Packing Night

We're all in the living room. My sister has a huge blue suitcase in the middle of the room, her clothes scattered on various couches and chairs. She leaves tomorrow for her first trip to Europe. And we're all so excited for her. From our enthusiasm, you would think we were all travelling together. The five of us - my mom, sister, and two friends - are lounging on the empty chairs and couches. Her plan is to stay up all night, so that she can sleep on the long flight. Our plan is to stay up with her until we drop off to sleep. So far, she has outfits planned for two of the five weeks.

Outside, the streetlamp struggles to stay awake. It flickers on, off, on, off. Pause. Then back on again.

Our spontaneous laughter fills the room. We have music playing in the background, along with the quiet sounds of my brother (or is that dad?) snoring in the other room.

Two hours later, we've moved from sitting upright to leaning on each other, now we're all rather squished together on the long, blue couch, lying down and hearing the sounds of each other's breaths. The music takes up more and more space. The suitcase is half-full, and all the clothes is now organized into neat piles. It's hard to believe she's actually leaving to travel in Europe, just like we dreamed about when we were little. We're so, so happy for her and just as happy to share these times of packing and planning. I love sister-nights like this.

Read more...

"For us, there is only the trying"

So here I am, in the middle way, having had twenty years—

[...]

Trying to use words, and every attempt

Is a wholly new start, and a different kind of failure

Because one has only learnt to get the better of words

For the thing one no longer has to say, or the way in which

One is no longer disposed to say it. And so each venture

Is a new beginning, a raid on the inarticulate

With shabby equipment always deteriorating

In the general mess of imprecision of feeling,

Undisciplined squads of emotion. And what there is to conquer

By strength and submission, has already been discovered

Once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope

To emulate—but there is no competition—

There is only the fight to recover what has been lost

And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions

That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.

For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.

Home is where one starts from. As we grow older

The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated

Of dead and living. Not the intense moment

Isolated, with no before and after,

But a lifetime burning in every moment

And not the lifetime of one man only

But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.

There is a time for the evening under starlight,

A time for the evening under lamplight

(The evening with the photograph album).

Love is most nearly itself

When here and now cease to matter.

Old men ought to be explorers

Here or there does not matter

We must be still and still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion

Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,

The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters

Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.

(TS Eliot - Four Quartets: East Coker)

--------

I turned twenty today. And because school doesn't stop for birthdays, I woke up promptly at 6:30 am and didn't return home until 10. The day was both long and weary, but there were surprising moments of joy and pure beauty.

Sometime around 1, I was utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I felt weak and lost. So, I went to the olive grove. It's quiet, removed from the busy-ness of classrooms and dorms. And green (for the most part). I sat there and forgot time for a bit. The light sifted through the trees, and the wind made me feel alive.

I know this isn't new to anyone who has read my blog - this cycle of pain, exhaustion, and then coming to rest in peace and even joy. It's not new to me, but something I have to continually learn and relearn. I'm realizing today how much gratitude plays a part in being alive, in banishing the weariness and apathy. I love that the words grace and gratitude have the same root. Gratitude is a way of seeing the beautiful grace that is all around us.

So I sat there in the olive grove, and decided to be part of the "trying" that Eliot talks about. I made lists of 20s in my journal: 20 people I love, 20 places that feel like home, 20 beautiful memories, 20 conversations that have changed me, 20 shades of blue. And with each list, I gained a deeper love for this strange and unusual place called earth.

Earlier, a friend had asked me if I was happy, and that was a hard question to answer honestly. But after that time of seeing and listing beauty, I honestly could say I was happy. Not in a bouncy sense, but in a grounded happiness that comes from seeing and experiencing grace and beauty.

There is a crushing joy that crackles in every corner of this world. I am tiny and yet I am here. I have been given sense, awareness, existence, and placed on a stage so crowded with the vast, so teeming with the tiny, that I can do nothing but laugh, and sometimes laugh and cry.

Living makes dying worth it.

(ND Wilson, Notes from a Tilt-A-Whirl)

Read more...

Moments

"And for a moment, I understand that I have friends on this lonely path, that sometimes your place is not something you find, but something you have when you need it." - Libba Bray, Rebel Angels

I love school, but sometimes it's exhausting. Wednesday was one of those days that had a beautiful start, but towards the end of the day, I could barely keep myself together. I felt hedged in by the heat, overwhelmed by the crowds of unknown faces, and rather lost and disoriented. My own weakness scared me. I almost went home, even though I still had a huge assignment for my three-hour class.

Then, just ten minutes later, I found myself with three friends, talking about prayers and plays. And then another friend joined us, and another, and another. We all sat there and talked about everything and anything from Plato to Indiana Jones. People drifted in and out of the conversation, and sometimes we just sat there with nothing to say. Still, we were there.

Somehow, in that room with its uneven lighting and strange assortment of tables and chairs, with the friends who came and the friends who left, I felt place. I still felt exhausted, yet the sharp feeling of displacement had left, and instead there was a quiet joy. It's strange how strong I feel during those moments of place, even when I'm at my weakest. Strange and absolutely beautiful.

Read more...

On Joy

"The world does bad things to us all, and we do bad things to the world and to each other and maybe most of all to ourselves, but in that dazzle of bright water as the glittering whales hurled themselves into the sun, we saw that joy is what we belong to. Joy is home. God created us in joy and created us for joy, and in the long run, not all the darkness there is in the world and in ourselves can separate us finally from that joy, because whatever else it means to say that God created us in his image, it means that even when we cannot believe in him, even when we feel most spiritually bankrupt and deserted by him, his mark is deep within us.

We have God's joy in our blood."

Frederick Buechner, The Great Dance (emphasis mine)

Read more...

Enough

Sidenote: I have at least twenty drafts sitting in my queue, and I fully intend on finishing and posting at least half of those. They're not current reflections of my life, but still, I'd like to post them.

[from April 2011]

Some days it just gets harder. Waking up with weakness and pain wears me down until some mornings I feel thin and stretched, too broken to even start the day.

At one point, I felt a strange, strong apprehension. Almost as if I saw depression, looked into the dark days ahead, felt the cold pain touch my mind. I cried in fear. I had faced this before. Please God, not again. My weakness crashed down on me - physical, emotional, mental - and I felt powerless to stop the depression. I wanted to choose joy, to see light, but I couldn't. Not on my own, not with this brokenness.

So I asked for prayer with a quick post on Facebook, which only a handful of friends could see. I quickly pressed enter, shut my laptop, and walked out of my room before I could delete my post.

I went outside and looked at the stars. Their beauty gave me clarity. I felt terribly small in the face of this terrifying and huge world. I lay on the concrete. It still held warmth from the forgotten sun. I felt small points of despair ebb away, and I knew joy would come in the morning.

That joy didn't wait for the morning. It came with the stars that faintly light up the LA sky, the chilling breeze that came through my window, in a peace that I cannot ever quite explain. The next morning, my pain was still there, but I had lost the sinking feeling of despair. But not the feeling of brokenness, I didn't feel whole, and still don't.

The miracle is - it wasn't my choice. I didn't choose joy, the way I didn't choose depression in the past. Joy chose me and sought me out in my darkness. It was the way the light filled my room, the prayers of my faithful friends, the text messages from classmates who missed me.

And for now, that's enough. Having joy is enough.

Read more...

Rain

Love this rain. How a raindrop settles on my face, then runs down, leaving way for the next inevitable drop. How it brings us closer, as we huddle for warmth in the library or around a cup of tea. How it makes the air feel alive and reborn. I love this rain.

Nobody stands still in the rain. Rain rushes us all from the shelter of one dry spot to the next. I found myself hurrying past the library with my hand above my head until a rebellious raindrop landed on my face. I had to stop. And look up. Rain is our common grace. It's easier to see grace with this image of rain. It falls from above and touches everything below. It is a gift.

I kept walking but with an uplifted head and entered class.

Two hours later, I forgot my moment of revelation when the pain set in. Rain makes my knees and hands feel a steel, sharp pain. I pulled my unwilling body across campus and hurried through the rain. Rain didn't feel beautiful or remind me of grace. Then I almost fell into a puddle that drenched my shoes and splattered my face. I had to laugh as I realized my stupidity, my sin. It began to rain harder. As it fell, the rain startled my soul into remembering God and His love. Maybe I wouldn't be so startled if there was no pain. Maybe it's not just the rain that startles my soul, but the pain as well. Maybe... no, not maybe, God ordained both. And I can rest in that.

"When all of a sudden, I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory

And I realize just how beautiful You are and how great Your affections are for me.

Oh. How He loves us. Oh, how He loves us. How He loves us, oh."

Read more...

Smash

"Learn power, the smash of the holy once more, and signed by its name. Be victim to abruptness and seizures, events intercalated, swellings of the heart. You'll climb trees. You won't be able to sleep, or need to, for the joy of it."

Holy the Firm, Annie Dillard

No other quote can describe this month so well. The smash of the holy shattered my plans for June. From the start, I've been bewildered, angry, amazed, through the whole spectrum of emotion. This month feels fragmented and unclear. Nothing fits together (except in some great plan that I cannot see). I hope in that unseen plan. Life now just means unraveled plans and unanswered emails.

Two weeks ago, I planned to fly out to TX and visit two very, very dear friends for the first two weeks of June. But I had to cancel because of more health issues. Apart from the pain of the new illness, I was not happy that first day of June. Southwest kindly sent me an email confirming that my flight was indeed canceled. I tried not to break down crying. Tried being the key word. It sounds silly, but visiting friends really is a huge encouragement, and those girls are two of my best friends. I felt so little and lost.

Last Sunday, I made the whirlwind decision to spend the week with my Ninos in Oceanside. It was one of the best weeks ever. We watched movies, rode bikes, blasted Taylor Swift and Matchbox Twenty, talked about everything under the sun, read Narnia on top of bunk beds, and drank tea. I could feel the swelling of my heart towards joy. This completely unplanned week, this smash of holy, made me want to climb a tree and laugh out loud.

We gathered last Saturday, my Dad's side of the family. Just two months ago, we mourned the death of my Uncle Kenny, this time we mourned another death. Together in dark colors of black and purple, around a grave, tears and hugs. This death was another shock, a complete surprise, a smash of... holy?

Yet I have to believe this is a smash of holy. If this all really is the smash of the holy, then I can only stand back and bite my tongue. Silent, but with something else pulling at my heart. If the mark is of a God who is the holy, holy, holy Lord of hosts. The whole earth is full of His glory. This month is part of His glory. And because of His only begotten son, I see part of His glory. And then there's the pull, the pull of joy. It definitely came after the smash, after I cried, whined, and argued. But it's there: a sign of grace, a gift, pure and beautiful joy.

What wondrous love is this, oh my soul, oh my soul...

Smash of holy.

Read more...

Here.

Today was beautiful. It still is, actually. The strong blues of the sky are clear and the green all over our house and yard defies description. And the wind! It's blowing, reckless and joyful.

I climbed to the top of our tree house and tried to journal. But the wind blew the words away. Something about the wind makes me feel so alive, so grateful for the present. I'm reminded of His faithfulness in ALL things. No circumstances change His character, He is the Lord of all creation. I stand with the wind, with blue skies, with green trees. And I am at a lost for words.

How great Thou art.

Benedictus es, Domine.

Read more...

Rejoicing

"Rejoicing in the Bible is much deeper than simply being happy about something. Paul directed that we should 'rejoice in the Lord always' (Phil. 4:4), but this cannot mean 'always feel happy,' since no once can command someone to always have a particular emotion. To rejoice is to treasure a thing, to assess its value to you, to reflect on its beauty and importance until your heart rests in it and tastes the sweetness of it. 'Rejoicing' is another way of praising God until the heart is sweetened and rested."

Tim Keller, Counterfeit Gods

Read more...

Storms

"Time is a storm... but beyond time's storm, there's timelessness. The Lord of Heaven changes not, even when our view's most dark. God's never gone. It's only men go blind."

Godric, Frederick Buechner

The view seems dark now. In this past month, time's storm hit hard. Heartache for friends in pain, grief for the deaths that have touched my family, my friends. My uncle Kenny died suddenly last week. He was only 29. Dad loved him so, so much; I grieve to see Daddy hurt like this. And then again, a friend from church, Hermano Tony, died yesterday. And even though I didn't know him that well, I know the grief my family is going through now, I know his family and friends must be going through the same pain.

I feel helpless in this storm. With Dad, I can hug him, talk with him, and just be with him. But the grief remains, as it will for awhile. All I can really do is pray for Daddy, for Hermano's family, and for my friends. I really, really wish I could do more, wave some type of magic wand and make all the pain go away. But that's me wanting to do God's job. It is in His hands. I cannot ask for more.

And even though the view is dark now, I know it is not a pure darkness. My Uncle Kenny and Hermano Tony were both saved. And they now stand in the glorious presence of the Lord. What a thought!

I'm learning to trust in the promises of God, and in this process, I can find joy. I have found joy. A joy that is not circumstantial: the joy of the Lord, who is always, always there. Not a happy-go-lucky attitude, but a foundation, a comfort that the storms of time cannot shake. Please Lord, let me rest in that.

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

Read more...

.

Unexpected, unmerited, a sharp piercing of eternity.

Joy.

That in existence without which the universe will fall and collapse (Madeleine L'Engle).

Joy.

Read more...

The Joy Idol

It had been a really, really hard week. I was lost somewhere between being hurt and wanting to be happy. I felt apathetic, as if I kept on running into brick walls. By now, I probably had the emotional equivalent of a brain concussion. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be joyful. Good? Well, in some ways, yes, but not this time. This was a different type of want. I saw pain, felt pain, and then stomped my foot and demanded joy.

I wanted to be able and smile at people and say, "It is well with my soul." I wanted to show strength in times of trouble and peace in face of pain, in short, everything I did not have. But I couldn't. Then, after awhile, I realized I was looking for joy within myself. Tried pulling it out with my own strength. And that's not how joy happens. It comes from God, not as something we can expect or demand, but a gift.

Joy is piece of grace that God gives during hard times. Yet I looked at joy as if it alone could get me through the days. I made an idol of it. Joy is a sign-bearer, and the sign points to God. You can't see and have true joy without Him. He is the one who bears us through our trials. He is the one who gives true joy.

There's joy in this moment. And it is all a gift. An amazing, wondrous, and simply beautiful gift.

Read more...

Color

For Faith

We're bright green and red. The sun brings out every little color detail about my home. My beautiful home.



My little brother sits on my lap, laughing rather contagiously. He asks about my bracelet - orange, teal, turquoise, purple. And I tell him our colors, then I tell him about my friend who loves color.



We both smile and then snap! The shutter closes, and the camera catches the moment in digital pixels. We're both little children, loving and laughing in this world of color.

Read more...

This Patch Of Sunlight

I'm in a world of sunlight and words. My brown dress has permanent wrinkles from being crushed in hugs all morning. The sun streams onto the faces of my sleeping sisters. And it's so beautiful. I fill my mind with a Shannon Hale's story or lay the book down and enjoy the calm happiness of just being home.

I love it here, love these small pieces of sunlight. Buoyant, joyful, I could conquer the world right now. The antibiotics help this feeling, no doubt, and I know this strength is temporary. It'll fade with the sun. But I still am grateful for it. These pieces of sunlight make the weakness and pain all the more bearable. I skipped down the side-aisles with my little brother at church today. I don't regret it now, even though I'm exhausted. It's definitely worth it.

Praise God for Sundays with sunlight.

Read more...

The Rhythm of Life

I woke up today and saw the sun shining through the window onto the peaceful sleeping faces of my sisters. It was one of those moments when time just stands still. And I felt the piercings of joy. It was beautiful.

A week ago, Allison has an absolutely beautiful post on Lent and the metaphysics of catching light. And I've been thinking about it a lot. I can see and thank God for the light that falls into my lap, like this morning, but when light seems far off, I do not go actively seeking it. But I am going to try and do so.

...

A portrait of my evening.


We all lounge around the living room. I play a quiet melody on the piano. I love sitting there playing and watching life go on, like having a soundtrack for life. I could see Jazz doing homework, Jacqueline just sitting happily, Leo quietly reading aloud. Well, as quiet as he gets. It's after four, and I'm surprisingly not tired. Thankfully not tired.

Dad comes home, and the family is complete. I segue into another song, a jazzy Gershwin piece. Dad loves jazz pieces. My cousin comes over and visits while I play through Clementi sonatas and play Jason Mraz by ear. Mom asks if I'm too tired to do chores, and I'm not. I love sweeping... it's the only chore I like, heh, but still. I'm glad I'm awake and have the strength to help around the house.

I'm coming to love this spontaneous rhythm of life. It's different for me, very different, I used to plan out every minute of the day. But my illness leaves no room for any type of plans. And so I spend my days like this, listening to laughter, watching memories unfold before me, sharing joys with my family ... and catching light.

Read more...

Advent Thoughts: Recalled to Life

And do you care to be recalled to life?

Charles Dickens asked this question in his book The Tale of Two Cities. Dr. Manette has been imprisoned in the Bastille, driven to madness. 18 years in pure darkness. But he is released, and a messenger speaks of it as him being "recalled to life". Manette's daughter, Lucie, brings him back to sanity through her love and care. The shadow of the Bastille stays with him to the end of his days, but Lucie always helps him to banish those memories, and eventually overcome them.

Reading that story, I saw a picture of my - our - own redemption. We have been recalled to life, out of the darkness of sin. Recalled to a life full of beauty, wonder, vibrancy, a life so vastly different from the life of darkness.

We do have those days, just like Dr. Manette, when the darkness just overshadows our days. And we feel weary, tired. But then we have our Lucie Manettes also :) Friday was one of those almost purely awful days - just lots of pain, and I felt like a totally incompetent failure. It was my Mom's birthday, and I had to sleep for most of it! I almost called one of my friends to cheer up, but I figured it wouldn't be that helpful to call anyone since I would probably just break down in tears. And besides, I couldn't walk to find the phone (the rest of the family was gone). So I just cried on my bed. For awhile.

But we had a candle in our room, and after the tears, the light just kept on flickering. I was reminded of the hope we have, reminded that the weariness does not last forever, reminded of the heavenly wonders around me. And I was recalled to life.

And this whole beautiful Advent season is a reminder of this amazing truth. That in the dark of the world, one night, Christ-God came down to earth as a child to bring His own children out of the night into everlasting glory. He came to recall us to life.

(of course, there's also the wonderful story of Sydney Carton...)

Read more...

Happy. Wonderfully happy.

Michael Buble music on blast. Repeating Everything and Save the Last Dance lots and lots of times. There's a beautiful California sunset right outside, I can see it clearly through our glass doors. Brilliant purples, oranges, and blues, pure beauty. I'm dancing cha-cha and salsa with myself, laughing and remembering the last time I heard Buble and danced. In Oklahoma, for the Summer Academy, with my best friends. And suddenly I am filled with joy, pure, absolute joy.

There's only one rather incongruent fact about this whole scenario. I just had surgery. Four surgeries, actually. One on Wednesday, big deeeeep cut on my side, and then three today - one on my leg, one on my arm, and lots of needles and cauterizations on my head. But I think dancing and (light) bouncing is the perfect medication, heh. I'm not on any pain meds (per my request), so the music keeps my mind off the pain.

Mind over matter.

(Guess the quote. *smiles happily*)

I've also been immersed in some of my favorite books. Lord Peter, Schaff, Narnia, Ideas Have Consequences. Thus, I'm "drunk on words", to use that wonderful quote. It's just one of those days, one of those glorious, amazing days.

Praise God for His goodness.

Addendum: Here are some pictures from my latest photoshoot with my sisters :)

Read more...

Pierced

I don't know how many times I've done this. I don't want to know. My knees lose their strength, and I'm kneeling on the floor.

My forehead touches the floor, the cool wood soothes my burning skin. I'm crying.

My lips move to pray, "Your Will be done." But all that comes out is the muted cry, Why?

And the tears keep falling.





It has been two 1/2 months now. I think I have finally realized that this might just stay with me for awhile. The doctors don't have a diagnosis, and even though I wish fervently they could wave a magic wand and make all the pain go away, that's just not the way it is.

But I am home :) With parents who would drive for an hour and a half to take me to ER, brothers who make me laugh, sisters who do my chores, and friends who pray for me and brighten my days with their sweet and dear friendship. There's no legitimate reason for me to be sad or discontent with my lot. I am so blessed, so happy, and so grateful to God.

I have learned so much and am still learning from this whole experience, and despite all the pain, I thank God for putting me through all of this. He is showing me what beautiful joy there is, how blessed I am, how *healthy* I am in comparison to others. Divine truth pierces my doubts, my fears. Divine sovreignty pierces through my plans, leaves me helpless. And my heavenly Father patiently teaches me that the night may come, but Joy will come in the morning.

Read more...

Turning

To turn, turn will be our delight,
'Til by turning, turning we come round right

A week ago:

no pain

no medications

and joy

Now:

pain, definitely pain

new medications

lots of tears

and joy

Read more...

Joy

How is it that we find the greatest sense of joy and peace in the midst of pain and suffering?
Through His grace and tender loving-care.
Praise Him for His sovereignty!

Read more...