will you do, now that you're back home?"  This was resonating too deeply. He was hitting a nerve and tears were welling up in my eyes (an all-too-common experience these days.)  "Does it end well?" I asked.

Well, he said, we're going to see.  That's what this is all about.

God cares too much to let you stay where you are

One last story, from today.

We have friends from New Church whose sons play baseball in our neighborhood.  They invite us to hang out with them during baseball practice, which I think is such a lovely thing.  So we did today, and I was generally updating Ann on the latest in this journey.  I've only really had an opportunity to share very broad strokes from time to time, so she doesn't know the details.  But I know she's been listening, and I always feel such compassion from her.  It's like she feels the burden, even if she doesn't know exactly what's inside.  She still realizes that it's heavy, and that means a lot to me.

Today, as i shared a little more about what I've been learning and feeling and experiencing, Ann said, with tears in her own eyes, "You know, as you've been sharing this stuff the last few times, I just get the sense from God that He cares too much about you to let you stay where you are." 

Cue the tears again.  (Sigh, this is getting so old.)

But deep down, I knew she was right.  And I appreciated so much, that right now--when I don't exactly have ears to hear--God has sent friends to hear for me. 

The story continues.