for my spectacular friends.

There are too many thoughts swirling around in my head for me to know where to start!

Several of you orchestrated the entire event seamlessly, despite the many rain checks and last-minute cancellations. You didn’t let the obscurities of email and Facebook stand in the way of delivering a successful surprise. Somehow you managed to bring many of those we know and love to the same place at the same time.
Still others of you drove hours that night in order to come. And when I gave you an incredulous look, you simply smiled and said that we were worth it.
A few of you were new friends that we’ve known for only a few weeks… your appearance made it all the more special for us…
And a few of you were friends we haven’t seen in months… just the addition of you there made it all the more memorable and meaningful to us.

This is a big thank-you to all of you that played a part in Extravagant Engagement Surprise on Sunday night… words do not adequately express how much Ryan and I felt loved by everyone. Thank you for the meatballs, the hummus, the yummy cake and homemade brownies; the hundreds of hugs and well-wishes of congratulations, the crazy bingo (I didn’t find out about the Star Trek obsession until AFTER we started dating), the conversational bits that were long overdue, and the insurmountable love you gave in the form of sacrificed time and resources… really, we are very, very humbled!

We are so very blessed to have brothers and sisters like you to walk with us – it is the impact from people such as yourselves that has built both Ryan and me up as individuals. We hope we can live up to this standard of friendship for you as well!

All in all, Sunday night will be unforgettable. Thanks for everything – we love you all!

Grace & Ryan

P.S. – We want those pictures of us being surprised… they’d make a great addition to the Crazy Incredibly Embarrassing Photo Slideshow of Grace and Ryan for our wedding…

eros and agape.

To many, love is passion.

Love is power.  Love is strength.  It is an explosion of endorphins, a means of security and validation, and it is a support column.  Love is an excuse for people to do stupid things just as it is a reason for people to do mighty things.  Some argue that “love” is their religion, their way of life in a world of poor and broken people.  Some speak love with their words, some show love by their actions.  While these descriptions of love are legit, “love” continues to be something we misunderstand and misconceptualize too often in the world.

Don’t get me wrong: I totally believe in love.  What compels me to write about love is not my unbelief of love but rather, recent conversations, thoughts, and scenarios that have motivated me to share a few of my own convictions.  Neither will I profess to be an expert on love nor will I pretend to have a lot of knowledge in this area, but rather, I will attempt to give a fresh perspective on something that touches all people and all things in this world.  As a college student in her senior year, I’ll be the first to admit that there are many other older and wiser folks who are much more fluent in the language of love than I will ever be at this point in life – age notwithstanding, this is what I have to offer.  As always, comments and criticisms are welcome!

But first, a little background.  I grew up in an environment where love was conditional and rewarded to me if I successfully produced a good grade, good behavior, achievement, and perfection.  To me, love was a weighted and subjective transfer of goods.  It was earned.  On the occasion that I could not produce anything worthy of love, I was slammed, rejected, put down, and threatened.  I began to process “love” on a system of fear, where I would make decisions based on the fear of losing favor in someone else’s eyes; losing priority and standing in someone else’s life, and with that, significance.  This misguided system of “love” transpired in every aspect of my life, particularly as I began my first serious relationship in college.  Like most girls, I equated “love” with “security” in such that part of me believed my value and ability to be loved could be validated if a guy told me I was beautiful and worth it.  But because my understanding of love was founded upon fears, the relationship did not grow and eventually ended in a very painful breakup.  To be fair, I was not alone in my warped system of love, as he struggled too to understand love in his own personal way.  To make a long story short, the journey I then took afterward was a hard one in which a deconstruction of my understanding of “love” began to occur.  In the midst of that experience, I gained a new awareness of myself and of others.  It is still a process, in which I continually tear down the distorted conceptions of love (e.g., “he’ll love me if I give him what he wants,” “he’ll love me if I look more perfect or beautiful,” etc.) and allow a bigger perception of love to redefine what is and what isn’t true.

This should sound familiar to all of you collegians out there.  Some of you are entering significant relationships.  Some of you are parting ways after spending a summer together.  Some of you are in or have been in relationships that are entering the second, third, fourth or fifth year (or more) — you’ve seen it all, the fights and the arguments, the pseudo breakups and the many “I’m sorry”s and “I love you”s exchanged.  Some of you are emerging into a new phase of life: recently graduated, hard hit with reality and the uncertainty of the future; every question imaginable within your line of vision: what will happen to us?  Will we make it through this one?  Is he as serious about me as I am with him?  Does she really love me?  Can I trust her?  Do we love each other enough?

Maybe you haven’t been in a relationship.  Perhaps it is something you desire so much that you are daily consumed by the want to be loved and to be pursued.  You are tired of having your patience tested, particularly when all of your friends are engaged or married.  But maybe a relationship is something you don’t want to experience at the moment, or ever.  You’ve got other plans for your life; you want to go to med school or law school and you don’t need any distractions right now.  Regardless of where you stand, this is still directed at you.

The truth is, you can choose to see what you want to see in someone just as you can be something that someone else wants to see.  Before you know it, you are dating an empty shell with a depth you never want to know.  That person was who you wanted them to be and never who they really were instead.  You can spend two, three, seven or ten years with someone who you really don’t love and who really doesn’t love you.  But you won’t realize it until much later, when you wish that you could take back the things you’ve done or said that have made irrevocable etches on their heart.

The truth is, you can search high and low for the right man or woman to spend the rest of your life with just as you can spend the rest of your life with who you think is the right man or woman and never know love the way it was meant to be perceived.  You can let your heart become embittered because you have no lover right now just as you can let your heart be aggravated because the lover you are currently with knows exactly how to push your buttons.

So you’re scared that they’ll eventually meet someone else they will actually love and want to spend the rest of their life with.  So you’re scared that he’ll cheat on you; you’re scared that you actually can’t trust her like you wish you could.  So you’re scared that you will never find “the one,” scared that you’ll never be happily married.  Humans are so delicate, like glass-blown figurines in an antique armoire.  We are too easily broken, too easily shattered, and too easily begrimed.

Our definition and understanding of love is too small.  It’s dull, it’s bland, and it’s insufficient.  It’s the kind of definition that settles.  Let me say it this way.  We SETTLE for inadequate definitions of love.  The truth is, even the purest of all eros relationships barely even brush the surface of love at its finest…

Love is made up of choices.  More than it is made up of chemical pathways, dopamine-induced rushes, chocolate and roses.  While eros love can be a feeling, agape love covers over all.  Agape chooses to know no boundaries.  Agape is choosing to be a part of something greater than yourself.  It is choosing to give yourself up for another, for a cause that is bigger than life.  Agape chooses to lose a part of yourself — only to gain it back times a hundred.  This kind of love requires you to give someone the benefit of the doubt; it requires you to believe and to hope even when it hurts.  It requires you to choose forgiveness over guilt-trips; humility over anger; vulnerability over masked emotions; a clean record over a tally of how you’ve been wronged.  This kind of love knows no games.  It knows no impurities.  It accepts and does not reject; it gives even when it is not returned; it bleeds for you even if you do not want it to touch you.

Being born on Earth automatically implies that you can expect to be heartbroken and disenchanted; it implies that sooner or later, someone you love will let you down and invade your sense of security and purpose.  It implies that, the very second you give your heart away, you can expect to be bruised.  But being born on Earth also implies that you are offered to experience agape love, though not by any human means.  It is available to you through the very author and giver of Love.  And you can take it today.

Okay.  I have to go to class.

adequate and accepted.

I’m a pusher.  If it’s not good enough, I’ll push you to make it better.  I’m a prover.  If you’re not convinced, I’ll prove it to you that it is good enough.  Eager to please, eager to jump.  Driven to excellence, minimal failure rate, A-pluses.  I’m one of those girls who leave little room to cry; I”ll repair it myself.  My boyfriend laughs when he tells me that I’m an overachiever; I don’t deny it.  It’s in my blood.

But then I get tired.  Tired of doing 110%, tired of running ahead so much that I’m running alone.  Enough is never enough, best is never the best… and then I crash: why isn’t everyone else trying as hard?  They’re just lazy, they’re just apathetic – they don’t care, because they’re not trying as hard.  Look how hard I’m trying, and I’m still not getting anywhere near where I want to be.  I don’t have what it takes to get there; therefore, I’ve messed it up.  I’ve just given you another reason why I’m not. worth. it.

Sound familiar?

And then I start getting mean.  I avoid the people who love me the most – they must be nuts for wanting to hang out with me (read: FAILURE).  I snap at the people who care about me the most – they don’t know how much I’ve (read: SCREW-UP) botched it up again.  I get angry with them, because I haven’t given them a reason to be so nice to me.  They don’t see that I’m trying to save them, relieve them, of a massive load of junk (read: ME) – the same junk that I try so hard to erase every day by proving that I am good enough.

But it’s not so much the people who love me that I have a problem with; it’s not so much their kindness that I have a problem with.  It’s the whole entire concept of grace that I have a problem with – God’s grace – the kind that is poured out and exploded all over me regardless of how much I think I don’t deserve it.  It’s the kind of grace that I can’t justify on my own terms: not with an A-plus, not with a scholarship; not with someone else’s opinion, and not with a perfect body.  This kind of grace is just there.  Always.  Forever.  Unlimited.

If life handed you lemons, I got a couple that were just rotten.  The message of my childhood seemed to be “you-are-never-going-to-be-good-enough.”  My grades were never enough.  My personality was never enough.  My talents were never enough.  There were no excuses for weakness or flaws.  And while every other kid on the block played four-square or dodgeball, I played the game of catch-up: catching up to be the kind of girl that would make my father proud, because his happiness and satisfaction in me was near-unattainable.  And that chase, that wretched chase of proving my worth to him and to others and to God – has left me disenchanted.

And that is why the cross of Jesus Christ is absolutely beautiful.  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “When you are weak, then I am strong.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “When you deserved to be punished, I died for you.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “I am your adequacy.  I am your justification.”  The cross of Jesus Christ says, “I remove every stain and blemish from your body onto mine; you belong to God now.”  Reclaimed.  Renamed.  Restored.  Repaired.  Reworked.  Remade.  Renewed.  Refreshed.  Replenished.  Relieved.  Rebuilt.  Refurbished.  Revamped.  Resurrected.  Repainted.  Redeemed.

So much for rotten lemons.  I guess you’ll always have a bit of awful-aftertaste in your mouth, but it’s nothing that Christ’s love can’t beat.  I’m still a pusher.  I’m still an overachiever.  I’m still eager to jump.  And I still have an issue with letting others do the repairing.  It’s hard to understand why my Christian friends live with all of my junk.  They tell me that they don’t live with my junk – they are just loving me with my junk.  Cute, huh?

In Christ, I am adequate and accepted.  When you leave no room for failure, you are committing the biggest failure.  It’s God’s job to be strong amidst those failures.  I wish I could hear myself say this every day.  Better yet, I wish I remembered it every time I wrote my name at the top right-hand corner of every xerox or handout I get in class.  Grace.  What does ‘grace’ mean, anyways?

Something too wonderful for me to contain, that’s for sure.

what winter taught me.

So the University of Delaware has a freakishly long winter semester – “winter sesh,” we say. Some argue that it was made to make all other colleges have beef with us for getting 7 weeks of winter break; others contend that it exists to torture the students who opt to enroll for winter classes. While a good portion of the student body take advantage of the winter hiatus to trek across the globe, to Cape Town, to Rome, to Barcelona; New Dehli, Rotorua, Milan and Acapulco, the rest of us are left to go and beg our bosses to hire us for another month and a half – that, or we hibernate.

Okay okay, so I didn’t opt for classes and I don’t have the money to go to Beijing, and I begged my boss to hire me for another month and a half to no avail – but I didn’t hibernate. As a matter of fact, I had probably the most interesting end-of-a-year/start-of-a-year ever in all of my 20-some years of breathing. And because it would be absurd to document all of the spectacular highlights and lessons-learned of my oh-so thrilling life, I’ve decided to create an abridged version of what winter taught me this year – what God has taught me in the past two months. Enjoy.

1. we are ridiculously blessed to have home-heating systems and electricity. don’t ever take America for granted.
2. feeling helpless is a wonderful thing. acknowledge those feelings, get over yourself, and hope in God.
3. if loving your family means obeying even the most absurd commands, do it joyfully nonetheless. you’ll save yourself a lot of unnecessary grief.
4. praying for joy doesn’t mean that you won’t suffer, it just means that you’ll have a huge attitude check… for the better.
5. certain people come into your life at certain times for all of the right reasons. and don’t be surprised when that reason is love. it’s just God letting us know in a special way that He really does love us.
6. the shadow ALWAYS proves the sunshine.
7. succumbing to anger and bitterness only shrinks your heart and ability to see God clearly.
8. the people we find most irritable and unlovable are the ones we have the most in common with.
9. keep short accounts with others; grudges are things that belong in freaky movies. the only debt that we should have at the end of the day is to love.
10. you have to be willing to have your toes stepped before you step on someone else’s toes. this is called humility.
11. we are always left with a choice. sometimes the truth really does hurt. but it’s what you choose to do with it – to let it stand in your way or not – that makes you the person that you are.
12. doing is better than talking, but being is better than doing.
13. no matter how annoying and aggravating they are, big brothers really do have your best interests at heart.
14. talking about the hard stuff is better than not talking at all. “an honest answer is like a kiss on the lips,” proverbs 24:26.
15. moms are the kind of people who’d still love you even after you’ve dropped the f-bomb.
16. it’s a scary thing for a control freak (ooh, like me!) to let someone else handle it. but letting go is so sweet.
17. you can definitely have your cake and eat it too.
18. just because they look like a banana doesn’t mean that they’re not a real person.
19. contrary to popular belief, grace actually occurs on the Interstate… even after crossing 5 lanes and illegal U-turns.
20. just because our parents are grownups doesn’t mean that they’ve got it all together.
21. tradition, like skin color and culture, is just another layer of identity, another thing we like to argue about. the only thing that matters at the end of the day is whether or not you’ve loved God with all of your heart – and loved others in turn with that love.
22. leadership is born out of servanthood. always.
23. smiling until your face hurts and laughing until you cry are both signs of something wonderful.
24. words, like other things we toss around on a daily basis, have more meaning when they are used at the right time.
25. and last but not least, EVERYTHING is a gift. cherish it while it lasts, and never forget to praise the Giver.

Goodbye, Winter. Hellooooo, Spring…

no doubting duty.

How are you sure this the right place? she asked, stepping timidly into the small building.  With a sweeping glance, I observed the light pink walls, Asian-themed sitting room complete with red pillows, various plants here and there and the cheery women behind the desk.  My eyes fell on the fancy coffeemaker and the generous basket of assorted creamers and teas sitting next to it.  The framed cover of Delaware Today featured a woman with a stethoscope around her neck – she was smiling at everyone from her spot on the wall.  I turned around and looked at her… Oh, we are most definitely at the right place.

I walked up to the front desk with her.  They handed her a packet of paperwork.  We found a place in the sitting room and began to complete the documents.  Nurses walked in and out of sight, clipboards in arms and smiles on their faces.  Norah Jones played softly in the background.  A nudge.  What does this one mean? she asked, pointing her finger at one of the many lines of questions in her packet.  They want to know what you believe in, I explained.  Tell them that you’re a Christian.  Oh, okay, she says.  The scribbles continue.  A little girl bounds into the sitting room, followed closely by her mother.  They both brought books.  Another nudge.  And this one?  What do they want? she asks again.  They want to know what kind of things have caused you anxiety and stress, I say.  Her brow furrows.  How do I even explain that?  I’ll just tell them, I’m not writing anymore, she says while getting up.

Jennifer? they call.  We look at one another quickly.  Her smile appears before mine does – she is much stronger than I.  I’ll be here, I say.  I watch them walk out of the sitting room.  Norah dissolves into Chopin’s Nocturne in C sharp minor, No.7.  And suddenly, I am alone with my thoughts.

I’m not afraid of the pain, she had said to me earlier that week; I can endure the pain.  My biggest fear is that he doesn’t know how to take care of me – and that he won’t.  I’m scared of being alone.  Her eyes suddenly focused on something very far away and she crossed her arms.  Suddenly, we are both transported back to that one day of summer a few years ago, when the burden became too much to bear.  Everything that she had shouldered came toppling down; every criticism that she had to deflect, every demand she had to fill.  The ambulance made it home quicker than I did that day; her heart rate had plummeted dangerously.  She called him while she was recovering in the hospital, weakened and scared; she did not know what was happening to her.  He was irritated, and wouldn’t come right away.  I’ll be there in a few hours, I have to finish some things at work.  She told me later that she was crushed; his work came first and that’s how it’s always been.  And that is her biggest fear – to be alone when she needed him the most.

As Chopin turned into Jardins sous la Pluie from Debussy’s Prelude Pour le Piano, I began to pray for strength.  Sometimes I hesitate to pray because I do not know what to say; life gets messier the more I get involved.  The words came – Lord I ask for strength, I ask for peace.  Make us brave.  We know that are in Your hands.  When I open my eyes, she’s standing by my side, that unwavering smile of strength on her face.  Well? I ask, unable to keep it down.

It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, she said.  Doctor is really nice, she is very good.  She was angry that I didn’t come earlier, the ultrasounds from a few months ago are outdated because they’ve gotten bigger, but how could I have come with everything going on?  My eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates – bigger?? I asked, raising my voice.  She shook her head and put her hand on her lower belly, towards her right hip bone.  They found the fibroid, it’s in a bad place.  They will need to take it out.  They found something else too.  Something else??? I asked, getting edgy.  They found a cyst, a really big one – she held her hand up and spread her thumb and index finger to show me – it’s too big.  They have to take that out too.  The whole thing?? I gulped.  She smiled again.  No, just the right one.  And the fibroids.  Only a few days recovery, not weeks and weeks, like I thought.  Only a few days, and I’ll be able to take care of myself after, no worries!  Oh, and these I do not understand, she said as she handed me a slip of paper with the surgical procedures scratched out by Doctor.  I read the note and digested the words on the paper.  Endometrial ablation, laparoscopic surgery, right oophorectomy.  I looked up at her.  God is so good to us, she remarks.  And with her coat in hand, she says, Let’s go home.

She calls me a few days later I moved in with Em.  They are scheduling me for the 4th, she says.  I know classes will start for you soon, and I don’t want to be–

“Mom,” I said, cutting her off before she could finish.  “I’m going to come home for you.”  There was silence on the other end; I knew that this time she would not protest.  “I’m going to come home and take care of you.  And Dad and Frank too.  Don’t worry, I’ll be there.   I’ll stay for as long as I can.”
“Okay,” she said softly.  “Okay, you come home… and take care of me.”

I stayed up watching Dust by Rob Bell with Ryan last night.  Rob talked about the duties of a rabbi’s disciples in the time of the Bible, and he related it to how Jesus picked the JV, the B-team, the Nobodies to be his disciples.  He said that the fact that Jesus chose his disciples proves that Jesus must have had faith in his disciples; Jesus must have believed that his disciples were capable of following in His footsteps.  He went on to say that as Christians, it’s not that we doubt what Jesus can do, but we doubt instead that we are capable of living out our lives the way Jesus lived, making the choices that he did and changing the world through things both big and small.  We forget that Jesus chose his disciples, his followers – he did not doubt that they (mere fishermen and tax collectors) were able to make the choices that he made.  As a matter of fact, Jesus believes in people so much, that he left the world to them with the charge: “go make more followers!”

Reflecting upon my own faith, I can recall many moments when I backed out of doing or saying something because I felt completely helpless.  I doubted my ability to make a difference, and I doubted my own humanity and capacity to love.  The thought of being accountable for someone I love frightens me, particularly since I have failed to do just that so many times in the past.  Doubt kills.  But Christ saves – if he believes in someone little like me so much to have commanded me to walk in his shoes and live likewise, then who am I to disbelieve that I’m capable of loving like He loves?

She wrote me an email this morning – her very first email.  In it, she says:
“I really enjoyed you being at home.  I can share so many things with you.  I thank God for giving me a sweet daughter who really cares about me and loves me.  Thank God for your strong faith and heart.  I learn so much from you.”

I guess she believes in me too.  Even though I feel incredibly small and can be plagued by doubt and fear of failure, Rob Bell is right – if Jesus had enough faith in us to begin with, we must be capable of doing something great with right motives.  In another week it’ll be her turn to receive, and it’ll be mine to give.  Sometimes I seriously doubt that I will be able to do it, to be held accountable to someone I love, but God doesn’t doubt it.  And to fill those shoes would be to do the duty of a disciple.

And that… is something that I wouldn’t miss for the world.

the sound of distance.

Four people sat down for dinner tonight.  I knew how the routine would go even before I closed my eyes for prayer, but I racked my brains for things to share with you nonetheless.  When I opened them again, it was like another wall had grown in the space between your place at the table and mine.  You had nothing to say to me, which was expected of course.  But you don’t even look at me.  I ate in silence.  It was deafening.

I walked into your study the other night, remember?  So I got to record today, a friend of mine returned the favor for all of the help I’ve given him, I said.  For how long? you had asked without looking up.  A few hours, I replied.  The silence started to creep over us so I changed the subject.  You weren’t that interested; you just chewed up your food and continued to stare at the screen.  You have no idea how much I detest how you’ve let that consume you.  You wouldn’t even be able to begin to imagine how much I would give for you to invest in me as much as you invest in your money.  But years and years of listening to you and not telling you how I really felt about it all has made me into a good actress.  I take the remains of your consumed dinner to the kitchen sink on my way out of your space.  Three minutes is better than none.  And this is the sound of distance.

I am reminded of the night I came home about a week before Christmas.  I was bold that evening and said some things to you that I had never said to you before.  Like how you weren’t there for us, how you were breaking promises all over again; how you weren’t loving her the right way and how you weren’t being the role model that he needs so much right now.  How you never cared about anything or anyone other than yourself, and how you were missing out on everything important right now.  The tears came unplanned but I didn’t care because I wanted you to see me for who I was and what I truly felt but you glared at me and commanded me to stop.  I did stop.  Just for you.  I felt like I was ten years older than I really was.

I’m bursting at the seams to tell you everything that’s been going on in my life.  I have so many questions, so many fears and uncertainties that I need to voice.  I don’t understand much about money and how to prepare to start living on my own.  I haven’t ever owned my own car and I definitely don’t know where to start if I ever want to buy one.  Do you know what my favorite color is?  Do you know what makes me laugh?  Am I a burden to you?  Am I a nuisance?  Doubt is probably the deadliest of all relationship-killers.  I hate doubting.  Yet it becomes so hard to avoid when efforts to love are met with absolutely nothing.

Tonight, we passed one another in the hallway going opposite directions without looking at one another.  You carrying your load and I carrying mine.  We each take our own load into our rooms and close the doors.  I thought families were supposed to help carry each other’s loads.  If so, then we’ve failed a thousand times.  Because after all, isn’t that what love is about?

Home has become for me a paradox of definition; a place of contradiction where I collide with those whom I have known my whole life.  Fighting with and believing in love can be so hard sometimes.  I want to give up so badly… but I know deep down that I won’t give up because God supplies me with just enough love to get through to him.  Especially for the times when I miss out on a perfect chance.

I don’t know why I wrote this.  Maybe one day I’ll have the guts to share this with you.  Maybe one day you’ll seize the chance to listen.  And on that day, maybe I’ll seize the chance to be courageous.  Until then, I’ll keep my hopes.

“…But hope that is seen is no hope at all.  Who hopes for what he already has?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.” — Romans 8:24-25

year of the sevens.

Introducing yourself to other people is kind of weird, especially when you’re all sitting in a circle for small group. I mean, what do you normally tell a stranger, other than your name, which they will probably forget–especially if you’re with a bunch of other people? Hello, my name is Grace. Hi… I’m Chris. Jerry. Susan. I’m Megan. Uh, Steve. I’m Ellen? Jack Anderson. Greg from Havertown. Jessica… Hi I’m Ben. And I’m Kevin. You get the idea, it can be a little overwhelming. At one point in time, I used to repeat a well-rehearsed paragraph of information to others when I introduced myself to them:

“Hi, I’m Grace… I was born on the 7th day of the 7th month in the 7th year of 1980; I weight 7 pounds and the first letter of my first name is the 7th letter of the alphabet.”

If they didn’t remember me for my pretentiousness, they would have at least remembered me for all those sevens. It’s been a few years since I’ve pulled that riff off on anyone (I started to feel stupid; though it makes for good trivia). I’ve had people come up to me and tell me how lucky I must be; superstitious folks who’d gaze at me as if I were a talisman, old Chinese people who’d grin and remark that it must be because I was born in the year of the Rabbit. Weird, right? I guess I asked for it, for not having been able to shut up about myself. Oh well.

I’ve thought about the odds of being born with that many sevens in my life from time to time.  There have definitely been times when I scoffed at the idea of being super-blessed; times when life seemed completely meaningless and without direction.  And there have definitely been times when I smiled inwardly out of recognition for the super blessings that I’ve been given; times when I have been graced to see the beauty of God’s love.  With the year of 2007 closing in on the world, I couldn’t help but smile as I recollected exploits big and small from my past twelve months of living and breathing air.  This year in and of itself has been one that began in loneliness, confusion and despair: I doubted God’s love more than ever and kept my heart behind iron bars; I lost all sense of who I was and what I was born to do.  But with the incredible gift of time and grace, God–who never ceased to love me and to accept me for who I was–gradually showed me the way in which I was supposed to climb.  Miracles happened, friendships made, favor gained, opportunities opened, wisdom abounded, relationships redeemed; I was being restored.  I saw more of my weaknesses, more of my strengths; I found the voice that I never thought I’d find and stood up for things like truth and justice, love and hope.  I learned how to fight for what I love, those whom I love; I learned how to claim victories that which were mine in Christ.  Not that any of these are mastered, of course.  No… this is just the beginning.

I turned twenty this year on 07-07-07, a date that will occur once more in a hundred years.  Two decades of life already lived; two decades of choices… making mistakes, laughing, crying, being rejected, knowing joy, being accepted, addictions, idolizing, seeking, growing, escaping, winning, being jealous, telling lies, doubting, trusting, surrendering, being forgiven, being blessed–and blessings, blessings, blessings…

I’m not one to really champion New Year’s Resolutions.  I think they’re kind of tacky; like this is the one day of the year where we’re all going to consider ways in which we can improve ourselves.  I heard an awesome quote this week at a missions conference I am currently attending: “There’s a big difference between talking about something and then actually doing it.  Doing is much more important than talking.  But what is even more important that doing is being.  Being is much, much more important than doing.”

God, I want to be eager to listen, eager to hope; eager to learn and eager to grow.  I want to be slow to anger, slow to resent; slow to judge and slow to speak… prone to be joyful, prone to seek wisdom; prone to laugh and prone to simplicity.  Make me quick to let go, quick to forgive; quick to love and quick to follow You… but most of all, I want to be bold to be bold; bold to dream and bold to believe, bold to sacrifice… again and again and again.  I can’t achieve any of these things on my own… but when I am rooted in You, all of these things are possible.  Help me just to be.  Thank You for a year of the sevens, a marvelous and amazing ride of letting go again and again only to see in the end just how much more blessings I am able to reap.  Lucky girl, indeed.

You don’t need a bunch of sevens to be blessed.  You don’t need a lucky number nor do you need a lucky charm.  Ask and seek the Author of the Universe who gives and takes all… your eyes will be opened like they’ve never been opened before.  Instead of doing things in order to be blessed, just go and be blessed.  Happy New Year’s.

risky business, love is.

The Main Street Christmas lights sparkle in my window, reminding me of the time that has passed and the time that has yet to come. I cannot believe the first half of my third year at college has already flown by: I could’ve sworn that it had only been a few days ago that I had moved into my dorm, that I had enrolled for classes and gotten my schedule to teach. Somehow, in the past 3.5 amazing months of life, there have been many Large Groups, many Great Conversations, several exam-grading sessions, many random conversations about God, miracles both big and small; too many memorable coffeeshop conversations and unforgettable study breaks, great friendships and lessons learned the hard way, many intimate moments with God and with music in front of the piano at the CFA late at night; a gazillion number of meetings and doodle sessions, unexpected gigs and concerts, several difficult confrontations, many moments of doubt, confusion, and stress–which were always accompanied by the glorious moments of faith, passion, and love. I’ve entered new chapters and created new memories; I’ve grown painfully in some places and through it all, I have learned to love God all the more.I never cease to be amazed by God when I take a conscious step out of my little world to get a glimpse of the Bigger Picture. For those of you who did not know, I have a writing and thinking fetish; it brings me great joy to mull and muse over life and love, whys and hows. Not to turn this into some sort of confessional or anything–but sometimes there is nothing I look forward to more at the end of the day than sitting still with my black book and my pen, being open and attentive to my heart when it is most alive. Though my love affair with writing did not start until my freshman year of college, I began my 8th volume of Grace’s-Life-In-A-Book at the end of May, this year. An excerpt:

“It’s funny how you are most aware of your heart when it is hurting–kind of like how you notice it with renewed energy when you are in love. In this moment in time, I am more awakened to the deepest corners or my aching and hurting heart than I have ever been before. I am freezing and melting all at once; dying and living all at once. I don’t understand, God… help me understand. I know I need to be restored.” – 6/2/07

The tidbit above was written during a time of heartache and pain. But in so many more ways than one, God has since then taken so much of the restoration of my heart into his own hands. I have journeyed long and far since June, with God’s love navigating me through dark valleys and rugged mountain ranges. Through it all, I have learned that restoration does not occur without risk; perhaps one of the hardest things to do in life is to trust yet again after you’ve been hurt. Our hearts are fragile stuff… one bad experience with love can shut us off from feeling for a lifetime. I am reminded of a particular scene in Home Alone 2 from a late-night movie that occurred with a few friends about a week ago:

Referring to her homelessness, the Pigeon Lady says, “I wasn’t always like this… I had a job, I had a home, I had a family. And then the man I loved fell out of love with me. That broke my heart. When the chance to be loved came again, I ran away from it. I stopped trusting people.” It is at this point that our little hero, Kevin McCallister, brilliantly replies, “No offense, but that seems like sort of a dumb thing to do.” The Pigeon Lady then confessed, “I was afraid of getting my heart broken again. I’m just afraid if I do trust someone, I’ll get my heart broken.” (Here comes the hammer…) Kevin looks at her, and then replies once more with that unperturbed honesty and faith of a kid: “I understand. I had a nice pair of Rollerblades and I was afraid to wreck them, so I kept them in a box. Do you know what happened? I outgrew them. I never wore them outside. Only in my room a few times. If you won’t use your heart, who cares if it gets broken? If you just keep it to yourself, maybe it’ll be like my Rollerblades. When you decide to try it, it won’t be any good. You should take the chance; you’ve got nothing to lose.”

True story, eh? Looking back at the size 7 footprints I’ve made since June, I can think of many times when I’ve voluntarily shut myself from others out of fear. I have been convinced that it has been too hard to forgive, too difficult to forget; too draining to remain open, and too taxing to feel. I have resolved never to love, never to be misguided; I have vowed never to risk, and I have been more than determined to have a will that was stronger than my heart. Love I could do without, I thought; it hurt too much.

But as the tiny Christmas lights dance in the distance, I am reminded of the biggest risk in love ever made in history. Isn’t that what Christmas is all about? God knew we weren’t ever going to be able to get it right; he knew that we needed help. So he sends his Beloved, his One and Only Son, to us in the form of a human baby; the most precious Christmas gift ever known to mankind. To what extent, and to what length, did God have to go through in order for us to know that we are worth it to him, that we are worth loving? And he did this for us with the knowledge that, thirty-three years down that road, he would watch from high heaven as the recipients of his Gift beat, flogged, humiliated, maimed, and crucified his Son. If God sent Jesus to us with all of this already in mind, how can I stand here and not be ashamed of my unwillingness to love in the likeness of that wonderful, wonderful sacrifice?

Today, I am not the person I was when I wrote in my little black book on June 2. Today, I am once again, absolutely in love with life–I am so thrilled to be able to feel and to dream, I am so blessed to be able to know joy and to have hope; I am so thankful to be able to love. What a scary and risky business, love is! But I am determined more than ever to let my Lord and Savior, the Love of my life, permeate my broken heart with the most amazing love of all. That alone gives me every reason to risk and to love on my way to being just a little more restored.

It’s 3:11AM on Monday morning. The sun will rise in a few hours… and I will have yet another day to explore the infinite love of God; I will have yet another day to make decisions based on my determination to be guided by God’s love alone. But for now, it’s good night… sweet dreams all around.

i bleed red too.

Autumn. It’s my personal favorite, actually. There’s something about seeing my breath in the air, being buttoned up, and clenching a warm mug of spice tea in my hands that makes it special. And then there are the pies (apple and pumpkin to be precise), the wafting aroma of snickerdoodles and baked goodness; hot chocolate and warm bread. Running is so much nicer in 50-degree weather, and the time spent with friends and family is more likely to be accompanied by a cheerful fire.

But the best part of autumn are the colors.

A friend once remarked to me, “Why do you like autumn so much? Everything is dying!!!” While that is true, that death is only temporary for our deciduous friends here in the Northeast. Or Southeast. Whatever you consider Delaware to be. Despite the short absence from their boughs, these leaves are spectacular. What an awesome display of color! (I am particularly fond of the red ones.) While my eyes soaked in the tangerines, vermilions, sun-yellows and faded greens of autumn on the way home from church, I began to think.

People are like autumn leaves. All of us: different colors, different roots; dying and living at the same time. If you haven’t been keeping up with the news or if you didn’t pay attention to that kid in your class who’s always on top of the latest University gossip, there’s been a lot of hoo-ha about ResLife and the diversity programs here at UD. It’s funny how life occurrences coincide from time to time–our entire InterVarsity Christian Fellowship just listened to a speaker talk to us about racism and how we all need to give grace–”gracism,” if you will, in order for a loving community to be built. Racism, grace, community, and love, I thought to myself. I’m uncomfortable already.

My good friend and fellow InterVarsity leader was the designated driver for church this morning. I turned to her and said, “I’ve been struggling with loneliness lately… it’s been so hard for me to identify with people in our fellowship. I’m realizing more and more now that I am the minority, that I am different, and when I’m aware of this, I can’t connect.”
She looked at me and asked, “is it because you are Asian that you’re feeling this way, or is the devil trying to tell you that you can’t connect and identify with your peers?”
After a brief silence I replied, “no… being Asian doesn’t justify my feelings of loneliness… I guess it’s just hard for me to feel like I belong.” In my mind, I thought why did I even bring this up? What do YOU know about being the odd one out? You’re not a minority! (note: here, this is Grace being racist.)
With a sigh, I elaborated. “For example… I hear about people getting together for a party-slash-get-together and I didn’t get the memo. I would love to go. I wonder sometimes, is it because I’m Asian and different that they didn’t ask me to come? Or, we’re hanging out, and everyone except for me starts laughing about something that’s awfully hilarious. And I wonder again, is it just a cultural thing? And then if it’s not because I’m Asian, then it’s because I’m too serious, or too deep-thinking, too introverted or just too different–I just feel like I don’t belong here, like there’s some exclusion principle in our own fellowship that I don’t understand! All I want is to know that it’s possible for someone out there to love me just the way I am!” I stopped suddenly. There were tears falling from my friend’s eyes.

And then, as if an invisible hand had slapped me in the face, I realized that what started out as a conversation about being unable to identify with others had undeniably turned into a conversation in which both of us could identify with one another.

“Grace, you are speaking thoughts that I’ve had for years and years,” she said to me. “I’ve gone so long being comfortable hiding behind the labels that everyone associates me with; I’m so scared of life after college because I seriously doubt if there are people in the fellowship who know the real me. I want to know too that it’s possible for someone out there to love me the way I am.”

My friend and I sat side by side in her car. Her light skin a seat over from my tan skin. Her last name so many more syllables than my last name. (Well, given that my last name is only one syllable…) We are different in so many ways–yet we have much in common. Though the leaves on one tree may differ in shape and size and most notably, color, they essentially have the same needs: light, water, nutrients. Who would have thought that humans were not so different?

If nothing else, every human being can find common ground in identifying with our need and desire to be loved. Factors like our personality, our life experiences, our values; our appearance, the labels we’re given, our race and culture; our IDENTITY–these only layer our most fundamental need of love. It is our fear of being alone, our doubts of whether or not we will be loved, and our hurts that prove that our desires are made of the same stuff. Jesus bled one color when He died on the cross so that we may have that kind of love from a God whose love will never run dry. It is because of this sacrifice that you and I bleed red too.

If we (InterVarsity and the rest of the world) are going to address color, we can’t begin by starting with our differences in color. We need to begin by identifying common ground in our shared needs as humans. We all need what we don’t deserve, and that’s what makes it a gift of grace when we love one another with the kind of love that Jesus had for us when He bled over our hurts. You and I… we’re much more alike than we think.

So that’s another reason why I love autumn so much. That, and the fact that the water is done boiling… finally, a cup of tea and a lovely weekend at its close. Goodnight.