I DON'T WANT TO LIVE A SMALL LIFE

I don’t want to live a small life. Open your eyes,
open your hands. I have just come
from the berry fields, the sun

kissing me with its golden mouth all the way
(open your hands) and the wind-winged clouds
following along thinking perhaps I might

feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes
only to you. Look how many small
but so sweet and maybe the last gift

I will bring to anyone in this
world of hope and risk, so do
Look at me. Open your life, open your hands.

Mary Oliver

The first line of the poem got me this morning. I have uttered something similar before. However, what I spoke before primarily centered around what I could do by pursuing what I thought was God-given and God-sized missions. To be more precise, not living a small life revolved around self-prescribed missions by bringing God into my life’s pursuit. I would dare admit and say it was about me, but at the same time, I thought I knew God and how God worked.

Here on the outskirts of Gapyeong, it is hard to be small, surrounded by nature with the sound and sight of water, fields, mountains, and the sky, not to mention the smell of cows nearby. I notice my heart expanding proportionately to what I can see and hear.

I am also reminded of T.S. Elliot’s more forceful sentence “We shall not cease from exploration . . . ”

“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.”[1]

Unceasing exploration and not wanting to live a small life are at least closely related if not congruous. Oliver’s imaginary remedy of how not to live a small life is laid out throughout the poem, beginning with the following sentence“Open your eyes, open your hands.” The “small” life is a closed life, the opposite of an open life. A closed life is living with answers, self-prescribed and self-protected answers. A closed life is unbendable, thus rigid, and tediously planned and managed without seeking input or receiving help. A closed life lacks exploration and dare. A closed life has not learned to let go and thus hold things tight. Could it be that we close our eyes and close our hands because we think we have figured things out?

Then, Oliver uses the same word, small, offering how not to live a small life—by opening our hands and offering “small,” sweet “berries,” and perhaps the last gift in this world of hope and risk. Oliver brilliantly uses the same word issues the adamant declaration and offers a shy solution. One way to live an un-small life is to present our small gifts by opening our hands. And it doesn’t have to be the enormous and heroic feat of doing the impossible of feeding the wind-winged clouds.

A few days ago, I had an awkward opportunity, riddled with risk, to give a small gift to the “world.” We were driving to the nearby town of Yangpyeong to visit Kwakjiwon Bakery. We stopped to buy some gimbap at a restaurant we visited and liked last year. After we ordered the gimbap, we were told to wait a few minutes. While waiting, our eyes were aimlessly looking around the tastefully decorated but empty restaurant as it was early for lunch. Our eyes naturally followed the collection of books on the shelf right above the sitting tables. I was attracted to the titles of the books. This was no ordinary gimbap restaurant, so I thought. As we picked up the food, I asked, “Who owns all these books?” The woman who handed me the gimbap said, “It’s me” with a tint of shyness. I told her I liked the titles she collected. She responded even more shyly that she read most of the books in the store. The thought of gifting my book to the owner entered and hovered in the background and the hesitant second-guessing thought fought in my head.

As I was walking out, I knew I would regret not at least not offering my book. After half overcoming my abashment, I riskily asked the owner if she would like to receive the book I wrote. She surprisingly replied so enthusiastically that my embarrassment was quickly replaced with hope and curiosity. I promptly got the book out of the car, autographed it, and handed it to her. As she waited for my autograph, she told a story that she had just lost her dear grandfather last night. While still grieving in the morning. she received my book as a surprise gift from heaven. She teared up as she shared. As we walked toward the car, my wife patted my shoulder approvingly and told me, “I’m glad you followed your inner prompt.”

Living a life of small generosity and a small desire to be of help is a way of open life and open hands, connecting myself to the world and vice versa. The un-small life is a simply generous, present, available life. The un-small life brings to the world what we can, even if they are small, from our open hands. The open life I seek lets me say boldly “I shall not cease from exploration. . . ”

[1] T.S. Eliot, from “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets (Gardners Books; Main edition, April 30, 2001) Originally published 1943.”

GAPYEONG HOSPITALITY

On April 5, I wrote these two paragraphs while in Malaysia.

This morning, I catch myself daydreaming about spring, a spring that never is from where we are. When we were in Japan in mid-February, we were told that we would miss the burst and bloom of the Cherry Blossom trees by only a few days. Except for a few trees that did not get the memo and teased us about what was to come, most trees were dormant like dead winter. I realize I now have the capacity to daydream because I spent the last three Springs in Korea except this year. By the time we return to Korea in late April, cherry blossoms would be long gone but the brighter and assorted Royal azaleas would be getting ready to full bloom. I suppose if one lived through a doldrum grey and occasional white of winter, spring unfurls one’s eyes in the full spectrum of colors. The feasting of festive soft pastel colors readjusts our eyes and awakens our souls to new possibilities. Even without the array of colors, the newly budding fluorescent green leaves rival the flowers’ beauty. Another round of life, at least the visible, begins again.

We live in a land of perennial summer, tropical summer of deep greens as opposed to the pastel kind. There is not a stretch of time when we cannot rely on air conditioners, day and night. I know some sleep at night without the air conditioner. I am not there yet. And I am not volunteering to make that a goal of mine to accomplish that feat. I am far from complaining because we would take the summer over cold winter, any time. Besides, one does not need much clothing in summer—I can live simpler.

A few days ago, we arrived at an Airbnb in Gapyeong, north of Yangpyeong, in Korea. What I imagined while in Malaysia is in full display from our windows looking out into the rice fields, vineyards, greenhouses, and near and far mountains. I discovered that there is Mt. Unak right nearby and it boasts of being known as one of the most beautiful mountains in Gyunggi Province. I tell myself I will climb to the top one of these days. . . Depending on how the wind blows, we are reminded that cows are nearby as Gapyeong is known by cattle and dairy farms. The rice farmers are busily preparing the fields now by having them flooded with water to plant rice stocks. Soon, the rice fields will look like well-manicured lakes, reflecting the mountains and the sky. The most dominant feature of this place involves how utterly quiet it is. We can practically whisper to each other from across the room and still can hear. Last night, as the water filled up the rice fields, frogs came to life, making a chorus loud enough to pass as a blaring alarm.

May in Gapyeong boasts amazing weather, low 50s at night and mid-70s during the days. In May, we will host people during the weekends and a few weekdays here at our Airbnb. When I ran a book club last fall, I shared I would run several “Pilgrim retreats” based on my book, From a Pilgrim to a Pilgrim. Our weekends are booked solid, and we look forward to hosting people.

———————————

I began re-reading Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation a few days ago. I first read it more than 10 years ago, and it changed my life. While I am curious to find out what I underlined and what I wrote on the margins then, I am just as curious as to what I will be drawn to now, many years later. The words below caught my heart this time.

Contemplation, on the contrary, is the experiential grasp of reality as subjective, not so much “mine” (which would signify “belonging to the external self”) but “myself” in existential mystery. Contemplation does not arrive at reality after a process of deduction, but by an intuitive awakening in which our free and personal reality becomes fully alive to its own existential depths, which open out into the mystery of God.

Some of my often-used words are in this small paragraph: experiential, subjective, mystery, free, and fully alive. The retreat would merely be a space where we can be free to explore the depths of our fully aliveness which can only be subjective and ushers in the meeting place between our existential mystery with the mystery of God.

MOONS SHINING OVER ME

“They are the moons shining over me” was the last sentence I finished today from Sue Monk Kidd’s The Secret Life of the Bees: A Novel. Two worlds and times collided when I was reading the novel by Kidd in Malaysia. Here I was entrenched in the thick tropics of Southeast Asia city life In 2024, I was transported back to the deep south small town of America in 1964, the year of the Civil Rights Act and the pinnacle of racial tensions. The only thing that was common with something I could easily identify would be the unbearable humid heat during summer. Since I had never lived outside of California in the US, I relied on images and scenes from random movies and historical footage from that era while reading the novel.

The novel is not the kind of novel I would naturally pick. But when we were packing to come to Asia, Kidd’s book came into the line of my view multiple times for me to notice my noticings. I know it was the unusual title that captivated my curiosity. I had admired Kidd’s writings before, so I placed the book in our large suitcase without registering it as a novel. Besides, both Kidd and I have been deeply impacted by Thomas Merton’s writings. Though the main storyline is riveting with multiple sub-themes, it is slow, filled with glorious and unforgettable tedious details without the kinds of fast-paced, page-turning storyline and action I usually look for in novels, no guns blazing, no swashbuckling, no battles, etc. The protagonists are all women, a teenage white girl, and a host of “colorful” colored women. Even then, from the first page, I found myself drawn to underline the masterfully detailed descriptive words and phrases. More than once, I forgot I was reading a novel. I thought I was reading Kidd’s biography. I felt like I was watching a well-directed movie the whole time. Out of my reverence, I must have told myself and my wife that I would love to write like her. Every single word means and contributes to the overall character development and the storyline: no wasted movements (or in this case, words) like a highly skillful surgeon.

Written, spoken, and sung have incredible power, especially those that provoke imagination and imagery. In the imaginative space, our own evoked stories merge and hold conversations with other stories without anyone forcing prescribed answers from outside. (There may be “answers” from outside, but when one starts with answers from outside, we are robbed of the opportunity of the freedom to discover from within and own our authentic stories.) In the imaginative space, we feel safe to ponder our stories in relationship to the fictional but “real” (often more real than real) stories from the books. I dare to say “real” and authentic because the novels often contain universal truths. Authenticity assumes and arrives after slow simmering and sometimes necessary meandering self-discovery. Our journeys start with unique and personal truths and arrive at perennial and universal truths, thus making us feel like we are a small part of a much bigger humanity. I find it hard to accept that we would start from universal knowing somehow landing it as personal knowing. Thus, we build compassion and solidarity with universal knowing only when we are capable of arriving at personal and unique knowing based on our stories. Otherwise, the universal knowing remains as wooden head knowledge or information, functioning opposite of free and hospitable space but imprisonment for oneself and others.

A part of my current life trajectory identifies with Kidd’s novel, especially the last line. The last line contains a universal truth in that there are “moons” shining over us, whoever and wherever we are. When the moon appears, it is never as bright or harsh as the sun. The moon's light is so subtle that it is hardly noticeable in some cases depending on the shades of the moon. The gradient of light far exceeds that of the sun. Moon embraces darkness, different shades, as its own and does not reject the darkness. As life is filled with far more grey than simple black and white, people who have embraced the “grey” well can hold the space of “grey” in others. They are gentle and compassionate in that they would not shine harsh black and white sunlight in a judgmental tone. They infuse grace because they have experienced grace in the midst of different shades of light and darkness. Self-compassion, exercised as com-passion for multiplicity and various shades of oneself, always comes before com-passion, I came across this quote by Pema Chödrön, an American Tibetan-Buddhist nun. “Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity.”

I too have “moons” shining over me, those who simply hold the space of both light and darkness and all the complex shades of being human in between. This spirituality of the moon—nonbinary thinking and posture—has catapulted me to God’s expansive and unconditional grace over and over again. I would also love to be a moon for some God puts in my life’s path and story.

RITUAL OF LEAVING AND ARRIVING

There should have been a warning, a fair warning for deep spiritual and emotional encounters, to come with a stash of tissues. As part of the Closing Residency of CenterQuest Asia Pilot School of Spiritual Direction, “Ritual of Leaving” was slotted toward the end of the Closing Residency program. As a guest for both the Opening Residency last January and the Closing Residency (CR) last week, I had the privilege of attending the bookend retreats without the rumored rigorous work for 16 months in between. As one of only three guests during the “Ritual of Leaving,” I was invited to participate in the ritual if I felt led. I knew immediately I was to participate and join in the ritual, whatever the form. While I did not share the depth of intimacy and solidarity among the cohort and the mentors, I have developed meaningful friendships with a handful of trainees and mentors including two Korean brothers.

The warm ambient lighting and calm and expectant presence of the people enveloped the large empty room enough for some 60 people. The chairs were placed in one large circle since the first day of the CR when each person placed a symbol that encapsulates their experiences of the entire training. On the first day, the symbols were presented by each person and put in the middle of the room by groups forming a big circle with six spokes, like a wagon wheel which is the CenterQuest’s symbol. In the middle of the circle was the big candle with three wicks, representing the embodying Presence of the Trinity. The symbols remained in the middle of the room throughout the week reminding all that transpired during the training.

We sat in a big circle with no empty chairs in between, waiting for instructions for the ritual. The instructions were straightforward to follow. We were to go around in two layers of circles, essentially being face to face with everyone twice, once for “giving” and the other for “receiving.” As one approaches the other face to face, the one who approaches gazes into the other’s eyes for a few seconds and bows down with hands folded across one’s chest (heart), gesturing more than a simple respectful bow. Then the recipient was to do the same. No words. No hugs. But with plenty of eye contact showering each other with honor, appreciation, and love. The holy hush cascaded down, the unknowable yet knowable divine hijacked the simple human form of gaze and bow.

This was not the first time I had engaged in such practice. But never with these many people. By this time, I have spoken to most of them, and have engaged in deep and honest conversations.

Some eyes were shy, warm eyes, eyes that were gentle and tender, eyes that were compassionate. They were loving eyes because of being loved and graceful because of being graced. They were the very eyes of Jesus because they were little Jesus-es. Christ in me saw and witnessed the Christ in others. Christs were everywhere, overwhelmingly, yet elusively, representing divine shyness. They peered into my soul and I into them. I felt like my soul was naked and bare before the others, not the fearful or the shaming kind but the loving kind that transported me back to the “Garden” before the Fall in the generous bosom of my God.

Some bowed 90 degrees and held their heads low longer than any other time I was bowed to. Some less so. But all were thoughtful and intentional. Gazing took longer and longer. Less than five minutes into the ritual, tears flowed and flowed freely. Collective sniffling followed like a chorus of heavenly choir. My heart became so full that I had to take deep breaths between each person. As I bowed, I began to notice the feet of others. In a few instances, I felt compelled to touch and bless the feet. They were utterly human, the “bottom” part of a human or humanity. Because they were utterly human, beauty took hold of tangible human form, and I felt they needed to be honored.

Then my wife came and stood in front of me. Our years together, with all the highs and the lows, in wisdom and foolishness, and courage and cowardice, flashed before me in a few seconds. In a few seconds, we held years’ worth of intimate conversations. For a few seconds, we stood “naked” and innocent, and we were joyfully lost dancing in the “Garden.” In a few seconds, I must have thanked God a thousand times and more that she is my wife. That we are to live this life TOGETHER.

“The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.” Meister Eckhart, a mystic and a saint, observed. The eye through which I saw others is the same eye through which others saw me. During the ritual, my eye and others’ eyes were one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love. Additionally, God saw us through our eyes. God’s eye and our eye became one, culminating in one seeing, one knowing, and one love. In the end, the ritual of leaving turned into the ritual of arriving in one love.

“BECAUSE WE LOVED”

We are on the road again. Willie Nelson’s old and familiar jingle “On the Road Again” plays faintly in the back of my mind. This time, back to the Philippines for the Closing Residency of CenterQuest Asia’s Pilot Cohort. We scheduled for a Grab taxi at an ungodly hour in the morning. The speedometer was hitting close to 94 miles per hour as I was still half asleep. In my slumber, I found myself trying hard to ascertain a flat muffled song from his radio. I really did not have to or want to. Perhaps I was trying to keep my mind occupied with something else than a flying taxi. After a full minute, I realize it is “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. The driver got us in record time which will never be broken at Kuala Lumpur International Airport. I was thankful he got us to the airport “Uber” fast and in one piece. After a brief hesitation, I gave the driver five stars on the Grab app.

I attended the Opening Residency last January which coincided with my 60th birthday. Right after the participants sang the birthday song for me which landed on me as an unmerited favor, I was given time to say something to the group of people who were strangers only days earlier. After a week of fellowship and sharing as “Grace’s husband,” I uttered an unrehearsed statement saying, “Thank you. I came because I wanted to support my wife. You were Grace’s community. But after a week, I feel like you have become my community.” I was surprised by what came out of me. My mouth beat my intuition to the punch. Though people clapped for acceptance and encouragement, the sound of clapping got drowned by what I was trying to process my utterance.

Afterward, I have been in touch with a few participants until now. I am still participating as a guest, but my hope and anticipation in hearing their journeys firsthand are several notches higher this time. This coming week represents an opportunity and invitation to develop newer friendships. Seeds got planted last year. This week will be a time to water and nourish the plants.

On my flight, the duet song by Choi Jung Hoon of Jannabi and Kang Minkyung called “Because We Loved” is on a loop mode for close to two hours. This is not uncommon for me as one particular song or music will grab me, and I would be stuck with it, ad infinitum. The lyric is a poignant story of lovers’ shared past, but the strong melody sans lyric is what captivated my heart. The harmonious melody provided the empty canvas for my mind to wander into reflecting and celebrating all the friendships in my life.

Some have been forged well over four decades while some are newer, journeying in the same direction. As we get older, new relationships are just as precious mainly because our ways are more refined and defined by who we are becoming. Thus, we naturally look for and resonate with people who tend to be walking on the same narrow path. Some are much older and richer with life experiences than me while some are decades younger and more energetic. Age is not a barrier but a doorway into expansive vicarious wisdom. When I was younger, I, without knowing, used to categorize and compartmentalize my friends, i.e. ministry, college, church, basketball, etc. I kissed the categorization goodbye.

Friendship represents comfort and security like well-worn gloves. Friendship embraces anticipation and surprises of the unknowns through each other’s stories unfolding. Friendship acts as a mirror to one’s own soul’s discovery and becoming. Friendship is like a spring well that continually gifts courage to live one’s authentic life. Friendship is a sanctuary of rest and a haven of bliss for one’s weary and tired soul. Friendship accrues memory bank deposits full of tears despair and hilarity, sweat from exhaustion and exhilaration, breakthroughs and miracles that are both unique and universal. Friendship celebrates differences over uniformity. Truly, no man is and ought to be an island. Being the oldest tale since the time of the plurality of humans, friendship bonds disparate and isolated souls. After all, Nelson’s song’s third line captures, “The life I love is makin' music with my friends.”

While I am responsible for living my life, friendship offers wider and deeper seeing, knowing, and coloring that ultimately aids my journey. While it is true that the authenticity of others’ journeys has a deep impact on my own, I first must be true to my becoming. That is the only and the best thing I can offer as a friend to others.

Friendship wears a badge of honor, celebrating the long tradition of what is good in humanity. Friendship is a living proof of grace at work. Ultimately, friendship is an embodiment of love, love that is not perfect but love that is learning to be perfect and whole, shaping us to be love and do love. Thus, drawing us all closer to God and to be in union with God, who is nothing but Love.

BREAKFAST IS READY

My feet are always on fire as in F-I-R-E. Apart from walking and working out, I have no need or want for closed-toe shoes. Predictably, I resort to my fav flip-flop not only in my neighborhood but in and around Southeast Asia. My signature airport fashion outfit is a pair of cheap brown or black flip-flops. Including the freedom of my toes, I like the slapping sound it generates rhythmically. What I cannot figure out is why my feet get hot. The other day, I had to look it up online to see if something was wrong with me. I tried putting my feet in a bucket of ice water.  Except for a few respite minutes of “Aahs” and “Oohs” in the water and soon after my feet are out, my feet roar back to being on fire. We need to turn on the air conditioner at night while sleeping, otherwise, the room gets too damp and warm. While my body is under cover, my feet are happily outside the cover.

While my hot feet remain a mystery, my wife and I have been getting ready to host a family from Korea. It would be their longest international trip as a family. The husband and their five-year-old daughter had to get their visas renewed. The wife is taking a belatedly deserved maternity leave from her work. Having been part of the rat race of Korean work culture for the last couple of decades, they are seeking how to live and live well in the second half of their lives. Naturally, we invited them to come out of the “system” albeit briefly to see the world from a different perspective and discern. As our first long-term guests, they will be with us for about sixteen days. However, in the middle of their stay, we will be in the Philippines for ten days. We all knew that was the plan and gladly accepted the arrangement. We feel comfortable enough with them that they can make our home their home.

When we traveled throughout Asia, we received thoughtful and generous hospitality from people. Then there were the unexpected that surprised us with overflowing goodness and grace. Not in the spirit of reciprocity but out of channeling what we have received, we are gearing up to welcome the family. At the center of our hospitality will be food. Many stories from the gospel accounts revolve around eating and drinking. As eating and drinking are two of the most human things to do, God does not overlook humanness and merely tries to elevate us to the heavenly. Besides, one of the critical issues in the early Church as Gentiles were coming to faith had to do with the differences in dietary laws and restrictions between the Jews and the Gentiles. The issue was not a matter of who was right and wrong. “Putting others first” when considering the class distinctions and dietary laws in the Jewish and Gentile cultures was essentially the heart of one of Paul’s major teachings to the early Church.

Staying on the topic of food, the most significant conversation that Apostle Peter had with Jesus took place after eating breakfast at the Sea of Galilee. This was Peter’s first encounter with the resurrected Jesus after his infamous denying and betraying of Jesus before the crucifixion. Like the zealous Peter we have learned, he unsurprisingly dove into the sea after finding out it was Jesus standing on the shore. The decisive action tells me that as soon as he laid his eyes on Jesus from afar, he knew from his heart that forgiveness was already granted. Jesus’ presence was grace itself. Soon after, I imagine Jesus warmly smiling and welcoming the disciples including Peter by inviting them, “Breakfast is ready.” I conjecture that Peter treasured the unforgettable breakfast on the seashore in his heart for the rest of his life. After eating breakfast, the intimate conversation between Jesus and Peter took center stage as John meticulously recalls the interaction, decades later. Thanks to John, that conversation presents as the perennial invitation for all Christ’s followers to “feed and shepherd Jesus’ lambs and sheep.” Along with the host of others, I take the invitation to heart and say “Yes, Lord” literally and figuratively. I would love to say, “Breakfast is ready.”

HOLY

The last few days in Kuala Lumpur were a real scorcher. I did not bother to check the daytime high. Along with the potent humidity, anything above 90 degrees would make anyone’s sweat glands unlatched and sweat profusely. I walked out of the air-conditioned mall only to be welcomed with everything high: temperature, humidity, and UV. The top of my hatless clean-shaven dome was sizzling, and I knew I had to get to a café as soon as possible from an unforgiving sun. Heaven knows how hot and unbearable it can get here so it brings thunder and lightning show followed by sky faucet opening almost every day. I came to love this kind of weather either to watch the spectacular sound, light, and water show from inside or just to be showered upon.

Temperature-wise, the best time of the day is the balmy mid-70s mornings. Almost every morning, I roll out of bed, gulp down a cup of cold water like a parched cactus, and hit the street right behind our apartment. The street behind us is not only wider than others but also a dead-end street so there are ample walkers mixed with occasional runners every morning. As soon as I get out and press my Apple watch’s “outdoor walk” workout button, I spring into action from my half-asleep mode. It is as if my habitual body awakens into action much quicker than my brain.

We are right in the middle of Ramadan, so I don’t see any Muslims walking these days as many of them would lay low from active movements to conserve their energy until they break their fast right at sundown. Even if there are, the non-Muslim walkers and runners dominate the streets. Back in the US, I am used to recognizing other walkers by waving or saying, “Good morning.” Here, it is rare that people would make eye contact with you and say hi. So rather than pushing my “Americanness” in Malaysia, I decided to blend in lest I scare people away. One of the men I see almost every day is an older white man. My best guess is that he is in his early 70s and his hairstyle or lack thereof is the same as mine. Naturally, I feel the connection. His pace is unusually brisk for his age, probably clipping at around 14:30 minutes per mile, with short and tight strides. One of his arms is swinging bigger than the other and his face wears grimaces as he walks. When we lived here in this area for a month last year, I noticed his peculiar walk right away.

My wife and I joined our good friends for dinner last night at a gourmet pizza joint inside our building. We ordered two pizzas: quattro formaggi and frutti di mare for a mere $13! As we walked into the restaurant, we noticed most of the tables being reserved. As we did not make a reservation earlier, we were led to a corner table not reserved. As we were enjoying our pizzas, the reserved tables began to be filled with Muslims who were about to break their fast. Yesterday, the fast would break right at 7:22 pm and the restaurant would coordinate their dinner so that they can eat right at the end of their fast. As the Muslims have been fasting since sunrise, every minute or second counts until they put food into their mouths.

This week is undoubtedly the most “holy” week of the year as Christians all over the world are celebrating the Passion or the Holy Week and Muslims are still in the middle of their Ramadan. In broad terms, it is a grand reminder that we find meaning in life by seeking after God, however, and whatever God means to us. Our visible and earthly life is connected and enjoined by the invisible and heavenly Grand Reality. Our tangible life is somehow made meaningful by the intangible Source of Life. Our material life is somehow infused with holy meditations through the immaterial Force of Life. The mundaneness combined with the free-flowing movements of life filled with changing weather, exercises, meditations, and enjoying food and friendship is somehow all governed and directed by God who Loves and Cares. God is a god who loves extraordinarily and with the ultimate sacrifice known to man. God is also a god who loves from the ordinary. God is not only “holy” because of the meaning and impact of the Passion Week, but also holy, rubbing shoulder to shoulder, with the ordinary and mundane. Perhaps, holiness can be defined by how close we feel God is to us.

GROOMING CURIOSITY

During our time in Asia, I have been pursuing curiosity trails to my great satisfaction. During my leadership years, pursuing curiosities was a luxury much less paying attention to them. One, you don’t have time. Two, you neither have the mental space nor physical stamina to pursue them. And three, having curiosities meant acknowledgment of “I do not know.” I couldn’t not know as a leader. I operated with the mindset that I should know and even if I did not know, I still had to work with what I knew and made decisions.

When my children were adorably little and innocent, their appetite for curiosities seemed never-ending like waves hitting the shore. Their voracious appetite benefitted me as a parent, when I was not too tired, to reexamine what I knew or what I thought I knew. I saw my curious and innocent self in them through my interaction with them. In many ways, we learn and get ushered into adulthood by pursuing curiosities. However, it is ironic that once we hit “adulthood,” we tend not to pay attention to curiosities. Rather we are conditioned to shut them down. Having curiosities is a combination of acknowledgment of what I do not know and a loud clue to what I may be passionate about. Unfortunately, as we grow old and supposedly become more mature, we lose the childlike sense of curiosity and wonder.

As a freedom seeker of my heart, I am relearning to make space and time to pay attention and pursue curiosities as they come. What helps, of course, is the fact that we are now living and traveling in Asia. This new life environment and pattern with less oversight and responsibilities opens up my sense of curiosity and wonders to another level. Sometimes I feel like a restless kindergartener in the body of a 60-year-old man.

About a year ago, I said “yes” to speaking at a church for her 18th anniversary in the Philippines. What prompted my decisive decision was that a woman who gave me prophetic words more than a year ago in the Philippines invited me and my wife as honored speakers. I was curious to find out what God had in store for us. I knew nothing about the church leading up to the 18th anniversary and I chose not to concern myself with trying to find out about the church through what is available online. I also knew she as a founder and leader (along with her husband) of the church with satellite house fellowships spread over the Philippines did not know about me either. She was exercising faith in inviting a pseudo-stranger. She knew my wife as she and my wife both serve as mentors for CenterQuest Asia School of Spiritual Direction. I was known to her as Grace’s husband and it felt right.

We landed in the Philippines a few days ago. My wife led a leadership retreat last Saturday at a beautiful retreat venue near Taal Lake and the volcano in Tagaytay. The next day, I gave a sermon to a large live audience as well as through a live feed. Hours before the anniversary service on Sunday, the pastor found out through my brief bio that I had been with Frontier Ventures (formerly known as the U.S. Center for World Mission) for decades. She teared up and shared that they had been praying for our founders and one of their own who worked for the Center. I knew the Filipino staff well. I unlatched a gasping sound and we both let out laughter of surprise. If my memory serves me well, my first sermon was delivered in the Philippines in 1986 during my short-term trip. After the sermon, I gave an altar call. That memory still embarrasses me as it was one of those things NOT to do during the short term! After the sermon this past Sunday, without pre-planning, I was led to give an altar call, asking people to kneel, stand, and take a step forward as the actions served as symbolic postures of our hearts based on my sermon. It felt right this time to kneel and step forward.

The same night, the pastor asked me whether I could help by teaching the charismatic church to engage in missions out of contemplation. She shared that she and the church are tired of pushing themselves hard to “finish the task” like there is no tomorrow. The charismatic church is well on the way to embracing contemplative spirituality to bring shalom to the nations. She asked me earnestly with a hint of urgency whether I could help. I shared with her that I had been thinking a lot about the topic and that I would be willing to help.

Being in Japan was also a pursuit of my curiosity. Except for the founder and director, I knew little about the organization I decided to serve as their advisor. After being with them for a week leading their retreat, Japan opened up our hearts to the people including the workers who have been serving there, some as newbies and some for decades.

I love the wide canvas imagery of Diane Ackerman’s The Great Affair. With very little effort, I can immerse myself as part of the epic imagery.

The great affair, the love affair with life,
is to live as variously as possible,
to groom one's curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred,
climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day.

Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding,
and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours,
life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length.

It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery,
but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between. (italicized mine)

Diane Ackerman

While there are many angles to read and ponder this poem, curiosity is the key that unlocks the discovery of “savage and beautiful country lies in between.” We are invited to groom our curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, to climb and gallop over the vast open green field that is before us. Ackerman is right in that riding one’s curiosity is risky. Our life is from mystery to mystery—none of us know or can predict how our life will turn out. In acceptance of mystery, the only way to access the unknowns and the discovery of the savage and beautiful is through acting on curiosity.

Thus, pursuing curiosities can be an act of faith because it is an acknowledgment of unknowing or being in mystery. I do not and cannot ever clearly see the outcome. I trust the process and the outcome once triggered by curiosity about what God will do. Being in Asia is like riding a high-spirited thoroughbred through the thick, sun-struck hills every day, only to discover what is over the hills—the magnificent geography.

SOBA

Having vehemently complained to my wife about three different people kept bumping into me while in line at the Incheon airport, being in Japan has effectively cured my irritability. Japan is a nation of politeness. (On the contrary, people from other parts of Japan have told me that Tokyo with its typical city hardness feels not as considerate.) Even so, coming from Korea, it did not take long to notice the contrast. I do not know what drives them to be well-mannered other than stemming from an honor and shame worldview. Later, I was told that the education system trains the Japanese in consideration and harmony from early on. In the busiest section of the entire Tokyo, Shibuya, (the only other comparable scene would be the New York Times Square) I have had multiple instances where a few people bumped into me accidentally and they would turn around, bow, and utter some words—probably some variation of “excuse me” in Japanese. Not being used to such politeness, I would also bow and crack a strained smile back.

A dear friend of ours from the US was in Tokyo at the same time we were. We knew of each other’s serendipitous plan months earlier and organized for a daylong happy collision. After a series of gastronomic extravaganza all day primarily focusing on frying kinds, (In Forest Gump movie, Bubba explains to Gump about ways to cook shrimp: you can boil it, broil it, sauté it, barbeque it, and bake it. But Bubba forgot about the frying part!) our friend chose an old Soba noodle joint for our first dinner. When we were about to enter, an older white man courteously slid the door open for us to enter though he was several steps ahead of us. Since we were wet and cold, we obliged and thanked him as we entered. The restaurant featured two different kinds of seating: western style where you don’t have to take off one’s shoes and Japanese style of cushioning Tatami mat made of rice straw. After wandering around all day like three jolly kids going bonkers at an amusement park (ok, two of us excluding my wife), our feet led the charge of our bodies to choose the Tatami mat. Plus, the mat was just lying there and invited us to lie down except we couldn’t. As I awkwardly sat and after the noodle dishes arrived, I noticed the white man who opened the door. He was by himself and sat diagonal from me facing away. He was kneeling the whole time he was eating seemingly out of reverence and cleaned out his bowl. As he exited, he bowed to each cook and server and thanked them. Comparatively, my troubled sitting posture accompanied by barbaric slurping became more pronounced.

The cooks and the servers were all elderly, seasoned, and soft-spoken, I noticed. They looked to me like they had been doing their craft for decades. Their movements were not elaborate in seeking one’s attention, rather, their movements were airy and graced. To exaggerate, I thought they were floating around the whole time. In a typical Japanese style, each fish cake was impeccably placed in my soba noodle bowl like some art piece. Even the plate the bowl was placed on featured perfectly angled chopsticks and one fukusai (side dish). The simple soba had imbued a quality of reverence. While I was in my usual gulping-down mode, the reverence all around me did not escape my mind.

Incidentally, the topic of my teaching in Japan was hospitality—the creation of a free, safe, and empty space for people to be themselves, to sing their own songs, and to dance their dances. We must, first, gift this space to ourselves because we often are the harshest critics of ourselves. As we become more sensitized and protective of this space for ourselves, we then are more capable of creating space for others, extending the circle of freedom and safety. What is often felt and experienced by the guests of this space includes an invitation to courage (courage to be and do), empowerment, and authenticity. I am encouraged to have witnessed this hospitable space at work during the retreat in Japan, further convicting me of the need.

While the message was on hospitality, I attempted to model how to create the vast empty, and free space. The medium was also a message. It is within this space we realize that we are capable of discerning how God is at work in our lives and arriving at decisions and steps from our deep. Answers rise from within. God is a safe, free, and hospitable God. In the same space, God in us recognizes God in others. A holy momentary highway toward union among followers opens resulting in unrestrained worship and union with God.

The world is in dire need of deep connection with others as there is a global epidemic of loneliness. I remain convinced to do my bit to create a hospitable space through my existence, song, and dance.

GOD OF REDEMPTION

My wife and I are currently in Japan until this coming Sunday. I will be speaking and interacting with Korean missionaries working in Japan on the topic of hospitality on two fronts: providing hospitable (free and safe) space to our individual selves and offering the space to others. Afterward, we hit the road to the Philippines. My wife and I will be speaking to a church celebrating their 18th anniversary during Palm Sunday weekend. We remain grateful for this season of service and vitality.

“God does not and would not seem to waste anything in our lives,” I commented as a way of encouragement to a couple last night after dinner. I did not share any evidence from my life but made a general sweeping statement of how God seems to work in our lives. This was not the first time I had made such a statement. While I have not come up with an exhaustive list from my life, I do have a few concrete life-based convictions that God is a faithful and redeeming God. I would even say comical enough for me to crack a smile.

The breath of God’s redemption covers from incidental or almost accidental detours of our lives to side trails that stem from curiosity to lessons from having pursued some things near and dear to our hearts’ desires to even missteps or sins in our lives. Sin can be a great teacher if we are broken and honest to repent, experience God’s unconditional grace, and learn why we did what we did. The dark side in us resides on the other light side of the same coin, I have come to understand. In other words, gift, the light in us, and sin, the dark in us, sides represent two sides of the same coin. God is in the business of turning our darkness to draw us to the Light and the light in us. When we puff up our gifts enough to disregard the Giver of all gifts, it can lead to sin. On the other hand, if we get too harsh of not embracing God’s unconditional grace, and beat ourselves up in sin for not being perfect or good, it can damage our gift. Gift and sin are forever intertwined because it simply is us. We are not one or the other. We are both. Additionally, while God unconditionally forgives and forgives, the lessons learned can be a source of encouragement and healing to people we come across in various stages of life. Thus, we are all capable of holding the space of solidarity and hospitality, and being “wounded healers.”

I have never considered myself as a writer. Ever. Not until recently. When I went to UCLA, in my freshman year, I had to take one English composition class which was the only requirement as an engineering major. I decided to take the English writing class (English 3) during the summer before my freshman year. Since I viewed the requirement as more of a nuisance, my thought was to check that off my list as fast as I could. To my surprise, I found myself enjoying the writing though I do not remember how many times and what I had to write about. Given the proportion of time I spent, I was happy to receive a pretty decent grade of B as an engineering student. What is surprising is that I have not thought of the English class until very recently. I had somehow erased the class experience out of my memory.

When my mom found out that I was about to publish a book in Korean, she told me a story I had completely forgotten. According to my mom, I came home one day with a prize I won from an ESL writing class. My recollection still fails me, but I do vaguely remember coming home one day with a Parker pen. What I do remember is that I did enjoy the ESL writing class enough to remember the pretty and petite white middle-aged lady teacher. One day, I was shocked to witness the teacher crying in front of the class the day John Lennon died.

What started as a passage requirement and even a nuisance became an integral tool in shaping today’s vision and direction of my life. What I unknowingly and conveniently erased from my memory since it was not even close to my major has seen the light and now the appropriate attention. No wonder I used to walk 15 minutes up to the North Campus to study (or at least pretended to study) where the English, Social Studies, and Arts major students hung out. All the math, computer, and engineering students were at the South Campus. Maybe I wanted to be different. Maybe I was drawn to a more relaxed vibe of the North Campus. Whatever it was, it offered a new perspective of why I did what I did.

Accidents, incidents, deliberations, and comics of our lives and downright rebellion against God can all serve as paths toward transformation if we let them. This requires embracing all of our life. Why wouldn’t we? God already and always has embraced all of us.

LET IT FLOW

A fluffy snow flurry greeted me at Choonchun retreat house in Korea. On March 1. Coming from Malaysia, someone made a wish on our behalf to see snow though the odds were against us. While my body was in a state of shock coming from year-round heat, my eyes feasted and instinctively gazed into the white sky above to be in wonder. “A gift from heaven,” my wife remarked. I felt loved and cared for by the Giver of all good gifts.

I am back in Seoul now, sitting in an ever-efficient and predictable Starbucks on the 2nd floor near the window engaged in people-watching. I don’t know how but I developed an odd habit of looking at people’s eyes, complete strangers, when I think and write. So sitting on the 2nd floor looking down helps me to avoid possible discomfort of people from a stranger soullessly peering and tracing the people waking by.

When not engaged in looking down at people, my eyes take in the wide view of the ten-lane major thoroughfare, counting more buses in two hours than all the buses I would see in one year back in Southern California. Looking above and beyond the immediate buildings, I see the trees bare in brown and exposed except for a handful of slender pine trees. Rather than the sky hanging above the tree line, I see the blue sky right through the trees. We are at the foot of Gwanak Mountain and near the university campus, so we are surrounded by young people as well as hikers, all decked out. It is 39 degrees outside, and I hear people walking by saying, “Spring is here.” For me, it is dead winter. . . Funny how we all see things differently based on our experiences.

Coming to Korea from Malaysia felt peculiar. Aside from the fact that the flight was around six hours which was a welcome change, my wife and I struggled to find words to describe how it was different. After a few silent minutes, my wife summarized, “I feel like I’m coming home.” As I sit with the statement and while I resonate with the sentiment, I also am beginning to feel like Malaysia is our home, for now. How I would feel returning to Malaysia from Korea would be telling.

As we continued probing, we both remembered Ruthie’s prophetic word a year ago about “having multiple addresses”. Before coming to Korea, I was trying to order something online in Malaysia, and for a split second, I wasn’t sure what address to put down. There was one other time I was required to write my home address, I hesitated enough to realize my hesitancy. If “multiple addresses” are to become a reality, then I’d better learn to be at home wherever it may be amid transiency and flow.

A few minutes ago, an army of five ahjummas (a term for older ladies in Korean) found their seats right next to us. I quickly resorted to my reliable AirPods Pro to drown their booming voices. When the group surpasses four people, my working theory is that it becomes very possible to have multiple conversations taking place at the same time, thus making the groups louder. And this group is not an exception this morning. 

“I feel like an eagle scanning the landscape below,” I replied to my wife in a group spiritual direction session a week after we arrived in Malaysia. As we were participating in a visio divina on Van Gogh’s Wheatfield with Cypresses painting, I shared that I have been multiple things in my recent life: a blade of ripened wheat grass, a rock, a tall cypress tree, and a wildflower. Being feeble and helpless while being swayed by the wind of change is like being a blade. Keeping steady, focused, and insistent in the midst of changes and staying with our vision is like being a rock. Being visible and providing hospitality by hosting the birds of the air is like being a cypress tree. Pursuing my innate natural beauty, and strength, and embracing all colors of life is like being a wildflower. I have been all of these in recent years. Now, I see myself outside the painting, like an eagle riding the air,  scoping the earth below: to discern further and farther how to engage.

The ahjummas left within an hour. But my AirPods Pro is still on and playing Spotify. I find myself sometimes following the songs and sometimes following the song of my heart.

WHAT IS HOME?

When we came to Malaysia, we bought one-way tickets. That was the first time we (or I) have ever done that. That felt strange and so open-ended that it was unsettling at first even as a peregrine soul. As the safety net of the clear return date or ticket does not exist, it is as if I am suspended up in the air swinging from one bar to another performing a simple trapeze except as a clumsy trapeze artist would. Feeling like I let go of one bar, but I have not yet grasped another.

After going on a few rounds of shopping spree from IKEA to Nitori (Japanese version of a small IKEA) to Daiso which felt strangely familiar, we have done everything we could have done to make our place our new home. At least for one year. The sense of “home” was important to us as we yearned to settle down as swiftly as we could, so we could gain proper bearing and support enough to branch out and travel. What happened next surprised us. Both of us missed home in Pasadena, our children, and even the physical neighborhood of Pasadena. During our 8 months of Asia excursion last year, the thought of missing home rarely entered our mind. Missing our children, yes. But not the physical home and its environment. This time was different. My wife curtly told me the other day, “I miss my walks in Pasadena.” I responded by letting out a drawn-out “Yeah,” and nodded while looking in the same direction as my wife.

There are lots of things to like here in Malaysia. I should like a lot of things as I have told myself and others many times before. The fact that I “should” is catching my attention. It is certainly not that I don’t like being here. We are grateful to be here, and we know we belong here now. We like being here and while being thankful, we simply miss Pasadena “home.” Both are true and I am holding them together today. It does not have to be one or the other. And I cannot foretell what next week or even what tomorrow will bring.

During our ramping-up process of coming to Malaysia, we have used both “home” and “base” imagery interchangeably when communicating with our family and friends. On closer examination, I am realizing that base generally embodies the idea that this is our launching pad or platform to do our ministry. After such excursions, we would come back to the base to get recharged, resupplied, repack, and hit the road again. While this is not untrue, I have also used the tender notion of home, that we are moving our home from Pasadena to Kuala Lumpur. I think I want this to be true, but it is not quite yet. Therein lies the quagmire and tension. I stumbled to process some of this reflection with my spiritual director quite accidentally. At one point, as he was summarizing our time together, he used the word base that caught my attention enough to further process with him. At that time, I shared with him that home now is where my wife and I happen to be together.

A few days have gone by. After some more reflection and probe, at a more foundational and existential level, I have embraced the fact that home is where my heart is. A journey with all the external stimuli and circumstances, braving through swift and untamable changes and curveballs not to mention all the emotional rollercoasters associated with them, in the end, is about arriving at our inner wisdom of what we have always and already known. We need all the externalities of life and new journeys to tell us what we have always known to be true. Unless we leave familiarities and knowns of life, we do not and cannot arrive at our true selves. We need the new to discover the old. All, invariably, leave to arrive.

During one of our group spiritual directions a few days ago, I facilitated using David Whyte’s poem, The Journey, not fully realizing the simmering effect on me later. Below are the third and fourth stanzas.

Sometimes everything
has to be
inscribed across
the heavens

so you can find
the one line
already written
inside you.

Then the last stanza.

You are not leaving.
Even as the light fades quickly now,
you are arriving.

One of my routines has been the workout regimen every day in addition to my brisk morning walks. I have had to drive somewhere to do weight training all my life. Since moving in, the coolest feature is that the gym rests on the 41st floor (top floor) with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Kuala Lumpur city skyline. Next to the gym is the vast infinity pool. One does not have to love water to want to get into the hypnotic-induced pool. Since the glass is the only thing that prevents anyone from toppling over (and it’d be a long way down), it is not for the faint-hearted. I have been meaning to but have not yet dipped myself in the water.

Almost every day between 3 and 4 pm, I see twin boys, 3 foot nothing and probably barely 3 years old. Given the potency of the sun here, it is no surprise that they are covered from head to ankle with only their tiny milky faces, hands, and feet exposed. With the striped sailor-themed floaties that are as big as their petite bodies tied to their chests and back, their twig-like legs are happily and helplessly dangling on the water. The other cloudy day when one of them took off the hat, I could not suppress my chuckle. The bowl haircut was one of the most cartoonish haircuts I’ve ever laid my eyes on. It still makes me smile when thinking about the kid and the haircut. The twins look like adorable aliens bobbing around and giggling the whole time. Aliens because I can’t decipher what they are saying half the time grunting and shouting while not losing their smiles.

With my smile persisting, it dawned on me that they were “home,” home to themselves and home to the present moment. Their faces do not seem to show regrets of the past as well as worries about the future. The only commonality is now between past, present, and future as the past is a former now and the future is an imagined now. Past and future are mind derivatives and plays of the present.

Witnessing heaven’s inscription happens in real-time and in the present time that can trigger finding the one line that is already written inside us is the lesson of our lifetime. We venture out to the external world only to discover what is already in us. Thus, all must leave to arrive. In the end, perhaps, lessons from our arrival become so significant that we forget we even left until we have to leave again.

In summing up, home is where my heart is in the present moment.

APARTMENT HUNTING

“Ah, the familiar smell,” I blurted out to my wife as we deplaned. After a total of grueling seventeen hours of flying, we landed well after midnight. The air was thick with dampness as the outside air seeped into the jetway tunnel when the jetway awkwardly slithered its way to dock into the side of the plane. The smell was unmistakably tropical-ly and coconut-ty with a hint of undefined spices, probably from my imagination than anything else. Before my mind pronounced that I was in Malaysia, my olfactory function beat my mind to the punch.

When I first came to the region back in 1986 during my short-term missions trip, I cannot, to this day, easily forget the unfamiliar scent freshly coming out of the airport in Jakarta, Indonesia. Ever since then, I must have frequented the region probably close to 20 times. What was once unfamiliar was now genial. Funny that my olfactory sensory is probably ten times less functional than my wife’s. Whenever something goes bad in the fridge, my nose has failed me quite consistently to the point that I do not trust my sense of smell anymore. A few weeks ago, my wife asked me, “How did you eat that thing? That was so bad.” Dutifully, I would take something to my wife or one of my daughters to tell me whether something had gone bad. If there is ever a selective smell, I clearly seem to possess one.

We knew where we wanted to find an apartment. Yes, an apartment, not a house. We’ve heard from multiple sources that “land houses” might have bug and rat problems. Comparatively speaking, I would not mind the bugs as much, but the rats would pose a different challenge altogether. As I am far from being a handyman, I also did not want to do the work necessary to maintain or fix the place we were going to call home for one year. Thus, an apartment it was. Up until we left the US, I had looked at dozens of apartment units online to ascertain what to expect. Most of them come with amenities like pools, gym, outdoor tennis courts, and sometimes even indoor basketball court. I knew the last one could be a deciding factor but mostly kept inside of my head.

We had one other condition: we wanted to survive without a car as we anticipated traveling throughout Asia often. Additionally, the Grab (similar to Uber or Lyft) app works beautifully, accurately, and cheaply in most Southeast Asia countries. Carless living meant that we would choose to walk everywhere but not too much as heat, humidity, and rain (not to mention flashes of lightning) would be significant deterring factors, so location and access were another non-negotiable factor. Living without a car also meant that we could increase our housing budget.

At the end of our apartment hunting, we came down to two options. First was three bedrooms with two baths and came fully furnished, more than what we could have imagined since there was a family that was living there now. Most homes do not have ovens in Malaysia, but this one did with all kinds of antique-like furniture and endless kitchen items. The owner was very pleasant as she showed us around the house. She kindly told us that she could move anything out if we did not care for them. We smiled and nodded in appreciation but pretty much kept our thoughts to ourselves. Her son who is living in Australia is a huge fan of Kobe and had a Kobe memorabilia featured on the hallway shelf. Plus, my eyes broadened like a pirate citing some treasure chest when I also saw an indoor basketball half-court near the pool. “Could God be speaking to me?” I thought. Minus the basketball hoopla, I also knew my wife was drawn to the place.

When I did some online research back in the US, there were a couple of units in one apartment complex that would pose a serious threat to the one above. The appointments stacked up in such ways that the two units were our last viewings. The complex was a mixed development with shops, mostly cafés and restaurants, including Daiso and Jaya Grocer. From the previous year, Jaya Grocer was the one we liked the most and had the kind of things that would have us happily frequent. Thus, the ability to walk to Jaya Grocer was a must in choosing an apartment. The fact that we could do so in monsoon season, heat, and humidity in air-conditioned indoors would be a huge bonus.

One other important factor was our ability to move in as quickly as possible. We knew that the Lunar New Year was right around the corner and shops and offices would shut down or at least function at a crawling speed for a couple of weeks. One of the unfortunate drawbacks of the first apartment was that we could not move in until after two more weeks since they had to move out in the middle of the Lunar New Year. That meant that we would have to look for an Airbnb for two more weeks, living out of our suitcases. When we asked when we could move in regarding the second apartment, the agent told us, “Tomorrow.” That was music to our ears.

As there were some pros and cons though not the life-altering kind with each, we decided to go with the second unit within a few hours after viewing. The next day, we signed the contract, and the internet guy came and voila, we were open for business. Then the next day arrived with both my wife and I second guessing our decision mainly because of the size of the kitchen. We processed together over meals and during walks. Then we shared our raw process openly with our children including our son and daughters-in-law. Along with the affirmation of our process sharing, the text messages flowed with emojis abound soon after I sent them. Highlighting a few of them below. . .

I hope as time moves on you have no regrets and that God meets you in different ways in this place!!!

It sounds like you guys did the best you could in the situation! Hopefully in time, and as you guys settle in, the apartment you got will be exactly what you needed :) . . . But hey -- we cooked full-blown meals when we camped!! Maybe this is where you guys get tested on how to cook creatively.

As I’m reading your updates my sense is that you guys are exactly where you need to be. I feel like God is going to surprise you in the best ways! Thanks for sharing your process!

I came close to shedding tears of encouragement and my heart was magically flooded with hope and anticipation. Starting the next morning, all our second guesses were lifted, and our hearts were full of gratitude and excitement. A few nights ago, we cooked Kimchi jjigae, filling our entire unit with a fermented kimchi smell. Now there was the smell I was familiar with.

BELONGING & LONGING

“There is some strange sense in which distance and closeness are sisters, the two sides of the one experience. Distance awakens longing; closeness is belonging. Yet they are always in a dynamic interflow with each other.”
John O’Donohue, Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong

Longing and belonging are two of the most primal human desires. They define what it means to be human unceasingly searching and yearning for intimacy and community. The problems humanity, especially in this day and age, faces stem from the unparalleled lack of longing and belonging. Social media has become one of the major culprits in ushering loneliness at an epidemic proportion, ironically. Problems only worsen as we look for remedies in the wrong places. One can only reside proximately in one location which creates closeness in one sense and distance in the other. Having “moved” from Pasadena to Kuala Lumpur almost a week ago, distance and closeness traded places. As such, I feel the pang of definitive loss of belonging which in turn intensifies longing. The more intimate the belonging, the more intensifying the longing. The more intense the longing, the more intimate the belonging.

We could not have moved to Malaysia if we did not have a community here. A missionary family of five for over twenty years whom we have known intimately for a similar duration welcomed us. As we have longed for each other’s company, we finally get to experience belonging. Before we even landed here, they had made all the appointments necessary for us to hit the ground running the morning after we arrived. We walked more than 10,000 steps just to see close to 10 apartment units in a neighborhood called Mont Kiara. Mont Kiara, right adjacent to Kuala Lumpur city center, is an enclave for expats surrounding three international schools. I’ve heard that more than 50 nationalities live in this small section of the city. Coming from Los Angeles, this feels like home. Having wanted to function here without a car, location became paramount where we can walk everywhere. Among the “everywhere” had to include grocery stores, decent cafés, and eateries of all kinds. More on this later. . .

The circle of belonging here in this region of the world (Southeast Asia) will enlarge over time as we look to deepen both existing relationships as well as create new ones. We have friends in Singapore, Indonesia, the Philippines, and Thailand we want to walk a “freedom journey.” When we are not on the road, we envision creating a hospitable and free space and begin hosting people.

As a quintessential Southern California homeboy, I love the fact that I get to wear flip-flops every day with shorts and short sleeves. At a superficial and mundane level, the uber-casual wear makes me feel like I “belong” here. During torrential downpours, which is often the case, it is pointless to wear any other shoes. Right??? My mind transports to Korea in my early teens during the summer monsoon season. I remember walking to school one morning during one particular monsoon with an umbrella, trying helplessly to keep myself dry. After quickly realizing it was a futile attempt, I let the umbrella go and got promptly drenched, feeling strangely free and exhilarated. This vivid memory solidified as one of those early lessons of life—when I let go, freedom flows.

What divides longing and belonging is not only distance but also time. There is time to long for someone or something, and also time to belong. Time in this sense is both fleeting and grounding. As we as human beings are trapped in time, time coupled with locale dictates our experiences of longings and belongings. What can betray my “time-ly” sense is that my mind has the innate capacity to wander back to the past, thinking about what could have been resulting in second-guesses or regrets, or projects toward the future, worrying about what is not yet. Time is a wonderful gift if we can harness the present. Present demands time to be present and grounds us in any one physical location. Anything outside of being present is our mind’s play especially if resulting in regrets of the past and worries of the future. Not all mind play is harmful though; there is a benefit. There is beauty in remembering and learning from our past. There is hope in envisioning and shaping the future to be better. To be sure, belonging and longing are gifts of a confident experience-based recollection arising out of our hearts.

FREEDOM JOURNEY | PART 2

As significant as the inner journey has been the outward journey of naming, articulating, and dismantling of systems of power, be they societal, organizational, and/or religious. I have always been attracted to and apt to see the big pictures. Over the years, my prophetic and apostolic tendencies come from my dissatisfied sense of what is systemically deficient and sometimes diabolical. Why this matters more now is because it involves freedom journey not only for me but also for many others. These systemic encrusted systems, in the end, serve man and whatever man’s interests may be (sometimes in the name of God). What is more compelling is that it imprisons and shackles those who are on the freedom journey. The dominant powers act as significant blocks and detractors (often disguised as wisdom as man’s approval or simply as common sense) to put captives as captives and unfree as unfree. These “cages,” some provincial and some global, exist everywhere placing people under bondage. The diabolical aspect is that some of these cages are being legitimized and operated in the name of God.

Early in our sabbatical, I facilitated two separate book clubs over Zoom on the same book, The Prophetic Imagination by Walter Brueggemann. I do not clearly remember why I was attracted to the book at the time and had the compulsion to facilitate book clubs. But the fact I did speaks of a volume of my discomfort and even anguish of what Brueggemann called, “dominant empire mentality.” The book gave me permission as well as language, firstly, to criticize the dominant systems of power that do not know the time of the day. Empires run by numbness and time is nonexistent not dissimilar to many casinos that do not have clocks or windows. In this vein, Jeremiah’s poetic and prophetic (which are the same, really) words of God are worth reflecting, “Cranes know when it’s time to move south for winter. And robins, warblers, and bluebirds know when it’s time to come back again. But my people? My people know nothing, not the first thing of God and his rule.” (Jeremiah 8:7, The Message)

The book also empowered me to join in creating newness, and formation of freedom movement of our souls and the world. To do this, Brueggemann speaks of using metaphors and symbols concretely and candidly but also not in rage or cheap grace—the reason why Brueggemann used the word imagination in the title. The mother of imagination is longing, an eternal longing to be free and to belong. Freedom and belonging are not opposites, but fulfillment of longing. Longing gives rise to belonging and ushers freedom to be.

As I have been drawn to poems, I do not think of poetry as merely placid and self-absorbed contemplation detached from the world. Rather, I think of a significant portion of poetry as present-day prophecies criticizing the current state of empire building and managing, coming from the land of anguish painting the future of hope and newness. This courage and imaginative act are a road to creating an alternative consciousness—a new way of seeing and living.

The same three requirements are needed: slow, honesty, and courage to dismantle empires and usher in the newness of hope. The same building blocks are needed to bring newness to my soul as well as to usher in the ancient newness of the God-reality on this earth. Slow forces new and alternative ways of seeing. Honesty reveals our attachments and calls for detachment. Courage translates into a freedom-based act of doing which stems from all humanity to simply be. Furthermore, according to Brueggemann, the person who is marginal, geographically, societally, and religiously, may “embody a poignant counter-reality—reality always to contrast and finally to destroy the dominant [empire] reality.” (The word empire is added for clarity.)

“Walk this labyrinth not just for yourself but for all those who cannot find their way.” Today’s blog explains how I interpret what I read four-plus years ago. I did not know the full meaning at the time but drew my heart enough to take a picture and notice. I tell myself today that I have got to walk my path and my freedom journey first. As I walk on my path, the invitation is to share my experiences using metaphors, symbols, and imagination to help others find their way.

FREEDOM JOURNEY | PART 1

As we are only days away from going to Malaysia, writing a new chapter of our life, it feels necessary and rather fitting to look back at where this chapter has started. After a tumultuous and challenging leadership years especially with an ending I did not foresee coming and with a sense of betrayal, I quickly scrambled out of a survival mode to request a yearlong sabbatical, to save and free myself. Months later, my sabbatical finally arrived. The date was November 18, 2019. I remember the day like yesterday. With the typically warm and sunny southern California weather in November, I knew what we wanted to do: drive along the Pacific Coast Highway and visit Serra Retreat overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Malibu. My wife loves watching the waves tirelessly hugging the shore and gazing into endless shimmering water where the ocean and sky become one. Serra Retreat also happens to be where my wife’s spiritual direction Opening Residency took place two years prior.

I started journaling daily on that day which eventually turned into starting my blog. I “knew” I had to write. Below is a portion of my first paragraph from the November 18, 2019, entry.

The last activity we did today was to walk the labyrinth pictured above. During the walk, what captured my imagination and heart was the thought that this long-winded path with turns and twists is to be my path for discovering my true self and vocation for this coming year and beyond. And that it is directly tied to discerning and deciphering what God has for me and Grace in this next season of our life together. Furthermore, I sensed strongly that this path (both the journeying and the destination) would be of help to many others. The path that I will be walking will become the very path for many others. After the walk, I noticed a little memorial statue and, on the plaque, it read, “Walk this labyrinth not just for yourself but for all those who cannot find their way.” Hmmm.

The last four years’ chapter can be titled as freedom journey. It has been a journey of discovering my true inner self and identifying and articulating the systems and powers that deter and discourage the inner freedom journey. I realized that both had to be dealt with vigor and thoughtfulness unless I was called to live as a hermit in a cave. THAT was not going to happen.

The inner journey’s first requirement came with an unexpected gift of slowing down. Slow naturally came with a sabbatical but the unforeseeable pandemic forced unprecedented isolation and stretches of social lockdown as well as a seeming cosmic halt which translated into an extraordinary slow. During this time, I discovered nature as a fine teacher of my soul as life meets life. Decay and death were not decay and death but another beginning of life. The truth of the matter is that I would not have deemed nature as a teacher unless I slowed down. In slow, one sees and hears things that one has not seen or heard before. Slow creates a necessary space and distance to see things that never were visible. Slow creates a margin to linger and ask questions that I normally have not asked. To be sure, the margin can be terrifying because margin exposes isolation as desolation and thus can force us to fill the margin with busy and mind-numbing activities. When healthy, margin turns isolation and loneliness into a “garden of solitude” without needing to stuff our calendar with stuff.

The second requirement, looking back, is honesty with myself. Being honest with my emotions without ego boost or ego condemnation has required a discipline of naming the emotions I was holding. Naming and owning a season of death, deconstruction, and detachment in an honest appraisal of my life’s journey helped to embrace darkness as a friend. I would not have discovered darkness can be a friend and teacher and that darkness imbues a blinding radiance of grace.

The other requirement has been courage: courage to be, courage to do, and courage to become. We become what we love or behold. Becoming integrates the notion of being and doing. I have needed to commit to becoming me, which is an act of discovery, of how God has shaped me from the beginning. It is the primal and existential courage. Out of the courage to be, we act accordingly to do. It is the lifetime of doing based on primal courage, sometimes swimming against the stream, sometimes going with the flow, or sometimes sitting idly on the bank. We become how God created us to be which is God’s creative love in action: love begets love. This way, we become like God who created us—love, which is divine union.

BLISS

The afterglow was extraordinary—palpable and potent enough to make me bloom as I went to sleep last night. The unsubsiding joy from the night morphed into delicate sprinkles of sadness and doubt the next morning. “Am I crazy to leave all these to go to Asia?” entered my mind.

My immediate family celebrated our youngest Brad’s 26th birthday. All four of our adult children and their spouses plus Brad’s girlfriend, not to mention Elizabeth’s chihuahua, Remy, Hannah’s huskie, Luna, and Jeremiah’s huskie, Balto joined us for the festivities. A few days earlier, we all gave enthusiastic thumbs up to Brad as he requested sushi and sashimi dinner at home. In recent years, we found this unpretentious hole-in-the-wall Japanese seafood market in the nearby city, owned and operated by a 90-year-old petite Japanese man. In his usual Haines white undershirt, his arthritic hands contoured to hold different sushi knives for decades. He barely spoke English but mastered the art of sushi making. Looking like he could barely walk; one would only need to look at his eyes when he hunched over and worked. Not unlike any other “master” of craft, he was never in a hurry which made a deep impression on me. Inside, I found myself cheering for him as he refused to buckle down under pressure.

The first time we were there, years ago, we waited for more than an hour even though there were only 5 or 6 parties ahead of us in line. Though the price was not cheap, the sashimi and even premade sushi of all sorts were some of the best sushi we have ever had. I ate enough sushi in my life to know what is crappy, passable, or outstanding. Ever since then, the market has earned our top trust and become our go-to sushi provider. This time was no different. Since then, the 90-year-old man retired, and his family took over the business. The congenial vibe is still the same with tiny enough improvement to know that some things changed (better organized with a bit better lighting and more choice of freshly made rolls), but the line moves much faster with a quintupled workforce with no sacrifice to the quality of the fish. I was happy to get out faster but also strangely missed the sacred waiting that was required before.

Our average size of dining table had no space after we laid out different sashimi (toro, bluefin, and ahi tunas, hamachi [yellowtail), salmon [belly portion) as well as unagi, spicy tuna, and spicy shrimp sushi, and California rolls), fresh cut vegetables, and some Japanese beers. A six-person dining table with nine of us huddled around on cheap IKEA chairs including a piano bench for two, we ate like princes and princesses.

After collective satisfactory “Aah-s,” we played games as dessert and tangerines flowed. We laughed and high-fived as our dogs were content, calm, and secure. I am sure they knew viscerally they were part of the family as we experienced family on earth from heaven. At some point, my wife and I pulled back not only because we could not keep up with them but mainly to watch them in action. I captured many photographs in my head that night as I am sure my wife did too. On multiple occasions, it dawned on me what I would be missing when we go to Asia and my heart ached.

As I have witnessed them grow older, I can’t help but look back at myself at their age. Not to beat me down but rather in the spirit of praise, they are far more self-aware, emotionally healthy, and spiritually generous to pursue their freedom journey. They have a far better sense of what is real and what is illusion which to me is an irreplaceable requirement for the freedom journey. Whenever we talk about their childhood experiences, it is always interesting and revealing as to what they remember. It is how they experienced life and what they remember that have shaped them over the years. We may share the same experiences but what we take away and remember almost always would vary, and thus create a buffet of storytelling.

In retrospect, it has been the creation and existence of free space that allowed them to process their own experiences without us meddling or correcting that played a pivotal role in shaping them. As a person, I had wished all my life for such an elusive vast empty space of freedom. As an imperfect and proud parent, I am grateful to God for what they have learned to trust their inner guidance and allow grace as an ultimate safety net.

The saying that “God does not have grandchildren” has real traction now as we all are God’s children learning to relate to God and each other. For a time, we as parents have been given the role of “stewards” to guide and encourage them to relate with the Parent who is nothing but Love. The inversely proportional relationship of vertical stewardship as parents and children and horizontal sojourneying as fellow pilgrims (or as God’s children) is fully at work in our lives.

Dallas Willard rightly observes “The obviously well-kept secret of the ‘ordinary’ is that it is made to be a receptacle of the divine, a place where the life of God flows.” It is the ordinariness of my family we celebrate and will miss because that is where God is. This is a grace and love-filled incarnation at work in our own lives. God is so holy that God must invade all aspects of our earthly lives. The Kingdom of God reigns on earth as it is in heaven and our earthly life is the receptacle of the heavenly where God’s sphere of existence lies. Our ordinary but unique container which is called life, stranded in time in light of eternity, is given to us to access and encounter the divine.

Relatedly, in the second stanza of the poem, Song, by Wendell Berry, the last line jumps out at me which he calls bliss.

But I thought even there, among the straying
steps, of the dance that circles life around,
its shadows moving on the ground, in rhyme
of flesh with flesh, time with time, our bliss,
the earthly song that heavenly is. (italicized is mine)

As they cheer us on to Asia, I cheer them on to live and embody such a life of bliss, flow, and freedom. As God’s flow flows in and through us and as God’s bliss becomes our song, we reflect God’s original design of why and how God created us. That, to me, explains the direct pathway to union with God.

“CHEERS”

Angel is long gone. So is Fabiana. They were a few of my capable baristas at Peet’s Coffee located in Hastings Ranch in Pasadena. Peet’s has been my dependable café and my office. It used to be my second office but has become my first ever since COVID-19. What used to be more than 1,000 acres of ranch owned by the Hastings family long ago has turned into a haven for sprawling contiguous strip malls. I fondly consider this area a mildly boring bougie “backside” of Pasadena away from trendier Oldtown Pasadena. We frequent this area for multiple reasons: our favorite grocery is here, Trader Joe’s, and occasionally, Whole Foods Market. When oatmeal or muesli run out as my top choice for daily breakfast and I must find my substitute, I willingly either go for McDonald’s Sausage McMuffin with Egg or Einstein Bros Bagel’s farmhouse breakfast sandwiches. I also work out at LA Fitness which is also nearby. Whatever the reason, it is not unusual for us to come to the ranch at least once if not twice a day.

The Peet’s is where everybody knows my name. Now, it is Vanessa, Michael, Areli, or Jayleen who prepare my Americano. In the mornings when I am here about 5 or 6 times a week, there is a long list of familiar usual suspects. I am not the only one who frequents this place most mornings. Both in the form of recognition and hello, I would jerk my chin upwards and crack a faint smile to some of the usual suspects.

There is Ralph who must be in his mid-70s. He arrives almost always around 11 am. His strides are short and less confident but without a cane or walking stick. He still has full grey hair which I used to envy, years ago, but not anymore. When looking at him approaching Peet’s in his signature oversized black jacket with bold red stripe, his head is tilted in such a way it is always 5:55 am or pm. His hands shake as he sits down at the same table near the window and waits for his friends.

Usually, about half an hour later, Hank and his wife arrive. Hank is older than Ralph, walks with a cane, and less assuredly than Ralph. In his bad hair day every day, his pale face tells me he has been ill and thus in the recovery and feeling good enough to get out, I would imagine. His wife (just heard this morning addressing Hank, as “honeybun”) in her short stylish haircut has full makeup on always, and is sprightly and sharp. She speaks confidently and boomingly as Hank has a difficult time hearing. She doesn’t assist Hank while walking perhaps to help him be more independent and dignified. The threesome sits together for about an hour. Their conversation remains very ordinary and mundane, not that I was trying to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Then there is a man whose name I do not know. He usually is here before I do. He always sits looking out from the window to the patio seating and the ample parking lot. He looks like he may be a few years older than I, seemingly fit, and dons a baseball cap and a pair of shorts every single day, rain, or shine. His athletic shoes change frequently, enough for me to notice anyway, and he watches something on his iPad. Sometimes he would mingle with Ralph and company but most of the time he keeps to himself.

A middle-aged woman wears glasses, and her full thick blondish hair is pulled clipped back with a large hair clipper. She comes with a bag filled with a laptop, books, and notebooks, ready to work. While facing a wall in a darker corner, she pours herself into reading and writing. One morning, on her way to the restroom, she asked me to watch for her stuff which I happily consented. Apart from the little interaction, I have not talked with her. My mind wandered a few times as to what she may be doing. My best wild guess is that she is a mystery book writer.

I cannot leave out a group of older Armenian men, usually huddled around outside in the patio area. Though their ages may vary, my best guess is that they are all in their 80s from what I can piece together. They all look healthy enough to drive. Without failure, they are here every day for several hours at a time. They are talkative and gregarious. Their English is passable. I imagine them being kicked out, I mean sent out, from their wives’ dominion after breakfast. And they willingly oblige and spend jolly of a time with their buddies. Maybe they exchange some of their war stories or childhood memories back home either in Syria, Russia, or Turkey. Maybe they exchange the latest examples of whose wife is more loving and supportive and/or bragging about their children and grandchildren.

Apart from my immediate family, these are the people I see almost every day in my neighborhood. Strangely enough, I admit that I will miss seeing them. Invariably, there will be new characters as my usual suspects in Malaysia. Unintentional and bypassing relationships are like “fillers” to intentionally directed friendships in life. While the latter relationships shape and define us in a significant proportion, the former relationships still require civility, respect, and kindness albeit fleetingly. The “filler” relationships are not unimportant; they are opportunities for authentic living. As my neighbors did not know I was watching and even projecting my view on them, I too am being watched and projected by others around me. I just hope that I am a pebble of positive energy moving the universe in a more loving trajectory.

A 2024 REFLECTION

The last verse in Matthew 5 (verse 48) troubled me for a long time. It was troublesome because I knew I could never measure up to what Jesus seemingly commanded. After a moving and upsetting (at least to some) message covering the Beatitudes to being salt and light to Jesus reinterpreting (Jesus said “but to fulfill” or bring to realization) the Law to loving our enemies, Jesus ends the otherwise brilliant section of the “sermon” with the puzzling sentence below, at least how most of the English translations rendered it.

Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (NRSV)

What do I do with this verse? Jesus knew that “we” were not perfect according to earlier verses. Did he mean, to try harder, nonetheless? The surmising rhetorical point of the longest section which details the Law and some of the commandments concerns the pivotal truth that we cannot keep the Law by trying to keep the Law. While masterfully not downgrading the importance of the Law, Jesus alludes that the focus must be somewhere else, away from obeying the Law perfectly. Of course, the sermon continues for two more chapters in the Book of Matthew. I would like to think that verse 48 was there for the listeners and for us to mull over what Jesus may have intended to communicate.

The word, perfect, is unattainable by our effort especially if Jesus meant perfection by moral and ethical perfection. The root word, perfect, Jesus used in Greek is telos which is translated as goal, end, or purpose. I love Eugene Peterson’s translation. Peterson helpfully paraphrases which to me is closer to what Jesus may have meant.

In a word, what I’m saying is, Grow up. You’re kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you.” (The Message)

What is helpful in The Message translation is the living out part that is grounded in everyday life. How then do we live out? By accepting and understanding how God treats (or lives toward) us, we are then to practice generosity and grace toward others. Our purpose or goal is to be known and loved by God (or by being the children of our Father in heaven or the “kingdom subjects” [verse 45]), so we become a conduit of that grace toward others. Summing up, I think Jesus was highlighting the importance of the union with God as the end, goal, and purpose of our existence. Jesus commanded the generous and gracious life of union in the process as opposed to achieving moral perfection. Our perfection comes from union with God rather than by achievement. Along this vein, our focus should shift from merely keeping the Law itself to the pursuit of the union with the Giver of the Law.

To use Matthew’s language, righteousness (dikaiosune) is a keyword in the Sermon on the Mount as it appears 3 times in Chapter 5. What Jesus was trying to drive home was that righteousness could never come from keeping the Law but by adhering and living under the “new” Kingdom of God—by pursuing a union with God. And that Jesus exemplified the union living which would become the compelling basis why we must follow Jesus in our pursuit of union with God. Jesus lived and would eventually die while being united with God. In our pursuit of union with God, this sermon then is about Jesus laying the blueprint for us to follow him. It is not only what Jesus lived for but also how Jesus lived it, thus a creative blueprint of how we ought to live. To circle back to the word, righteousness, righteousness comes from Jesus alone as he was the fulfillment of the Law. To loosely quote Dallas Willard in his magnum opus, The Divine Conspiracy: Rediscovering Our Hidden Life in God, the Law is not the source of righteousness, but only the course to righteousness.

In other words, Jesus warns against keeping the Law for the sake of keeping the Law. He eloquently taught and went on a great length that it can never be done. Instead, Jesus as a master teacher laid out a revolutionary shift in perspective that we must become the kind of person (that takes righteousness, “true inner goodness,” seriously) who wants to keep the Law. This inner transformation can only come from pursuing a union with God through Jesus Christ in our everyday life.

The humanity side of Jesus appeals to me so profoundly and deeply that I am compelled to imitate following Jesus’ human journey. This revelation and vision of doing life inspires me to embrace my humanity and how to do life. I tell myself today and this year that I dare not lose sight of that. This incarnated Jesus understands my human journey with all its warp and woof of life. Jesus “stood-under” the unfailing love and grace of God as a human so he understands my human journey. My “humanness” is what I have and thus where I can begin. While firmly rooted in humanity, my humanity will be fully realized as I pursue union with the Divine. The divine spark that is in me comes to life when I am in touch with the Divine, unlocking further my humanity and deepening my spirituality to say, “Christ in me and I in Christ!”

FOR THE SAKE OF ASIA

Happy New Year! Welcome to my fifth season of blogging. Thank you for reading and engaging with my interior journey. This year’s first entry reads more like an update that will set the tone for the year ahead.

“For the sake of Asia” was the phrase that was repeated twice to me by a reputable leader in Asia. A couple of weeks ago, I was asked to prayerfully consider joining a Spiritual Direction program and eventual partnership for the sake of Asia. He told me that he was led by the Spirit to ask me. Ever since then, the phrase, “for the sake of Asia,” has lingered with me. At the same time, when I look back on this year, the phrase does not come as a surprise at all. On my 60th birthday, one of the keywords that was given to me was “Asia.” The bookended theme this past year was Asia, with confirming divinely appointed details in the middle.

2023 was a whale of a year. 2023 can be surmised to be a welcoming culmination and forward movement after waiting and discernment for the last four years. As a result, 2024 is about to start with a bang after much waiting and seeking. My wife and I are to depart to Malaysia in early February for about a year eventually en route to Korea, hopefully in 2025.

Back in 2020 summer, in the middle of our sabbatical, there arose a glimmer of desire that God might be calling us to Korea. The only way to ascertain the calling was to go to Korea in the height of the pandemic which meant we had to undergo two-week mandatory quarantine upon arrival. Though our movements and activities were severely limited, we sensed without a shadow of a doubt that God was indeed calling us to Korea.

Concurrently, we also began to discern that God was not only calling us to Korea but to a wider Asia. This discernment led us to a venturesome six-month-long exploration in Southeast Asia and Korea earlier this year. The result was unmistakably affirmative. Korea remains our top desire and destination for ministry but with the whole of Asia in our purview.

For close to forty years of ministry, we stayed back in the US (or held back in the US for different reasons at different times) primarily in the areas of mobilization and leadership. About ten years into our ministry, I tried to convince my wife to pack up and go to Asia, but my wife was not convinced. Ten years later, my wife initiated a similar dialogue with me about going overseas. After some time, I told her that I did not sense the calling. Though these two incidents were short-lived, they spoke volumes of the latent desires of our hearts.

This time, we both have discerned God is on the move and we both are ready, ready to embrace what God may have for us. The last four years have trained us to “trust the river and the Giver.” What we, together, want to do is simple and clear: spiritual direction ministries (both individuals and groups), hospitality (creating a space of freedom for people to dance their own dances and sing their own songs), writing, and speaking. I hope to publish my first book in English and my second book in Korean next year, God willing. We have multiple trips lined up in 2024 (three trips to Korea, three trips to the Philippines, and multiple trips to Singapore, Japan, Thailand, Indonesia, and Vietnam (the latter three probable).

All in all, we remain grateful to God for where we are in life and what we are about to do. Our doing has been long in the making and stemming right out of our life’s experiences and desires. Looking back, “Asia” makes great sense (not that everything in life has to make sense), and that we feel we are poised for this unique and daring season of life.