Word Vomit

For The Days When I Don’t Love You

Dear Jesus,

This letter is for the days when I don’t love You.

For the days I don’t feel You.

For the days I can’t hear You.

This is for the days when I seriously wonder if You really love me as much as I’ve heard.

This letter is for days like today. There’s nothing really wrong but there’s nothing really right. Days like today, I miss You but don’t seem to care enough to do anything about it.

Today, I can’t accept the fact that this all feels like work. And I know, it’s supposed to be work. Relationships take work. Growth takes discipline. You never promised it would be easy like that. But days like today, knowing that doesn’t feel like enough.

Because page after page, my diary is full of entries about how I wish I loved You more. How I wish I’d love You better. Days like today are more common than I can bear to admit. But there it is. The ugly truth looming in my heart. The unbearable realization that there are so many things I love more than You.

You ask, “Do you love me?”

“Do you love me?”

A sharp pang in my heart as you ask a third time. Because I know… I know. Most days, I don’t.

So I’m asking You… is Your love enough for the days when I don’t love You?

Can Your love fill up all that is lacking on the days when I don’t love You?

Could Your love still save me on the days when I don’t love You?

If at the end of my earthly life, if at the end of my diary, all You can find are entries of wishes and hopes of loving You more, does Your grace cover all of those days?

I want to love You more. Help me to love You more. Oh God, my God, let me love You more.

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By the way, I’ve officially moved my blog to wordpress. I will link updates to new posts every now and then here but I would love to continue to have your readership and feedback at vickwong.wordpress.com

Please Shake Responsibly: The “Harlem Shake” and Cultural Responsibility

You’ve probably seen the videos by now. It starts off with an individual dancing quite reservedly by him or herself for about 15 seconds. In the background are other people who seem unaware. Once the bass drops, suddenly there is a crowd of people dancing. They’re sometimes clad in ridiculous costumes, flailing, wiggling, and shaking about to no particular rhythm. The irony? None of them are actually doing the Harlem Shake or anything that remotely resembles the Shake.

I was pretty late getting to this viral meme phenomenon. As I perused youtube video after youtube video, I kept wondering in frustration, “Why are they never actually doing the Shake?”

If you don’t know, the Harlem Shake is an actual dance. It was born in Harlem in 1981 and is a vibrant African-American dance. I remember trying to learn the Shake in my middle-school through high school years. Alas, I was an Asian-American girl growing up in white suburbia. It was never meant to be.

While these video memes have gone viral and admittedly are very fun to watch, they’ve also been responded to with strong criticism. It’s been called, “an absolute mockery”, “disrespectful”, “foolish” etc. In my Facebook and twitter feeds, similar criticisms have surfaced. Among these posts have been my own criticisms. Granted, haters… will alway hate… But I feel in this situation, there’s an important message about culture that isn’t being heard.

What it comes down to is this: Cultural responsibility.

I think if it had gone by any other name and paired with a song titled under any other name, this wouldn’t really be subject to any criticism at all. Because it looks, and probably is, a lot of fun. Hence the viralness. But calling it something it isn’t, well that’s like ordering Chicken Souvlaki in a cafeteria and getting a couple of horribly dry chunks of chicken drowning in some mystery sauce. …That was a personally specific example… drawing from a recent embittering experience. There are probably better ones out there… I’ll think of them later. But it mocks what the product truly is with all it’s cultural glory, history, and the people it belongs to.

My frustration is more with our society’s tendency to borrow cultural artifacts from subcultures and what results is a product that is completely stripped of its origins. We do it so often and we don’t give a crap.

I’m not advocating that we must cease and desist with this particular meme. I don’t think anyone really has made a “Harlem Shake” video with the malicious intent of making a mockery of a part of African-American history but it comes down to giving it its due respect. It’s something that means something to a group of people. It’s part of their history. It has a particular cultural meaning to them. Have some respect. 

Other critics have expressed their concern that the real Harlem Shake will be overshadowed and pushed out of search results by the viral video. That is a legitimate concern. When I expressed some frustration over the meme on a Facebook status, a friend commented that she didn’t actually know what the Shake was. So naturally, I went to Youtube to look up a video to show her. Only when I searched “Harlem Shake”, I went through page after page of the “Harlem Shake” meme. The real Shake was literally pushed out of the results. I ended up having to look up a specific music video that featured the real dance.

And so my complaint isn’t so much about a specific race issue. I don’t think that’s the issue at all. And I suppose it leads into the over-arching question of how to be responsible users in the internet world. When do internet memes cross the line into cultural insensitivity and mockery? How do we engage with this internet meme culture responsibly while honoring peopleand their cultural background?

In the meantime, please shake responsibly.

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By the way, I’ve officially moved my blog to wordpress. I will link updates to new posts every now and then here but I would love to continue to have your readership and feedback at vickwong.wordpress.com

Life From The Other Side Of The Counter

When I was growing up, I learned to be skeptical of certain minority workers through observing my own family, friends and other people in my predominately white, suburban town. Migrant workers make up a good chunk of Long Island’s economy. I remember watching documentaries in high school about Long Island’s growing population of immigrants and dependence on immigrant labor.

The general attitude towards migrant workers was not good growing up. It seems like that was and still is the general attitude towards them across the nation. I also don’t really think it mattered whether you were actually an undocumented worker or not. If you had an accent, if you didn’t speak english, if your overall presence seemed to clash with the broader culture, you were subject to skepticism and distrust. I’ve seen it played out over and over again.

It’s a job that isn’t acceptable in society’s eyes I got my current job at a hospital cafe because my neighbor’s family basically runs that catering company. It’s something to do while I’m figuring out my life and job hunting. At the hospital, most of the people I work with speak Spanish as their first language.

for a person with a college degree. Like I said, I took the job just to have a paycheck while I’m figuring stuff out. As a result, I went into this job not planning to get very invested since I was (and still) probably not going to be there for a very long time.

My co-workers have been there for years. They come from El Salvador, Honduras, and Santa Domingo. It’s a tough job to do honestly. I have to be honest, I think the only reason I can perform well at this job is because I know I’m only doing it for a little while so it gives me a little extra room to be gracious with the repeatedly difficult and abrasive customers. (Disclaimer: I am not making any comments about the citizenship of my co-workers.)

I’ve noticed that some of the customers look to me to be the person who will get the job right. When there’s a minor communication issue with the other staff, they start to stare at me and call me over to “rectify” the situation. I’ve been in situations where I basically just redid the exact same thing a co-worker did just because the customer didn’t trust the spanish speaker. A few weeks ago, to make matters worse, a white co-worker (she’s fired now) used to tell the customers horrible stories about the hispanic staff. As a newbie, I wasn’t sure what to believe but I didn’t buy her stories. To my disappointment, too many respectable doctors and nurses took her word for it. It was all too easy for them to believe the worst about these strangers behind the counter. They treated them accordingly.

I’ve discovered in myself the same illogical thought process and unfounded prejudice. To be fair, most of it is just a thought in the back of my mind probably because of my environment growing up. But here is life from the other side of the counter:

Everyone is “mi amor” and “my friend”. It’s loud and crazy all the time. But there’s a lot of love. All the time.

Entering the workplace and leaving the workplace is always an event because everyone needs to be given a hug and kiss on the cheek. And they never just walk out. They have to ask me every day, “I see you tomorrow? Yes?”

It’s a lot of feeding each other. Not just food from the cafe but bringing all sorts of foods from home and sharing what they’ve made.

It’s making sure we are taken care of. It’s covering for each other. It’s making sure our sick co-worker (cancer) eats often enough and takes it easy because she needs her strength. It’s bringing her food and orange juice every now and then because she forgets to take care of herself.

It’s being called “mami” and not realizing they’re trying to get your attention till the fifth “MAMACITA”. It’s knowing you’re “chinita” but not understanding what they’re saying to each other about you. But it’s knowing that they’re saying nothing bad because they love you so much already.

It’s orange slices drenched in hot sauce and sprinkled with salt that you force yourself to swallow because they’re trying to convince you that it will make your stomach “muy contento”, even though it never does and makes your stomach ache but it’s okay because they seem really happy just to share a plate of food with you.

It’s them trying to pronounce “chicken souvlaki” and “tzatziki sauce” and getting it wrong every time and laughing about it together.

It’s long hours. It’s 11-15 hour work days running from job to job to provide for your family. It’s tired feet and achy backs. It’s working your ass off and getting treated like garbage. It’s a community of people all trying to get by, and pulling each other through on days when we just don’t have it in us.

Standing on the other side of the counter, I’m humbled. Finding a community of people I’d grow to genuinely love and be loved by was not something I expected entering into this job. The whole experience convicts me on the way I see people and the way I see work. They make me slow down. They wrestle my attention away from the “what’s next” to the life-things that are happening right now.

I think my mental posture a month ago sort of reflects that of the Israelites in exile. They’re on unfamiliar territory. Things are different from what they knew and what they were comfortable with. They weren’t where they believed they belonged so they were unattached and uninvested in their environment. They were in limbo. But in Jeremiah 29, God says to them,

5 “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. 6 Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters. Increase in number there; do not decrease. 7 Also, seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”

What I see God saying to them is, “get invested”. I think I identify with this because post-grad life, job hunting, and the general trying to figure out life feels a lot like exile. It’s post-grad limbo. I know I’m headed to something but I don’t know what. So in my anticipation of this somewhere else, I miss out on all that is right in front of me.

It’s about establishing yourself where you are even if it’s not the final destination. It’s about diving into all that God has for you wherever you are. It’s less about getting to that place you think you should be so that you become the person you think you should be, and being the person God has already called you to be right here, right now.

It’s about letting people get tangled up into your life. It’s erasing the line between “us” and “them”. It’s letting an obscure group of people become real to you. Eating what they eat. Becoming like family. Seeking their prosperity because your own is divinely entangled with theirs. It’s realizing that the people on the other side of the counter deserve to be treated with dignity despite what you’ve grown up to believe.

It’s letting the job become something more than just a paycheck while you’re figuring out the rest of your life. It’s letting the job become part of your figuring-it-all out.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” – Jer. 29:11

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By the way, I’ve officially moved my blog to wordpress. I will link updates to new posts every now and then here but I would love to continue to have your readership and feedback at vickwong.wordpress.com

Facebook Stalking God

If you took a poll amongst my friends, I’m quite certain that whether best friends and acquaintances (I’d just like to note here that I do NOT know how to spell that word without spell-check), if you asked them to describe my top two characteristics, they would say: Facebook stalker and awkward human being.

I LOVE to Facebook stalk. I mean.. for the most part I think everybody Facebook stalks, I’m just way more public about it. But I do it so much and I’ve gotten so good at it that it’s become sort of like a game to me. Like… How much can I figure out about a person through Facebook? Also, our timelines aren’t finite sources of information. We update, comment, like, etc. everyday! There’s always something new to learn about someone! In a way, it feels like Facebook is saying, “Are you up to the challenge??” And to that I say… Challenge accepted, Facebook. Challenge. Accepted.

The thing is… I’m never really satisfied with just Facebook stalking. Most of the time it makes me want to hang out with that person in real life more and more. Like.. “I see that you like eating popcorn and watching Mean Girls… I too… like eating popcorn and watching Mean Girls..” or… “I see you have a Doctor Who poster hanging up in your room… in that picture you posted… last year… I too… like Doctor Who..” And after hours of creeping on everything there is to creep on their timeline, I’m left to face the fact that…. I do not actually know them.

I’d like to say that I do draw a line between friendly online creeping and actual watching-you-from-a-tree-outside kind of stalking. I do have some sort of self-control that allows my friendships to happen organically (even though I most likely have Facebook stalked them prior to meeting them in person) rather than trying to contrive them. ..generally… yea… anyway.

When Facebook Stalking moves to Actual Relationship

It’s a magical moment when I finally get to hang out with someone I’ve only ever known through Facebook stalking.

I’m thinking about the people in my life, some really close friends that I had stalked like… two years ago and now are some of my best friends. As much as I love creepin’ on their pictures and finding really random things they liked on Facebook, it’s nothing compared to the things I find out about them through real life interactions…

Like the way she can’t make eye-contact with you when you complement her. The way he addresses you by your first name in situations where normally, people wouldn’t think it necessary to because of familiarity but he does so because he so respects and cherishes your company. The way she has a facial expression to go with everything and anything she says. The way she naturally facilitates group activities, not because she doesn’t think what we’re doing is fun or feels excluded, but because she’s used to being the big sister and she loves her role as being the one who gives the opportunity for others to have so much fun. (I’m referring to specific things about a few different people here)

These are just a few examples of the little things I love about my friends that I only know because we actually spent time together face-to-face.

Creeping on Jesus

Another important thing to know about me is that I love to read. I don’t really read fiction… but about 3 or 4 years ago, I started to really love studying theology. I love to read books, articles, blogs, journals, etc.

Now and then I wonder, at what point am I just knowing things about God rather than actually knowing Him?

It’s like saying you’ll go on a coffee date with a friend… but you only ever talk about getting coffee, and like.. you only end up reading customer reviews about potential coffee shops where you could have this coffee date… and then you like… only ever end up talking about what kind of coffee you’ll drink at your coffee date.. and.. whether or not that coffee is fair trade or whatever…. and brainstorming what topics you’ll discuss during the date… You get the point. You never actually gain any ground in your relationship and most importantly, no coffee has been consumed. (Maybe not most importantly… but still…)

Now and then, I get worried that my knowledge of things about Him is disproportionate or takes precedence to my intimacy and knowing of Him.

How many of us can say with a definiteness, if all things go to absolute crap, that it matters not because we know God. Many of us have a testimony we can share… we’ve practiced the 2-minute version of our conversion story to whip out if occasion called for it… but how many of us, without hesitation, could say that we have known God throughout our ups and downs in life?

When I think about knowing my friends versus knowing things about them, the difference lies in the knowing them that goes beyond a list of facts. There’s this transcendent knowing of them that goes like: I know you. The deep down inside you. The things that break your heart. The things that irritate you. The things that make you laugh. The things that make you smile that have no significance to other people. 

I get to knowing these things about my friends through stuff like spending time together, staying up till 5am talking to each other, butting heads but figuring it out with each other. Sharing life together.

And so it should go with our relationship with Jesus.

The point in which my relationship is less like Facebook-stalking the son of God and actually knowing Him with that definiteness is:

- When I’m regularly spending time in His presence, in His Word. It’s actually going on that coffee date. That “partaking of His cup” thing that means to partake in experience. (Which in the Bible, eludes to sharing in Christ’s suffering) It’s both experiencing Him in silent meditation and the actual active-doing of Kingdom things.

- Talking to Him. Spilling my guts, laying all that’s on my mind and heart at His feet in prayer. Being real and honest about the things that piss me off, the things I don’t get about Him.. working out WITH Him the conflicts of interest that arise when my own wants, preferences, and desires are at odds with the things of the Kingdom.

It’s in these things where you get to know the heart of God: sharing your life with the Divine in both time spent just-being and doing. Perhaps that’s why Jesus asked us to, “do as I have done”. “Knowing” requires a shared experience.

The Bible is not a Timeline. It is not just a thing we read that gives us more facts about God. It is the Word of God. It is alive. Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood! (John 1:14, The Message) He talks. He listens. He responds. He’s real.

It’s okay to “Facebook stalk” God. Theology, knowledge of God, gaining better understanding of Him, that’s all good. But don’t stop at Facebook stalking. Know Him face-to-face. Enter into that magical moment: when Facebook-stalking becomes actual relationship.

When we’ve moved from “Facebook stalking” God to knowing God, perhaps we’ll be better acquainted with His heart.. what grieves Him… what delights Him… and perhaps not only will we be acquainted with what His heart is like, we’ll begin to be grieved and delighted by the same things in our own.

Challenge… accepted?

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By the way, I’ve officially moved my blog to wordpress. I will link updates to new posts every now and then here but I would love to continue to have your readership and feedback at vickwong.wordpress.com

I’m Moving!

I started blogging my “word vomit” three years ago. Tumblr was starting to become this awesome new social media site and I decided to jump on the bandwagon. Only, I signed up for an account without really realizing what Tumblr was.  

I figured it was the new Xanga. Oh… Xanga…. may my old accounts never see the light of day or be found via Google. Amen.  

Since Word Vomit started, I’ve posted every now and then about thoughts, topics, and issues I felt like God had put at the forefront of my life at the present. My blogging has been pretty infrequent and honestly, mostly a tool for my own benefit. I find that it really helps me to put a finger on what God is doing in my life when I sit down and really focus and compose something concise and cohesive since it would be published online and potentially exposed to an audience (really like… maybe one person when I first started… maybe). So for the purposes of this type of blog, Tumblr, though a magical world of nerdery and lolz, isn’t really a good fit and is sort of less accessible to the non-Tumblr user.  

And so…. the movement to Wordpress… Because… that awkward moment when you realize, “Oh, people are actually reading what I’m posting.”   Now that’s not to say that I’m now going to blog more regularly and frequently… I really don’t know. I’ve liked the freedom of being able to post whenever I wanted and only when I actually had something half-decent to say but I do really enjoy writing. And all the cool people seem to be using Wordpress… that’s a lie. I don’t know. Nevermind. In any case, I think Wordpress will better suit they style of my blog than the micro-blogging style of Tumblr.  

So.. if you wanted to.. Meh.. who am I kidding? Well, in any case… if you wanted to creep on my old posts, you can find them at vickywong.tumblr.com. I won’t be deleting that account. But I will be reposting some of my old posts to this blog. So I hope that… this.. works out? I’m going to have to take some time to adjust but ultimately, I do think Word Vomit isn’t so much a Tumblr type blog so I think this will be a good move. If my writing helps or blesses you at all, I’m really glad/surprised and I hope that you will continue to follow me here. :)  

Thanks!  

I don’t know how to end this.  

Bye.   ……..

Link to the new blog: vickwong.wordpress.com

Letter to the Little One

I’m currently working at a cafe/gift shop in a hospital. Tonight before my shift ended, a baby was found abandoned in the women’s bathroom.

I know that they make this an option for people who want to give up their baby for whatever reason but… I suppose the reality of it never hit me until tonight and I’m not sure how to take it all in. I spent much of the ride home in tears.

I guess in my own life and experience, when a baby is born.. that’s cause for some serious celebration. Balloons, gifts, a crowded room full of smiling faces… weird pictures that end up on Pinterest of the newborn in weird positions… I’m ashamed to say that the reality that this isn’t the norm for all babies didn’t really hit me until tonight.

Can I just say that I don’t think it’s in God’s good plan for the world for babies to be left alone in a dirty bathroom?

When I was born, I had people. I had a loving father, mother, and older sister followed by a whole team of extended family and friends who rejoiced over my birth. I was born into a community of people on my “team”. They would love, support, and pull for me all the days of my life.

Someone should be on the kid’s team. That baby should have a team of people pulling for them. There should be a team of people who care that they’re born and alive and healthy today.

This might be completely futile but… I’ve got some words on my heart tonight for this kid. Perhaps just a prayer but we believe in a heavenly Father who cares right? We believe that our Abba Father not only hears but is present and at work in our lives every moment of every day right? Even if not very often at all, would you consider joining me in lifting the child up in prayer whenever it comes to mind?

Dear kid,

Talk about a rough start little one. I’m sorry it went down like this. But I don’t mean that to say that you’re going to finish a little short behind everyone else as a result… because I think.. You’re gonna do just fine, kid. I’ll bet on it.

For whatever reason, your mother thought it was better this way. That’s hard, but I’m willing to bet that she whole-heartedly believed that this was to give you the best shot at life. I’m willing to bet she’s hoping with everything within her that you get adopted by a stellar family who loves you and gives you every good opportunity they could possibly muster. And I hope that too. I pray that for you.

The truth is, I believe you have a Heavenly Father. An awesome Father who knew you before you even took any form in your mother’s womb and He’s loved you from the beginning of time and will hold you till the very end. I believe that you were created in His image so you are NOT nothing. You are NOT of less value. You are NOT less wanted. The truth is: You are a beloved child. And you have a Father who is jealous for you.

Kiddo, you might never know. But you got at least one person on your team right now. I’ll pray for you. I’ll think of you. I pray that God, our Father, pours out His grace and mercy in your life and that love, joy, and mercy would follow you all the days of your life. 

The possibilities set before you are endless. I’m excited for you! And… maybe this is abuse of prayer power but I hope you become a big nerd.. because nerds are awesome. Or don’t.. that’s weird. I won’t tell you how to live your life and you’ll be perfect no matter what. I guess what I’m saying is, never be ashamed of who you are. 

Little one, you’re gonna be just fine. This is only the beginning. Wherever you end up, consider me on your team. I’ll be praying for you. I’ll be thinking of you.

Aunt Vicky.

A Two-Year old Refugee, a Shooting, and a God Who Cares

I spent a summer as an intern with InterVarsity’s Urban Project in St. Louis in 2009. It was that summer when I first came to grips with the fact that following Jesus meant giving up my life. Literally.

It’s easy to sit in a nice church building singing, “Take my life and let it be consecrated, Lord, to Thee.” Summer 2009, I learned that I never really appreciated the full weight of the songs I was singing to the Lord. Countless times I had sung about wanting God to take all of me for His purposes. Countless times I had sung about how I would give it all for Jesus.

Summer 2009, I realized that I really had no idea what I was singing or pledging to before God.

The second week of my internship, we lived with families in the neighborhood. These people had chosen to locate themselves among the city’s poor. During the day, we spent our time hanging out with the neighborhood kids in an apartment complex community. The people living in these apartments were mostly refugees. They came from all sorts of places such as Africa and Asia. Some of them came here seeking a better life, some left war-torn countries, some had to leave because to stay in their homeland meant death.

The kids we played with ranged from 2-year-olds to high school aged children. This one afternoon, I spent with a 2-year-old girl named Hawa. Hawa was a completely quiet little child. She made very few facial expressions and had a round little belly where she’d rest her hands while she twiddled her fingers. She was sweet. She hung by my side, held my hand, and watched quietly as I interacted with everyone around.

I had made my way over to the parking lot away from my team and the rest of the children when I heard something like fireworks. It was mid-June so I figured people were shooting off July 4^th fireworks prematurely until a second round of noises went off and the windows of the car in front of me began to shatter.

I sank down in my spot. Heart racing. Not being able to wrap my head around the fact that these were not the sounds of fireworks but gunfire. I looked back to my team, they were gathering all the children behind one of the buildings. Nearby, I saw baby Hawa frozen in her place. I snatched her up and ran behind the wall where everyone else had hid.

I could hear my heart beat in my ears. I could feel the blood and the adrenaline rushing through my veins. I thought I could feel my heart racing in my hands but when the chaos had subsided a bit, I realized that it wasn’t my own heart I felt in my hands, I was holding Hawa. Her heart was beating out of her chest.

When the shots were over, we could hear the parents screaming out their windows and doors for their children. We sent the kids back to the apartments and ran back to the families we were staying with.

I couldn’t believe what had happened. I couldn’t believe how vulnerable and fragile my life was. I had never considered it before. I felt like I was dangling thousands of feet in the air holding on to a piece of string. I could go at any moment. The shooting stripped me of my perceived security, my invulnerability, and my control. I was two-weeks into this internship I had signed up for to learn to follow God in the midst of urban poverty.

The weeks after, I spent wrestling with my fears. The director of the internship walked closely with me helping me to process it all. “I understand if you want to go home.” He said. I did want to leave but stayed, out of fear that to leave would be shameful. I was terrified to be outside. Any time we’d leave to get into the cars or to go into another building, I was counting the seconds until we were safe inside somewhere. For the first time, I finally understood that following Jesus actually demanded my life, in every sense.

As I continued to process over the next few days after the shooting, I became very angry. Angry that for Hawa, this was an every day reality for her. In America! These refugees were fleeing poverty and violence in their own countries only to come to America to find more poverty and violence. The system was wrong. It was all so wrong. But that summer of 2009, I learned that my God was so much more than I could’ve ever hoped for. God cared for Hawa. He cares about the lives of the refugees in St. Louis. I learned that God did in fact, care about the hell that is present on earth today and that He wanted to use me in His restoring of all things. Yes, it would be dangerous. Yes, it demands my life. But as I thought of Hawa all summer long, there was nothing else worth my life. If God is a god who cares nothing of Hawa’s situation, of the endless poverty of the world’s poor, he is not a god worth worshiping. Thankfully, as I learned summer of 2009, He does care.

I am asking you tonight to get angry. To allow the brokenness that grieves the heart of God to grieve your own. I want you to get intolerant. We christians are intolerant of all the wrong things these days. We are intolerant of people who sin differently than us, people whom God loves and for whom He sacrificed His son for. Yet we are tolerant of the enslavement, the suffering, and the oppression of people whom God loves around the world many who suffer so we can have our way of life here in America.

We sit in our church buildings, sing our songs, memorize our Bible versus yet this is what the Lord says in Isaiah 58: 

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?”

The purpose Jesus has called His followers to what He has defined His ministry to be is found in Luke 4: 

¹⁷ and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was handed to him. Unrolling it, he found the place where it is written:

¹⁸ “The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
¹⁹ to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

²⁰ Then he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant and sat down. The eyes of everyone in the synagogue were fastened on him. ²¹ He began by saying to them, “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

What does it mean to follow Jesus? What does it mean to be a Christian? Is christianity just about us, dropped down into creation and having to entertain ourselves, saving souls when we can along the way for some disembodied future?

N.T. Wright says: “The whole point of what Jesus was up to was that he was doing close up, in the present, what he was promising long-term in the future. And what he was promising for that future and doing in the present was not saving souls for a disembodied eternity but rescuing people from the corruption and decay of the way of the world presently is so they could enjoy, already in the present, that renewal of creation which is God’s ultimate purpose - and so they could thus become colleagues and partners in that large project.”

Friends, the good news of the Gospel is more than just saving souls from a hell to come, but it is saving us from the hell that is now. Do not reduce the Gospel so small that it is merely personally relevant. The Gospel is globally relevant. That, my friends, is good news.

Consider today what your faith has become about. Is it about the things that are great on the heart of God? Or have you been saved just to go about your days doing a G-rated version of normal? What does it mean to align yourself with His purposes?

More Dying To Do

“In a way, I said ‘yes’ to following Jesus into the slums. But I was shown that I have more dying to do, more losing of myself. I learned that conversion to Christ is a process. Many more yes’s are needed after the first yes. But when everything wasn’t quite what I expected, I wanted to say ‘no’ so badly and I realized just how costly the invitation of Jesus to discipleship is.” -Karen Ngooi, international student from Malaysia studying at the University of Wisconsin

This past week, I attended Urbana. Urbana is a 5 day student missions conference held in St. Louis that cultivates in the current generation a love for God and for His purposes in the world.

I first heard about Urbana fall semester 2007 of my freshman year. Urbana 2006 had just taken place a year before and I have been anticipating my own participation in this conference ever since. As someone who has been out of college for about a year now and struggling with the post-graduate transition, I went into Urbana 2012 hungry to hear from God and for some inspiration.

I was not disappointed at Urbana.

God really spoke at Urbana. What I was hearing from God this week was that He is asking me to trust Him with my fears. Since I’ve graduated, I think the thing that has most kept me from moving forward with my life, among many other excuses, is fear. Fear that my family will not accept my decision to go into full-time ministry and fear that I will fail in some way. But throughout the week, I really sensed the urgency and the call to surrender our whole lives to Jesus. As Platt said in his talk, what in this life is more significant than this? What is more worth giving our lives to than this?

I found that during the week, I was running out of excuses. I found that I was getting tired of talking about the uncertainties of this stage of life and tired of my own excuses to delay being proactive about entering into what is next in life whether that be an internship, overseas missions, or full-time ministry in the states. I was tired of talking about how I don’t know and how I don’t know how to know. I believe that Jesus is saying, “Child, trust me. I am faithful. I am worth it. Come and follow me.”

In the end, I’m realizing that I want to follow Jesus but I really don’t want to lose anything in the process. I know it costs to follow Jesus. But, I don’t want to lose my security. There are so many things of this world that I love. I don’t want to lose them. But at Urbana, I fell in love with the Lord all over again. His heart for the world, for the lost, His invitation, His mission, His kingdom. It is all so unlike anything I’ve ever come across. So much more magnificent than I could ever hope for. My excuses, which were once all I could see before me became like tiny specks of dust making futile attempts to distract my eyes from the glory of His great invitation.

One thing that has really resonated in me throughout these past few days is something an international student from Malaysia said in her testimony before all of Urbana. “I have more dying to do,” she said. I am governed first by my fears and my petty desires. Instead of Jesus, I’ve let other factors set the agenda for my life. Jesus is not the center of my trust, dreams, and affections. I am learning just how much I don’t love Jesus. I am learning just how much I love my worldly reputation. I wonder, if I didn’t have people watching or if my actions did not result in some sort of reputation, how concerned am I for God’s glory? If He called me overseas, if my friends never saw me again or heard of anything I did for the rest of my life, would He still be worth it? Would His mission alone still be enough? If at the end of my earthly life, if I gained nothing in this world, if I lost it all, would I be satisfied with Jesus? If I had to be perfectly honest, my answer currently is, “No.” I still have so much dying to do.

My post-Urbana prayer is this: “Jesus, help me to die. Help me to know that you are worth all my trust, plans, and affections. Help me to die that I might live for you. Help me to die that I might have true life in you. Where You want me, where You lead me, help me to get there.”

I am learning that the hardships I might endure for His name’s sake is nothing compared to knowing Jesus. I am learning just how many more yes’s are needed before the end of this life. The reality of the hardships of following Jesus are starting to sink in more and more but I’m learning that His love makes it worth it all. There is nothing in this life more worth giving my life to than this. I need to leave the boat. I need to drop my nets. No more excuses. He is worth it.

Phil. 1:21 “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

Warts and All

From Genesis 32: 

“²⁴ So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. ²⁵ When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. ²⁶ Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.”

But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”

²⁷ The man asked him, “What is your name?”

“Jacob,” he answered.

²⁸ Then the man said, “Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel,^[f] because you have struggled with God and with human beings and have overcome.”

²⁹ Jacob said, “Please tell me your name.”

But he replied, “Why do you ask my name?” Then he blessed him there.

³⁰ So Jacob called the place Peniel,saying, “It is because I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.”

————

It’s a curious thing. The frustration that seemed to pull me away from grace is the same thing that seems to be driving me back to the cross. 

I’ve been struggling with God. Wrestling ‘till day has finally broken. My stubbornness, my arrogance, my pride refused to let grace prevail over my sinfulness. So God, in His infinite mercy, has given me a limp. 

I am walking with a limp. A thorn in my side.

Because I’d rather have learned my lessons and present myself as wiser, more mature, having beaten my issues and I no longer have to struggle because I’m that good now. I want consistency. I want to put meaning to my past struggles. I want to win.

But like a deep, puss-filled, infected wound, one treatment isn’t enough. I require repeated disinfecting and cleaning. Because if it were as easy as I wanted it to be, I would start walking without Him. I would need community less and less. Because some part of me still believes that I can achieve some sort of holiness on my own. That, in part, I need to save myself. 

I mean, that’s what we were brought up to believe right? If you work hard enough, you can have it all. You aren’t just given things without working for it. You get what you put in. 

I’m a lot like Jacob. Worried that God won’t do what He has already promised to me. So I tried to take matters into my own hands. I tried to secure His promises with my own hands. I tried to learn my lessons well so that there would be no next time. Tried to force letting grace work in my life because I know it ought to instead of actually experiencing Christ.

My walk is anything but perfect. Anything but polished. It’s rough. There are ups and downs. Yet part of me stubbornly still wants to seem better than I am. 

“It is very easy to forgive others for their mistakes; it takes more grit and gumption to forgive them for having witnessed your own.”

Alas, I cannot hide my limp.

Oliver Cromwell was an English military and political leader and later Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England. It was customary back then for royalty, when having a portrait painted of them, to have it done in the best possible light, omitting much of their physical flaws. Contrary to this, Cromwell asked to have his portrait painted, “warts and all”.

Friends, here I am. Warts and all. I have wrestled with God. I am wrestling with God. And in my struggle, have been given a limp.

It’s a limp that reminds me of my arrogance. Reminds me of my inadequacy. 

A limp that disables me from going too far on my own. A limp that forces me, mid-struggle, to cling tighter to the One I wrestle with. 

The wrestle is exhausting. The stubbornness and arrogance that had seemed to prevent Grace from prevailing turns out to have never stood a chance against one single touch from the almighty. 

And just like that I am rendered powerless, helplessly grasping on to Him.

“I will not let you go ‘till you bless me”

Hallelujah for my limp. Hallelujah for He is patient through my rebellion and struggling only to win me over in His timing.

Hallelujah, I will not let You go.

Hallelujah, He never lets go.