Readers, Digest

7 The law of the LORD is perfect,
reviving the soul;
the testimony of the LORD is sure,
making wise the simple;
8 the precepts of the LORD are right,
rejoicing the heart;
the commandment of the LORD is pure,
enlightening the eyes;
9the fear of the LORD is clean,
enduring forever;
the rules of the LORD are true,
and righteous altogether.
10More to be desired are they than gold,
even much fine gold;
sweeter also than honey
and drippings of the honeycomb.
11Moreover, by them is your servant warned;
in keeping them there is great reward.

12 Who can discern his errors?
Declare me innocent from hidden faults.
13 Keep back your servant also from presumptuous sins;
let them not have dominion over me!
Then I shall be blameless,
and innocent of great transgression.

14Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable in your sight,
O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.

[Psalm 19:7-14, ESV]

Today's message was about the word of God and the importance of it. It was a message that hit way too close. It shone a light into this darkness I've been in. It was blinding.

Are you living under the the God's Word or above it?

Do you live as one who submits to God's Word and listens for what He reveals to/in you? Or do you sift through it until you find what YOU want Him to say?

I listened in silence. The realization that God's sweet and treasured voice has been little more than a paperweight in my life this year shook me. I think if my soul had knees, they'd be shaking.

Let God's Word infiltrate your life. Let it mark and shape you. Let it inform your days.

[Red alert! Red alert! Intruder! Intruder! Someone has broken through the barricades I'd put up around me.]




A new year is approaching. I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions, but today, as we prepared to take communion, I prayed to my God.

I prayed for His light to shine into the darkest parts of me, for it to expel and remove the impurities.
I asked for His vision and hand to move about and within.
I prayed for His patience and His urging.
I asked for a heart and thirst to follow and search for Him.
I prayed for forgiveness and asked that His life-giving blood would surge through these shallow veins.


I've been paralyzed by fear, hurt, and bitterness for far too long, the muscles of my faith atrophied from little use.

I'm learning to walk again. Please bear with me should I stumble.

Lost In Translation (Mindless Drivel)

I've always been a curious child ~ wanting to see the ins and outs of this world. Nothing has changed.

There are a few moments of silence here in the office. The boss has left and the office staff is readying themselves for the weekend.

One of my bosses and the Office Manager are taking a moment to have a drink and watch the news. I think the news program has just aired more coverage of the Bhutto assassination.

Both sit in their confusion discussing what's happened. They're trying to wrap their minds around this culture that seems so backwards and alien. Angry, decisive, judgemental words escape from their mouths. Why do they act this way? They're crazy! Just look at them!

And I sit here. A quiet unseen observer and contributer.

Man is an odd creature. We react so vehemently against the unfamiliar.

We make up our minds without learning the full story. And we are satisfied ~ to continue on in ignorance for fear that the unknown things will alter us, will weaken our resolve or direction. That they will consume us like some incurable virus.

Ignorance is bliss. It's just easier.

As the years have passed - as I've watched/read reports or met people face-to-face - I've grown to become more uncomfortable with my ignorance. To know that there is more out there. That there is color and vibrancy outside Auntie Em's black and white world. I've learned not to take things at face value. To let the eyes of my heart adjust to the newness that confronts them as the clouds of unfamiliarity and fear lift.

I like to take in all aspects. Blame my overactive imagination or my unyielding desire to find out all I can. It can be an arduous task sometimes, especially when necessity calls for quick decisions.

I am a tortoise among hares.

Some issues don't have clear sides. They dance around in the gray like ghosts. It's usually those ideas that create the most havoc. These are the important matters, the ones that stir us. They require extensive periods of mulling and stewing even if no decision can be made about them.

I (think I still) am a tortoise among hares.

This Christmas will be...

This Christmas was a unique one.

My brother and I overslept and missed the Christmas service (all in Korean). A few hours later, we along with the majority of our extended family here in Philly went to help my mom clean out half of her store (for the renter who will be taking over in January). There were disagreements about our plan of attack, but when we finally stood together as a united front, I thought to myself,

This - as disfunctional as my family may be - is what Christmas is about, family.

Later that evening, my brother and I headed over to our friends' home, a place where you are never turned away, but always welcomed with food and laughter and a moody (but loveable) mutt named Peanut. The house was full, as usual, with friends and food. Some of us gathered upstairs to watch the VH1 marathon of "Hits of the '80s" then the "90s", all the while reminiscing over who and where we were when these songs first aired.

Towards the end of the night, a friend with a sense of wanderlust in her voice confessed, "It doesn't feel like Christmas anymore." And in ways, she was right. Sadly, Christmas does not hold the same sense of excitement as it did in our younger years when we would eagerly hope for gifts from Santa and the sound of reindeer on the roof.

Santa is no more, buried deep within the crevices of past childhood memories.

It saddened me to think that we'd reduced this special day to yet another consumer-driven occasion in our consumer-driven lives. I, too, had/have forgotten the awesomeness of what took place on this day thousands of years ago in a manger in Bethlehem, the home of David and had to agree with her, it didn't feel like Christmas anymore.

I think back on the early believers who'd clung to the hope of a Messiah in the midst of persecution and dank situations. Treated as second-class people. Under foreign rule. Forever concerned with decrees and ordinances and the watchful eyes of Big Brother Pharisees and Saduccees.

They knew there would be freedom from all of this one day. They hoped for it in their own lives for thousands of year and through thousands of generations.

For the faithful, each moment was one step closer to the realization of this hope. But many, still, lived in discouragement, their patience exasperated, their expectations unfulfilled.

But hope did come in the form the son of a lowly carpenter and his young wife.

And even though we know this Messiah came and lived and died and rose, we still struggle to hope and remember Him. We half-heartedly celebrate or hang our heads low because the feelings of childhood no longer linger here.

We are older now. Our struggle is no longer with fighting the urge to peek under the tree, it's in trying to focus on HIM and not us. To celebrate HIM, not our new toys. To remember HIM. To tear into the miraculous, awe-inspiring gifts HE brings.

We need that sense of wonder. We were made for it and wait for it once more.

Thougts On Christmas (repost from 12.24.2005)

It's so strange... it doesn't feel like Chrsitmas.

For one thing, we've had unusually warm, spring-like weather up here in Philly. No snow, no yearly visit from Santa at our store. It feels as though people have even forgotten about it (and I am guilty as well).

I've been swept up in all the Christmas-like things - shopping, spending, wrapping presents, etc - but have forgotten about CHRIST (for whom we are to celebrate this season).

When God sat down and began to write this chapter in history (the birth of Jesus), there was no mention of Santa, or Black Fridays. None of mistletoe either. Rather, he penned the story of a little babe, born in a stable, who would restore hope to a lost world. He would be called "King of kings" and "Prince of peace." This babe, born of holy lineage, having the very DNA of God Himself was welcomed into the world with no fanfare or celebration, however. No, instead he was welcomed into the world in the most humblest of ways.

The head upon which a holy crown once lay rested not on silk but upon a thin layer of hay, poking and prodding Him as he slept.

The hands that would one day heal the sick and calm storms held no silver rattle, but lay open to the world, ready to embrace it and one day be pierced for it.

The ears that once heard all of heaven sing, now heard a chorus of livestock mooing and baaing through the night.

And the eyes that once beheld the loving gaze of God Almighty now rested on the face of a carpenter and his young wife.

The heart of Him, pure and holy still, never forgot the reason He risked heaven itself. He sacrificed royal spendor for ridicule and persecution. Comfort for pain. Even during those first few moments, as he adjusted to the candlelight, and the smells and voices in the stable, He knew His mission. He knew He would one day suffer the cross for a world that refused Him. He knew He would be labeled a lunatic, a heretic and a fanatic. He knew He would be laughed at and scorned; mocked as He hung on the cross. He would have to endure hell itself.

And the amazing thing is that He - knowing full well what He would face and what He would have to give up - came. And he did so willingly. He came for you and for me. He was born and died for you and me so we would know rebirth, restoration and life-everlasting in Him.

As we share in this holiday let us be reminded of this. With each gift we give/receive would we remember His gift to us all.

Merry CHRISTmas everyone. May you be gifted with His love and favor.

Sisters. There was never a pair of better sisters...

I don't have any sisters per se though I've always wanted an older one - she would have been invaluable during those adolescent years (and probably now). But I have a couple of friends I would consider to be surrogate sisters. One said "sister" is in town visiting from Boston. We've known each other since 6th grade when she was the popular girl (still is) and I was the quiet, awkward girl in the corner bunk of the cabin (still am *sigh*).

We've always been TERRIBLE at keeping in touch, but when we do find the time, it's as if nothing has changed.

Last night the 2 of us headed downtown to grab some dinner at one of Steven Starr's 50 (slight exaggeration) restaurants here. Afterwards, we headed to my favorite chocolatier for some hot chocolate (think warm, deilicious, makes-you-feel-heavenly chocolate). During those 3 hours we caught up. We talked about what's been going on in my heart and life these days and the transitions that have begun (slowly). I shared about the discouragement I've felt in a particular community and how it has wrecked my walk.

She listened. To all of it.

And when I was through, she voiced what my heart and soul already knew, but what the anger and hurt had clouded:

Annie, it's OK. The thing is: you're walking. You're still walking and that's all that matters.

She told me she would have understood if I'd decided to turn away from the church altogether because of what had happened this past year. Others would have bolted for the door. I would not be at fault for doing the same and being jaded.

I am thankful for sisters like this who listen with understanding, who offer their support and wisdom without judgment or rebuke.


Tonight we talked some more - this time about her life and the possible transitions to take place in the next year or so. Finding herself in a lull, she's waiting for a sign, a green light to take this leap into the next stage of her life.

I'm happy for her though saddened at the thought that she'll be thousands of miles away... again. It's been hard enough keeping in touch on the same coast, I don't want to think about what it will be like (again) if/when God leads her west.

In between these talks about our future plans, we talked about deeper issues. We shared our frustrations with the lack of social awareness in our circles of believers, about how so many Christians turn a blind eye to the obvious needs both at home and around the globe. We talked about faith. We talked about what it means to each of us to be Christians in the "modern" age and the legacies we hope to leave behind once we're gone.

I'm so thankful for my sisters E and M. Though both live miles away, I know I can always turn to them and not feel insecure or judged. Without relationships like these, I think I may have ended up in a padded cell or shaving all my hair off a la BritBrit.

"Faith without deeds is dead..."

My heart stopped as I heard these words in one of my favorite songs, Albertine by the lovely and sweet Brooke Fraser. It's one of those songs that brings tears to my eyes and deepens my conviction to one day go to Africa and reach out to the broken there.

I will strive to live by those 5 words. I will challenge myself to follow in the steps of Mother Teresa who said,

In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love.

I hope and pray God's influence and grace will wear away at this desire within me to be great and do great. That He will make malleable that which is so concrete and stubborn about me.

Faith without deeds is dead.
Things done in vain are worthless.

We are to live for Him.
Live love.
Be love for the world.

Live love.

Be love.

Meet Jo(seph) Black?

Tonight I watched "The Nativity Story"... for the third time.

It's sad to realize how easily we all forget the true meaning of Christmas.
It was (is) a beautiful one that brings tears to the eyes and a sense of wonderment to the soul.

As I watched the film, I couldn't help but be mesmerized (that's not the right word, but it's late and I don't wanna think of another one) by the portrayal of Joseph. I thought to myself,

I want to marry a guy like Joseph!
Someone kind and selfless with a gentle spirit.
Someone who'll protect and look after the welfare of his family.
Someone with a quiet strength who will rise to the occasion when necessary.
Someone who will stand strong in his faith and lead his family to do the same.
Someone who will live by the sweat of his brow with steadfast integrity.
I want to see tenderness and joy in his eyes and see the twinkle in his eyes when he smiles
I want my heart to warm when he laughs

It would be even better if he was a little artsy, scruffy, played the guitar and wrote me songs, too. And if he had a heart for the needs of the broken... he'd be perfect!

Haha... I'm not being picky at ALL!

Extra! Extra!

This just in:

I've received word that one of the organizations I try and sponsor is doing a joint endeavor with a missions organization - they're planning 2-week long trips to Africa!

For those of you who know my story, you know that I've been wanting to go to Africa for a short term trip, but have been too chicken to take the necessary steps.

The first trip starts in late May...

Crossing fingers and praying for guidance

O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

This past Saturday I visited a local "farmer's market" to check their stock of baskets and wicker trays for work.

I came across some adorable tiny, glittery, gold metal Christmas trees. With tax, they would have come to about $ 2.00 a piece. I really wanted to buy two to decorate my desk at work...

But then I remembered I work for a KOSHER catering company...

*sigh*

Almost Famous and Jumping the Bandwagon

The following article was posted by Craig Borlase.

There’s a guy I quoted once – a friend of mine – who said something that I actually thought was pretty worrying. We had different perspectives on a certain topic, and his words sent me off on a whole chapter’s worth of ranting and raging about the myopic nature of the church.

Anyway, this summer we were chatting and once again he said something that made me stop and think. The only thing about this time is that instead of being opposed to his opinions, I’m wholeheartedly in agreement with them. In fact, his words were so accurate that I’ve adopted the sentiment and the sentence as my own.

We were talking about the workings of the Christian industry – the machine that offers both he and I occasional trips out of smaller, more local, more anonymous work. In this small pond we are eclipsed by other, far larger fish, but from time to time we swim along with them. Anyway, enough of the words, the deal is that he’s a worship leader who occasionally makes albums and I’m a writer who occasionally writes books.

He was relating an incident that had just happened. He’d returned home to find a bit of promotional material for a forthcoming product he was involved in that mentioned all the contributors’ names but his own.

He was, at first annoyed. He hatched a plan to put things right – a phone call to the main man, a few home truths. He might even get a few other issues out in the open too – explain how he’d been feeling kind of frustrated about being treated like a lesser version of all the others, about how he’d had enough of being put down in the subtle ways, of being passed over and ignored.

Then he stopped. And he listened once more to the thoughts he’d been thinking. And he despised what he heard.

Telling me his story, he delivered his killer line:

“I hate the person I have to become in order to be a part of all this.”

All this – this Christian industry where reputation and influence and fame seem to create a not-so-alternate version of the more secular worlds around us - worries me. It worries me for the person I become when I get tempted to strategise to increase my readership, when I take offence at the snub I think I ought not to have received, when I wonder about a future characterised by sales and an oh-so-flawed view of success.

I hope this doesn’t make much sense to you. I think that this probably affects a handful rather than the bulk of us, but despite that, it’s something I frequently need to get off my chest.

Perhaps that’s just the point. Perhaps it’s better to wince at the bitter aftertaste of the cult of Christian celebrity rather than to crave its sweetness. Perhaps there’s no point in decrying it completely, but instead to keep a check on the personal. I don’t know much more, but I do know that I hate the person I have to become in order to be a part of all this.

Slowly I realize how this little flame - this wanting to be recognized and appreciated - burns inside of me.

It is with great regret that I jump on this bandwagon.

Blast from the past (My life in vivid technicolor)

I caught the tail-end of this movie tonight.

The story was all too familiar. It told of the struggle of an Asian-American girl trying to balance (and honor) her heritage and her identity as an (North) American. Her parents want her to be one thing. She knows she was made to be something more.

She falls in love with an "American" boy and all hell breaks loose when her parents learn about it. After much persuasion and guilt, she gives in and continues her (un)happy existence trapped in her parents' home and their overbearing expectations.

The scene I caught was eerily similar to what I had experienced this past Thanksgiving.

Her parents - and their friends no doubt - convince her to go on a blind date with a DOCTOR (and every mother in the world sighs hopefully for their daughters)

Jade (Sandra Oh's character) lets her mom dress her, style her hair and paint her face until the funky starving artist she once knew herself to be is but a faint memory. The Doctor arrives. She submissively allows him to seat her in his BMW. They drive away.

Away from her parents' home and watchful eyes, she asks the the Doctor to pull over and exits the car. She walks, then jogs, then runs away. Away from him, away from the expectations and opinions. Away from the fear (or maybe towards it?) And all the while, you can hear her panting, trying to catch her breath and breathe in freedom.

I wanted to run like Jade, but there were no familiar streets for my feet to pound. Like Jade, I realized that my time here within the confines of my family's expectations is slowly coming to a close. A new chapter is being written, new scenes and characters are being added to this story. The director is calling for a change of scenery and a new resolution.




It's odd. I first saw this movie in high school, just catching the first third. I think I changed the channel that Saturday afternoon because of an uncomfortable scene [Annie blushes]. Or maybe it was because BayWatch or Star Trek: The Next Generation was due to start. I don't know. But I find it to be in God's perfect timing that I caught the end of the movie tonight. I don't think it would have resonated as much then - in my naiive, overly sentimental and anxious self - as it does now in this place I find myself in today.

As He's constantly urging me to take off my old self, I'm (daintily) removing these old garments of obligation and expectation. I'm starting to like the things He's clothing me with and am cringing at what He's revealed.

It's like looking through old pictures from the early '90s. You can't help but shudder in disbelief at the person you were (and dressed like) back then.

Now is better.

SO much better.

The End Is Just the Beginning

Our time here is short.
Like leaves in autumn, we turn and change.
We resemble what we once were,
but we are marked by time.
And when it is time for us to let go of this world,
to pull away and fall
we find ourselves carried away to our new home.
To settle in with the saints
Cushioned by they who journeyed before us
And to marvel at the masterpiece displayed -
The intricate colors woven and layered together
A glorious display of lives touched and saved by His grace

The end, you see, is just the beginning...

Thoughts.

This weekend was a reminder of the circularity of this thing called life.

Just yesterday a friend celebrated her 29th birthday. I hear it was a wonderful time of love, laughter and an appreciation for the life and person she is (and is becoming).

As one group celebrated life, another group remembered a life cut short. We learned that a former employee passed away over the weekend. He was 63.

EDIT: I just learned that someone I know had their baby boy today. And so the cycle
continues...

I know you ~ I danced with you once upon a dream...

Last night I had a strange dream...

I was at a wedding or similar occasion requiring pretty dresses and crisp suits.

I bumped into a guy I knew a lifetime ago - someone I'd taken to my Senior prom and whom I'd pushed away (along with many others) later that summer when I learned my parents were getting a divorce.

We hugged. We smiled. We laughed.

And I swear I felt a flutter in my heart...

Jack (Frost) the Ripper

It's a balmy 36 degrees today. The wind is howling at equal speeds.

Had it not been for the roller-coaster-like fall season we've experienced this year, I feel our bodies would have better adapted - that the blood would run thicker, more concentrated and determined in the veins. But right now, I feel as though my innards (and outers) are screaming in shock.

And as I sit here typing, snowflakes fall sparsely in the night sky. They are the first signs that winter is indeed on its way. And I'm not quite ready.

This past Sunday, we had a guest speaker at the church I've been visiting. He spoke with the passion and fire I've only witnessed in the Baptist church.

He spoke truth.

And as I sat there receiving God's Words, the speaker reminded us all that the Advent was upon us.

The Advent - the hopeful waiting of a lost world for a Messiah, a Deliverer.

That thought remained with me throughout the day. It continues to cause a ripple in my thoughts now.

And I realize: These messages - this hope-filled longing - were (are) the first signs. But, like the the abrasive cold that seems to steal my breath tonight, I'm not quite ready for it.

This world is/was lost. It needed EXRA-ORDINARY hope. It needed (we need) extraordinary help. We find that in Jesus, our WONDERFUL, EXTRA-ORDINARY counselor... Everything, EVERYTHING - every answer, every hope, EVERYTHING - is found in Him.
- Paraphrased from this Sunday's message. (My brain isn't very good at retaining info for more than a day these days... sigh... but you get the idea)

Peace Pipes and White Flags

To update the 2 of you who read this:

I gathered up all my courage and confronted my mom.

There were tears... all mine, of course (I HATE confrontation or causing discomfort)

She spoke her mind. Shared how she was disappointed and shocked that I could behave the way I did.

We both realized our wrongs. We both apologized. (Again, I cried)

I expressed my feelings of hurt, manipulation, and entrapment; finally shared all the hurt and burdens I've been carrying with me for the past year; and expressed my intentions to see change happen.

I hope she's beginning to see my point of view and will allow me room to breathe and make my own mistakes. We both realized we need to trust God more - she with my life and myself with my relationships (with her and others).

To those who prayed for reconciliation, THANK YOU.