It's in the Cards, Today

I flip the cards of my life over

Laying them down side by side by side

Analyze and decipher

I am my own shaman glossing over the bones

What will my tomorrow be and what does my future hold?

What can be done about it and how can I change it?

I am so good at imagining my future and changing my todays for it

Sacrificing what experiences I have now

Sometimes destroying myself today so I can live tomorrow

Only to die again tomorrow when it becomes today

I plan my todays for my tomorrows that have yet come into being

I leave the cards of my yesterdays face down

Down down down in the ground

Or untouched on the table that beckons me to look

“Flip me over and take a good look!” they say

But I’ve seen them before and would rather look

Look not in the past because it haunts me so

As lions lay in the grass waiting for the beast

I chew the grass and move on slowly

Yet they have been tracking me from the dawn

I plan my todays ignorant of my yesterdays that have already spoken their voice

I sit glancing at these cards

Heart beating…racing…slow…steady

Can I flip over the yesterdays and give them the space to speak?

Speak and be heard

Ingested, digested, processed

Nutrition into my body

That the roots would grow deep

And my leaves would flourish in the rays of the sun

That the lions would sink their teeth into me

And liberate me from being prey

To be one with life and death

Then maybe I would live today

Connected so my tomorrows will come into being

And my sacrifice will nourish the earth

And the shaman can sleep

And my soul will find peace

Today I plan my todays
Listening to my yesterdays today
To have better dreams for tomorrow
Today

God needs us?

I’ve often heard it said in church, on blogs about Christianity, from Christian friends, pastors, etc. that God does not need you but wants you. You have nothing to offer God, but it is out of His love and mercy that you are alive. You have absolutely nothing to offer God that He can’t do without. In fact, today I was reading chapter six of Francis Chan’s “Crazy Love” and on page 109 he says, “God is the only true Giver, and He needs nothing from us. But still He wants us. He gave us life so that we might seek and know Him.”

Now, I think I’m going to be stepping on a few, if not many, toes today by writing this but I feel compelled to be honest in my reaction to this one-sided perspective of the God-human relationship. There was a time in my life where I absolutely agreed with this and felt good about it. Not today. Also, before I go on I’d like to offer a disclaimer. There is a good amount of what Francis Chan wrote in Chapter six that I do agree with (and that chapter is about all I’ve ever read from him up to this point in my life); but I’m more so responding to and writing about how this particular concept/framework of understanding God has been detrimental to my life. To be clear, this is not a Francis Chan attack. It is an attempt to deconstruct how seeing God as without need and us (humanity or “me” the individual) as nothing/needy does not serve God, and in fact harms God’s image.

There is a huge difference in distinguishing between “needs” and “wants” for your average person. I think we all agree that I don’t “need” to go buy a pair of brand new 7 For All Mankind jeans when I have a bunch of other perfectly fine jeans in my closet while my wallet is full of moths. I want those jeans, but to go to Nordstrom or the Rack would impair my need to pay rent. I don’t need my broke ass on the streets, and that is a need…or want? This is a little self-disclosure folks, I really have had those specific thoughts while walking around those aforementioned stores. There is a distinguishing between what is necessary for survival, and beyond that everything else is want. Even as I write this I feel like I’m preaching to the choir while beating a dead horse. We all know this.

What is more insidious, however, is that there are many things necessary to our survival that we don’t consider necessary to our survival, and as a result we live without those necessary things. When I mention survival, I particularly mean living as humans who have a healthy, strong, full-sense of self. This looks like a person who is confident and secure in the fact that she is created as Imago Dei. However when we have unfulfilled and insecure areas of our lives we make compromises. We may skip breakfast because we know lunch or dinner will come around soon enough…and if not, I’ll just eat a Hot Pocket. But when we do that, what are we doing? We are saying there are more important things to do other than eating conscientiously. What are those more important things? What are those idols of the heart and systems of the world, the rat race and status quos, that determine our own determinations about how we eat, sleep, work, have sex, comb our hair, study, etc? I seek, go after, need, and want because there is some sort of a desire, survival or not, that I attempt to fulfill. Other desires we have learned to function without while running on empty, and as a result, those parts of our life atrophy. So, it seems we all are always making choices and compromises here and there because of our assessments of what “survival” and “needs” look like.

My identity as a (relatively) young (relatively) eligible bachelor coincide with having a nice pair of jeans that will help me feel like I look good because certain other jeans don’t flatter the silhouette of my slightly bowed legs. I drive more often than I ride public transit because I feel like I’m always short on time and I need my sleep or will be in a bad mood throughout the day. I keep working at a psychiatric hospital because I love the people there and feel like it adds to my development as a person who works in the mental health field. All of these things have everything to do with identity. I think this is the essential point I’m trying to make about needs and wants and God and us. How I perceive myself determines what I perceive as absolutely essential; determines how I function.

If I don’t feel like I have anything to offer God that God needs, because they are only frivolous wants, I may just as well live in a manner where nothing feels absolutely necessary. My identity as a child of God is inextricable to how I function and engage everything around me. As a result, to feel and know that God needs us (as opposed to only wanting us but having no necessity for us) may change how we perceive ourselves, our community, family, etc. and influence how we eat, sleep, work, have sex, comb our hair, study, etc.

So does God need us then?

I believe so. We are necessary to God’s identity. We are inextricable to how God functions and engages. The concept of Imago Dei speaks of God expressing God’s self through humanity, and God’s love for humanity. A singer who doesn’t sing is not a singer. A chef who does not cook is not a chef. A God who does not create, bring glory out of tragedy, and love is not God. And what is love? (Baby don’t hurt me no more…sorry I couldn’t resist…Haddaway for those in still in the dark). Love, I believe, is the connection between autonomous individuals who for some reason must, need, and want to uplift the other. God for some reason must, needs, and wants to uplift you, me, us – as the Christ story speaks of. To not do so would betray God’s identity. It is God’s need. It is the love that interconnects our story with God’s story.

Do we really think that God doesn’t need us then?

Can we just vanish from the story that is being written without consequence?

Is it easy for you to believe you have nothing to offer God because, at the core of your identity, you don’t believe you have much or anything to offer others?

Where does that desire to be inconsequential come from (I mean in your own story…with your mom, dad, siblings, friends, teachers, etc.)?

What does that say about our own personal idols and the many systems we live in today (political, racial, cultural, economic, etc.)?

What does it mean “to seek and know Him” if that isn’t really necessary to God?

These questions, I am still processing and struggling with in my own story, and slowly I am finding out what it means to be wanted and needed by God…day to day…

Running

As I ran along the water on Alki earlier today - well, actually yesterday as it is 2am as I'm writing this - I realized that it took a lot of changes in my story/life before I would've ever decided to do something like driving to West Seattle for a 5 mile run. Ask me 3 years ago if I'd ever think I'd be able to run 5 miles or complete the 2010 Seattle half-marathon and I would've told you "n" "o." As a kid I would wheeze after doing anything that got my heart rate up for more than a few minutes. And let me tell you, if breathing ain't fun after letting yourself go on the playground, then running ain't or won't ever be fun...or so I thought. Even when I felt like those symptoms went away as I got older, running just didn't appeal to me. Why put your body under unnecessary strain? But after a series of huge and unexpected life changes I found myself regularly walking around Seward park to find peace. Those walks soon became runs. Running began to feel like freedom. The shackles on my lungs, my body, my confidence, my capacity, my identity began to loosen. Then before I knew it I was looking forward to the feeling of running in the rain for miles, letting God drench my body and wash my soul. So as I ran Alki earlier, I thought, "It's interesting how so much had to happen for me to reach this place where I can choose to run like this. Or maybe it was my running that chose me...that changed my life." Maybe sometimes we have something very deep down in us, residing in our unconsciousness, something that we barely acknowledge, but it is like the core to our identity and fire to our soul that quietly guides us in our everyday interactions. Then maybe eventually that deep undercurrent manifests itself and our lives are changed so that this truth can thrive. I'm not saying that my deep undercurrent was a passion for running. I think running is a way I tap into my spirit - a spirit that can't sit still, that needs air, that needs to move and express itself. Mountains in my life had to move before that undercurrent could flow. And I believe, I'm loving that part of myself more and more now a days. Because I love this part of me more, I run. And I'm realizing how much it took for me to get to this point. Thank you God for bringing to surface the things that dwell deep inside and yearn to express themselves.


Run

The path I tread I thought I chose
But as time passes
I wonder if the path chose me
Because I feel so free on it
Taking in deep breaths and feeling
My blood pumps through my veins like wild rapids flowing
The waters coming from the snow caped mountains
Breaking through stone and wood and moss
Breaking through doubt and resistance and fear
Raging at the bottom with wildness and passion
Freedom
As my feet race
As my legs race
My heart
It races
Have you chosen me?
Because I feel so free
I run

Fumblings

Poetry has always been something that has been very difficult for me. Not because I feel I lack the words, but because there are so many voices of criticisms that I carry in myself. Recently I've been encouraged/challenged by someone who's had an impact on my creative process and I can't help but to reflect on why I withhold from being creative. Why hold back what I have inside that is pushing out to express itself? So, I am trying to say goodbye to perfectionism and hello to the beauty of rawness and mistakes and fumblings...they are true and genuine.

Here is a fumbling of mine today, it came to me as I pondered Jesus in Matthew 7:7-12. I think most often we sanitize our relationship with divinity into an innocent and naive fantasy. This poem carries some of the heaviness and doubts I often bring to my relationship with God. I think God can handle it...I wouldn't want a God who couldn't.

Ask, Seek, Knock

You call me to ask, seek, knock

Ask…
But what if I am fearful of speaking?
And to ask has resulted in disappointment?
What if when I open my mouth, it will be filled with things that make me vomit?
What if asking means bearing the weight on my chest
To know that my requests will be slammed with deadly silence
Abandonment
Futility sets in on my vocal chords
My throat is like a desert

Seek…
I do not know what I am looking for
What if I don’t recognize the image in my heart?
The visions of my dreams feel strange
Nightmares pour over my body like cold water weighing on my clothes
The image is weird and unsettling
They are strangers to me
Setting in on the sight
I feel uneasy
Faces have changed so many times in my life
Can I look at them and be sure?
My eyes are dry and heavy with tears

Knock…
To reach out and make a move unsettles my nerves
Unhinges my spirit
I feel I could hide forever
Or run away and never come back
This door scares the shit out of me
Entrances into what?
Into harm?
Into pain?
Into shattered dreams?
Why would I want to rap my knuckles against the door when I can already feel its splinters digging into my cartilage?
My joints are frozen

Do you know how I feel when you call me to ask, seek, knock?

Conflict

Found the following quote by Thomas Paine on somebody’s Facebook profile, “The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheaply, we esteem too lightly; 'tis dearness only that gives everything its value.”

My first reaction was, "Yes I agree with this…I need to triumph…this is what I’ve been thinking about and avoiding.” Then I thought, "That doesn't feel right either; I mean to push on and be hungry for glory or triumph all the time, because that could be a result of either greed or pride." The greedy or prideful or narcissistic person cannot be content…that person must conquer, kill, and destroy the “other” in order to be satisfied (more like pseudo-satisfied because that is all the person can bear) with the “self”…there is no true peace even in “triumph” because a little is never enough…you will always need more.

However, there can also be another interpretation, one I think I’m very afraid of, which is more connected to my first reaction. Maybe the victory that is dear and is of value is not necessary only correlated to or just a derivative of pride or greed or narcissism (although there may be parts of those too…no one is perfect, and I am also attempting not to “split” here as object relations would understand it); the victory in conflict is valuable to us because a piece of “me” exists in it. In struggling, in the conflict, our character, our “self” comes to the surface…we put our identity, hopes, dreams, things that are very near to our heart and gut on the line. The things that are of great conflict, if we truly dwell in it, will further shape our sense of self, our identity, character, hopes, dreams, and so on. Those things of great conflict are the things we tend to avoid, but when we are fully in it, it demands so much from us. In a sense, great conflict becomes a force that draws us out to relate with it. Conflict may be the context for the “I-Thou” encounter. It is easier to go through something not so difficult and not be invested…to be dissociative…to not engage the heart, mind, soul. When conflict hits us with full impact, it forces us to engage our heart, mind, and soul. When conflict hits it’s almost like its voice (if conflict could ever speak) is telling us to be engaging, to be relational, and to truly involve our “self” with the “other." I think a major part of why we run away from conflict is because we are fearful of being our true selves and engage with the other…ironically I think that is the same problem that greed, pride, and narcissism has – in that it is a way of avoiding a truly relational engagement where interrelatedness, dependence on each other, and giving to each other exists.

I also really want to emphasize that conflict can also be a very subjective thing. It is easy for the average person to go walk out amongst strangers in the unfamiliar public in order to travel somewhere but extremely difficult for the agoraphobic. Each specific type of conflict deals with our narrative: specific events, times, places, characters, and such in our story. Our story determines what our greatest conflicts in life are. So, in the end I am still wondering what those intense conflicts are that I cop out of, because I am afraid to bless and be blessed in. Some of these conflicts are pretty obvious and others elude me because they really are things I am scared of and block out of awareness.

I think about Jacob wrestling with the Angel of God in Genesis 32 and realize that because Jacob wrestled with the other with his full self (not because he ran away or gave up or that the fight was a breeze) that he was able to be blessed. God blesses our “self” when we offer our “self” to be blessed, and sometimes the parts of our “self” that need the most blessing only come to surface through the context of conflict. Lord help me…Lord bless me…

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.