New house.

Oh yeah, Nathan and I are moving in to a new house in a few weeks.  I keep forgetting about that.

People have been saying congratulations and asking if I was nervous, but honestly, I've only really been thinking about it when Nathan or someone else brings it up in conversation.  Nathan's been taking care of pretty much most of the details (shocking to most, but not really in my opinion), so I guess that's part of the reason why.

I wonder if part of why it hasn't sunk in is because you can get a house for pretty cheap in Rochester, so it's not as big of a dent in your wallet as it would be getting a house somewhere in NYC.  Buying a house in NYC, my dear readers, would be a big deal to me.  Now that would be a big commitment and very permanent in my opinion.  And it would definitely whack a whopping dent in my wallet.

I'm not really looking forward to the actually packing and moving part.  And I'm not too keen on the upkeep side of being a homeowner (with our apartment it's so easy - you just call when there's a problem and then someone comes and fixes it for you for no additional cost!).

I am, however, excited about the possibilities of DIY projects that owning a house can bring.  While it's not like I was in prison and couldn't do any DIY projects in our apartment, not being able to paint the walls or hammer in nails were apparently enough limitations for me to feel like my entire DIY craft freedom was taken away.  That's probably how I subconsciously rationalized my lack of home projects.  I have hope that actually owning a house will help inspire me and kick me into a let's-make-something-creative-and-useful-and-pretty kind of mode.  

The other thing is, we'll be moving in with other people (though it keeps changing and is not entirely set yet).  I was hesitant at first about this whole intentional living community thing, but less so now that Nathan and I have at least a year of marriage and living together on our own under our belt.  But as to how I'll feel about that emotionally as it becomes a reality is hard to say right now.

As many of my faithful readers probably remember, I do not think I am a person who naturally likes to be on the move.  If things were up to me, I'd probably pick a spot and stay there for the rest of my life.  I think of myself as someone who likes to set her roots and keep those roots growing.  But with feeling disconnected from my NYC home and with college and post-college life keeping me on the move, I've often wondered if this is how Abraham felt when God called him to pack up and go.  And keep going.  And keep moving.

But strangely, as I think about moving from the apartment to the new house, I don't feel anxious or reluctant or like a turtle being pulled out from her shell.  I don't know if that's because the whole new house thing hasn't sunk in yet, or because I'm starting to get used to this state of constant moving.  Who knows?  Maybe I'm just...ready.

I guess we'll find out in a future blog post.

Growing up.

Lately I've been thinking about how I'm 24 years old and how that seems quite bizarre to me.

When I was in high school I thought 24-year-olds (or almost any twenty-something, I guess) carried themselves with a sense of maturity while simultaneously pull off being cool and fun.  I thought they could be as proper as the Old English could be during tea time.  And I thought they gushed with wisdom in such a way that they seemed to have life pretty much all figured out.   

Boy, was I sure wrong about this 24-year-old.

I still feel like I'm 17 and still have nothing figured out.  There's this sense of naivete I can't seem to shake off.  I sometimes feel like I live under a rock even though I thought I got out from under it.  Maybe I'm scared to be exposed to the elements.  I don't want to leave my ideals behind to make space for cynicism and jaded attitudes. 

But I'm beginning to feel these elements brush alongside of me this year.

Prior to moving to Rochester, I had never really experienced any personal encounters with racist remarks.  Before this year I could've told maybe just one story from middle school that I wasn't even offended by because I didn't really understand it.  But from this year I could probably tell you about at least 5 different incidents.  They each evoked a different level of emotion, but now they more so just stand out in my mind rather than seem to weigh me down.  At the same time, there are instances I hear about or witness that I feel like I should feel offended about but am not.  Try that on for size.  Still a very confused Asian American as ever.

Death nowadays seems to weigh heavier in my heart.  The two closest people to me who passed away were my grandfather and my favorite teacher, Mrs. Hamilton, who taught me in the 4th grade.  And when they passed away, I was in middle school and it didn't really sink in as much as it would have now.  There's also something different and a bit removed about experiencing the death of your great-grandparents or grandparents' friends than knowing a friend's first baby girl who passed because of a rare cancer, or your dentist who went to the church you grew up in who also passed away from cancer, or the tragedy of the pastor who did your pre-marital counseling who suddenly passed from a rare pregnancy complication right after giving birth to her second child.  It all hits much closer to home and wells up that it-doesn't-seem-fair kind of anger in me that comes from an less familiar part of my heart.

Being out of school and out of those immediate relational contexts makes me feel like I've forgotten all I've learned intellectually and relationally.  And it's still so easy for me to compare myself to others (I know, I know, bad habit) that it's hard for me to figure out what I'm actually good at or what I can even offer the world.  I've been letting my drive, my focus, and my discipline drip out of me like a leaky faucet.

This blog has kind of been like a bucket underneath the leaky faucet.  I'm not really sure how to stop the leak, but I'm catching what I can and am trying to figure out what to do with it.  This blog, even with long breaks between posts, is the only thing I keep coming back to.

At least I'm not too naive to think that I'll have everything figured out in my thirties. 

A personal advent season. (Part 2)

As I've been gaining a better understanding of what the Advent season is really all about (this article also helps explain a little of what I've been learning), I've been starting to make some connections to my own season of life.

It's been a process of recognizing how our hope and anticipation of the coming of Christ does not stem out of this happy, easy-going, I-can-see-gifts-under-the-tree-and-can't-wait-to-open-them type of waiting.  Instead, it stems out of a period of darkness, suffering, and silence.  Advent is a season of spiritual preparation; a longing; a desire for that which is yet to come, and it is not here yet.  And this year the hope of the coming of Jesus has been evoking a much deeper response in me than simply to celebrate Jesus' birth like any other birthday, do good deeds, and extend my thanks and give good gifts.

There's simply something deeper and richer about the season of Advent that I had never learned before.

While I may not have been exiled from my land or suffered deeply as the Israelites have, it seems as though following Jesus has led me on an exodus into the wilderness, leaving behind almost everything I know and find comfort in.  Geographically, I've left my NYC hometown and my college hometown for a completely new location.  Relationally, I've left behind my friends and family to a community I have to develop and adjust to.  Vocationally, I've left behind familiar students of a familiar campus culture to lead students I've never led before in a campus culture I know next to nothing about.  Personally, I've left behind all of who I thought I was for a completely clueless twenty-something who tries really hard not to just drift through life but can't seem to get a grip on anything.

And spiritually, I have felt more disconnected from God than I ever have in my life thus far.  With these changes in life and marriage I've been forced again and again to come face to face with my selfishness and sinfulness.  It's been difficult to experience God's presence and grace,  even with the knowledge of them in my mind.

But I've been holding on to the hope that God is with me, even in the darkness.  And it's only been within the last few weeks where He has been helping me now start to see that things are getting better, slowly but surely.  There is progress in all areas of my life; despite how subtle and undramatic the progress has been, it is progress nonetheless.  The darkness still surrounds me, but the small light from a candle all the way at the other end of the unknown and uncertainty is enough to help me keep going, and keep holding on.

So as I prepare to enter the official Advent season, I've been trying to come up with creative Advent calendar ideas to help me press in to this season of recognizing the Israelites' preparation and longing for the Messiah, as well as my own today.  And while Pinterest has some really cute and crafty ideas, they don't really hit home for helping me engage and go deeper.  But we'll see what happens.  I'm sure God will use whatever I come up with to encounter Him and worship Him.

A personal advent season. [Part 1]

Although Advent hasn't technically started yet (though it's really close!), it seems as though God has already begun preparing my heart for the season.

My family celebrated Advent with our own little family traditions every year.  Every night for dinner in the month of December we'd play a Christmas CD from our collection, light a purple or pink Advent candle representing each week of Advent, and then listened to my dad read a little devotional about some aspect of your typical Christian Christmas story - something about Mary and Joseph, or the angels, or the shepherds, etc.  It was probably our most consistent family tradition and was always one of my favorites as it helped me anticipate the coming of Christ by focusing on the true meaning of Christmas beyond the presents and cards and such.

But this year, I've begun to see how the season of Advent is so much more than the star of Bethlehem, King Herod, the wise men, and baby Jesus in a manger.

The wheels started turning when the pastor of my church here in Rochester off-handedly shared during a conversation around Advent in adult Christian Ed that a typical sermon topic preachers would speak on for the first week of Advent would be an eschatological message.

I did a double-take because that was certainly not true of my experience thus far.  A message on the end times during Advent?  It made no sense to me.  But as our church was finishing up the book of 2 Kings, the more we started to connect the dots, and the more I started to understand.

Our church spent the whole year going through 1 & 2 Kings.  One of the things I like and appreciate about our church is the approach of how we journey through the Bible.  On a typical Sunday after worship service, we'll spend an hour (called Adult Christian Ed) digging into next week's passage and discussing our observations and questions as a group.  At the end of Christian Ed, our pastor encourages us to use that same passage we just discussed in our devotional time throughout the week - reading through it several more times, memorizing a verse or two, praying through it, etc., so that we can go deeper into the passage and see what God may bring to the surface for us as individuals.  Then our pastor preaches on the passage the following Sunday.

So as you can imagine, we've spent a whole lot of time learning about the many kings of Israel and Judah, and by connecting one passage after another, I've gained a broader understanding of the history, the decisions kings made, the circumstances around those decisions, the consequences of their leadership, and the people with whom God made covenant promises.  We've made connections to the books of the prophets of their time, as well as the New Testament, tried to understand how the people receiving these words at the time would hear them, and scratched the surface of how these things could possibly tie to us today.

Obviously, to go into all the things I've been learning, it would take a lot more than one blog post.  So I'll just share a little bit about the end of 2 Kings:  everything is a mess.  The northern kingdom has already fallen, and people of the southern kingdom of Judah finally collapse under the Babylonian rule or flee to Egypt - the land God had promised to His people seems to be lost forever, and God does not even make an appearance in the passage.  There's this sense of great depression, loss, disappointment, and sadness.

But, at the same time, it's not exactly where 2 Kings ends.  In the midst of death and destruction, it ends with the release and survival of Jehoiachin, previous King of Judah.  But he's not just any king - he carries on the line of King David, the same line from which Jesus is eventually born many years later.

Making some of those connections have given me a deeper understanding of the season of Advent.  Sure, Mary and Joseph's stories are important, of course, but the anticipation of the coming of Jesus doesn't stem out of this great period of happiness or assurance.  Instead, Advent is during a great period of darkness,  silence, and uncertainty; a season of desperately holding on to the Hope that is to come when it seems easier to give in to hopelessness.

More on this in another post.

My pros and cons of the Fall/Winter season

MY PROS:  

1.  I'm a sucker for pumpkin everything.  To me, pumpkin to the fall season is like Christmas carols are to the winter season.  Some people are serious pumpkin grinches, but I haven't gotten tired of pumpkin things yet, and I think it's fun to try making my own pumpkin things.  So far I've made pumpkin scones, pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, pumpkin pancakes, and pumpkin oatmeal.  I'm hoping to try making my own pumpkin spice latte (I actually dislike the Starbucks version) and there may be pumpkin bread in my future.

Pumpkin scones and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies!

2.  Stunningly gorgeous fall foliage.  Upstate NY is the BEST during the autumn season!  We may not have skyscrapers everywhere, but we've got enough colorful trees to make you smile.  Skyscrapers don't make me smile.  The bright mixes and shades of orange, red, and yellow leaves definitely make me smile.

3.  Flannel sheets and down comforters.  I discovered flannel sheets in college, I believe.  I think I got myself a set of penguin twin-sized flannel sheets.  Definitely did not grow up with them.  They're so warm and fuzzy - perfect for cold evenings.

4.  Having a wonderful husband to snuggle with.  Yeah, I'm a closet snuggler.  I don't think people's first impressions of me would include the assumption that I'm a snuggler.  Pam didn't really like it whenever I'd try snuggling with her growing up (she's not much of a touchy person), so I'm glad I'm spending the rest of my life with someone who likes to snuggle with me.

5.  Festive holidays.  I love Thanksgiving and Christmas.  I love reasons to get together with family and eat good food, and I love celebrating the seasons with little things like putting up decorations, listening to Christmas music, and even changing my desktop backgrounds to match.  I like the traditions and trying to develop new traditions, and dreaming up new and creative ways to prepare and participate.  It's fun and often helps me be reflective for me, too.

6.  Apple picking & farms.  Not only am I a sucker for pumpkin-y things, but I'm a sucker for apple picking and other farm-type activities and goodies.  Corn mazes, cider doughnuts, hot (or cold!) apple cider, the whole shebang.  I'd even go for the cheesy hay ride.  Almost went this year on one.  Would've gone if I had the time.  

MY CONS:

1.  Dry skin.  Especially dry, cracked skin that never moisturizes no matter how much you put lotion on.  It is painful, my friends, painful.     

2.  Cold, cold apartment.  Nathan describes our apartment like a thermos - it keeps the heat hotter in the summer, and keeps the cold air colder inside than outside.

3.  My desire to participate in outdoor activities decreases.  It's already hard trying to get me to exercise...try convincing me to run the cold.  I really like participating in (or rather, the possibility of participating in) warm outdoor activities like picnicking, rock scrambling, walking, biking, etc.  Though, I really love ice skating.

4.  When it slushes instead of snows.  It's dirty and gross and wet and not very pretty.

5.  The dangers and frustrations of too much snow.  Black ice?  Been there.  Digging out and pushing a car through the snow?  Done that.  Scary and time-consuming.  Not fun.

6.  Harder to wear pretty clothes.  I love skirts and dresses and pretty blouses and wish I had more of all of them and could wear them all the time.  Bundling up in pretty clothes is just not as easy for me to do in this season.  Maybe I need to just be creative?

Same number of pros and cons this time around, but can you tell which ones hold more weight in my opinion?  :)

Physical health to boost my spiritual health?

When I came across this blog post and read the first paragraph, I screamed (all in my head, of course), "That's ME!  That's exactly what I'm experiencing."  That's the numbness I've kind of started to feel sink in.  It's a scary feeling to recognize that you have no desire to do the things that used to bring you great joy.  I don't know if I kept saying, "I'll do it later," over this month, but there definitely has been a lack of motivation to do anything because of this temptation to stop caring.

It's interesting that the author was talking about the connection between spiritual health and physical health.  I disconnected with the author a bit at that point, mostly because I'm not overweight (thank the Lord), don't eat that poorly (hallelujah), and have actually been doing better in the physical fitness realm (it's a miracle).  But I only disconnected just a bit.  I have been feeling sluggish and not very well rested for a while now, even though I've been getting enough sleep.  It's interesting, though, because the more frustrated I've gotten with life, the more I'm okay with taking it out via running.  Just the other week I managed to run a total of almost 10 miles in a span of a few days!  Trust me, that's a big deal in Tammy's world.   

Nathan and I have set up a point system for ourselves - the more physical activity we do, the more points we get; the more points we get, the better the reward we can exchange for the points.  For my big 100 point reward, I can turn them in for concert tickets.  The idea is that I can get concert tickets for any of the bands or musicians I want, even if it's in a nearby state or not very close to our area, so we could turn it into a mini road trip.  Hence, the biggest reward on my list. 

But if it's motivation I'm looking for, I might have just found some for myself because I discovered tonight that Sara Bareilles is coming to Rochester!  I love (most of) her music and think she is super talented.  I really want to see her in concert.  I've seen some YouTube videos of her live concerts, and she seems like such a great entertainer and performer.  So I'm pretty excited.  I'll have to work hard and be really disciplined to stay on top of my physical activity, but it's definitely a reasonable goal to reach in order to earn the rest of my 100 points.  I'm so glad Nathan and I came up with a variety of ways we can earn points - I don't have to run my way to Sara Bareilles.  Praise Jesus.

More than lost signals.

Someone stole our GPS from our car last week.  They also stole a few CDs and a car charger, too.  It didn't look like anyone broke into the car, so I suspect that Nathan and I somehow forgot to lock the car when we unloaded it the day before, carrying way too many conference supplies and snacks after running some errands.

There were many different frustrations to reckon with - frustration that Nathan and I (though I think it was probably really me) forgot to lock the door in the first place; frustration that I didn't want to feel dependent on the stupid GPS but was feeling the tensions of not having it because everywhere we've needed to travel to so far didn't seem to have proper signage.  Cue the extra u-turns, missed exits, and roundabout routes to destinations.  Then cue the rain, the unnecessary tears, and confused husband who doesn't know what to do with his mess of a wife.

But the stolen GPS also came in the midst of this major season of frustration in my life, which can be boiled down into two categories:  frustrations with ministry, and frustrations with myself.

I know this may sound super cheesy, but I can't help but compare how I feel about our missing GPS with how I feel about my life.  I feel like a terrible wife, a terrible daughter, a terrible staff worker, and a terrible follower of Jesus.  I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what God's saying, or how to lead others who don't think like me or communicate like me very well.  I don't know how to trust God but also avoid sitting around waiting for God to wave a magic wand and do something.  I know He doesn't work that way.

It's frustrating because I'm trying to make decisions about where to go or what to try instead of just standing around, but I don't have any signs telling me if I'm going the right way or need to turn around.  Everything I try seems to hit dead ends.

Today I realize I'm starting to feel a numbness creep in.  There's a temptation for me to start shutting down because I've tried caring and it's not getting me anywhere.  It only seems to deepen the sense that I'm lost.  Nothing seems to work.

But my fear of becoming depressed seems to be outweighing everything else to give me enough strength to fight the numbness for now, so I'm trying to dig into God's Word again.  I may not recognize where God's working or what God's doing in my life.  I may not understand what He's trying to tell me.  And I may be terrible at almost everything.  But I'll use what little gas I have left in the tank to try and show up. 

The honor of listening.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to drive a student home from Large Group.  I'm really glad I did because spending time with her struck a familiar chord in me:  how much I love listening to people share their stories.

If you know me well, you know that I really dislike small talk.   What's your name?  What do you do?  Oh?  What are you studying?  Where do you live?  I hate that I often have to collect the basic pieces of information before I can dig deep and get to the more valuable stuff in a conversation.  I want to know what you're passionate about, what you're frustrated with, who you want to become, and what issues you're struggling through.  I want to know your story.  I want to know the real you.

It takes practice, and it takes courage.  It takes practice to think of questions to ask that could nudge the conversation in that direction, to try and read the person in the moment, and without making the person feel awkward or uncomfortable.  It takes courage to ask the deeper questions, to share some of your own real stories, and to actively listen without judgment and without automatically trying to fix problems.

It takes patience, and it takes resilience.  Not everyone you talk to is willing to go very deep right away or at all.  And just because it works out or doesn't work out once doesn't mean others won't share or that the same person wouldn't be willing to share their stories next time.

I don't always attempt to practice or pull together the courage.  I don't always have the patience or the resiliency.  I'm not always intentional.  I'm not always satisfied when I am.  To love someone that way often means you put yourself out there for the other person without expecting anything in return.

The conversation I had with this student I drove home last night was the first I've had with her.  All I did was ask her in what ways God has been challenging her through InterVarsity, and she shared with me about how difficult it is for her to trust people lately.  She shared with me about how she thinks that struggle has come about, with some difficult family situations she's witnessed and has experienced.  She shared so openly without my prompting, all in just a few minutes.

She didn't have to.  She could've answered the question differently or avoided the question altogether, saying, "I don't know."  Instead, she took the brave opportunity of sharing some her story, the real her.  And I felt loved to receive that gift from her.

A weekend to quench my thirst.

I had an absolutely refreshing weekend.  It was so nice to get away from campus, not have to worry about work, and not think about my oh so thinly developed Rochester community.  There were so many factors that made this long weekend great:

Meeting with my supervisor.  I love my supervisor.  She's a great listener, has excellent intuition, knows how to challenge me without pushing me over the top, and gives such genuine encouragement.  It was so good to see her and meet with her and just share about what work has been like lately and to ask for help where I needed it.

Spending time with good friends who were willing to listen to me talk about how I was feeling about things going on in my life.  I knew I needed to take a sabbath since I'd be at a wedding all day Saturday, and as you well know by now, socializing is not my go-to life-giving activity.  Well, spending the afternoon with girlfriends who know me and understand what I do and were willing to listen just hit the spot.  I felt bad for rambling and talking so much, but I knew it was something I've really needed for a while now.  They were so great and it was so much fun to visit and be with them.

Fall is here and the weather has been gorgeous.  It seemed like the trees along the road in the Poconos/The Crossings area were at their peak.  There were so many red, orange, yellow, and green colors with speckles of purple flowers everywhere.  It was so beautiful to look at as we drove along.

Singing in a friend's wedding.  I can finally cross that off my bucket list, though I wouldn't mind doing it again.  I've always wanted to sing at a friend's wedding, and what better way to do that than with some of your old college praise team members!  I was so honored to be asked to be a part of it, and am so happy for the newlyweds.  The ceremony was great and the wedding overall was fun and so well done.  

There's so much I left out, but I figured I'd spare you the details (ooh, except for the fact that I got to see Pam, if even for a split few minutes - it was too short, but it was better than nothing!).  The weekend was packed with good company, good conversations, good weather, good travels, good food, and good fun.  Now if only I can get my hands on some butter and bake some pumpkin scones or something, that would be awesome.

Confessions and a tangle of thoughts.

It's 3am, which in Tammy's world, apparently means confession time.

Confession #1:  I cannot go to sleep.  Seriously, I've been trying.  At first I thought it was because of the heat.  I mean, hello, 93 degrees?  Seriously?  After three straight days of cool 60s and 70s weather, we get blasted with 90s and humidity?  But, as the night has gotten later, I believe the temperature has reached at least a reasonable sleepable level, but here I still am, wide awake.  Then I thought it was because of all the usual ruckus of my neighborhood street (with motorcycles blaring past your open windows, a bar across the street and a grill and bar next door, both of which have live music throughout the week, why wouldn't you have ruckus?), but the noise has died down and I still can't sleep.  Then I wondered if it was the cup of iced cafe mocha I had earlier.  But really, that was at like, 2pm.  Is my digestive system really that terrible in that any caffeine I have will just haunt me when I need to go to sleep?  Now I'm wondering if it's because I slept so much yesterday from trying to recover from a sudden fever I came down with on Sunday night.  I felt awful and slept a TON.  I even went to sleep at 7:30pm, managed to wake up at 2am, and then went back to sleep to wake up at 8am.  It must have been all that sleep that's throwing off my schedule now.  Oh, brother.

Confession #2:  I was on my computer for the past two hours (because I couldn't sleep), then just a few minutes after shutting everything down to attempt to sleep again, I came back and turned everything on to write this blog post.  I promise I did try to sleep again before I came back on my computer to write this post. But nothing was happening.  Besides, I had a light bulb moment and thought it was worth going through the trouble of re-doing everything I had just undone.  That's how awake and important this was.

Confession #3:  I was (again) thinking about my friendships (or lack thereof) and weddings and all that jazz before I had my light bulb moment.  Yes, for those of you who are actually a bit up-to-date on my life, I have been thinking a lot about friendships and community lately, which are usually induced by or result in regrets of my wedding as well as unhelpful thoughts of other people's weddings.  Thankfully, ever since I finally started talking to some human beings besides my husband about it (not that he's not helpful!), it's been less haunting and upsetting, and I haven't lost as much sleep over it.

But, as my unwilling-to-sleep body has so created the space for these thoughts to return, they have invaded my mind again.  However, this time, so many thoughts from so many different realms of my life have suddenly started to come together as a theme.  Which brings me to my light bulb moment:

Confession #4:  I have a deep desire - and possible need - to be needed.  So, this may sound silly, a) because you may know me better than I know myself and may think this is totally obvious, or b) you, like me, believe that every human being has a need to be needed or wanted.  Well, if you're in category A, then maybe this is just a moment where I needed to learn for myself to be aware of this layer I did not know I had (OR, maybe you could have told me and I could have come to this conclusion earlier??).  And if you're in category B, well, maybe this goes a bit deeper than your average human desire to be needed.  Let me explain.

My thought process was probably very much like a plate of spaghetti as to how I reached this light bulb moment, but I will simplify as best as I can.  By the way, these are random thoughts, out of order...not quite sure which one led to which:

Random thought #1:  As I was thinking about old friends with whom I used to be closer who are now engaged, I thought about how I wished we were close friends again so we could share in the joys and pains of this season of life because we're in closer life stages.  I want to be there for them, supporting them in more ways than just saying, "Congratulations!" or guessing as to whether or not I'll be invited or asked to help with anything for the wedding.  But the reality is that they seem to have lots of other closer friends who can support them and be there for them, especially in their immediate community.  So they don't need me.  They wouldn't call me first.  They probably have at least 10 people (or more) that they'd call for help before they'd call me.  And that probably won't change when they get married, either.  And this thought ties in with any of my friends.  I keep thinking they all have at least 5 other people they could talk to who are in a closer vicinity and/or are closer in their relationship than I am to them.  They don't really need me.

Random thought #2:  I've been observing (and trying to help, when she stays still long enough) my sister Pam spin in craziness cycles with taking on too much and stressing out over giving the less necessary things up.  It's a familiar place I hope I never go back to, but the thing I've recognized over and over again as someone who has come out of that kind of position is that it's often an identity thing:  we take on more than we actually need to because we want to perpetuate the idea that we are needed and dependable.  So I used to have a hard time saying 'no' to things because hey, they're asking for my help, right?  How can I refuse?  Or it'd be hard for me to take Sabbath because it would feel selfish to take time to rest for myself while so many people needed my attention and assistance.  And so on.  Recognizing that I was perpetuating my identity as someone who needed to be needed helped me get out of the unhelpful cycles.  But tonight I thought, well, I'm out of that cycle, but maybe that need to be needed is still deeply embedded in me?

Random thought #3:  In my work world, one of my leaders recently told me she and her team are so used to doing things on their own that it's been hard to adjust to having me as a staff worker around, and some tension has been built around that.  Ouch.  An unintentional poke at the I've-got-this-you're-not-needed sore point.  Feeds into the doubts that I should be working with college students.  They're adults and can think for themselves, make mistakes for themselves, and learn for themselves.  Why would they need me?

Random thought #4:  Yes, I am married and I do think about having kids.  I can't really avoid it.  Celebrities are having babies, friends are posting Facebook pictures of their newborn babies, and people on tv shows I watch are having babies.  I am also very careful about getting baby fever.  I understand and simultaneously know I don't quite understand the extent of how much work (physically, emotionally, mentally, socially, the whole thing) and sacrifice and adjustment it takes to have babies.  They're not just cute (though honestly, they're not all cute - what if my baby's not cute?!  Worse yet, what if I think my baby's cute and he/she is not actually that cute at all??  Or would I be judged if I openly thought my baby wasn't that cute?) and cuddly all the time.  So I try to keep myself in check by kind of scaring myself with the idea of imperfect, clueless, sinful me having such influence over a child's life and all the fears of attempting to answer, "what would I do if my child...?" questions.  But at the same time, I love kids.  I'm pretty sure I won't be as adventurous or fun as Nathan will be as a dad, but I think I would enjoying providing for them and giving them what they need.  See?  Need to be needed.      

So my theory, as hopefully you can pull from some of these random thoughts, is that these things in different parts of my life aren't just disconnected, isolated issues.  They all seem to connect or stem from this need to be needed that theoretically fulfills me.

Now, don't get me wrong, this is all coming from thoughts I've had at 3 in the morning, which means it is a theory that has not yet been tested or externally processed with people who know me well, care deeply about me, and are honest with me.  But I guess the next question I'm asking myself is:  is this longing something I can/should actually do something about, or is it a longing that only God can fulfill and I'm coming up empty because I'm drawing from the wrong well?  Or is it one of those annoying stay-in-the-tension, not-so-black-and-white situations?

Well, I'm supposed to be up in two hours.  The least I can do is take another stab at some resemblance of sleep.

For Janie.

My heart broke for Janie.  Tonight, my heart breaks for her family.

Janie was just 2 years old when she went to be with the Lord forever this afternoon.  And for a little more than half of her young life, she had been fighting Rhabdomyo Sarcoma, a rare and very serious cancer.

I never met Janie.  Nevertheless, this felt like it hit close to home.  Janie's parents went to my home church in NYC, and her dad was one of my favorite Sunday School teachers.  I never moved back to NYC after graduating college, and the Gong family had moved to Shanghai to follow God's call.  So we were too far apart and didn't go to NYC often enough to have crossed paths after Janie was born.

But through the sometimes helpful world of Facebook, I "met" Janie.  Her dad, Alan, and I are Facebook friends, so I got to see pictures of her when she was born and as she started growing up.  She got the Cutest-Baby-of-the-Year Award in my book.  I mean, how could you NOT think this was the cutest baby of the year?

I wish it had been under different circumstances, but I started to get to know Janie (and her family) better after I found out about the cancer and her dad started posting on Caring Bridge, a website that helps keeps friends and family updated about situations like this.  He'd share some of his own personal thoughts and struggles as he wrestled with his first child having to fight cancer in her first few years of existence.  He'd share updates about Janie's condition.  And he'd share about Janie's normal growing experiences - the personality she was developing, things she would say as she learned to talk, etc.  And every now and then he'd post a little video clip or two of Janie, to see a glimpse of who she is for yourself.

I always looked forward to those video clips.  People described her as a little girl who melted people's hearts when she entered the room, and just from watching the short video clips and seeing pictures, I totally agree.  She brought joy to your life and a smile to your face.

I can't imagine what Alan and Daisy are feeling or going through right now with the loss of their child.  It feels like it digs much deeper than if I was not yet married at this point in my life.  There have been many times where I have imagined me and Nathan having our first child, and it hurts and frightens me to think about the possibility of going through a similar situation.

That being said, I was greatly moved by how open and honest Alan was about his thoughts and feelings every time he updated about Janie.  In just a few sentences I'd admire his courage and brevity in sharing such personal and poignant things.  It was encouraging for me to continue to be vulnerable with others, even in the darkest moments of our lives or on the rockiest paths of our walk with Christ.

May God continue to make Himself known and present in Alan and Daisy's lives as they grieve.  May He grant them and their families deep peace and renewed hope.  May He be glorified and others be encouraged by their stories and testimonies of Janie's time with us on earth.  Amen.  

One year.

Yes, Nathan and I have survived one year of marriage.  We passed our one year mark this past week, and we celebrated like the (new-ish) Bixlers that we are by spreading our anniversary celebration out among a weekend and then some.  We went to a bed and breakfast, a renaissance festival, and had lovely, delicious meals made for us by other people.  I was delighted.  It was great.

At the beginning of the weekend, Nathan asked me to think about things I enjoyed and things I didn't like about/during our one year of marriage, and then about things I'd like to see us do/change for the future.  And the things I thought about didn't have to be directly related to Nathan.  It was to help us put together a better rule of life for us as a couple for the future.

Instead of listing out all of those specific things here, I thought I'd share some things that I've learned either about myself, about Nathan, or about marriage/married life as Mrs. Bixler:

1. Nathan and I both don't really care about whether you squeeze the toothpaste tube from the bottom or the top.
2. For me personally, I associate discipline so closely with routine that if I don't have routine, I tend to become way less disciplined.
3. Waking up to Nathan is quite possibly my favorite part of the day.
4. Trying to fall asleep while Nathan snores profusely is quite possibly my least favorite part of the day.
5. I like Rochester a LOT better than Binghamton as a town/city.
6. Being married causes me to see how prevalent and visceral my sinfulness really is.
7. Nathan gains his energy with me very differently than how he gains his energy with other people.
8. I really enjoy the company of having couple friends.
9. There are many other couples who interact with each other very similarly to the way Nathan and I do.
10. I have figured out some ways I can take Sabbath while traveling or being away from home.
11. "It's not bad, it's just different" = my mantra for the year.
12. It's great for a couple to learn before getting married the importance and art of trying not to use absolutes (i.e., always, never) when referring to the other spouse's habits and behavior.  It has served us well.  
13. Reading books to each other that we can discuss while we drive is fun and really works for us.
14. We need to bring more than one book to read to each other when we drive just in case we don't like the first book.
15. I really like being married.
16. I still enjoy not owning a television.
17. I love having a budget where Nathan and I can take classes for things we enjoy or are interested in.
18. Nathan is great at managing our finances.  Me?  Not so much.  Surprised?  Yeah, me, too.  And not really at the same time.
19. Our top three kinds of arguments/conflicts:
1. Trying to figure out what the other person is actually saying. 
2. One spouse wanting to give what the other spouse wants (to serve him/her), but the other spouse not wanting to let the first spouse give it.
3. Each other's driving habits/style.
20. Visiting new coffee shops is the most genius way of us taking Sabbath together. 

His pursuit.

Thinking about my basic need for community has caused me to think of my basic desire for someone to reach out to me.

It's not a new issue, and I don't think I'm the only one in the world who wrestles through this.  If I remember correctly, Libby and I used to call it "the dreaded 'i' word" (or something like that) back in high school.  We would talk about how much we would do our best to take initiative with others (particularly with a specific group of friends) and how we wished they would take more initiative with us.  Being pursued by others was often so scarce in my life that I even mentally prepared myself for the possibility that a boy may never actually pursue me in life (which didn't turn out to be true, but I'm glad I prepared myself anyway!).  And after some tumultuous friendships over time tried to mentally prepare myself for the possibility that friends I have may not ever really pursue me the way I hoped they would.

Back in middle school or the beginning of high school, my pastor gave a sermon about taking initiative.  He defined someone who takes initiative this way:  you're aware of a need and you care enough to do something about it.  He said that you needed both "aware" and "care" to complete it because you can be aware of a need but not actually care enough to do anything about it, and you can care about a need but not actually be aware of what the realistic needs actually are in order to meet them well.  I always thought that was a good way of seeing it.

Dictionary.com simply defines initiative this way:  an introductory act or step; leading action.  In other words, you make the first move.  You reach out to someone.  I interchange the words initiative and pursue in this post because to me, to pursue someone is to take initiative with that person again and again and again.  We have this deep desire for someone to pursue us.  We want someone to know us with all of our strengths and weaknesses and still want to spend time with us, ask about how we're doing, and simply think about us from time to time.

The problem, though, is if everyone wants to be pursued, then who's going to take the initiative?

It would be a whole different issue if I expected people to pursue me without the equal expectation that I would pursue others.  I can't just sit around and complain while I lack my own discipline to extend the very initiative I wish others to extend to me.  I realized that I have not been doing as good of a job with this over this year as I have in the past, and that it is one way I can improve in loving others as myself.  While I can't expect others to change, I know I can work on changing myself.

And as God has taught me before, it's guaranteed that there are going to be times where I take the initiative to pursue others and it feels like no one is pursuing me.  It'll be tempting to blame others, resent them, or hold a grudge against them.  But in those times it'll be important to remind myself that someone is pursuing me.  In fact, God took the initiative with us before any of us ever did.

The question, then, is:  am I willing to let go of my pride and expectations to open my heart and eyes to see how He constantly pursues me each day?  

If so, then the question becomes:  how am I pursuing others the way God is pursuing me?  Am I aware of others' needs and do I care enough to do something about them?

Desert ground.

I've learned many important things about marriage before I actually got married.  One of those things was that getting married doesn't erase the loneliness in your life.  It makes sense - the marriage of two people means the marriage of two sinful people who live in a sinful world.  And while Jesus is our ultimate source of comfort and joy, it doesn't mean you won't ever feel lonely.

This year was a pretty rough one, in that every area of my life was in transition, change, and in some cases, chaos.  But in the invisible and subtle ways that God often works, He pulled me through.  I don't really know how He did (though I'm pretty sure having Nathan in my life had something to do with it), and I'm still having trouble connecting with God and experiencing His presence in my life this year, but I feel like the storm has passed for the time being.  It still has its effects, but that's a whole different story.

Though, as I've been reflecting on my lack of best friends, mourning the loss of community, and chewing through the time and effort it takes to build a new one, I think I'm beginning to feel a sense of loneliness sink in for the first time.  I think part of what evoked it is from the fact that I'm in NYC without Pam or my dad around, and Nathan is away hiking the Appalachian Trail for a few days in radio silence.  Some of it just comes out of the basic desire for someone to take initiative with me - to be excited that I was in NYC and express desire to spend time with me without me having to fish for it.

From there, my loneliness manifests itself just from thinking - wondering whether or not I make some difference in the world and if I really matter to people besides those who are kind of obligated to love me (aka, my family and Nathan).   Or what my life would look like if I didn't work for InterVarsity, having some pretty stellar colleagues who are there for me simply through the circumstances that we work together.  Even though in movies it's always inspiring and sweet when something tragic happens to someone and they discover all of these people who come flocking to them with encouragement and support, I don't want to wait for something tragic to happen to me to find out who really cares.

It sounds pretty emo when I read that.  But I think it feels like because I've moved out of Rochester, I've moved out of people's lives.  It feels like it has caused a chasm in physical distance and relational distance, and no one really wants to make the effort to reach across it, even just to meet me halfway.  There's this hunger in me to go deeper with others; not necessarily to debate things like political views, theological beliefs, or the weaknesses of this generation; but instead to listen to others' struggles, character flaws, or mistakes, and to be able to share mine.  I want to be one of the first ones they think of to share some joyful piece of news, and vice versa; simply so that we could be there for each other.  

Like a bucket of iced water suddenly dumped on my head.

A stark reality struck me tonight:  I absolutely suck at friendships.

Now, I'm not saying I'm some sort of loner or hermit or that I don't have any friends at all.  I'm talking about best friends.  Lifelong ones.  Nathan doesn't count in this equation because he's my husband and that's a different kind of best friend, and Pam is disqualified because she's my sister and while she, too, is my best friend, much of that friendship hinges on the fact that we are blood sisters.

No, I'm talking about rock solid, female friendships that last a lifetime.  The ones that last through all seasons of life, no matter what unexpected bends come along with the journey.  The ones that grow in new ways and closer in better ways with time and change.  I'm talking kindred spirits, as Anne Shirley would say.  And maybe Anne Shirley is part of the problem I've created for myself - that through media and novels, I've developed an unrealistic, irrational ideal that I can have a lifelong friendship.

It was always one of my deepest core beliefs was that it was possible for me to have a lifelong best friend.  I knew having a best friend meant that we would hurt each other and go through rough patches, but we'd somehow make it through and the experience would make our friendship stronger.  I always thought I valued my friendships over any boy, and I never wanted any boy to take over my whole world in such a way that my friendships would suffer.

When I first thought about this, I thought that that's what I let happen - I had somehow let myself get so absorbed in my relationship with Nathan that I neglected my close friendships to the point of practical non-existence.  But no, part of the starkness of this realization was that it didn't really have much to do with Nathan - in my opinion, I think we've done a pretty good job of giving each other the freedom to continue building and valuing our relationships with other friends.  I don't think we took over each other's entire lives in an unhealthy way.

Nope, I realized Nathan had nothing to do with any of it - it was just me.  I just single-handedly ruined my friendships all by myself.  And though I would work hard to build those friendships back up, I don't think they even want to be best friends with me anymore.  Just good friends.  No hostility, resentment, or anger pent up.  We're just not best friends.  I think I don't have best friends because I don't know how to be a good one.

Part of the packaging that comes with this stark realization is the worry that it doesn't feel like I will get another chance to learn how to be a good lifelong best friend.  I can't go back in time, I probably won't be in school anymore, and to me, being married puts me at a slight disadvantage because it's a very different stage of life and people kind of come with the assumption that you don't need any new friends (believe me, I used to subconsciously make this assumption about married people when I was single all the time).  Plus, even if I made any new best friends, we wouldn't have the memories of how stupid or silly we were when we were younger, and it would take a lot of ground work just to get to know each others' likes, dislikes, quirks, and habits.  Or even to know each other's strengths and weaknesses to encourage each other to keep using our gifts and challenge each other when our weaknesses get the best of us.  And I have such deep friendship insecurities - who knows how many times that has bit me in the butt in the past and would do so in the future?

Maybe this is just the reality of the life of friendship-building as an adult.  At the same time, I wonder if I'm just not meant to have best friends.  At first I thought maybe I'm just setting too high of expectations out of what it means for me to have a best friend, or that I'm expecting out of best friends what I can only expect God to fulfill.  But I don't think that's it.  Then I thought I was being lazy, not really wanting to put in the time or work to build such a friendship.  But I don't think that's it at all either.

I think maybe I'm just skeptical if it's worth it all, if it's worth giving my greatest attempt as a best friend only to lose another one.              

My tragic chipmunk story.

I accidentally killed a chipmunk today.  With my bike.  I'm not kidding.

It was mortifying.  I was just coming around the bend on the bike path near the Genesee River, when I saw the chipmunk.  Yes, I saw the chipmunk.  It was off to the side, not quite in the grass, but I thought it was instantly going to run further into the grass to get out of the way.  But no, it ran in the opposite direction, across the bike path, right as my bike was passing.  It all happened way too fast for me to stop before I realized the chipmunk had run right between my front wheel and bike chain.  I think it even dinged a couple of times off of my pedals like a pinball machine before it stayed still.

At first I didn't think it was dead.  I thought I had just knocked it over, because when I looked over my shoulder as I kept biking, it seemed to be moving, so I thought it was just having trouble getting up.  I kept going, shell-shocked from what had just happened, but also thinking, What do I do?  I decided that since it was alive, I should probably see if I can help or do something about it.  I thought I'd call Nathan to see if he had any good ideas.

So I turned around and started biking back, grateful that the two older ladies who were walking together were ahead of me when I hit the chipmunk.  As I biked, I kept hoping that I wouldn't see the chipmunk, that it had gotten back up on its own and managed to get off the bike path.

But no, I found the poor little creature in the middle of the path, lying still, and with a little bit of blood spattered on the ground.  I guess what I had seen looking over my shoulder was its little body spazzing before it died.

Yeah, I know.  Ew.

I felt SO terrible and SO grossed out at the same time.  I just couldn't stay.  I felt bad for the bikers and runners who would soon encounter this unexpected road surprise (hopefully noticing before they arrived) as they whizzed past me on my trip home.  I really did.  But there was just no way I could bring myself to move the little body out of the way...not even with a stick.

And that's how I accidentally killed a chipmunk with my bike today.  The End.

I'm sorry, little chipmunk.  I'm sorry I killed you and didn't give you a proper burial.  I asked Jesus for forgiveness.  I hope you'll forgive me, too.

Moderate homebody of sorts.

I'm a bit of a homebody.  Not to the truest sense of the word, though.  Maybe 'moderate homebody' is a more accurate description.  I don't prefer to be home at all hours on end.  When a great opportunity arises to travel to a different state or a different country, I'm usually down (if it's feasible).  I enjoy long car rides most of the time, especially if they're to new places I've never been.  I don't really enjoy flying as much anymore, but that's mostly because of the liquid limitations (as stupid as it sounds, I unashamedly love and need my lotion...and lots of it) and "new" costs to check baggage, which I find extremely annoying.

I guess I call myself a 'moderate homebody' because I enjoy going out and traveling on the minimum end of my time.  A special occasion.  Something to look forward to.  A temporary, clearly limited time living out of a suitcase until I can exhale a sigh of relief to be home.  It becomes not so great when I'm traveling back to back to back to back.

But being home can be so boring, some of you may say.  Not so for this moderate homebody.  Home has endless possibilities for me.  It can mean reading for hours on end, or trying a new dinner recipe I've always wanted the time to make.  It can mean crafting some birthday cards or dreaming up some creative ways to send my congratulations on the new baby.  It can mean baking something delicious from scratch, or watching some fun movies from Netflix, the library, or Redbox.  It can mean having the personal time and space to host my students in town for the summer, acquaintances I hope will become friends, or out-of-town friends who would grace us with their presence to visit for a few days.  It can mean cleaning and organizing what I had hoped would magically clean and organize itself.  It can mean quality time with my husband, talking or playing or eating.  It can mean a quiet place to think, reflect, or meditate.  I love it.  I bring the adventures home without having to go very far.

And now that my home is in Rochester, it can mean a lot of other things - exploring a local cafe or shop, attending a town festival, or learning something new.  It could mean visiting museums, the zoo, or art galleries.  It could mean volunteering somewhere to serve my community.  I could take a day trip to Buffalo, the Finger Lakes, or picnic on the "beach" at Lake Ontario.  Day trips to be back home without having to pack a suitcase.

But it seems as though when this moderate homebody agreed to marry a man who grew up and thrives in chaotic travel plans, she signed her summers of moderate homebody-ing fun away.  Well, maybe not away completely.  More like to a limit of one or two weeks?  As this is our first summer together as a married couple, it will be a test of sorts.  Last year we also had crazy travel plans, and since we were engaged it was particularly difficult for me.  It should be easier this time, but we'll have to see.

Now, since you're probably a faithful reader (or stalker, whichever floats your boat) of this blog so far (or you were referred to this by someone else who follows), keeping up with the sparse updates of what's going on in my mind, I'll let you in on a little secret (for those of you who don't already know):  if you'd like to follow my more superficial, day-to-day life adventures with Nathan, you can check out my other blog.  You'll probably find updates of where our crazy summer plans will lead us.  Happy stalking!

Mish-mash of loose ends.

I don't know if it's because I drank a cup of green tea just before bed, or because there's a very loud band playing at the bar across the street and they've left the door open so that it sounds like the band is right outside my open window, or because of the fact that my husband won't be home for the next six days, but I'm suddenly very awake and can't go to sleep.

I've washed my face and in the meantime, the band seems to have put away their drumsticks and guitar amps for now.  But being this awake made me think about things I think about and how I've been having such a hard time writing any blog posts lately because they'd just all be loose ends.  Maybe if I write them down they'll eventually become inspirations for new posts.

My fear and discomfort with asking people for things - which covers everything from ordering pizza or helping me in some way - has been recently re-surfacing.  It was going to be the topic of this next blog post, but I've already spent nearly two weeks on it and I still have no closing thoughts.

I still have not been connecting with God the way I used to, and even though I've stopped trying to keep up my old ways, I've lacked the motivation and inspiration to try new ways of connecting with God.  I also realize I lack the faith that God is pursuing me and is with me, even though I know in my head that He is.

Today I led a couple of my freshmen students through a discussion around what's the most difficult part of committing to following Jesus - sacrificing comforts or desires, finding Jesus' purpose for me, or following through with my decisions until they are complete.  And I found myself steering towards the second, as I thought about how I am average at many things and not great or passionate in any particular focus enough to discipline myself to develop my interests and skills further.  I like singing, I like baking, I like planning parties, I like hosting others, I like reading, I like taking pictures, I like blogging, and so on, but I am not particularly dedicated to any one of those things, not even in small ways on a regular basis.  I feel paralyzed and stuck with my gifts and purposes.  It's discouraging and nothing new.

I've also been mulling over my ongoing naivete about best friends.  For some reason, ever since I was extremely young, I had this solid core belief ingrained in me that it was possible and desirable to have a best friend for life.  And maybe this belief was reinforced by shows or movies I watched, books I read, or relationships I've observed, but nonetheless, out of this belief came my deep value over my close friendships.   I knew I would get hurt, and I knew I would hurt them at some point.  But I invested myself wholly because I believed that if we could get past the hardships together, we would make it as best friends.  The hardships would make us stronger.  But somewhere along the way, my belief in lifetime best friends broke.  And as I let myself hope again and gained back my belief, it broke again.  Healing came, but with so many we've come out the other side as friends - some, good friends - but no longer as best friends.  We've stood the test of forgiveness but couldn't stand the subtle test of time and change.  And now, in a completely different phase of life, with no nearby old friends and the difficulty of making new ones, there's this yearning to again build upon the belief that it's possible to have a best friend (different from my husband).  At the same time, there's this part of me that wants to say, "Why bother?"

This year I've noticed that I've reverted back to my usual shy-person-taking-forever-to-adjust-to-her-new-surroundings-and-not-be-as-shy phase that has typically occurred when I enter a new school.  I'm not talking about introversion - yes, I'm still introverted and need my alone time, but this is the kind of attitude people always associate and mix-up with introversion that isn't always true.  Shyness does not equal introversion.  When I'm at the office, I don't really initiate conversations, and it's really hard for me to put myself out there to try and get to know the student workers or other chaplains.  When I'm with my students, no one really comes over to talk to me, and while I try my best to meet new students and keep conversations going, I feel like it's particularly difficult because I don't have any go-to relationships with any of my students that can act as a home base in those kinds of group settings for me.  And it's an annoying realization because I don't want to be shy.  And I wasn't this shy just a year or two ago.  But I can't help it - it's my slow adjustment process to the change of environment.  Can you feel the tension?

Well, there you have it.  My unfinished thoughts for the week.  It seems as though the band across the street have packed up their music for good, and my eyes are ready to stop opening for the rest of the night.

Learning the pattern of forgiveness.

Whether or not you've known me for a long time or for not very much time at all, chances are you haven't heard me raise my voice - our of anger, frustration, or stress.  I'm pretty sure I rarely (not never!) express any of those things by raising my voice, or even yelling.  You might see them in my facial expressions, but I can't think of the last time I've had an outburst.  Even if I had an outburst, I probably didn't realize I was having it until after the fact.

At home with Nathan, though, I'm very comfortable with raising my voice when I'm angry or frustrated, and I'm very aware that I'm doing it.

Now, you may be thinking, "Why the discrepancy?"  Part of it may be a subconscious effort to compose myself in public - not necessarily because of insecurities, but that my anxiousness about making others feel uncomfortable, awkward, or shaken easily outweighs my desire to express my anger or frustration.  Part of it is simply because it takes a LOT to get me so angry or frustrated to a point where I'd yell.

But with Nathan, it's easy for me to get annoyed to the point where I want to yell.  We're so different in so many ways - the way we think, the way we process information, the way we make decisions, the way we interact with people, the whole shebang - that we easily misunderstand and miscommunicate with each other, and get on each other's nerves.

In fact, this may sound weird, but I like the fact that I raise my voice and/or yell when I'm upset with Nathan.  Don't get me wrong - it's not that I enjoy conflict or am happy when I get frustrated.  Oh, no, no, no, no indeed.  It's the fact that I feel comfortable enough with Nathan to express my frustration.  Especially for someone like me who came from a culture and a home where issues were often swept under the rug, passive aggressiveness was the common route of conflict avoidance to take, and yelling at someone when angry or frustrated felt wrong to me, I have a better sense of freedom now.  I have the safe space to learn how to fully engage these kinds of conflicts without necessarily hurting others or myself.

There's a sense of freedom also because there's security in our commitment to love each other.  It feels okay to engage Nathan in our conflicts head on because I'm not afraid he'll leave or throw in the towel in our marriage when either of us are upset or we face conflicts.      

I'm not saying I'm any expert on dealing with conflict now, but I've definitely grown tremendously since I've been with Nathan, and even more so being married to him.  I've been recognizing my own wrong attitudes or actions more quickly, and am able to ask for forgiveness in a more timely manner, as opposed to letting my pride fester in lies or burying my emotions with the time that has passed.  Facing our faults together definitely makes the healing process come a little faster and in a healthier way, and I think it makes us stronger.

Forgiveness.  Diminishing your pride and taking up humility to ask for forgiveness really does seem to be the key to a thriving marriage.  Or any relationship, for that matter.  And isn't that one of the biggest things Jesus exemplified in His great love for us?

My first Easter as a married woman.

We celebrated Easter in Binghamton, work has been kicking our butts, and I've got that "Ho Hey" song stuck in my head.  Okay, that last one was more of a random, unimportant thought to share.  Still, there are a lot of thoughts to unpack, but since I'm a big fan of linear thinking, we'll go in the order I've said them.

Nathan and I did indeed celebrate our first Easter as a married couple in our alma mater town.  Most of our friends there assumed we were on our way down to NYC or were passing through Binghamton on our return home to Rochester.  But neither were true.  The original plan was always Rochester-to-Binghamton, Binghamton-back-to-Rochester.  

Ironically, Easter was never a big thing to celebrate in my community growing up.  I say, 'ironically,' because as Christians, it should be one of our biggest celebrations of the year.  Very arguably bigger than Christmas.  It's the day we recognize Jesus's power to conquer death, the penalty he took on himself though we deserved it.  Declaring, "Christ is risen!" and, "Alleluia!" doesn't even seem to capture the magnitude of awe for what Christ has done.

But I don't have many childhood memories of making Easter a big deal.  My family didn't get together to have a special meal, and my church would maybe sing some special songs and put white, smelly lilies at the foot of the sanctuary podium.  Besides those few things and my Sunday School teacher saying, "Happy Resurrection Sunday!" to everyone he passed by, Easter more often than not didn't feel very different from any other Sunday.  And it's only within the past several years where I actually began to care enough to notice and grew a desire to do something about it.  

Now, even though I come from an Asian American Christian background/community, I can't assume or blatantly generalize that we're not joyful or that the way we express it is simply wrong (I can rant about the ideas I have for ways the Asian American Christian community could celebrate Easter in a special way without losing or diminishing our Asian American culture, but that's a post I've already done somewhat and can continue at another time).  Instead, my desire comes from a place of wanting to partake in a corporate celebration that expresses deep, gracious joy in a way that's special from ordinary days but isn't so completely different that it distracts me from the true focus. 

Visiting Binghamton was a great opportunity to fulfill this desire.  Last year, Nathan attended the Anglican Church of the Good Shepherd's (a church we've been to several times because some of our friends go there) Easter Vigil and Sunday Easter Service and joined the MacQuarrie family (InterVarsity volunteers) Easter dinner as well.  Nathan's love and appreciation of worship through liturgy (as well as the pastor's teaching), and the notorious chaos of the MacQuarrie family get-togethers had won him over so much that he asked me if we could go back this year.  Although my introverted side of me cringed a little, the idea of visiting friends and celebrating Easter in a new way immediately outweighed any of my hesitations.    

There are so many thoughts I could share from this great weekend (though it had its hiccups as well), but since it's the end of Easter weekend I'll share one thing that struck me during the Easter service sermon:

I am like the women who went to Jesus' tomb with embalming spices.  Like them, I have been following Jesus for a long time.  Like them, I know His promises in my head.  And I've tried and tried and tried to jump-start this knowledge as felt reality.  But this year it's been hard to feel His presence.  And as this year has gone on, it has gotten harder to believe His promises.  As I said earlier, ministry work has been kicking my butt - and when your husband's ministry work is also kicking his butt, and you're adjusting to married life with someone who's almost your complete opposite while also trying to develop solid community from scratch in the post-grad world, it can take a toll on your already waning relationship with Jesus.  I began to mourn the loss of my relationship with Jesus the way the women were convinced Jesus was not coming back. 

But today, while there was no bursting whoop-de-doo moment or tear-jerking movement, Jesus has reminded me of His hope.  I was faced with the reality that Jesus' promises are not grounded in the strength of my emotive will.  Today, Jesus has filled my empty heart with true joy despite my circumstances.  And though I've heard the Easter story over and over again many times, today Jesus gave me a fresh glimpse of the fullness of his conquer over the grave.  Alleluia, alleluia!

With Barb MacQuarrie's, "Once you have a seat at our table, there'll always be a seat for you," comment, it looks like Nathan and I have a new Easter celebration tradition to partake in that I will certainly look forward to each year.

She clings, though she doesn't know why.

You know something's wrong when an introvert doesn't want to be alone with her thoughts.  Something's awry when an introvert spends time thinking and sorting through thought after thought after thought, only to find herself spiraling down into a pit mixed with possible lies and possible truths, only she can no longer tell which ones are which.  Not only is it draining to be around others, it's now draining to be around herself.

It's worse when she doesn't really know who can help her.  She knows there are people who love and care about her - her husband, her friends, her family, her supervisor - but they all don't seem to be very helpful or understand the whole story.

It gets even more worse when she knows that her relationship with God looks like her not wanting to call out, "Lord, save us!" to the sleeping Jesus in the lower deck of the boat during this furious storm that seems to be lasting the whole year because she's afraid she'll be reprimanded for being ye of little faith.  And it's not that she hasn't asked Him for help.  She prays the simplest, shortest, most genuine prayers.  But either it doesn't seem like enough, or she needs to wait.

So she hangs on.

You know something's wrong when an introvert doesn't know exactly what she needs to fill her nearly empty bucket that has been slowly, and subtly leaking this whole time.  It's worse when she actually tries and tries and even tries new things to fill it with no avail.  The self discipline she had been working on for so long seems to wear off more and more with all the tears of frustration.

But she hasn't lost her imagination.  She still dreams of who she could be, what things she'd like to do, things she'd like to learn.  She dreams of being an unselfish wife, leading a vibrant campus ministry, living a healthier lifestyle, participating in a life-giving community, growing a deep, life-long passion for...something.

It's sad because the reality of the present begins to sink in with the deep disappointment that her imagination is beginning to look a lot like a carrot dangling in front of her face that will always be
just
out
of
reach.  

To breathe into.

Nathan recently asked me what and/or who inspires me.  I was a little caught off guard.  I don't really think about inspiration or the source of it in my life (besides Jesus, of course) all that frequently unless it's asked of me in some leadership exercise or group activity. It was really interesting to think about because when I thought about the people in my life, even though I care about them and they care about me, it didn't necessarily mean they inspired me.

Thinking about what "inspired" meant and looking at the word itself made me curious to find out its dictionary definition and Latin root (I had taken three years of Latin in high school, so it looked familiar enough for me to think it did have a Latin root).

According to Dictionary.com:

in·spire

 

[in-spahyuhr] verb, in·spired, in·spir·ing.

verb (used with object)
1.  to fill with an animating, quickening, or exalting influence: 
His courage inspired his followers.
2.  to produce or arouse (a feeling, thought, etc.): 
to inspire confidence in others.
3.  to fill or affect with a specified feeling, thought, etc.: 
to inspire a person with distrust.
4.  to influence or impel: 
Competition inspired her to greater efforts.
5.  to animate, as an influence, feeling, thought, or the like, does: 
They were inspired by a belief in a better future.  

And according to Wikipedia (and confirmed by Merriam-Webster dictionary):

The word "inspiration" comes from the Latin noun inspiratio and from the verb inspirare. Inspirare is a compound term resulting from the Latin prefix in (inside, into) and the verb spirare (to breathe). Inspirare meant originally "to blow into", as for example in the sentence of the Roman poet Ovid: "conchae [...] sonanti inspirare iubet"^[2] ("he orders to blow into the resonant [...] shell"). In classic Roman times, inspirare had already come to mean "to breathe deeply" and assumed also the figurative sense of "to instill [something] in the heart or in the mind of someone".

To breathe into.  To influence.  To produce a feeling or thought.  Who and/or what did those things look like in my day-to-day life?

When I think about it, there are certain aspects of people's lives that inspire me in certain areas or situations.  But when it comes to ongoing inspiration, I think of three specific people:

Pam.  I sometimes like to think that Pam's in my head.  As my older sister who has been my best friend since I was born, she's probably had the deepest influence on me.  There are some things I'm very aware are a result of her influence - like the fact that I don't drink soda very much is because of Pam.  Or the fact that I like to read for fun.  And there are other habits, patterns, mannerisms, and core ideals that I have that if you dig deep into my psychological realm you'll find come from her.  She's not just someone whose character and skills I admire, but more often than not I've also wanted to emulate.  Her deep compassion for people and their growth/development, her great talent for hosting and planning events, and her immense self-control and self-discipline when it comes to staying healthy and taking care of her body are just some of categories of things that I like to think she has breathed into my life.  Not saying that they're at the same level of where she is, but that the "voices" in my head that push me and inspire me to learn, grow, and reach further on a daily basis come from her.  I could write a whole blog series on my relationship with Pam, but we'll stop here for now.

Carrie.  Working under Carrie's leadership as a student and a staff worker has inspired a lot of who I am during my young adult developmental years.  She has the ability to understand where I'm coming from while also speaking to where I could be.  She's asked me the hard questions I never thought about, gave me challenges she believed I could accomplish and grow from, and has shaped the way I lead others and the intuition I have been learning to trust a little more.  I sometimes think, "What would Carrie do?" when I'm stuck in vocational situations with students, or even take pages from her book when it comes to ideas.  

Nathan.  To the dreams I used to dream, I say, "That would never happen."  To those same dreams, my husband says, "Why not?"  And to all the ideas that I think would be so cool if they worked, but the small chance of success would probably not be worth the bigger chance of failure, my husband says, "Let's try it."  My husband is not satisfied with good intentions or incremental change.  He likes to quote Revelation 21:1-4 (his favorite verses) a lot, but it's not something he believes is just magically going to happen - it's something he actively works toward in his daily decisions.  He inspires my future because no longer are the hopes of living life to the fullest beyond all possibility - with him, recognizing that the promises and power of God are not empty visions but realities that are just out of reach.  And for someone like me who is all too willing to let dreams die, that's pretty inspiring.    

Family shenanigans.

Ever since my time in college, spending time with my family sometimes made me feel out of place.  In college, time passed, and I changed immensely.  With my family, though, time passed and things either didn't change or changed very, very slowly - including the way my family viewed who I am.  More often than not, I've had a difficult time trying to reconcile who I was and who I was becoming.  It often felt like when I left for college I had begun to grow out of my shell, but every time I came back home I had to squish myself back into the old shell I had outgrown...and no one would seem to notice or treat me otherwise.  It's not meant to be an entirely negative thing - it's not like I felt neglected or unloved, or anything.  Just a little out of place, awkward, or not really knowing how to navigate the space anymore.

But having my family visit me and Nathan in Rochester this past weekend was extremely refreshing.  And I think a big reason for that is because it felt like I wasn't just introducing my family to my new home and new life, but I was introducing my family to my new shell.  This is who I am becoming.  Welcome to the space of new life I've been creating for a while now.  Here's a taste of what I value, what I enjoy, what decisions I've made and why.  What God's been doing in me.

And it was exciting because they seemed to like it all.  We enjoyed ourselves quite a bit!  We talked about life, we were silly, we ate good food and had a lot of fun.  I got to show them where I work, where I like to eat, where we live.  Maybe it was exciting because I somehow felt that if they liked Rochester, then it was them saying they liked and accepted the new me I was becoming.

Of course, there are still things we're learning about our new family dynamics of me no longer living in their house, being married, and having a whole different kind of life.  There definitely were some minor tensions from time to time.  But considering the relational turmoil we've undergone this past year, it's a beautiful new beginning that makes me rather happy.  I know it'll take time for things between us to continue new growth, but seeing the hope I was hanging on to actually come to life is enough to keep me content for a while.