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.

My hunt for a 20-mile march.

I attended a couple of conferences almost back-to-back in the middle of August.  First was the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit, and the second soon after that was the InterVarsity NY/NJ Regional Staff Conference.  There were a lot of things I immediately gleaned from the prior, but it's been a bit tougher trying to figure out what I've soaked in from the latter.

However, there was something from the staff conference that I've been thinking about recently.

If I remember correctly, Bill Sweeting, our speaker for the conference, quoted something from John C. Maxwell who said, "The toughest person to lead is always yourself" (read about it here).  In the midst of a million things to do, goals to work towards, and feeling like I'm just moving backwards and will never achieve great things or simply do things I like or want to do, I recognize how incredibly undisciplined and faithless (unreliable) I am.  It takes me a long time to do things, especially when it comes to processing things that feel like they're really important or are really important to me.  And a lot of times in the process of pursuing those things, I end up completing the minimum to get by with what I can or it begins to look like a hanging carrot I just cannot physically reach.  

It's probably why I've always felt like I never had any big dreams.  Maybe the reality is I probably don't want anything bad enough to keep at it, or somehow I'm afraid of actually succeeding (isn't this sounding ridiculous and not at the same time?).  Here, take a look at some of the things I could potentially pursue:

Since I was nine years old I've always wanted to write and publish a novel.  It's a big dream, but not impossible.  But over the years I haven't been willing to practice writing.  I haven't written any short stories unless I had a deadline for a creative writing class, I haven't entered any contests, I haven't submitted any pieces for publications or just wrote some chapters or story ideas for fun.  I've been limiting my writing to blog posts.  I don't give my writing the time or space to grow and develop.  It's like any musical pursuits (which, by the way, I also don't really work on at all) - if you want to get better, you need to practice.  You need to make mistakes and learn your craft and cover the basics.

Look at my big dream to own and run a cafe/bakery/bookstore/gift shop/inn/community center combo thing.  You don't see me reading books about small businesses/non-profits, baking or designing greeting cards at every opportunity I can get, or asking questions to those who may have experience in those areas.  I can say, "I want to do that!" all I want, but if I don't actually put anything into motion, it's not going to happen.  I don't have a lot of drive or discipline.  And I'm aware of that.

But I want that to change.

During the Leadership Summit, Jim Collins gave a great talk based on his new book, Great By Choice, which addresses why some companies excel despite chaos.  One of the concepts Collins focuses on is the idea of a "20-mile-march," which encompasses the evidence that successful companies "embrace a paradox of control and noncontrol."  They're disciplined in their commitment (i.e., marching no more and no less than 20 miles) everyday, whether or not the circumstances are beneficial or not.  Collins provides the example of Roald Amundsen and Robert Falcon Scott, two adventurers who were on the quest to be the first to reach the South Pole.  While both explorers experienced the same uncontrollable climate issues, Amundsen "adhered to a regimen of consistent progress, never too far in good weather...yet pressing ahead in nasty weather to stay on pace," while Scott "would sometimes drive his team to exhaustion on good days and then sit in his tent and complain about the weather on bad days."  Amundsen stuck to his 20-mile-march and successfully reached the South Pole.  (Collins explains it a little better his article here)        

And so I've been thinking about I'm the toughest person I'll ever lead, and how if I'm going to leading others on a constant basis, then I need to really learn to lead myself.  And if I'm going to lead myself, I need to accumulate the discipline to really, truly pursue something.  I've also been thinking about what it means to live a good story, which requires wanting something enough to overcome conflicts.  The problem is, I don't know what I really want.

So maybe I should figure out what I really want first, but I can't help but think of some daily 20-mile-march ideas...  

• Write one blog post.
• Memorize one Bible verse.
• Practice guitar/singing for 30 minutes.
• Read a novel for 30 minutes.
• Run x miles (every week?)
• Bake something (every week?)
• Read 5 news articles.
• Write and mail a letter to someone.

I would say, "Feel free to pipe in with your vote/opinion on which one I should pursue or suggest your own," but I guess that's going in the opposite direction of trying to figure out what I want.

Moving out of Section A and into Section B.

Maybe this is what it feels like to be transfer student.  You're in a new town and a new school, but you're not a freshman, so even though you don't have a clue as to where things are or what the heck you should be doing, people kind of assume that you do.  You're not a freshman, so even though you don't have a clue, you don't have hundreds of other people around you who also don't have a clue that you can instantly bond and become friends with over the fact that you don't have a clue and can be comforted in having those new friends who are alongside of you for the journey of figuring it all out.  You're a transfer student.  You want friends.  But they don't come easy because people have already made their friends and no one's really looking for any new ones.  You're not a freshman and you're a transfer student without a clue and without any friends, so you get lost.  You get lost and yet people ask you for directions, expecting you to have the answers, but you just don't know anything.  Because you're a transfer student, you kind of get the gist of what college life is like, but because you're in a new context the college life takes a different shape that you're not quite familiar with.

I haven't been able to put my finger on how I've been feeling over this summer or just within these past few weeks.  It all feels the same but it all feels different.  I feel lonely, but not really.  I feel unsettled, but not really.  I feel sad, but I don't know what about and I don't know why.  Just a few days or maybe a week ago  I said I was happy, but knew the fair-weather feeling wouldn't be around long.  Well, the time has come.  Good ol' happiness has left the building.

It's the part of the story where the main character doesn't quite know how they got here.

Bill Hybels always describes a leader as someone who moves others from "here" (i.e. the current state) to "there" (i.e. the reality of the vision).  Here's something he brought up at the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit.  Let's say this diagram describes that process of going from "here" to "there":

Here -------------------------------------------------------------------There

Now, let me ask you a question:  If we were to divide this process into three sections, at which section do you think the vision is most vulnerable?

[Here -------------------][-------------------------][-----------------------There]

                 A                                      B                                         C

Would you say it's A, B, or C?

The people around me thought it was C.  My gut instinct was B, but then I was succumbed to "groupthink" and thought it was C.

The answer?  Section B.  Section B is where the vision is most vulnerable.  The reason?  Well, according to Bill Hybels, for Section A, the vision is strong.  You're pumped up, you're excited, you're on fire and ready to do anything and go anywhere right out of the gate.  The vision has successfully energized you into action.  For Section C, you're so close to the vision becoming a reality that it fires you back up.  You make the last push.  You endure through whatever's going on now because you can see the end.  You're so close, you can almost taste the victory.

For Section B, however, neither the beginning nor the end are in sight.  Bill Hybels says that Section B is where you realize you're not invincible but neither can you see the end.  The initial high spirits and excitement has died down; your weaknesses, flaws, and lack of control rise to the surface tenfold; and success is not even on your radar.  No wonder why the vision is most vulnerable there.

So I maybe my life right now feels like a transfer student who also may not be quite in the depths of Section B, but have definitively moved very far away from, "here."  I want to live a good story, but I don't know what I want.  I want to live a good story, but I also need to work with what I've been given.

I guess it means I've got to cast vision to myself again.  I've got to find ways to keep the vision alive.  And maybe that means I need to dream a little. And then maybe flesh out those dreams a little more.  Then maybe all of these piles and piles of goals and strategies and plans and action steps will make a little more sense and become a little clearer so I can chuck the ones that don't fit right now.

Setting down roots.

Have I mentioned how tired I am of moving?

Maybe I was super slow at packing my stuff and am now super slow at unpacking my stuff because I know everything is all temporary.  A few months in the Chan household?  Temporary.  One more year in Binghamton?  Temporary.  It's all too long not to unpack at all and too short to fully settle in and call it home.

One thing's for sure:  it's really making me think about what's really important to me and what isn't.  It's really hard.  I've learned to let go of a lot of things moving from my upstairs room to my new room downstairs, but just thinking about my tiny room in Binghamton makes me realize I'll have to toss or give away even more from my room here if I don't want to live in a cramped space full of stuff I don't use.  

I wonder how people in the Bible did it.  People in the Bible were always on the move.  Saying that reminds me of Urbana '09 when Ruth Padilla DeBorst spoke about "The Movement of Peoples."  She talked about people who are uprooted from their homes and from all that's familiar to them: 

"God is not only with the foreigners, immigrants, and refugees, God's spirit is in these unlikely heroes, carrying out God's purposes through them."

"Jesus sees, Jesus loves, Jesus recruits people on the move."

"Only God's love can break us out of our selfish layers of protection so that we can become channels of God's love even in hard places."

"And the Holy Spirit still does so today because all people are full of worth.  Yes, we are sent like Jesus into the world to teach, preach, heal - to aid those in need, rescue the oppressed, release the suffering.  But our illusions of power and sufficient superiority often make us look condescendingly at migrants, refugees, immigrants as mere charity cases that allow us the chance to rack up brownie points on the compassion scale.    No.  We are called to recognize Christ in their faces, to marvel at the gifts, insights, and strengths God has granted them; to learn from their resilience and courage; to walk alongside them in mutual accountability, discipleship, and community."  

I just listened to DeBorst's message again from the Urbana 09 website.  It still resonates in me, probably more now than before because of how much I've grown deeper in my understanding and practice of hospitality.  Over the past semester I've begun to grow this little idea of a dream to open my own hostel or inn or some place where people on the move could find rest and possibly a kind of home they hadn't experienced before.  I think I'd really love that.  I'd love to hear their stories and learn from people of all ages and really care for them and meet their most basic needs.

Sigh.  Maybe one day.  It's possible.  

I just want to settle down.  I ready to work at things long-term, longer than the super fast semesters and years of college life.  But at the same time I don't want to get stuck or get cynical about routines in such a way that my trust in God would suffer.

I wonder how people like Abraham and Moses must've felt from traveling so much.  It must have been really hard to keep moving and stay focused on following God's lead.      

The Movement of Peoples: Ruth Padilla DeBorst from Urbana 09 on Vimeo.

Notes from New Life Fellowship Church.

That's the church I went to last Sunday with Pam. Apparently it's the church Greg Jao goes to, because Pam bumped into him the Sunday before and she got to hold his baby throughout the whole worship service. We didn't bump into him this past Sunday. Sad :[

The pastor giving the message that day was Pastor Rich Villodas, and he said that the church was moving through a series but for that day they were going to do a Christmas-themed message.

To be honest, it was kind of like one of those moments where your mom or dad says, "I have to tell you something," and it's something important but you already know what they're going to say, so you just brace yourself for the impact and reply, "Okay..."

That's what that five second moment felt like when he said he was going to give a Christmas message.

And then, just like in a good movie, an unexpected twist happens. What your parents were about to say wasn't what you thought they were going to say. Or at least, not in the way you thought they would.

Pastor Villodas started with describing what it was like for him to learn how to drive, and how he felt cool, calm, and collected because he was in the driver's seat. But when he was teaching his brother how to drive, his anxiety would increase tremendously because he was in the passenger seat. And being in the passenger seat magnifies the reality that you are not in control because you're not behind the steering wheel.

I laughed to myself because I immediately starting singing, "Jesus, take the wheeeeeeel, take it from my haaaands..." in my head :P

And he went on to say that he wasn't saying that it was a free-for-all and that we don't have any self-control, but he was talking about a more destructive kind of control that we try to hold on to.

How can we move from a life of control to a life of trust?

For Christmas messages, more often than not we try to identify with the typical Christmas characters: Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and so on. But really, when you think about it, we look the most like Herod.

There it is. There's the twist.

Pastor Villodas kept saying, "I know, this isn't the Christmas message you came to church to hear, right?" throughout his sermon.
But I kept saying in my head, "Oh no, this is just fine."

He went on.

Herod lives in us when we try to hold on to control that we do not have.
He tries to control the people around him in an anxious and manipulative way.
We love to be in authority, base our identity in our control over others.
It can happen in big ways, but it can be the most damaging in subtle and small ways. We want to control how people think. We want to control how people think of ourselves.

When Herod tries to control the people around him, he causes damage. He tries to control his future and his life situation. But when Christ comes, He seems to disrupt the lifestyles we've grown accustomed to and brings change.

And Herod doesn't like change.
We don't like change.

When change comes, we control by:
Trying to hold on (to what we possess)
Grasping (what we want)

But there's a fine line between planning and obsessing.
We often have the attitude of, "If God doesn't do it, then I'll do it."
We need to relinquish control in order to receive.

Suffering = whenever you're not in control.

We question, "God, will you really do this if I let this go?"

True prayer is the true transference of control.

Which area of your life do you need to give up control?