honesty

i have lost the skill of honesty.  i don't remember what it is like to be wholly exposed, to be visibly wounded.  rather, i have hidden these reservoirs of grief deep, so deep that even i forget that they are there.

it is no wonder then that prayer has felt hollow.  in my attempt to be "strong" and to practice gratitude, in the face of what are obvious blessings, i have covered over these areas that have never healed.  

what now?

on marriage and sacrifice

it's been a while.  time to reflect is hard to come by these days, but i suppose that does not change the worthiness of the endeavor.

long distance marriage is hard.  at first i thought it would get easier as time went on, as i got used to the travel, the schedule, the hours spent interacting by screen, the sleep deprivation.  but i didn't expect that time together would become more dear, thereby rendering time apart more painful.

the first night apart after the new year, i was pretty upset.  Lord -- why me?  why do you always ask me to endure hard things?  

and instead of an answer, i heard the comment that esther made to me that weekend at worship retreat.  i consider it always my privilege to serve.


this season of long distance marriage is our obedience to God's call to serve the church.  


walking with the Lord has truly been an adventure that has taken many turns, and in a secular sense, has required much of me.  but my prayer is that i would consider it a joy and privilege to lay down all that i have - my time, my finances, my career, and yes, my marriage - to serve Him who is worthy of more than i have to give.  

processing

on some days i feel happy and content.

a lot of other days i feel lonely and confused.

is it supposed to be like this?  maybe i'm doing something wrong.  i'm not even entirely sure why i feel this way.  

 

sleep

some nights i go to sleep thankful and feeling blessed.  

other nights i weep because i am afraid.  

history

we sat two by two in art class, organized by the alphabet.  you turned to me and said hey, our last names are similar.  we were both new.  we should be friends.  you told me that you would never wear black and red together because it was too sexy.  i'm not sure why i still remember that.  

you joined our class midway through the year.  our teacher asked me to show you to the room where they did the hearing exams.  you asked me if i spoke cantonese, and if the hearing test would hurt.  you taught me how to make paper stars.  we took swimming lessons during the summer.  your brother would pick us up, and we would proclaim loudly how warm we were as we shivered in the air conditioned car.  

we became friends during after school care, science olympiad, orchestra.  you dated the boy that i crushed on for three years, and i consoled you during your break up.  the day before middle school graduation we went to the counselor to tell her we were worried because you had spoken of taking your own life.  the next year we roomed together on our orchestra trip to London.  we looked like tomatos in those ridiculous puffy red jackets, and you drank the tiny tubs of half and half.  i didn't understand why you had to tell random strangers across the hallway that i had an anger problem.  you told me that the reason you were eating spoonfuls of brown sugar out of the bag was because you didn't want to lose what your mama had given you.  

i don't remember how we became friends, but i thought that our group would stay together forever.  late night trips to bubble tea, doing homework at the cafe.  weekend debate tournaments, egyptian ratscrew, waffle house and long bus rides.  i remember thinking something was wrong, and being driven to tears even though i could not explain why, driving by myself that night.  i remember calling you as i left, wondering where you were.  i remember going to bubble tea before showing up.

you invited me to the meet up with the brother from your home town.  you told me about the boy you liked.  i remember it was november when you introduced me to the girl you dubbed your twin.  

you asked me to meet up and i didn't understand why you wanted to eat at a thai restaurant instead of dining commons.  you had alligator--it tasted like chicken.  i asked someone to tell you i wasn't interested.  i deleted the conversation where you told me that you had gotten tired of "dealing with me."  but i still remember it.

i joined your group because of chemistry class.  late night chinatown runs, a trip out to Lancaster for smorgasbord, super smash bros, road trips to New Jersey, spring break in St. Louis.  i thought we'd be forever family.  perhaps this one was my fault.

i was there when you created your eharmony profile, the night we slept over at your parents' house.  we made cinnamon rolls for church breakfast.  you preferred to rip lettuce with your hands instead of cutting with a knife.  we played board games at your apartment.

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today there is a lie that says to me that i cannot be known and loved.  that if i am wholly broken, fully emotional, neurotic, raw, hurting, that if i lay my soul bare - that i will be told that i am an exhausting person, too difficult to deal with, too much to handle.   

i know that i am loved in Jesus.  but i'm struggling to believe that there is love beyond that. 

seeing miracles

last night someone said - i believe the biggest miracle is a changed heart.

lately i've been praying for eyes to see.  Lord, i asked, i want to see miracles.  i want to have deeper faith and intimacy.  i want to move with the Spirit.
or perhaps, if i really had to verbalize it truthfully - i want to live a life of faith that mirrors what i see from the testimonies of "charismatic" people, and i want to see what they see, to taste that emotion they portray.  

maybe i was starting to believe that there was something wrong with the way my walk looks.  to be sure, the past several months have felt dry and distant.  and i began to wonder if i even remembered what it was like to pray, to be open and honest and raw, to be filled.  


yesterday reminded me that God is doing many things.  absolutely, he multiples bread, he removes cancer, he calms storms.  and i want to ask for those things, to see those things.  but he is also working in those quiet spaces, those places most hidden, in ways and timing that i cannot fathom or understand, until all of a sudden, in a flash of brilliance it is revealed.  

backlog

it's been almost six months since i've been able to really put thoughts to paper.  in that time, i introduced my boyfriend to my parents, who forbid us to get married before he finished school, decided to get married anyway, moved to New York, started a new job, and got engaged.

i've never seen myself as a particularly obedient daughter.  for the past 10 years i've lived pretty independently, making most life decisions without too much input from my parents.  but i rarely did something which they disapproved of.  

i don't have an elegant, poetic way to describe how hard and frustrating and stressful it was for me to experience my parents' disapproval.  it shocked me how much i was impacted by it.  in the weeks leading up to J's meeting with my parents, i had to take Zyrtec every day because the stress caused me to break out in hives.  i cried for three hours straight the night my parents forbid us from getting married before J finished school.  i barely talked to my parents at all the whole time i was home because i couldn't think of anything i wanted to say, or knew that if i said something, it would not come out well.  when we got engaged, i didn't feel that i could be freely happy, knowing that my parents did not approve, though at that point they had decided not to take as strong a stance.

the most surprising thing about the past several months is how hard it has been for me to pray.  that despite knowing that God is who He is, and can do what He can do, fear gripped my heart and silenced the prayers i wanted to voice.  instead i became kind of numb, that thing i do when vulnerability is too painful to endure.  



last week we told my parents that we set an official date.

the most distinctive moment for me during the conversation had nothing to do with what was being said.  it was not the fact that my parents, despite expressing their disapproval, indicated that they would accept J into our family, nor was it the moment where they indicated that they would come.  

rather, it was the moment before all that, when i realized that i was carrying a burden that i was not designed to hold. 

here Lord, i said, You take this.  after all, You are the only one who can change hearts.  



in retrospect, i don't know why it took me so long to be able to surrender and trust.  i think there was a part of me that was still concerned that i was doing something wrong, and perhaps the Lord wasn't really going to show up.  or maybe i was worried that i would trust and be disappointed.

my faith is still small in so many ways.  but the Lord continues to gently show me that He is so much greater than my faith can fathom.