Fried Rice with Ketchup: Growing Up as an Asian-American in the 21st Century

They say that America is a big melting pot.

And if America is a big melting pot, if America is a big stew of cultures and traditions, do our distinct flavors and backgrounds and personalities shine through? Or are we getting lost, hidden beneath the soupy, murky depths to become indistinguishable, assimilated into the plastic, television culture of white models, people who look the same and talk the same and like the same things?

I think I realized I was different when I was around six years old. 

I was at a friend's birthday party at a nearby park, picking dandelions to eventually weave into a braided crown, when I suddenly realized that I was alone with my mother and another adult. All the other blonde and brunette six-year-olds were a few feet away, chattering about something or the other I didn't quite understand, when quite suddenly, I realized that I was different, alienated not only physically with my shiny, black braids and almond eyes, but also on a deeper level I had not previously realized. 

Subconsciously, my great-grandmother became a key factor for my dislike of Asian culture. Due to male-dominance in Chinese tradition, she always favored my brother, giving him the best of the food, the most extravagant gifts, the most praise and attention. My brother was her clear favorite, and she lavished words, money, and care upon him.

I remember distinctly her prayer before a meal, her voice cracking with old age, trembling with passion. I must have been eight. She prayed blessings upon blessings for my brother, that he would grow up to be successful, healthy, and wealthy with a lovely family and a prestigious job. She mentioned how handsome he was, his good looks, his intelligence, his humor. Her voice droned on and on in the muggy heat, and my mind began to tune out her prayer until I heard my Chinese name. 

"And as for Zhang Zai Roe," she sighed, "it'll be good enough if she gets married off." 

I can distinctly feel the pain in my heart although it was ten years ago, the tears struggling in my eyes, the tightening in my throat. I can still picture the restaurant, the round table, the white tablecloth, the plastic seat coverings. I think it was then that my eight-year-old self began to defy Chinese culture. I had always seen myself as an American, but never had I hated my heritage as much as I did. 

After that, I intentionally avoided the food my great-grandmother cooked for my family. I intentionally pretended not to understand her Mandarin, pretended to be more American to be as separate and distinct from her as I could. The degradation and humiliation I felt as a child cast a negative light on my entire heritage.

From that moment on, for the next five years or so, I purposely tried to separate myself from Chinese culture. I had always wanted blue eyes and blond hair, but now I would wince at my own words, at the accent that coated every sentence I spoke, at the manner of articulation that separated me from others. I trained myself to dislike more traditional Asian foods, simply because they were Asian. I felt embarrassed that my parents and relatives communicated in another tongue, embarrassed that I didn't grow up eating the same foods or watching the same TV shows as my peers, embarrassed that my household traditions weren't "normal". 

And during that age of middle school awkwardness where we all begin on that journey of discovering who we truly are, I had to struggle with not only myself but also my heritage. Perhaps elementary and middle school kids did treat me differently because I was Asian. Perhaps that was all in my head. Whether or not I really was an outsider, I felt like an outsider, and I saw my ethnicity as a dividing wall, a Great Wall, if you will, that separated me from everyone else.

As a child, I used to hate visiting Taiwan because I saw myself strongly as American. When people there assumed I spoke Chinese or could use chopsticks at restaurants, I felt annoyed because I didn't want to be identified as Asian. I was American. 

However, the last time I visited Taiwan before high school, something changed. Instead of trying to thrust everything from me, I began to see there was beauty in difference. Difference doesn't need to convey negativity, but rather, it can be something to explore and appreciate. 

Perhaps I do not need to love everything about Asian culture, and perhaps my sense of pride in my heritage is still feeble at times. However, I no longer feel shame or embarrassment but rather, a deeper sense of understanding for those of my ethnicity. I have grown to enjoy more of Asian cuisine, to appreciate and empathize with my relatives who grew up in a different environment, and to live life with less preconceptions, with open eyes and an open heart.

My great-grandmother died a few years ago, and I'm sorry to say that I never understood her while she was alive. I saw her as someone who wounded me deeply and who represented everything negative about Asian culture. However, I didn't actually know her beyond her treatment of me and my brother. I failed to see her as someone who was deeply courageous, brave, and stubborn. 

Decades ago, she escaped from Communist China with a baby on her back, selling her home and possessions, traveling across the country by train to meet her husband in Taiwan. She was an entrepreneur, buying property and running her own hotel, all without a formal education. Though she never learned to read, her determination and quick wit provided for my father, allowed my family to survive here in the United States, and helped her escape history's rough waters. She was a fighter.

Just like my great-grandmother, Chinese culture isn't perfect. It has its rough edges and harsh traditions, but it is also unique and precious in its own blend of culture, food, and language. Yes, I am American, but I am also Asian. I'm learning more and more that my heritage isn't something to hide or to shove underneath and suppress, but my culture is something to understand. 

If I am being assimilated into the melting pot called America, I want to be aware of it. I want to know my own culture, to understand who I really am, to truly appreciate the path my ancestors created for me. It may have taken me eighteen years to reach where I am today, but my eighteen years have given me a curiosity and an interest to live not only half of my life as an American, but the other half as well.

Living with Unclenched Fists: For the Times When God Says "No"

Somewhere in the supernatural realm of the universe, I believe that there are threads, colorful strands of fabric connecting time and space and events, intertwining, interwoven into a beautiful tapestry called God's story. And what an amazing story it is. A story of redemption, salvation, adoption. A story where even the darkest, blackest places on the tapestry come together into something dazzling and breathtaking. 

Yet sometimes, it's hard to see that story. It's easy to fight the dark strands in our own lives, isn't it? To push away the hands of our Creator and struggle to weave the tapestry on our own. Sometimes we mistakenly believe that we can create the best ending for our own story after all. So we snatch away pen and paper and scribble away, determined to transform our lives into a fairytale of glitter and gold. 

For the last six months of my life, I heard God telling me "no". Sometimes in the brokenness of humanity, relationships and people just aren't able to fit together. Like two obstinate puzzle pieces, no matter how hard we may try to force those pieces together, they will never match up. But in my pride, in my desperation, I sat there for six months, a stubborn child, trying to will my way into showing God how badly I wanted this friendship to go on. 

I snatched pen and paper into my own hands, fighting desperately to write a tale of romance and beauty in which I thought I could be forever happy. I struggled through nights of only a few solitary hours of sleep, nights filled with crying and tear-stained pillows and emotional breakdowns because I thought I could foresee and predict God's ending to my story. I tried to make it all work. Yet when it became more obvious that His answer was "no" and things started falling to pieces, I tried to ignore His answer and the warning lights going on around me. My fists were clenched, holding on tightly to my own hopes and dreams as if my life were my own, as if I could ever be a more poetic author, a more talented painter, or a more competent artist than the Creator of the universe.

It took a lot to break my clenched fists, a lot of extreme circumstances of hurt and abandonment for me to see my own stubbornness and brokenness. But now I see the beauty and the benefits of going through life with unclenched fists, open and ready to accept whatever and whomever the Lord will give and take away. 

In a way, the Scriptures are full of people who lived with unclenched fists, people who lost homes and families and careers for Christ. These heroic men and women understood that God's plan often differs dramatically from our own dreams and hopes, and sometimes He says "no" to the possessions and people we hold most dearly. The rich young ruler understood this all too well in Matthew 19:21-22, which reads: 

"Jesus said to him, “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” When the young man heard this he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions."

In a way, we can sometimes act similarly to this rich young ruler, clinging to our earthly loves, afraid that God might say "no" and remove those dearest from our lives. Yet too often we forget that the Person directing our life song isn't simply another fallible human being. The One who composes each incident in our lives is the Creator of the Universe who sent His Son down to earth that we might have a restored relationship and an eternity with Him. He holds the world together, blending beautiful strains of music into one powerful, awe-inspiring melody shouting of His glory and our good. When the Psalmist wrote, 

"Into Your hand I commit my spirit, You have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God."

[Psalm 31:5]

he knew full-well that he was committing his spirit into the hands of the Almighty God. 

Somewhere in the supernatural realm of the universe, I also believe that the past six months were part of God's plan for me, a small section of my tapestry, a few pages in my life story, a small refrain in my song, teaching me to unclench my fists and to commit my spirit to the One who is forever faithful. I'm learning that living with open hands and an open heart is a daily commitment, a daily prayer to the God who hears, and a daily surrender of myself, knowing that the ending, which will be the best part, is yet to come.

112 Days Until Manila

Hi everyone,

I'm really excited to announce that in 16 weeks I'll be headed to Manila to serve alongside the Nichols family and Redemptio Christian School! I am so blessed and privileged to have this amazing opportunity to learn more about missions firsthand, to see the work God is doing in Manila, and to grow physically, spiritually, and emotionally. 

It will be a little different from my last trip to Manila. Last time I had the opportunity to serve alongside my church in various ministries in metro Manila, but this time, I will just be traveling by myself to learn more about missions from the Nichols and to stretch myself and serve in whatever way God has planned. 

It will be my first time flying by myself anywhere, let alone overseas, and traveling alone is a little intimidating. I am a type A personality who is incredibly schedule-oriented and who likes to have things under control. However, after the two weeks spent in Manila two summers ago, I already know that missions requires flexibility, patience, and peace despite whatever alternative plans God has in store. This trip is huge and it's scary and unpredictable, but I'm excited to learn more about how to trust God tangibly, even when things are unfamiliar or out of my comfort zone. I know God will stretch me, and I pray that I will be ready for that stretching process. 

Words cannot describe how excited I am for this opportunity. Ever since that trip two years ago, long-term missions has really become engrained in my hopes for the future, and I hope this trip will be a stepping stone to help me learn about not only missions, but also God and serving others. Missions is part of God's heart, and I desire that it become a big part of mine as well. Please keep me in your prayers! Thank you! Salamat po.

For 2015: A Poem Paraphrased from Psalm 107

{paraphrased from Psalm 107}

... some wandered in desert wastes, their soul fainting within them. they searched for a city, lacking food, lacking water, lacking sustenance, lacking hope. some sat in darkness, for they had rebelled against the words of God. they had been fools through their sinful ways, and their courage melted away in their evil plight. in the darkness, they realized their own brokenness and they too lost hope. 

weary travelers lost in the darkness.
fools captive by their own chains.
us.

then we cried to the Lord in our trouble, and He delivered us from our distress. 

He led us faithfully by a straight way until we reached a city to dwell in. He brought us out of the shadow of death and burst our bonds apart. He calmed the storm and made the waves be still, and He brought us, broken sailors, to our desired haven.

for He satisfies the longing soul, and the hungry soul He fills with good things.

let us praise the Lord, for He has brought us to dine on the riches of His love, though we are undeserving. 

let us attend to these things, for the Lord delights and takes pleasure in us.

let us consider the steadfast love of the Lord, how He has walked alongside us for the past days and how He will forevermore.

through the winds and the waves and the desert and the chains, our God has been faithful.

selah.

No Strings Attached: A Rant About the Refugee Situation, the Homeless, and Giving

"If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that?"

{Matthew 5:46-47}

Do we truly understand what it means to give with no strings attached, no end goal in mind?

Jesus transformed water into wine, multiplying loaves and fish to feed and provide for thousands. He poured Himself out for His people, healing the sick, allowing the blind to see, the lame to walk. He cared for the broken, the lonely, the infirm, the outcast. And at the end of a life of sacrificial giving, the very people He loved for thirty-three years turned Him in, calling for his death, calling for blood. I can't imagine Christ's pain, to hear the very voices that once thanked and worshipped Him demand His crucifixion. 

Christ devoted His life towards ministering and loving a man who would later betray Him for a few silver coins and a people who would turn their backs on their Creator. 

Yet, He thought it worth it. He saw nothing wrong with sacrificing His love and time and energy for an ungrateful, unworthy people.

He gave, pouring Himself out for people He knew would betray Him.

He gave, knowing His gifts would be trampled upon underfoot.

He gave, knowing the loaves and fish would feed people living in sin, refusing to repent, refusing to see.

He gave.

And when we as believers have Christ's sacrifice as our example of giving, why do we see so much hatred around us towards refugees, men, women, and children fleeing for their very existence? Why do we close our doors to individuals who desperately need care and Christ's love? Why do we neglect the homeless, driving by without a second thought to the human being behind that cardboard sign?

Is it really giving if we have conditions, if we need to foresee a good ending, if we have our own standards, "if we only let in law-abiding citizens," "if the money goes to good use," if we only give to those who care for us, if we only give to our own people, if we only give to get good results and to fulfill our own agenda? "Do not even the pagans do that?"

"Innocent before proven guilty." Has that mindset reversed to where we no longer give with open hearts and open hands to a hurting world? Perhaps they don't deserve our money. Perhaps they will simply spit upon our time. Perhaps our efforts will be in vain. Perhaps out of a hundred, ninety-nine will use our cash for drugs and our handouts for a lifestyle of crime or dependence on the government. But if we can help one person, if we can clothe one individual and provide him or her with shelter and a meal, if we can open our doors and have one man, woman, or child experience Christ's love, isn't that worth it? 

Yes, we should give wisely. But all I know is that I don't want to be the one standing in the way of a human being receiving the love of Christ. 

We have been given. And so we must give.

“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’ He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’"

{Matthew 25:44-45}

Trust: Not a Prerequisite, but a Product

Trust

/trəst/

"assured 

reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something"

{http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/trust}

Love is a risky thing. There is no way to love safely, to pour out emotions and hearts and souls into another sinful human being and never come away with a few scrapes and bruises. But yet, after all is said and done and blows have been dealt on either side, I think we as human beings approach forgiveness and love and trust in the wrong way. 

We look at love as if people need to deserve our love first before we grant it. 

We scramble to pick up the broken pieces of our own lives and relationships in order to forgive and look past wrongs without ill-intent. And then we attempt to trust again and regain trust but regaining belief and conviction a person that has wronged us is a task that takes time and consistent integrity and effort. And then, after we can fully forgive and fully trust, then we say we love. Only until we can fully reconcile and overlook past wrongs do we dare to love, to regift ourselves. 

We are scared. We are scared to love unconditionally so we put up little parameters, little boxes to check off. First we must be able to forgive, second to trust, and then we can finally check off love. Love is a risky, dangerous, scary thing, and so we shrink from it to protect ourselves, finding conditions and requirements before we can fully pour ourselves out for another human being. 

But God doesn't love us with prerequisites. 

If love has to be deserved or earned, we would never be able to merit the abundant, breathtaking love of God.

He loves us with a radical kind of a love. A love that is not dependent on our response. A love that is unconditional, without conditions. When we were unlovable, dead in our sins, living in rebellion against Him, and hurting the very One who created us in our rejection of Him, He loved us. He loved us though there was no reason for Him to forgive us. And because of the riches of His love, He forgave us, piling blessings of grace upon blessing. Because of His love, He saved us, making us right with Him.

Love comes first. Without love, we cannot hope to overlook past wrongs, because truth is, people have wronged us and we have wronged others. People will break our trust time after time again, and we will never completely deserve the trust of others. 

If trust and forgiveness are prerequisites for love, we will never be able to truly love because we are broken people.

If trust and forgiveness are prerequisites for love, we will never be able to be loved because we are broken people.

The past few months I have struggled with trust. Struggled to trust and struggled to earn trust. But I've realized that I've been approaching trust wrong. 

Trust isn't a prerequisite for love. It is a product of love.

Trust is what love does. Trust is a result of a 1 Corinthians 13 type of a love, a love that is patient, kind, not easily irritated. It comes from a love that endures all things and hopes despite all odds. A love that is long suffering. 

God loves us unconditionally, without conditions. When we begin to love the way God loves, when we look beyond ourselves and love another human being sacrificially with patience and joy, we can trust because we love. When we patiently work with one another in our weaknesses, when we humbly put the wellbeing of others before ourselves, when we stifle our anger, when we choose not to bring to mind the faults of others, when we persevere with one another, we can begin to trust and forgive. 

I am undeserving of trust and forgiveness. But I receive trust and forgiveness from God and from others around me because they love me more than I could ever deserve. And in the same way, I desire to love radically, in abandonment of self because that is how my God loves me. 

Beauty in the Brokenness: Reflections After a Week of Working Alongside Sacred Road Ministries

"If you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong;

and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail."

{Isaiah 58:10-11}

Spending a week at the White Swan reservation in Yakima, WA, left more than a few dried splatters of paint on my arms and dirt under my nails. How can a week living and learning and loving under a 105 degree sun, holding a child grimy with dirt in your lap or slathering slate blue paint on walls and caulking cracks in between boards or singing God's praises with tens of youth or watching the interns love and care for and carry and give piggyback rides and pour themselves over the children with the most beautiful smiles that must touch the heart of God Himself not change someone? To see a ministry living and active and completely overflowing with service in the footsteps of Jesus and to see the changed lives of the children and youth and interns and the beautiful church building and the hearts of those serving. . . how could it not leave an impact on my life? 

To wake up to a beautifully arid landscape and to see Mt. Adams framing the dry landscape and finding roadkill a few miles down West Wapato Road and to arrive at church only to pack a sack lunch and head off to a wonderfully challenging day at worksite painting and roofing and building to bless the community only to arrive back in the afternoon for kids club and to hold and carry and play with the young and dirty and forgotten and yet their smiles and their beautiful, bright eyes just stay with me until we head back to rest and fellowship under the light of a golden, full moon.

When I left last week, I was filled with worry over my own life, and the pages in my journal were filled with fear and uncertainty and insecurity. I was focused on my own hardships and struggles and the little things someone said or did. But arriving at Yakima, my view of myself and God were disoriented and torn from their self-centered perspective. I had to ask myself, do I believe that God is sovereign over all this pain? Is He is control over the physical and sexual and emotional abuse of the children and the economic hardships of the families and the alcohol and drug problems and the broken hearts and uncared-for toddlers? Is He in control and active in the hurting community with mothers younger than me and children wandering around with only diapers and lice in their hair and those who are hurting, hurting in ways that I could never imagine?

And when I looked around and saw the changed lives and the love poured out on the very least, I could say yes. Yes, God is working. Yes, God is turning many towards Him through the examples of His children working faithfully to bring Him honor and praise. I saw the lives on the interns and families and those who trust in Christ, and I saw lives of joy and peace and contentment in the Lord and His work. He is in complete control over each situation, and He is so very, very good.

And if He is control of the abuse and the pain and heartache and the things that break my heart, is He not also in control of my own life? Of the little things that make me worried, of ruined to-do lists, a few hurtful words, healing friendships? Is He not holding the whole world in His hands, holding the lives of those in White Swan and holding mine as well?

Your plans are still to prosper

You have not forgotten us

You're with us in the fire and the flood

You're faithful forever

Perfect in love

You are sovereign over us

And tonight of all nights on July 4th, drunken parties and abuse and the brokenness rages on more than ever in White Swan, and as I reflect on this fact that's so, so wrong, I can't help but cry out and weep over the pain, knowing my God weeps as well. I take comfort in the fact that God's name Emmanuel means God with us, and God not only with me, but God with White Swan and each suffering child and hopeless mother and wounded father and God with Sacred Road, blessing that ministry and allowing it to blossom. God is in the pain. He hears the cry of each child, and He holds them close in His arms. But He's not just leaving the hurt as black and deep as it is, but He's working and moving, creating something glorious and hopeful and peaceful and beautiful, an oasis of joy and beauty in the midst of the blackest pain.

This week I had the chance to "come and see," and I saw. I saw brokenness, but I saw beauty. The beauty of Jesus' heart beating and His love poured out to the children and youth and adults, and I saw the beauty of changed hearts and lives of people once living in sin brought to His feet. I saw the beauty of the interns and teams and families faithfully and diligently working in the heat to love those who Jesus loves. Life is full of brokenness, but we do have a God who is sovereign over our worries and fears and a God who turns our brokenness into something beautiful to shine brightly because of the hope we have in Him. 

Although we are weeping 

Lord, help us keep sowing 

The seeds of Your Kingdom 

For the day You will reap them 

Your sheaves we will carry 

Lord, please do not tarry 

All those who sow weeping will go out with songs of joy 

The nations will say, "He has done great things!" 

The nations will sing songs of joy