Day -1: Itinerary and Prayer Requests

Dear friends and family,

It's hard to believe that in a few short hours I'll be landing in Manila! The closer I get to my trip, the more I realize how much I need to depend on God spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I'm so incredibly excited to see what He's doing and to serve and love children whom He knows by name and whom He loves unconditionally!

I've attached my itinerary for prayer purposes. I'll be mostly working with children in various ministries in orphanages, schools, and camps. It'll be my first time flying alone, so I ask that you keep me in your prayers.

July 1 – Arrive in Manila (12 hr flight to Taipei, 2 hr flight to Manila)

July 2 – Shalom Birthing Clinic and a feeding in the slums at Tondo  

Sunday, July 3 - Attend CWC (church)

July 4-6 – Redemptio Christian School 

July 7-9 – Home of Joy Orphange

July 10 – Attend CCF Alabang (church)

July 11 – Orphanage in the Valley 

July 12-13 – Camp New Beginnings, a camp for street girls 

July 14 – Back to Seattle

Prayer requests:

- Please pray for the various children and individuals I may come in contact with, whether through the ministries I'll visit or just on the plane and throughout my travels. It is my desire that others see the joy of knowing Christ through my words and actions, and that maybe God will give me an opportunity to share about my trip during my flights!

- Please pray for the various ministries I'll be visiting and the amazing missionaries, pastors, and workers who serve the Lord so faithfully. Pray that He will use these men and women as lights in their community and that His blessings, provisions, and strength will be poured out upon them. Pray that their ministries will be effective and that He will continue to sustain them as they work for His glory. Pray especially for the Nichols family and for Redemptio as the school continues to expand in the Floodway community!

- Please pray for me spiritually. In the last few weeks, the Lord has really been revealing the idols of my heart and drawing me to Him. In addition, I've been struggling a lot with hormonal mood swings and a lot of emotional ups and downs, and I know God has been using that to teach me to cry out to Him for strength and endurance. 

I know I won't ever feel spiritually ready for this trip and in a lot of ways, I feel inadequate to face the journey ahead. I feel like I struggle so much in my own life with sin and other issues that I don't feel worthy or capable of representing Christ or sharing about Him. 

However, I also know that the Lord uses those who are imperfect and weak and broken in order that His glory and His goodness might shine all the more brighter. This verse from 2 Corinthians 4 comes to mind:

"For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us."

I know my jar is broken and I continually fail my Father every day, but I know He can use my weak and trembling heart to show others how wonderful and good and gracious He is. It's okay that I'm not perfect because I am a living example of how He can take broken people and transform their hearts. 

Please pray that the Lord would use me and strengthen my relationship with Him, teach me true humility and joy, and give me a servant's heart. I want more than anything to be a blessing to others and to cause others to see how wonderful God is.

To conclude, while I was in the middle of devotions the other day, I came across 2 Thessalonians 1, and I ask that you'd pray for me using this verse. 

To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Global missions is truly a great adventure to see God at work and to allow Him to work in us! I'm excited to be able to join that adventure for two weeks, and a big thank you for your prayers and support. I'm overwhelmed by the generosity of my church family, and I hope to keep this blog updated daily (hopefully)!

Salamat po! For His glory,

Amanda

Understanding the Culture: Pulp Fiction

If we want to engage the culture, we have to understand the culture.

Sometimes I think we as Christians are blinded by our distaste for foul language and violence. Now I’m not promoting any of these things and I understand we are called to be holy, but I am saying that sometimes our hatred for “vulgarity” prevents us from understanding and appreciating the culture and from truly seeing the beauty in secular films and music.

Now I can understand why some people are offended by Pulp Fiction and its barrage of swearing and blood. However, to me, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Yes, the tip is a little dark and a little bloody, but if you take the time to dive beneath the surface, if you hear the thoughts and minds and souls behind the f-bombs, if you begin to truly see the motivations and hearts behind the pools of blood, if you start to empathize with Jules and Vincent, then maybe you will understand why there’s more to Pulp Fiction than what meets the eye.

I was involved in a homeschool Christian speech and debate league, and one event I competed in was Mars Hill. Individuals presented either a book, movie, or song, dissected its worldview and underlying philosophy, and related it back to Christian themes and principles. However, most of the pre-assigned films were PG, family-friendly, moral-inducing, kid-safe films, and whenever I gave a speech, I always felt dissociated from the real, nitty gritty movies that my friends and I discussed and heard about on a regular basis.

So in light of that, here is one of those films, perhaps one of the most celebrated films that has shaped our culture: Pulp Fiction.

(spoilers alert)

#1 Life is short

When we first meet Mia Wallace, we are captivated by her. She is brilliant, charming, clever, and competent with a persona all her own, full of life, full of vitality, and a little full of herself. She seems untouchable, as if the world and all men are at her fingertips, and we the audience can only watch, half-bewitched, as she charms us with her wit. However, we soon notice she is a cocaine addict, and after a passionate and heartfelt dance, Mia Wallace is found unconscious, slumped over on a sofa, blood dripping from her nostrils, due to a drug overdose.

Although she later recovers, we cannot help feel a little disturbed and a little uneasy. A few minutes prior, Mia had been drunk on her own happiness, and it seems too sudden, too unreal, that such a sensational human would fall down comatose within a matter of seconds.

In another scene, Vincent, Jules, and Marvin drive home from a successful endeavor. All three men have somehow miraculously escaped death, and they feel invincible, insurmountable, wild with adrenaline. During their animated conversation, Vincent carelessly waves around a handgun, and all of a sudden, the gun goes off and Marvin’s brains splatter all over the rear windshield. By sheer accident.

Life is fragile. Life is fleeting. Life is fickle. Life is unpredictable and brief, and though we may not die from drug overdose or a stray bullet, life is short. The most successful, charming, intelligent, rich, beautiful people are just as prone to death as anyone of us, and Tarantino understood this well. He placed some of the most graphic scenes in the least expected of places dealing with the least expected characters just to show us that death defies expectations. 

#2 Doing what’s right is only noble if it's hard

In an oversimplified plot summary, Butch endangers himself and puts his own life at risk to rescue Marsellus Wallace, a man who wants to kill him. Jules allows a robber at the diner to walk away unharmed with all the cash in his wallet.

Why? Because it is the right thing to do.

Anyone can sacrifice himself for a friend or live a life of integrity when there are no consequences. Anyone can do the right thing when it’s easy. But when the going gets rough, when our own lives become threatened, when we really have to relinquish something, our dreams, money, careers, friends, that's when doing the right thing becomes noble.

Tarantino understood this also. The natural instinct of both men wrestled against integrity and morality. It would’ve been easier for Butch to escape when he had the chance, to let his enemy suffer from rape and torture, because after all, Marsellus had tried to kill him. It would’ve been easier for Jules to put a bullet in the robber’s head, rather than part with all his cash and also some of his pride. However, both men chose to do the right thing, to listen to morality, to sacrifice their own self-preservation, and Tarantino honored them.

#3 It’s never too late for redemption

Jules, a contract killer for Marsellus Wallace, wildly misquotes Scripture, using it as a glorified drumroll before he executes his enemies.  

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. And you will know My name is the Lord when I lay My vengeance upon thee.”

Yet, towards the end of the film, he reflects upon this passage and he remarks to the robber at the diner, “I'm thinking: maybe it means you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here... he's the shepherd protecting [me] in the valley of darkness. Or it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. And I'd like that. But [that] ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd.” 

Jules begins to doubt his motives, realizes the depravity of his own nature and the selfishness of his heart, and decides to quit the business. His buddy Vincent doesn’t understand, and he sees nothing wrong with his current lifestyle, which sums up the two types of people in life, doesn’t it? There are people around us who see our innate filth and desire to change and live nobly. And there are those who don’t want to change, who like life the way it is, and who refuse to see and are blinded to the darkness within.

When Jules realizes his true condition, he doesn’t feel hopeless nor does he wallow in depression. Jules’ realization of his own depravity results in an immediate transformation to become his brother's keeper, where he shows compassion, strength, and mercy and lets the robber go free.

And so Tarantino concludes his film with a brilliant picture of redemption where a contract killer decides to become a shepherd. Perhaps that’s where he meant to leave us, in a cloud of self-introspection, where we realize the beauty of redemption. Redemption leaves no one behind, and if Jules, a hardened contract killer who lived a life of profanity and bloodshed, can change, so can we.

-        

We have to understand the culture to engage it, but sometimes we have to be open to let the culture teach us. I was humbled by the messages within Pulp Fiction, humbled because it defied my expectations and it made me realize how blessed my life is and how glorious redemption can be. And if a secular film ridden with degrees of profanity and violence can remind us of that truth, then it most definitely is worth appreciating.

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}