Endless

Endless


The warmest embrace my baby heart knew
Comfort in your arms
And when the firm and secure cradle of your hands placed me
Securely into my crib
And when I woke up to find you gone
Endless sorrow

The brightest smile my childhood eyes desired
Affirmation in your face
As you guided my hand to draw delicate birds
Imagination growing on paper
And when you spoke your praise
Endless joy

The most shaming sound my juvenile ears could brace
Apprehension in your mouth
When you scolded me for my unruliness
Being pruned like a plant
And when you looked my path
Endless guilt

The unspeakable words that had to come from our mouths, mom to son, son to mom
Unsettled in our bodies
When you could not speak
Heart grasping for something
And when you passed
Endless

Four Years

Four Years

Four years ago

You slipped quietly out of this world

Which barely understood your beauty
Worn in the canyons on your face

Set by the strains of smiles and tears

And the trembling hands you offered

To a world that often winced away

Because it did not know how to receive your wonder

And moving forward even though your feet did not follow

Stubborn to chase your heart

Looking on with innocent eyes that sliced the view with a beguiling passion

That saw terror and beauty

Ever searching you were

Even when your body refused to move

I remember that

Baffling and wondrous love

Given to us

Who barely understood your beauty

As you slipped quietly out of this world

Four years ago

Plowshare

A few have asked that I share the poem I read at graduation. I feel so honored being asked to share...




Plowshare

You’d think you’d’ve figured out by now how to unravel the knots of life that sit uneasily in your stomach or throat
That the moments that paralyze you into cloistered patterns of interaction would’ve faded away by now
You know, those ruts you’ve been stuck into, forever
As though a large field of hardened soil lies before you
And you feel only enough strength to plow into the land that is soft and familiar
You’d think that by now, the intimate moments that you long for, don’t scare you when the opportunity presents itself
So that when you pray, with eyes open…
You can look deeply into the eyes of the one you are praying with
Intimate and without shame in that deep gaze
And know that God is there, in that minute and profound moment…
Just as much as when you gaze deeply into the eyes of your lover while making love
Feeling fully known, accepted, and loved…
You are not repelled by fear
But how often does that happen?
O love that wilt not let me go

And of course gazing deeply into the eyes of anyone is unsettling
That lump in your throat returns…
You’d think you’d’ve got used to social interactions
That by now, you’d be fluent in the language of communal contact
And all it takes is the push of the autopilot button and you are cruising at interviews, dates, parties, on the dance floor, riding the bus, family gatherings, and those awkward moments in the elevator
Don’t get me wrong, I think we’ve learned to navigate these moments to some degree
Sometimes it looks like the three wise monkeys
"Non vedo, non sento, non parlo"
I see nothing, I hear nothing, I say nothing
But to fly face first uninhibited by doubts of who we are into the face of the other and operate from a complete sense of security and a sense of complete security
Fully delighting and being delighted in
Well, I think that’s the hard part
The unyielding, dry, and cracked soil
But will it ever be easy?
O love that wilt not let me go

Who can guarantee that the look I give to another across from me, like that valentine, clumsily put together with Elmers glue oozing out of its sides like my uneasy affection, and sent out in first grade will, be returned to me with grace?
That my voice as awkward, shrill, unconfident, overconfident, compensating, and true will be received, heard, and reciprocated?
So that when I risk touching and being touched, the surface of my skin will feel the warmth of safety as much as intimacy?
Or that when I timidly step forward onto untried territory that I will not be shamed but seen and rejoiced over?
What promises do I have in this world aside from my heart scarred experiences of having been dropped as a baby…
As a baby and son
As a kindergartener, junior high schooler, high schooler, collegiate
As the pimply teenager who awkwardly navigates attraction for the first time
As a clumsy lover
As a worker that is trying to find that ever elusive niche
As a boy and man
As a Chinese American
As a Chinese
As an American
As a believer and doubter
As a married man and divorcee
As a learner who forgets
Healer and hurter
As a baby…
I have been dropped so so many times
What promises do I have that the unplowed soil will be soft and yielding?
It looks so hard…
O love that wilt not let me go

And like the tortoise returning to its scarred and battle worn shell, I can be found present but not
Or like the furious bear, my violent attacks are truly my fears in bold colors splashed across the canvas of our interactions
The unspoken promises set themselves deeply into my bones and I walk the path supported with limbs saturated…
By fears and failed expectations
They weigh heavily over me like wet clothes over a frail self
Exorcize this paralyzing force that drives me into these ruts that I have plowed forever
Been stuck in
Ruts
That I have plowed
Forever…
Especially, when I know there are new acres to set upon and a harvest yet to be reaped!
O love that wilt not let me go

It’s so easy to till the familiar and soft soil time and again
It’s difficult to break up the soil that has been hardened by the dryness and fear of life
So, as the seasons come and go
And the knots resurface in the stomach and throat
And it is time to either retreat into the shell or wrathfully rage
I remember I have much more growing to do
O love that wilt not let me go…

I set my hands on the plow...

Waves Of Memory

On a whim I decided to flip through my calendar and gloss over what my last few years have been like…then the memories, vivid, and saturated with emotions came. It was as if the tide that had receded far back decided it was finally time to come back to wet the shore…

My mother passed away on the New Year’s Day of 2009. That same year, I was separated in October, moving out of my house after being the best man at one of my best friend’s wedding. She kept the house and dog while I packed my bags. I moved into a living room of a one bedroom apartment in lower Queen Anne. To cope, I put my nose to the grindstone like never before. Only letting sorrow take up partial residence, I took four classes that semester while trying to work more shifts at the Spaghetti Factory.

The shower in my new place was whacko. If the shower could have a psychological disorder, it would have a dual diagnosis of dissociative identity disorder and bipolar 1. There were days where I‘d be stuck in the shower because the water decided on a whim that it wanted to stay either ice cold or scalding hot for about 5-20ish minutes. The water pressure was never really consistent either, vacillating between a decent ppi and the equivalent of what would come from a dollar store squirt gun.

Oh, and we had a rat problem. The trap finally got it one day; and many hours later, after finding out it wasn’t dead, I removed the barely alive rat from the bloody mess behind our old rickety fridge. I took it outside and put it out if its misery. Never before, would I have considered stomping on a rat the compassionate thing to do.

The week of Christmas I was fired from my job as a waiter. He fired me because I was 20 minutes late to call to ask if they needed me to come in later that evening. It was the first and only time I had ever been tardy for a phone confirmation. Bittersweet, I say. I needed the job but was glad I didn’t have to work with that manager anymore...it was, as they say, redonkulous.

I worked hard to find a job. But with the spare time there was also space to mourn. The Christmas season was quiet. The anniversary of my mother’s passing was quiet. It was quiet as I laid in the futon alone. I had a lot of time for solitude. So I was quiet, and I worked hard.

Since February of 2010 I’ve been working at the psych hospital. So now, the people I work with at least have some idea they need mental help.

A month before my divorce papers were finalized, I had to find a new place to live since my roommate was moving out by June and I couldn’t afford to stay. June was also the month my divorce papers would be finalized by the State of Washington, by some judge in some court I didn’t care to know more about. I felt like I needed to slow down to get a grip and hurry up to take care of myself at the same time. Contradictions. So I hurried and found a new place to live in, in a short amount of time; and by the beginning of June I was living near my old neighborhood, where my middle and high school days were spent.

On June 16th the divorce papers were finalized. I also had an assignment due for Therapy 1 that day…two papers were finalized that day. When I got home I was sad, angry, and kind of numb since it felt like we had already been divorced for even longer than that. My roommate consoled me as we walked through our neighborhood and I tried to flush the grief out of my body through words. We walked miles and miles for hours and hours.

It’s almost been a year now since the divorce papers were finalized, longer since the separation, and a lot longer from when I first felt the weight and finality of the relational rift set in. I think the pressure and weight of it has considerably been lifted.

In January and February of 2011 I actually went on a few dates. The dates felt clumsy, on my part, since I felt like damaged goods. But as unexpected as they were, those nights turned out to be salve for the dry skin of my soul. Maybe I didn’t have to feel like damaged goods.

This last semester I took five classes, saw clients at my internship, and worked at the psych hospital. I worked my ass off, and it’s been about two weeks since I graduated. It feels surreal. And sometimes I question how intact, sane, and healthy I am because I was able to keep my momentum going these last few years. Sometimes I feel like maybe I should've had a psychic break and ended up in the hospital, fall to pieces and not be able to function, slip into some sort of drunken stupor, etc. Isn’t that what happens when people with warm blood flowing through their veins have their hearts broken? Instead, my executive functioning excelled and I read books, wrote papers, and ran a half-marathon. I coped like my life depended on it…and somehow I feel like my heart was preserved. Maybe it was because amidst all the craziness, I’ve had quiet moments like this to reflect and write, friends to walk with, and work that actually feels meaningful to me.

Looking at my calendar, I feel like God is very strange; strange because the terrain has been so strange. But God has also been faithful...as faithful as is strange.

The tide has washed over me.

Lectio Divina: Ebbing Away

A response to Matthew 14: 22-33

In this time of endings and new beginnings it feels like Jesus is sending me out from a secure place and into a storm. During my three years at MHGS, I went through two major losses; my mother passing away from illness and my divorce. And with those losses many other dreams, wishes, and hopes also passed away. Promises to take my mom back to the Woodland Park Rose Garden, and my hopes to see her smile as she basked in the sights and smells of her favorite flowers dissipated. The feeling that I could come home to a wife and dog and sink into their kisses and love, and dreams of one day hearing the patter of tiny bare feet running on the kitchen floor (at least in the way that I had grown accustomed to imagining) were shattered. I felt like I was torn from life as I knew it; but at the same time I found deep hope and peace in ways I could never have anticipated.

I began to face questions about myself that were long buried inside of me, as well as questions that were right in front of my face but I had chosen to ignore. Questions about how broken my family and marriage was. I began to excavate the dusty and untouched parts of my life, and found relics that explained deep sorrow, anger, and resentment; those things I felt so guilty for feeling toward my mother and ex-wife. Why did you abandon me? Why am I relieved that you left me? Did I leave you? Did I ever want to leave you? I think I did at times, but why? How was I hurt and how did I hurt you? Why did hurt happen? Did it have to? Why…why…why… And all of these whys, the excavations, the process of understanding, and the search for peace occurred in a time and place of my life that came to feel deeply secure and richly good.

It was secure and good because I was surrounded by peers, friends, and professors at MHGS who were going through their own existential winnowing. They were as invested into that process as I was. Where else were there a bunch of people who would deconstruct and reconstruct with such care and love for God and our identities? We were a community of people engaged in the holy practices of wrestling with God in academics, psychology, theology, creativity, play – and all in an ardent attempt to live more into what being a bearer of God’s image can be. Never before was I able to ask such frightening questions of my life with such freedom; and never before, did I feel like God and the people around me was receiving my questions with such interest, sorrow and delight.

I imagine that in a very dark time of my life, God was holding me safely, cradling and nourishing me at MHGS. I also imagine that taste of security – the experience of care I received as God dressed my wounds – was what the listeners and disciples of Christ experienced as they ate the loaves and bread of Christ and were miraculously healed.

So, when I read about Christ sending his disciples out onto the water after such a wonderful healing experience, only to find themselves stranded on dark stormy waters for hours upon hours without their miraculous master, I can’t help but to imagine they were bewildered and that the sense of security they felt on the shore had slowly ebbed away from them as far as they were away from the shore. In many ways, I’ve already begun to feel my sense of security ebbing away. As I begin this process of leaving my beloved MHGS community, this place of being miraculously healed and fed, I feel like I’m being sent out into the dark stormy waters. Jesus is sending me there and I am afraid.

But I’m keeping my eyes open for the mysterious figure walking toward me on the waves. And when I see him, I will ask “Lord, if it’s you, tell me to come to you on the water.”

Memorial Service

It's 2am and I can't sleep. Too many thoughts running through my head. However, in the middle of my late night turmoil I feel some peace. My mom's memorial service happened earlier this day and I feel she was honored well. I'm so grateful for (my brother) Socrates and (his girlfriend) Kay Kay who worked with dad, and all the friends who helped out with the memorial service, and made it a good day to remember mom by. I am also so very grateful for all the people who came and honored our family with their presence. Thank you. I'd like to, once again, share my words from the memorial service as a tribute to my mom here.


Lesa Ying Kai Wong, my mom, was born December 14, 1945, and grew up in Jakarta, Indonesia. She spoke “Gond dong wa”, “Guo yu”, “Hokkien wei”, “Bahasa Indonesia”, and a little bit of English, and when she did speak English she had an Indonesian accent. Growing up, I never fully appreciated my mom’s diverse cultural background. And to this day I have so many questions about the unfinished stories she would tell me, or about the things that trickled out from her life that evidenced more unspoken stories, things that sparked my curiosity.

I remember my mom telling me about her youth in Indonesia, and how she would catch fruit bats for food. When I was in middle school she taught me some Indonesian words and a tongue twister. To this day I know how to say in “Bahasa Indonesia,” good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and “Ular melingkar-lingkar di atas pagar.” Knowing these things helped me to make my first Indonesian friend in high school, which was very helpful because the first year of high school was a difficult time for me, and any friendship I made felt like salvation from loneliness. She also taught me how to say a few words in “Hokkien wei.” Although I don’t use these phrases much, knowing how to say thank you, you’re welcome, and have you eaten yet in “Hokkien wei,” definitely helped me to feel more comfortable during the lunches at Annie’s former church, Seattle Formosan Christian Church, where I would be able to understand those phrases amongst the conversations of the older Taiwanese people that surrounded me. My mom was also a very good artist. She used to wear these intricate, long beautiful dresses, which I found out later in life, that she had designed and sewn herself. The dress she is wearing in the picture on your pamphlet is probably one of the dresses she designed. I also remember how, in my adolescence, she would draw intricate little birds perched on branches and have me follow steps in trying to draw them. Those moments are some of the most joyful memories of my childhood. Drawing became a skill that I excelled in, a way for me to understand the world, and a foundation for my interest in art. Soon enough, as an adult, I was doing my own sketches as a graphic designer.

Those are only a snippet of the many fond memories I have of her as I grew up, and of the ways my mom has influenced my life. But for now, I’d like to share some things about her that stand out to me the most. When I think of my mom I think of someone who is very beautiful. I remember that even as a little child, I would look at my mom and dad’s wedding pictures and think, “Wow, she looks so pretty, elegant, and graceful.” But there is an even deeper beauty that still speaks to me today in profound ways. One of the most beautiful things about my mom was her tenacity, the ability to keep going on for others.

Our family went through many difficult times. Moving from California to Seattle in 1991, we set up a small watch shop in Beacon Hill and every day my mom sat in that shop, sold and fixed watches, cooked for my brother and me, and tried to make sure we didn’t cause trouble (which more often than not we did). We constantly scraped along, not knowing whether or not we would be able make enough money to pay our rent and bills. And so we worked hard, especially my mom, who was at the shop seven days a week, from early in the morning to late at night. Eventually our shop moved to Chinatown and we did the same thing, sold and fix watches, and even at one point set up a small deli. And every day my mom sat in that shop, sold and fixed watches, served at the deli, cooked for my brother and me, and tried to make sure we didn’t cause trouble. There was also one time where we even set up a dance studio, and my mom maintained that as well. Through all of the changes and difficult circumstances our family went through, my mother was always determined to move on and take care of our family in the only way she knew how, which was to remain steadfast in her hard work, because she loved us. This was my mom.

In 1997 she suffered a serious stroke, which was the onset of her health problems. Slowly her ability to move freely and at will waned, but her spirit didn’t. I remember how after that stroke, her hands became very weak. And although her hands were weak, she would wash the same set of dishes over and over. Sometimes washing those dishes up to three times to make sure they were clean. And even though she wasn’t able to work at the shop anymore, she would do as many things as possible like the laundry (climbing up and down four flights of stairs because the laundry room was so far down in our apartment), vacuuming, making the bed, and other tasks around our apartment in order to take care of us. Many times it was difficult to watch her struggle through the tasks that she used to do with ease, but her determination spoke of an unwillingness to give up on taking care of her family.

However, as time passed by, her body slowly gave up on her, and eventually there was not much she could do but to be taken care of by us. Even so, I believe my mom was always determined to be present for us. Though all she could in the last few years of her life was to lie in bed. Her tenacity was still there. I know this because whenever Annie and I were able to go back to my parent’s home to visit her, she would muster up the strength to greet us with a smile and kiss, hold our hands, and communicate with us through gestures. And though she couldn’t talk, we would be able to see in her face the love she was trying to communicate to us. It spoke of the same tenacity I’ve grown up seeing in her my whole life, which was her ability to be there for others despite any hardship she faced. Whenever we were present with her – she was definitely there for us.

My mom passed away between nine and ten in the evening of January first. When I got the phone call about her passing away I had so many mixed feelings. In some ways I knew it was her time to go home to God, and in other ways I couldn’t believe she was gone. I think part of the reason why I was so shocked by her passing was because of my mom’s tenacity. Earlier I had spent most of the day with her at the nursing home. The nurse would say my mom didn’t have much time, but that she was also a strong woman and there was no telling how long she would still be around. Her body was slowly shutting down, but even in her last moments she was there for me. Although she couldn’t do much, as I spent the day with her and spoke to her, whenever she had the strength she would let me know he heard me. For hours, that last day, as I called out to her, holding her hand, she would open her eyes to look at me, and squeeze my hand. And every time she opened her eyes and squeezed my hand, I saw her love for me and how she longed to be there for me, to be there for our family. Even in her weakest moment it was hard for me to think she would pass away because her spirit was so strong and persistent. So that was my last day with her, and the impression I am left with. That in her weakness she was so determined, and so loving.

To this day I wonder what made my mom such a beautiful, strong, faithful, and determined person. What stories in her life shaped her and made her the way she was? A woman with many skills, many unique and interesting things about her, who had a vast background, and who lived solely for the love of her family. And so I keep wondering, and I hope that the wonder of my mom’s life never fades from my memory. I miss my mom a lot. She’s added so much my life, and I feel like I’m only beginning to realize that in a rich and meaningful way now. But it comforts me to know that she is finally liberated from her sickness. She is flourishing, complete, beautiful, free, and at peace before God’s presence.

Mom, thank you so much for your love. You took care of us and when you couldn’t take care of us you were still there for us. You were always a part of our lives and will still be. I look forward to the day I will see you again. I love you mom. We love you mom.

Abandoned Treasure

Recently there have been so many thoughts and feelings pent up inside, I've felt consumed. So in order to find some relief, I've taken to the idea of letting some of it leak out here. Maybe this impulsive decision to start blogging again will be good for me.

One of the heaviest weights on me right now has been the recent passing away of my mom. I had been on vacation in Hong Kong when I found out that my mom was admitted into "comfort care." After many years of strokes, pneumonia, and other physical hardships her body was finally unable to keep up. Fortunately, I was able to book an earlier flight back to Seattle to spend some time with her before she passed away. My flight arrived in Seattle the evening of December 31st and I was able to see her that night and spend most of the day with her on January 1st (the day she passed away). That day I was blessed to be able to stay by her bedside, thank her for raising my brother and me, tell her how my family loves her, how much God loves her and that she will be home with God soon, and feel the warmth in her fragile hand as she squeezed my hand in response.

After leaving home to rest a bit I received a call at 11pm that my mother had passed away. I drove back to the nursing home where she was at and saw her body there. I knew she was gone, but it felt so surreal at that time. Even though I knew she had passed, I looked for the faintest movement to show that she was breathing. As I reached to touch her hand for a second, I laid my fingers gently over the blanket covering her hand. Her hand felt so light and cold. Waves of sadness swept over me. The knowledge that my mom was gone, became very weighty and real to me.

Since Thursday (January 1st), I've been thinking about all that I told my mom that day, and I realize her life story has so much yet to be spoken to my life's past, present, and future. To honor her would be to know her tragedies, victories, sacrifices, and stories yet told; and to learn how they tie into my family's life as well as mine. I feel like there has been an abandoned mine with great treasure to be dug out. Abandoned because we have been busy with other things we deem treasures. Abandoned because so often we run away from engaging in the richness and tensions of family, until the opportunity may be lost. Yet to start digging is such a frightening task. How will I go about searching the intimidatingly dark areas of the abandoned mine with my family? What will it cost? Surely it will be costly, because often the stories of the lives closest to us will change us, and change is something we want to control. I know I feel that way. I also feel like God is beckoning me to cherish my story, especially the parts that I do not know about, the parts of my story that exist in stories of my mom, dad, and brother.

I miss my mom a lot, and pray that I would be able to honor her well by cherishing the family she lived to serve and the wonderful story God has crafted her life to be. May my life be genuine and meaningful in the way that God has designed it - connected to a beautiful tapestry of relationships - and may the passing of my mom into God's hand be a beautiful and intricate design woven into the fabric of life.