YANGPYEONG FALL JOURNAL | WEEK 5

October 21 Entry

I cannot remember the last time I hiked to a mountaintop in the middle of the fall season where I could view fall foliage. In fact, after squinting my brows trying to remember, I don’t think I ever did. Yesterday was that hike, an epic one. I am sure we could have picked the most optimal time to view the fall foliage, but it was close enough to my undiscerning eyes. I was told in another week the mountains will sing nature’s spectacular chorus of the glorious tints of autumn foliage. 

I was invited by a seasoned hiker (who is also a retired missions leader) who seems to know most of the mountains in South Korea by name and with intimate familiarity. He rattled off the names of mountains, villages, and specific trails he has conquered which sounded all gibberish to me because I was unfamiliar with most of the names. He invited another friend of his, who also is well-versed in hiking and outdoor activities. After having served in Central Asia for multiple years, he is currently serving as a trainer for aspiring missionaries in Korea. 

They came out all decked out from top to bottom in ways that were evident that they were serious mountain lovers. Though I wasn’t wearing a pair of basketball or walking shoes which would have been woefully inadequate, I, on the other hand, lacked “professional” gear. I needed one of those non-slippery mountain hiking boots. Admirably though, my trail running shoes held and held well. I needed a day pack that snugs my shoulders and back like a second skin. But my city traveler’s bag also held without tripping me up. My best equipment? My pair of REI wool hiking socks! They have proven their worth time and time again by not giving my feet ill-timed blisters. Yay, REI! A few days ago, when I told someone that I was going to join a group to the Baekundae Peak at Bukhan Mountain, the first thing he told me was that people die falling from the rocks near the top. I chuckled and pretty much ignored his well-intentioned warning while instinctively turning my head to see if my wife was also listening. My wife, sitting right next to me, looked at me like “Are you sure about this hike?” Though she didn’t say a word, she might as well have said it because I deciphered it out of her mind. I must be a mind reader!

All in all, according to my faithful Apple Watch, we did close to 12 miles with about 24,000 steps and close to 300 floors, up and down. I was thankful that my legs did not betray me and were still intact after a demanding but rewarding hike. I was told by multiple sources including the host that this was one of the most beloved trails in Korea for its unique embodiment of beauty and wonder. We could not have picked a better day in terms of temperature in the low 60s high and low 40s low with a gorgeous sunny fall sky, ever reminding me to live as free as the sky. After meeting at a subway station, we took a bus, packed like sardines in a can with other hikers, to a nearby trailhead which we promptly missed because we were busy catching up and getting to know each other. We improvised and decided to reverse our course, ascend what we were going to descend, and descend what we were going to ascend. As a strong P on MBTI, the change did not bother me at all. Instead, it was a brilliant decision in retrospect because we went in the opposite direction from most people’s route. Even then for a weekday hike, the trails traveled well. I suppose people knew and wanted to seize the day. 

Our otherwise very meaningful conversations faded into the background and got drowned in the sight of the magnificent blaze of the autumn mountains. Half of our conversations revolved around accepting and acknowledging what the Creator of nature was gifting us that day. Words fell woefully short though we tried followed by unrehearsed bursts of exclamations, and it seemed clear that silence was the most fitting way to absorb and thank the Creator. What we can give back to the Creator is to simply accept the wideness and wildness of nature’s beauty which obeys the Creator in love. 

After circling back to our original meeting place, our seasoned guide took us to a local fried chicken and beer joint in the neighborhood. As soon as we sat down, we each ordered 1,000 cc chilled draft beer, clinked our beer mugs, and let it soak our thirsted and tired bodies with ridiculous satisfaction. I felt like I belonged in some sort of Renaissance Fair. Apart from the can of beer I gulped down on the United flight over to Korea last year after working out on the plane like a wild man (the plane was practically empty lest you think I was a lunatic), this beer ranked on the same level. I think I am beginning to appreciate beer since I can associate it with certain accumulating beer episodes. 

To top off the day in the right way, we decided to do a sauna, walked over to the next building, and thanked our bodies for taking care of us that day. After I came home, I made sure I popped an Advil before I went to bed, since I knew my legs would cramp without the aid of Advil.

YANGPYEONG FALL JOURNAL | WEEK 4

October 17 Entry

In the grand tradition of play, I have become an “evangelist” of play during this trip. Enneagram type 7 in me has been on full unhindered display. Additionally, in this season, my wife considers play as one of her spiritual disciplines, maybe for the first time in her life. Buoyed by her latest pursuit, I have seized the opportunities to play, every chance I can get. In recent years, I have considered play as an integral part of rest and the Sabbath. Play and pray are essential components of a true sabbath. Eugene Peterson writes in his fine book, Working the Angles: The shape of pastoral integrity:

Puritan sabbaths that eliminated play were a disaster. Secular Sabbaths that eliminate prayer are worse. Sabbath-keeping involves both playing and praying. The activities are alike enough to share the same day and different enough to require each other for a complementary wholeness.

On the Sabbath, John Calvin led his congregation in prayers in the morning and played skittles in the afternoon with people in Geneva. For decades, playing weekly “sabbath” basketball has been deeply therapeutic and profitable for maintaining my soul’s wholeness. I even get to play basketball with my son and my son-in-law on a weekly basis when I am in Pasadena. For an almost 60-year-old man, life does not get any better than this. The pursuit and discipline of “complementary wholeness” Peterson writes has become a lost art. We, especially those who are spiritual, have denigrated play as what children do during their innocent years. Since when did we get the idea that adults have to be serious? Somehow seriousness has been wrongfully translated into dedication, devotion, and deep spirituality. 

This time, we brought several card games from the US with a serious intention to play. Clearly, we were going to find time and ways to play. As such, we have had numerous opportunities to play. Over the weekend, we were with a group of friends we have been doing community with. We reserved a church facility in Suwon and spent two nights together. Other than walking along the picturesque reservoir where the trees were beginning to turn colors, we were at a church facility playing and praying. I played badminton for the first time in decades. I grew up playing countless hours of badminton in front of the house where I grew up. Badminton is easy to play (unless there is strong wind) because the equipment is not expensive, and one does not need big real estate. After waving comically at nothing but air with my racket for the first few swings triggering laughter from the “audience,” my body reached deep into my childhood memory bank and figured out how to play. When I first saw the playground, what I noticed was the basketball hoop (no net though, which is a serious downside), but I wanted to keep my cool. One problem. It’s dirt with uneven ground. And I was wearing my usual flip-flops. After badminton, others began flocking around the basketball hoop. Sure enough, someone suggested playing some random Korean basketball games (such as the US’s version of Around the World, Knock Out, etc). Then we migrated to playing 3 on 3 on a dirt basketball court with flip-flops on. The problem was overcome because I simply ignored the problem. And we had a blast waking up the inner child in each of us. 

After eating delivered dishes of Jajang myeon (Korean Chinese black bean noodle dish), Gul Jjambong (Oyster and vegetable noodle soup), Japche Bap (Marinated glass noodles with assorted vegetables over rice), Tang Suyuk (Korean sweet and sour pork with sauce on the side), and some fried Mandus, the evening was set for more play. We broke out the games we brought: The Mind, Five Crowns, and Dutch Blitz. We started a few rounds of speedy Dutch Blitz with separate men and women groups since only a maximum of 4 people can play. My wife, who confessed before the game how terrible she is at playing games, won the entire round, showcasing her own steady style. Others rightfully were amazed at how poised and controlled she was. The sports adage that games tend to slow down for pros was on display. She was like a bashful resurrected Neo (in the Matrix movie) fighting against the agents with one hand, hardly breaking a sweat. Then we switched over to The Mind with all the children present and played until the children needed to call it a night. We were of one mind, playing like little children. I marveled at how great and wholesome it was that children got to play with their parents and parents’ friends. Then Five Crowns made its way with couples playing as one team. When we checked our time, it was 2 am in the morning! 

Many commented through our playtime both in the afternoon and evening that some of the wearier and worn-out members got visibly renewed by playing. With our eyes sparkling and countenance brightened, laughter and childlike silliness filled our day, causing an upward spiral movement of unbridled laughter and joy. It was a fine sabbath day for all!

YANGPYEONG FALL JOURNAL | WEEK 3

October 9 Entry

One of our daily mainstay questions has been surrounding food: What are we going to eat today? What are we going to serve today? They are happy and life-giving questions. Our wonderful host is extremely gifted in sharing. She has successfully raised our expectations of receiving, mostly food, on a daily basis. So far, she has shared peaches, bananas, two small bottles of homemade kimchi, and homemade green plum syrup made by her mom, which is about 10 years old (thus more flavorful and aromatic), just to name a few. She has also given us peppers, potatoes, pumpkin, chestnuts, and sword beans from her well-kept garden. 

Other than the Kwak Ji Won Bakery which requires a 15-minute scenic drive from our place, we found a competent bakery close to our place. When we are preparing for guests and pressed for time, the one close to our place became our go-to bakery. It is run by two sisters who look very much alike. We tried their baguette for the first time during this stay as we enjoyed their ciabatta bread in the past. To our surprise, it was one of the best we have eaten, anywhere. It was perfectly light with enough crustiness on the outside to cut and even shred the palate if not careful, and airy and a bit of chewiness inside. One problem. They open at 9 am. I promptly swung by and told them our dilemma. They offered a delightful solution since they arrive early to bake, they could bake the baguette by a certain time, and we can pick them up before they are officially open. While thanking them for their kind thoughtfulness, I asked them if 8 am would work. They replied with a pleasant yes which made us feel like, “Ok, we are part of this community.” We paid right there and then and came the next morning and picked up a freshly baked baguette. The following morning, we doubled the order and picked them up at 8 am again. 

My cousin, who I consider to be the older sister I never had, visited me today. I had made plans to go to Hanjeongsik (Korean table d’hote but more elaborate than what the French may be used to) for lunch nearby. Thus, I ate pumpkin porridge for breakfast from our host’s garden skillfully crafted by my wife. That was a strategic move on my part because I knew what awaited me for lunch! The restaurant sits on farmland, invisible from the main road. Though there is a restaurant sign on the road, it is mainly for those who already know and want to come to the restaurant, since the signage does not match the exceptional quality of the food. I had accidentally found out about the place and knew exactly what to expect. My cousin ordered the top-tier course meal of Hanjeongsik, appropriately called “empress” Jeongsik, apparently because a former Korean empress was born in the same neighborhood in the late 19th century. 

The fabulous spread induced multiple wows as countless dishes, too many to count, covered every single space of our large table. We were told that most of their vegetables are grown right on their farmland. I helped to clear most of the dishes valiantly except for a couple of beef dishes, as I could not rely on my wife and my cousin much, all the while wondering about the dishwashing load for an unfortunate soul that day. For dinner, I had pumpkin porridge and a piece of bread, since my stomach was happily still full from lunch. Today’s meals were accentuated by the impressive “empress” course meal bookended by “pauper” pumpkin porridges. 

Eating is a sacred act. Maybe except for the water we drink (which travels from “heaven” to deep “earth” to us), every single food we put in our mouths is a result of something dying. The beef and pork we ate for lunch nourished, sustained, and “gave” us life because they gave up their lives. The vegetables and fruits we pluck, uproot, pick, and gather (because they fell to the ground) are all because they “gave up” their lives. The coffee I enjoy daily is from the beans someone picked from a tree halfway around the world. It is a sacred and paradoxical act because we are eating something that gave its life so we can live. 

Sharing food as in table fellowship is thus also a sacred act. We get to communally experience what it means for us to live because of something else’s death. It is a communal act of remembrance and a celebration of our lives. 

We are not exempt from the poetic cycle of death and life either. I will meet and face death as all will. The same nature’s law will apply: our deaths will sustain the life of something else or lives or give a new life to someone(s) or something(s). 

Jesus’ words “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me” refers to the bread we break and share. Bread comes to us in the same paradoxical manner: some things had to die in order for us to live. Perhaps, Jesus’ words are not meant to only apply to the holy sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, rather it is a daily reminder that when we eat “bread,” (or anything else we eat) that “gave up” its life, we are to remember Jesus’ death. Jesus’ death, signifying and representing all deaths, gives us new life, the life of eternity.

This season of autumn bears the same paradoxical cycle of truth: decaying and impending dying in contrast to becoming seeds to bearing life in spring. What is remarkable is that nature showcases its decaying season’s last wonder through its own “fireworks” of multi-colored foliage before finally dying (which really is not dying). Additionally, nature seems to give and empty itself out until the very end culminating in what we call harvest. Nature seemingly gives and gives until the very end. 

We live benefitting from the “death” of creation. In promoting perpetuity, we will all die so someone or something else can live. Today, I remember and give my utmost tribute to a friend of mine who just passed due to an untimely illness less than two weeks ago. It is a worthy reminder for me to believe that his death is not the end, but the beginning of something or someone that I simply cannot wrap my mind around. The plain truth that all will die is not a morbid thought, but a reflection of hope and nature’s continuity, which is holding paradoxes in perfect mysterious union and ultimately conducted in love by the Master of the universe. 

YANGPYEONG FALL JOURNAL | WEEK 2

September 28 Entry

After my morning walk, I received a text message that someone who is dear to me maybe fighting some sort of debilitating disease. I can’t share it in words, since this is not my story to tell. Shaken and shocked, I felt dismayed. Over zoom, we held the person in our prayers with one other person. 

We had circled today to visit Yangpyeong traditional open market that opens every 5th day, the dates that end with numbers 3 and 8. Since we had time during the day, we thought it would be prudent to go and fetch some assorted Kimchi and whatever looks good in our line of sight (which is dangerous) as we anticipate hosting some people over the weekend. The problem is my eyes are moving 100 miles an hour, scanning like Jason Bourne (I can be like Jason Bourne when it comes to food), and command my servant mind to buy most of everything my bossy eyes see. Since this was our second time visiting (we visited once during spring), other than the seasonal fruits and vegetables, most other vendors, stalls, and shops looked recognizable, so I maneuvered around as if I had the kind of familiarity that locals have. We walked the entire market, which was not small by any stretch of the imagination, and took mental notes as to what we would buy in the order which would allow us to carry the least in our hands before heading back to our light car.

Unlike last time, we came prepared, with a colorful Trader Joe’s bag that fits well with many of the elderly grandmas’ color-clashing pants. First, we bought some mandus (steamed dumplings) for ourselves and for our host. Last time, we had to wait in line for 20 minutes. Only 5 minutes today, so I was not going to miss the short line. Our main task was to buy a couple of Kimchis. But on the way, I predictably got sidetracked and bought some assorted Jeons (pan-fried meat, fish, and vegetable coated in flour and eggs). I remembered from our spring visit the older lady (할머니) who sold Pa-Kimchi (small green onion Kimchi) that we and our guests enjoyed a great deal. I was disappointed the lady was not there today, but we found another older lady selling Kimchi. As we were standing in line, the man in front of us, without our asking, turned toward us and freely offered us a comment that this lady’s Kimchi is the best in the market, hands down. Whether that is true or not, we will be the judge of that, but for now, his promotion did a convincing job of our buying a couple of Kimchis, Pa-Kimchi and Yeolmu-Kimchi (young radish water Kimchi) without the radish but only the leaves. We were told by the lady that she and her husband farmed the vegetables. Great, I thought, from the farmer to the chef to the happy eater. 

As we sat down finally to get some lunch, since it would have taken me a long time to make a decision where to eat, I “wisely” relied on my wife this time. She chose beef rice soup. So cheap but so good. Later tonight, the whole market scene will be back to normal, a parking lot as if this whole commotion was nothing but an illusion. The tables and stools featured at the food stalls are the worn blue portable plastic kind, and toilet tissues are hung from the tent as serviceable napkins. Ingenious improvisation. Makes so much sense if you stop imagining and can get over the thought of using toilet tissue to wipe your mouth. The soup arrived less than 30 seconds later, steamy hot. As we sat down to devour our meal, I received a text message from another friend that his surgery (very involved and possibly life-threatening) is scheduled for tomorrow, which I had known and had been praying about. I responded to the text by telling him that I would stand in prayer with him and for him and that I would like to see him well in person once I get back to the US.

Maybe it was a food coma, but I must have sleepwalked over to the long line in front of a booth selling Sundae (Korean blood sausage consisting of glass noodles and other spices). My wife detests the smell of it, so she decided to stand afar while I was mindlessly waiting. I waited for 30 minutes for about 3 dollars worth of food. I could overhear people passing by murmuring what the line was for. When they found out it was Sundae, some shook their heads and walked away, but some decided to join in line while all were disbelieving and curious about what the deal was. Contrary to my expectation, the sundae was disappointing. I basically got sucked into the capitalistic phenomenon that if there is a long line, it must be good. I am sure my standing in line convinced some other people to wait in line. I got a good chuckle out of the experience while my patient wife simply smiled. Great to know that my wife still loves me after all that waiting and disappointment.

We ended up buying some apples, avocados (Koreans do not eat avocados much), and carrots and made our way back. Our fridge is full to the brim now. A moratorium is in full effect on grocery shopping for now. 

All the while, I am thinking and praying for the two friends for today and tomorrow. Life happens to us more than we make life happen. Even when we think we are in control over our lives, perhaps we really are not, ultimately forcing us to surrender. I suppose the question is, where or to whom do we surrender? If yes to surrender, surrender is not some sort of fatalistic assent of whatever will be, will be, and thus void of hope, but one with great hope and expectation. And that living this life is good, and has great purpose. And the One we surrender to and trust is ultimately good and kind, as the One does not know anything else. 

YANGPYEONG FALL JOURNAL | WEEK 1

September 24 Entry

My poor wife heard me grumble this morning as I blurted out that I have done the worst job of packing my clothes for this trip. I’m not sure what I was thinking or whether I was thinking at all while packing. I packed too many pants, the wrong kind, too many shorts, all exercise shorts. My wife plainly told me, “I can see where your priority is.” Compared to Seoul, Yangpyeong’s daytime and nighttime temperature variances are significant. So the times I can wear shorts are during the day, and those days are disappearing fast as cooler weather will prevail soon. “I am not surprised since you packed the night before the trip,” said my wife without an ounce of judgment in her tone. I smiled and said, “Oh well.” At least, I brought enough “dressy” clothes for the occasion when I will be speaking at a conference. I can grumble with the best of them but one of my saving personality devices is that I can quickly switch gears to look at the cup half full. I will have to rely on that positive outlook for the rest of the trip.

The first thing we did this morning upon waking was to take a walk along the river and rice fields. Speaking of priority, I was not going to miss the ritual of my morning walk in Yangpyeong, as I imagined and rehearsed this walk many times before coming back. The morning temperature was in the low 50s, nippy for my Southern California trained body to wear any of the shorts I brought with me. It was perfect sweatpants weather. We had to walk fast because it was cold, especially in the shaded areas. One of the flaws of the current house is that it does not get enough sunlight, as the house faces north. The host told us that during winter, the house gets colder than other south-facing houses. After we walked for about 10 minutes, the inordinately bright sun greeted us with a warm good morning. I could almost hear the sun saying, “짜잔”(Jja jan), which can be translated as "ta-da!" Until then, the sun was still hiding behind the mountain. I suppose the sun wanted to make a grand enough entrance to remind us of what we have been missing. 

As our bodies were getting warmed by hurried steps, I noticed right away rows of wild cosmos flowers, from white to light pink to light fuchsia to light purple to hot red, along the riverbeds, and by the rice fields. Unlike the spring or summer times, where many flowers compete for the throne of our hearts, in the fall, the cosmos has no real competition. They get to be the queen of fall flowers. They certainly got my attention. The stems are so slender and fragile looking, provoking me to provide protection. The proportion of the flower petals to the slim stems looks a bit out of place like a large donut-shaped head attached to a small slender body. And yet, the flowers stand tall and shoot straight up, similar to sunflowers. (I found out later that cosmos plants are part of the sunflower family.) As the sun greets them, they greet back, as if to talk in some secret language. They all look like they are smiling even when they know their autumn act will end soon. 

We saw more people during this morning’s walk than at any other time in the spring. Since my wife and I were walking together, a number of people exchanged greetings with us. I made the observation that many were saying hellos this time. She curtly said that perhaps they were not afraid of saying hello since I was not walking alone. I nodded since I know I can look scary and intimidating with my strange hairstyle and occasionally with my sunglasses and buff head coverings on. Anyhow, it was good to be noticed and to exchange hellos. Connections with people and strangers, as light and casual as the greetings are, are always good for my heart. 

I was just as eager and anxious to go to Kwak Ji Won Bakery near Dulmulmeori where we frequented during our spring stay. We got to know the chief baker as well as the master baker who started a baking academy, along with multiple bakeries through his disciples. That was one of the serendipitous and unexpected highlights earlier in the year. The last time we saw them, we heard that the master baker’s wife, who is also a renowned baker and cake maker and has won several awards, was diagnosed with stomach cancer and was in need of surgery. We had told her we would pray for her and exchanged hope and goodwill. As such, we were eager to find out how the surgery went and how she was doing. We also brought a small gift with us, a small statue of a healing angel, to plant messages of healing and hope. 

After we arrived at the bakery, we were doing our rituals of reading and writing. As my wife was coming back from her restroom visit, I overheard my wife’s excited voice (she does not get excited much) from a distance. Seconds later, she called me to come. There she was, the master baker’s wife, standing before us. Her countenance told us she was well. She remembered us as we asked her how the surgery went. She said the surgery went really well and that she was doing well. As she was sharing, she was holding my wife’s hands with teary eyes. We told her we were very happy to hear the news. She had her perm fixtures on her hair as she was getting ready to go to a function. She said, “I did not lose my hair, so I am able to fix my hair as I like.” Small but significant joy and dignity of life. 

That made my day, enough to feast on my day with goodness and surprises. 

YANGPYEONG IN THE FALL

When I was at Yangpyeong this past spring, I wrote, with joy, for the first time in my life. I was surprised that I could enjoy writing as much as I did. Surprised, because writing requires meticulous, diligent, consistent effort, which I painfully and royally lack. Surprised also, because I had assumed that writing was not within my ken and my calling was more toward apostolic action-oriented endeavors. Spontaneity, scattered interests, diffusive and unfocused mind, and curiosity are more accurate descriptors of me than a steady disciplined orientation. Nonetheless, joy certainly was. Apparently, it was evident enough that my wife noticed a change in me too. Robert Frost said, “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” To further paraphrase Frost, one can even say, “No joy in the writer, no joy in the reader.” 

The Yangpyeong writing experience was almost as if something came over me and took hold of me. Certainly, I am far from hinting at the idea that I was so filled with God that God inspired me to direct my fingers. Ok, maybe so in some parts as I was deeply moved by what God opened my eyes to see. Even then, it was more of my latent inner self being awoken, for the “ground” was fertile for the first time in my life. Including the timing of both this trip to Korea being meshed with my life’s journey, the ground may be the well-cultivated ground with enough compost consisting of the garbage of discursive thoughts, turmoil (think tilling), and rest for life to grow. I realize this process is not unlike Henri Nouwen’s description of the movement from “the desert of loneliness to a garden of solitude.”

Looking back, there was a sense of childlike wonder of seeings and noticings, which coincided with and possibly unlocked my own childhood in Korea decades earlier. As I have been on a deconstructive and reconstructive journey, I can perceive my life more honestly without needing to puff up my ego or downplay my life's significance and meaning. The evolution of my spiritual and human journey, I would like to believe, is ripe with a more earnest appraisal of life and thus ready to engage my true worth and trust what I love and value. 

I say all this because my wife and I will be back in Yangpyeong in about a week's time at the same Airbnb. (By the time this entry is uploaded, we will be in the air crossing the Pacific Ocean.) This time, it will be autumn. I can’t remember where I read it but to paraphrase what I read—In spring, we are invited to look down. In the fall, we are invited to look up. I cannot wait to “look up” to see the gorgeous fall Korea sky, lose myself counting the leaves dance and fall against the backdrop of heaven, and witness pinching myself waking up from the glorious fall foliage. That will be a treat for my monotonous Southern California eyes for sure. Overall, Yangpyeong remains glowy in my mind. Yangpyeong played a pivotal role in my soul recognizing a home that I had forgotten.

I am a bit cautious about Yangpyeong at the same time. I do not want to have the same expectations of the joy of writing this fall only to fall short. Maybe unbeknownst to me, it is a way to save and safeguard my ego, I do not know for sure. There are these measured and calculated expectations for this trip. I do not want to be in this state of mind, but I am. 

Recently, I came across Jack Kerouac’s “Belief & Technique for Modern Prose.” Four of them stood out to me as I evaluate my time in Yangpyeong and anticipate what is to come this fall.

Submissive to everything, open, listening

Blow as deep as you want to blow

Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind

No fear or shame in the dignity of your experience, language & knowledge 

What I have learned is this very notion of submissiveness while at Yangpyeong as I look back. It was a posture of humility, acceptance, and openness through listening and observing. How I listened and observed was a reflexive and reflective exercise of accepting what came to me every day with childlike wonder. Each day was an unexpected and exciting journey with no map. This posture unleashed my gifts of spontaneity and curiosity. 

The next two techniques are similar in my mind. When I thought I was writing about the external realities of my days, I was actually excavating and discovering the deep interior terrains of my soul. I have learned that I have to remain true to who I am as I write, loyal to my soul. In this sense with no disrespect to Kerouac, “from bottom of the mind” falls short. It is from the depth of my soul. A shocking discovery for me was that the depth of my soul breathes the same air as God, a God who “breathed” into me to create me. I have experienced a very small portion of being in union with God through my journaling and writing, more than enough to desire more, to see what God would see, and to think what God would think.

The permission, encouragement, and thus rightful claim of the dignity of my experience, language, and knowledge is liberating not only as someone who wrote with joy for the first time but also in life. This is a sound liberating doctrine that there is no more fear or shame in the dignity of all our experiences. And the language with which we choose to communicate brings fuller and far more authentic and interesting expressions of the unrepeatable uniqueness of who we each are. 

My hope is to write every day with joy again this fall. I want to discover more of who I am, who I am becoming, and what God is like through writing. All this in the mundaneness of everyday life, being submissive and present to what is Real, my life that is taking place in real and present time. 

LIFE AS A COLLECTION OF MOMENTS

Life is a collection of moments. More precisely, life as a collection of what we deem as “defining” moments is what largely shapes and guides our life. The requirement for stewarding such moments is that we pay close attention as moments happen and remember them after they happen. It is simple enough but onerous to learn. Poet David Whyte expresses this sentiment poignantly in the last stanza of his poem, Born Again. Tangentially, one can easily see the “Irishness” of his appreciation of nature.

I want to be born again, in exactly the selfsame life,

aware this time from the inside out, and to stand this time

as a beautiful un-worrying witness, living beyond

the need for this or that; some memory always with me

of a ship making its way through lifting water,

the song of the wind, the song of my mother,

my father’s disbelieving, expectant face,

and the crowding, merciful voice of the sea at my birth.

I italicized the word aware above as Whyte yearns to recall some of his life’s defining moments. I can sense both his gentle ache and longing that he had wished to cherish the moments (my word) closer to his heart and with more awareness.

We are who we are because of the accumulative effect of life’s defining moments. Some moments are defined by external circumstances and factors that we have no control over. Freak accidents, natural disasters, acts of violence, cowardice, as well as great generosity, the miracle of intervention, and helping hands, are bigger than anyone’s life’s external realities. Then there are those that are seemingly insignificant, even obscure, too small to notice at first, i.e. witnessing small acts of kindness, meeting kind eyes from a stranger, reading unexpected text messages, catching a smile of a little child, noticing “lilies of the field and the birds of the air,” cool drizzle on a hot humid day, etc. Those moments happen and we can be impacted by the external realities at the time if we will.

Then there are moments that we work to create and arrive at. These are the moments that are induced by our effort and planning. Working hard to graduate, get a job, write a book, etc are just a few examples.

However, moments that have shaped my life most profoundly are the moments prompted by interior assurances and convictions. The interior convictions are mysterious divine visitations that come like gentle fleeting butterflies or cool breezy wind of inaudible soft-spoken words. They have never been thunderous words, overwhelming and ignoring whatever state I happen to be in. If I believe the words, they are mine to possess. If I am ignorant or am distracted, it simply flies away and looks for another opportunity, never judging or condemning. If I believe, it becomes yet another moment to believe again. To believe is to trust the Source and the Source’s intention of goodness. This act of belief goes on a long way to ground me and move my pilgrim body toward the Source’s Home with increased willingness and eagerness.

These encounters are mysterious and subjectively experienced. And the two go together, making the relationship between mystery and experience inseparable. 

When I decided to step down from leadership in 2019, I “heard” an inaudible voice that said, “Son, you have no idea how good this decision is” on January 1. Though the voice was faint, it was undeniably clear, and I “believed” the moment as it happened. A few months later, Psalm 45: 10-16 was given to us by three random sources (what I would consider as my communities), confirming what we needed to do: to forget and leave our father’s house and our people, essentially “to go to the land which God will show us.” In June, I even had a dream where I saw the Psalm 45:10 inscription. The Tradition tells me all faith heroes are called to go and leave their father’s home. So I am in good company, I tell myself, having confirmed by “community” that is represented through Scripture, Tradition, and communities I am part of.

The interior moment that guides and shapes our life defines or redefines what and how we see. It is a brand new way of seeing, the chrism of the sight. Because we see differently, we can live differently. The old way of seeing is no more with scales from our eyes removed. No wonder Jesus spoke repeatably and convincingly about what and how we see. Spirituality starts with seeing, seeing rightly. The right seeing allows us to navigate the pilgrim movement of the body and life, ever shaping us through life-changing moments and directing us where to go and how to go. 

CENTER AND EDGES

For the last two weeks, I have been reflecting and writing about the need for renewal, how renewal takes place, and its intricate inseparable relationship with community and service. This week, I am diving into the need for fresh expressions of “containers, systems, or structures” that can be used to stimulate and generate waves of fresh renewal.

Anyone who has experienced being part of systems of both Christian and/or the world (and that is all of us), would know experientially that systems over time tend to exist and serve systems for their own self-interested end. Obviously, systems do not start with that in mind. Systems begin most of the time to challenge, uproot the “old” systems, and provide innovative and alternative models to do systems. But over time, it takes a herculean effort to swim out of the encrustation of bureaucracies and dominant managerial “efficient” processes. The foremost way to combat the malady toward survival and relevancy is to continually infuse innovation and entrepreneurship within the systems without allowing the systems to manage the creative and should I say apostolic processes. To me, this is proven perennial wisdom that is embedded in the development of human civilizations. 

I appreciate Thomas Merton echoing similar perennial wisdom in his book, The Inner Experiences, about a system he was quite familiar with—the monastic tradition.

“. . . but the traditional large monastery has no longer anything new or original to contribute to society. . . Innovation must come from elsewhere—for instance, from small, mobile, and detached groups like the Little Brothers of Jesus.” (p. 125 of The Inner Experiences)

Most people are content and happy to maintain the security and comfort that come from residing at the “traditional” center. (I am adding the word center for tradition and center often are associated with each other.) Jaroslav Pelikan’s insight is apt here, “tradition is the living faith of the dead, traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.”[1] One of the telltale signs of discerning traditionalism from tradition has to do with whether there is an absence of regard for historical, experiential, and theological context or framework. Simply put, we don’t know why and how we got to believe what we believe and we do not seem to care. It seems that we do not have an appetite to understand why we believe but be conveniently content with the fact that we believe. From this vantage, we read into the Bible, defending what we believe as in a propositional set of belief systems and affirming what we already know to be “true” by parroting out a certain set of doctrines. 

To be fair, all that goes around in maintaining the center is not necessarily bad because it can offer stability and security. At the same time, for a center to be the center, the center is often associated with power and control. The center needs to be defended with power and control, often vigorously. The center simply does not inspire. 

As with Merton, I’m convinced that history is not made by the people in the center of power but by people who are out on the edges or “from elsewhere” and from “detached groups.” One can find innovation and creativity both at the center and the edges, to be sure. But the kind of innovation on the edges is radical and foundationally disruptive in nature, changing the trajectory of history. I am not saying that all innovation at the edges benefits humanity. Clearly, some have not. 

Being out on the edges is not for the faint-hearted. It is lonely and can easily be misunderstood. While it may be breathtakingly free being on the edges, it is riddled with unresolved questions and both tried and untried failures and heartaches. It is a sure bet for failures. The edges don’t stay the same and remain constant, they are always shifting and morphing. To take the analogy further, one cannot be both at the center and at the edges at the same time, maintaining perfect balance. One can traverse from one place to another over time and over the course of one’s life. Additionally, there are what I call bridge people. They are the ones who reside in one place, sympathetic and passionate about bridging the gap between the center and the edges. For example, one can reside at the center and try to speak some sense into the people who are on the edges without control and manipulation. On the other hand, one can also have people who reside on the edges and try to bring awareness and awakening into the center without judgment and condemnation. 

One of the better examples of the latter is none other than Francis of Assisi, insightfully highlighted by Richard Rohr in his book, Eager to Love: The Alternative Way of Francis of Assisi. And one can have a meaningful and constructive dialogue between these bridge peoples on both sides, but not people who are bent on either the center or the edges. They will drive each other into a madhouse. Generally speaking, prophets and apostles are out on the edges while pastors and teachers reside at the center. A poetic prophet Jeremiah portrays par excellence and what it means to live on the edges.  

So far, I have been talking somewhat abstractly about center and edges, and the interplay and dynamic relationship between the two. Merton brings it down to a personal level and internalizes the relationship between “external control” and “liberation” at the level of one’s soul.

“The contemplative seeks to liberate his soul from all external control, to purify and detach it from material, sensual, and even spiritual compulsions, and to surrender it to the truth and creative freedom of the Holy Spirit. And in liberating himself, he becomes able to show others the way to the same liberty, because his life bears witness to a supreme liberty and enables them to know it, obscurely, and to burn with its desire.” (p. 129)

A life that knows “supreme liberty” and shows it to others is a life well-lived. Our liberation which intuitively recognizes and responds to the creative freedom of the Holy Spirit becomes both an invitation and a gift to others, enlarging the movement of supreme liberty. This supreme liberty whether one is at the center or on the edges is what finally judges and corrects. One could reside at the center without the fullest sense of supreme liberty. One could also reside at the edges without the fullest sense of supreme liberty. The supreme liberty we are invited to pursue is to “surrender to the truth and creative freedom of the Holy Spirit,” and is the liberty to “show others the way to the same liberty” which is to serve, not to insist on our worth. Paradoxically, the supreme liberty is to surrender and to serve. 

Personally, I care deeply about this topic because I believe in creating and forming alternative communities with alternative consciousness toward perpetual re-formation and renewal of humanity. My growing belief is that renewal and re-formation cannot happen without the innovative infusion of alternative communities originating from detached groups, from the periphery, or from the margin. I also have experienced enough unsettled frustration and dis-ease of the center defending the center without the validity of existence. My earnest prayer and hope are that we would witness more innovative structures that understand the signs of the times to contribute to and develop humanity’s consciousness toward God.

[1] This is a portion of the interview with U.S. News & World Report, July 26, 1989 (the interview focused on his book The Vindication of Tradition). Pelikan follows the above sentence. “Tradition lives in conversation with the past while remembering where we are and when we are and that it is we who have to decide. Traditionalism supposes that nothing should ever be done for the first time, so all that is needed to solve any problem is to arrive at the supposedly unanimous testimony of this homogenized tradition.”

FORMATION AND SERVICE

In thinking of the process of human development, the need for formation and service is a timeless truth. The words like renewal and expansion (the one I have often used in the past which I borrowed from Kenneth Scott Latourette), fulness and fulfillment (David Bryant’s language), or even being and doing portray how these two concepts are intricately related and thus cannot be separated. At the same time, we are human beings first which flows into human doings. As such, service and expansion need to be initially grounded in some form of significant formation or renewal. Then the relationship between formation and service becomes an upward spiral movement that feeds and bolsters deeper growth and maturity in both formation and service. 

One seminal article (actually talk) written by Henri Nouwen in Leadership Journal back in 1995 is titled, From Solitude to Community to Ministry. In it, Nouwen established how Jesus Established True Sequence for Spiritual Work.

This (Luke 6:12-19) is a beautiful story that moves from night to morning to afternoon. Jesus spent the night in solitude with God. In the morning, he gathered his apostles around him and formed community. In the afternoon, with his apostles, he went out and preached the Word and healed the sick.

Notice the order: from solitude to community to ministry. The night is for solitude; the morning for community; the afternoon for ministry.

As alluded to above, I echo Nouwen’s sequential order, moving from solitude to community to ministry. He calls solitude what I call formation. He calls ministry what I call service. Then there is the brilliant insight of community in the middle with which I resonate deeply. Community is the linkage between formation and service, and in community, more sound and profound formation happen, and more extensive and fruitful service happens. Here is Nouwen again, “It's remarkable that solitude always calls us to community. In solitude you realize you're part of a human family and that you want to lift something together.”

To jump off from last week’s blog entry, the discovery of the given self cannot be a solitary effort but can best be accessed through community and being in intimate relationships. We discover and know our best contributions and worst sins in communities which can serve as our teachers for further deepening and maturing. In community, we learn ourselves to be the greatest contradiction which can help us to exercise self-compassion which we then can extend compassion to others. This compassion in action toward others can be translated as a form of ministry, for example.

Then below is the first intro paragraph under Nouwen’s Ministry section. 

All the disciples of Jesus are called to ministry. Ministry is not, first of all, something that you do (although it calls you to do many things). Ministry is something that you have to trust. If you know you are the beloved, and if you keep forgiving those with whom you form community and celebrate their gifts, you cannot do other than minister.

If I read Nouwen right, ministry is “to trust” what we have been entrusted with, which can only be discovered in solitude and community. M. Robert Mulholland Jr. in his book, Invitation to a Journey: A Road Map for Spiritual Formation, defines spiritual formation as “a process of being formed in the image of God for the sake of others.” Mulholland succinctly captures what formation is in this brief and helpful definition: formation is being formed in the image of God. It is about reclaiming the original good news of all humanity being created in the image of God. This process is synonymous with the prayer and call to be in union with God as Jesus prayed in the garden of Gethsemane. 

As one would notice right away, “for the sake of others” is part of the spiritual formation process according to Mulholland. I do not mind service being part of formation’s definition because the concepts of being formed and serving others are clearly inseparable. Mulholland holds everything together. Thomas Merton also captured this very sentiment when he observed that silence and solitude are not only for the individual but for the sake of others through service, which is paradoxically true. Keeping in sight “for the sake of others” shields anyone from individualistic, privatized, and hermit-like pursuit of spirituality.  

Pursuing union with God if done right would naturally include both formation and service without any distinction as God as who God is and at the same time, a God who acts. To use slightly different or defining language, God is Love in God’s existential being and God is Love who acts in Love. God does who God is, Love. And God calls us to operate in the same way: become love, love God, love yourself, and love your neighbors!

The above painting by Rublev depicts the relational (read community) aspect of the Trinity which exists and serves one another in Love. (Here, I credit Richard Rohr’s The Divine Dance, which is a must-read.) Likewise, each of us is invited to the same table with the triune God in an intimate relationship through which formation and service take place.

HOW WE ARE FORMED

“My self is given to me far more than is formed by me.” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

For centuries, various streams of monastic traditions have tried to answer the questions of “how are we formed?” and “how are we to serve the world?” The need and relationship between formation and service are proven timeless truths, representing two sides of the same coin in intimacy and tension. The most vibrant faith communities and structures, including monastic traditions, have been the ones that have embraced both formation and service without sacrificing one for the other. 

If our formation is more about discovering who we already are because it is given to us (and I believe it is), then how we go about educating and training needs to reflect the discovery process. In other words, it is more about unlocking what is already there—the original gift of oneself. 

Sadly, and regrettably, the vast majority of learning overlooks and often ignores the discovery process of what is already given to each of us. The discovery is not without hard and intentional work. In short, the discovery process is about self-directed learning in direct contrast to teacher-directed learning. There are several key differences between the two types of learning. I would like to share two things that stand out to me.

Teacher-directed learning assumes that the learner is dependent on the teacher in what and how the learner should be taught. The teacher is the expert, and the learner, therefore, needs to submit to the teacher’s authority and expertise. Obviously, there is some merit in this type of learning especially in areas of high skills and expertise. While accounting for merit in certain contexts, teacher-directed learning often ignores the experiences of the learners. Experiences are experiences because they are subjective in nature. Everyone’s experiences are unique, and self-discovery learning takes advantage of the experiences and capitalizes on them. To be human is to experience. And to be spiritual is to experience. What is given to us (who we are) invariably over time will flow out into one’s life experiences because our Creator grants us clues (which is our life) to unlock and discover who we are. The thing that concerns me is that under teacher-directed learning, the teacher assumes that his or her experiences are more valid and more valuable than those of the learners. 

Secondly, self-directed learning assumes that learners are highly motivated by internal incentives and drives, including curiosity, life’s real problems, etc. (i.e. painting, cooking, peace-making, fixing homes, etc) whereas teacher-directed learning assumes and leans on external rewards and punishments. It was not until too long ago that I still dreamt that I had failed a class or two at UCLA and that my diploma had been revoked. It is a nightmare that is unfounded but perhaps shows how I have been conditioned by the external rewards system. The monumental motivational differences between the two kinds of learnings make anyone’s self-discovery learning complex and treacherous to navigate, I admit. I wish I can say I successfully rejected the dominant system of teacher-directed learning. I have had to compromise and navigate the learning journey to appease the system but at the same time took greater control over time and discipline to focus on what was mine to learn. The fact that the world system still runs on the external rewards system track is a modern merit-based predicament and a trap that does not help the discovery process of who we each are. Merit-based learning seriously undermines and even betrays the dignity of discovery-based learning and furthermore, the very dignity of each human being.

Thomas Merton wrote in favor of what he called “human training” (italicized are his) for the preparation of postulants. Merton valued the necessity of “human training” and wrote, “He is going to learn to go through normal human experiences and be aware of them and of himself with a certain amount of depth. He is going to learn to be alone with himself and with his thoughts. To sit still. To work at making something.” I would observe that though Merton used a different language, he was leaning on human experiences and embracing self-directed learning. 

Looking back, one of my finest periods of learning took place during my World Christian Foundations program at William Carey International University. The word foundations suggests that the content was broad and expansive, tracing the impact of the gospel in the context of global civilizations up to the present time. The part I enjoyed the most was the research paper writing projects. Having studied engineering during my bachelor’s degree days, writing research papers was foreign to me. During each semester, I was given a wide space to write a research paper of my interest and desire. I researched, compiled, and wrote papers of my liking and interests. The papers were my response to my then BIG questions stemming from my experiential context. As such, I remember what I have learned and value the self-directed learning process.

At the same time, what Merton penned as learning to be alone with himself and to sit still would be something that I would learn much later in my ministry years. Learning to be human includes my interests and questions, but it also goes fundamentally deeper than my desires and interests. If myself is given to me, then I have to be at home with myself. The movement from one’s “having to be” at home over time to “wanting to be” at home is an ideal picture of coming home to oneself. Being at home with myself is practicing self-love, not selfish love because it is ascribing value to the Giver. My worth is a gift to be unpacked and discovered, not something I can earn or formulate.

VISIO DIVINA | WHEAT FIELD WITH CYPRESSES

Vincent Van Gogh’s Wheat Field With Cypresses, July 1889

Years ago, my wife and I visited New York to see one of our generous longtime ministry partners. A part of our habitual side attractions was the draw to the art museum scene in NYC. During our visit to The MET (The Metropolitan Museum of Art), I must have liked the painting enough to capture it in my phone. It was not until this month (July) that a fuller meaning has risen in me. Sometimes you are drawn to things you don’t initially know why or how until later; you reap the benefit from the past curious impulse, however small they may have been. Timing (and our response to timing) seems to be a big part of living and living well. 

As Van Gogh voluntarily checked into a mental asylum at Saint-Rémy, over time he was given access to go outside the asylum for short walks and/or to paint. He painted this remarkable painting in July 1889. Contradictorily, Van Gogh was more stable and steadier during his time at Saint-Rémy, which produced Van Gogh’s best creative and most authentic Van Gogh-ish works. Van Gogh was a prolific painter during his time at the asylum, producing some 150 paintings during the span of a year. Only a year later (July 1890), he would die. 

This painting was one of Van Gogh’s favorite summertime paintings, which resulted in a series. Cypress trees were one of Van Gogh’s landscape favorites with perhaps the most notable cypress in The Starry Night, which dwarfs the town right next to the tree ascending into the heavens. He wrote a letter to his brother, Theo, capturing his sentiment regarding the cypresses. 

“The cypresses are always on my mind, I would like to do something with them like the sunflower paintings, because I am surprised that they have not yet been done as I see them. They are beautiful, in lines and proportions, like Egyptian obelisks. And the green is of such a distinguished quality.”

Back to Wheat Field with Cypresses. The sky takes up more than half of the entire painting. The sky featuring cumulus clouds as its main performer is expressive, full of movements, seemingly in intimate communication with the earth below. Where my eyes go next are the towering cypresses, reaching into the sky. I imagine Van Gogh imagined the cypresses as the bridge between the heavens and the earth. The next prominent portion of the painting is the wheat field, swaying and dancing in the gentle breeze (one could almost hear the wind caressing the wheat field) and contrasting in color from the sky and the cypresses. Then I notice the demure, easily overlooked, and almost forgotten wildflowers on the bottom of the painting. Lastly, I notice what looks like a small portion of the rock in the bottom middle of the painting.

I imagine Van Gogh standing on a contiguous rock surface painting, looking up almost vertically into the mountain, the cypresses, and the sky. I imagine him standing because he was so captivated by the sight that he would not take time to sit lest he loses his perspective. Besides, he probably would have been tired of sitting down from the asylum. “Standing on a rock” triggers several biblical exhortations, one of which is the image of the rock representing Jesus. I am standing on Jesus, looking up to the world, asking what I can do to serve the world. Because Van Gogh was looking up into the astounding scenery, he was able to capture both the grandeur of the sky and the magnificence of cypresses and the dainty wildflowers without losing sight of any. I sense an invitation arising: that I look up, put myself in a humble position (identifying and in solidarity with Jesus), and see the big and expansive picture but not miss the delicate details as life happens. Look up, see the big, and notice the small. 

As with others, I would like to get to the top to see the breathtaking panoramic view when I hike the mountains. The truth is when I get to the top, the view is indeed breathtaking, but I lose sight of the dainty wildflowers because I am looking down. This imagery is how I have and still occasionally like to operate in real life, being at the top, looking down. Thus, putting myself in a position of looking up requires some intentional work.

Noticing the beauties and gifts of small things in life is not something that comes to me naturally. This is something I have been working hard at. Learning to notice small things in life and to hear small inner voices must share the same origin of an intimate and gentle Father. I have not arrived, but slowing down and pausing decisively helps, even as Van Gogh also “paused” to draw the painting, taking every little thing in as life happens. 

There is an inner prompt that urges me to invite others to see the world as Van Gogh saw it. How we see can change the world we live in. How we see must precede how we engage and how we act. If we learn to look up, our action will be to serve the world. If we tend to look down, our action will be to dominate and control the world. 

TIMELESS PARABLES OF DIVINE REVELATIONS | PART 2

I used to skip over without much thought the story of Jesus going to the desert for 40 days. I realize now that the desert is not void of life. Quite the contrary. Desert is teeming with its own unique life. I would project that Jesus took time to sit, walk, observe, and learn from nature. Based on Jesus’ teachings and parables, it is not hard to conclude that he drew lots of images and lessons from nature. I wonder if the nature of desert taught Jesus some of God’s most hidden and profound revelations. Jesus’ words of “look at the birds of the air and consider the lilies of the field” capture and evoke ancient and eternal imaginations of how to live this life. Jesus’ usage of “trees, plants, animals, mustard seed, pearl, lamb, wolves, etc.” further evoke lessons drawn from nature and what could be assessed to benefit humanity’s consciousness and maturity.

Jesus grew up in the hills of Galilee and frequented the sea of Galilee. Jesus taught often in the mountains, in the hills, or near the water. Jesus often mingled with people in the countryside. Though Jesus participated in the creation of the natural world, the cosmos, (which the author of Genesis deemed as “very good”) Jesus also models how to observe and learn from the natural world. When Apostle John captures “for God so loved the world,” the purview of God’s love includes the entirety of God’s creation, not just humanity. It does not escape me to know that Jesus did not blitz through towns and regions in the latest and the most effective form of transportation device, but mainly walked and walked everywhere. 

It is true we can walk and not pay attention or pay too much attention, because too many things are grabbing our attention, especially in cities. Soren Kierkegaard’s aforementioned small book, The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air, is a gem.

 Therefore, in accordance with the instructions of the gospel, let us in earnest regard the lily and the bird as teachers. In earnest, for the gospel is not so intellectually pretentious as to be unable to make use of the lily and the bird; but neither is it so worldly that it is only capable of regarding the lily and the bird mournfully or with a smile. (15-16)

If we are humble enough, then perhaps we can regard the lily and the bird as teachers. If we also slow down enough to notice, then the lily and the bird will be our teachers. We can’t slow down unless we walk or sit and be still and be silent. Kierkegaard elaborates, “The bird keeps silent and waits; it knows, or rather it fully and firmly believes, that everything takes place at its appointed time.” (Italics are his.) He develops further, “Only by keeping silent does one encounter the moment. When one speaks, even if one says only a single word, one misses the moment. Only in silence is the moment.” (Italics are his.) 

Kierkegaard’s exhortation to “encounter the moment” in silence and waiting is one of the great lessons of the lily of the field and the bird of the air. Unfortunately, it is an exhortation that is largely forgotten or ignored by the “systems” of Christianity. We are so concerned with the future and assurances and certainties with the future that we somehow forgot to engage in what the present moment holds for us and can possibly teach us. The moment is divine because the Divine initiated and is present in it. The Divine does not normally force, pull strings, or hit us with a lightning rod, so we comprehend the moment. The Divine does it ever so gently and fleetingly if only we can walk, wait, sit, observe, and be silent.

TIMELESS PARABLES OF DIVINE REVELATIONS | PART 1

More and more, I see nature as a live theater that features potential parables of divine revelations. Here I am not positioning for a certain concern I have regarding the environment and stewarding what God has mandated us to steward. What I am positioning, however, is what nature can teach us, teach us how to live and live well. 

A connection is not lost between those who are avid walkers and nature lovers as Bruce H. Kirmmse observes in his translation of Soren Kierkegaard’s work, The Lily of the Field and the Bird of the Air. According to Kirmmse, Soren Kierkegaard and Henry David Thoreau were both avid walkers and thus were keen observers of nature and, might I add, what nature could teach humanity of God’s revelations. We can learn how to live life and live well based on what nature teaches us. "Do I want to live this life well?" I ask myself. "Then I need to walk," I answer myself. To walk with God who is “Three Mile an Hour God” (by Kosuke Koyama), we need to walk at that same pace to commune with God as three mile an hour is the speed of life as life happens. 

A few Christmases ago, my children gave me and my wife both Apple Watches. I am somewhat proud to say that I am enslaved to it. I did not think I would wear anything around my wrist as I normally do not want to be encumbered. The watch won me over, for I allowed it to control my health and exercise habits. I like the fact that I can track my progress over time and often see myself push to break my own records. I even like the feature of earning badges as a result of a perfect exercise week, etc. I had been walking before the watch but never regularly or in a disciplined manner. The watch provided enough motivation and childlike incentives to walk and walk every day, wherever I may be. What I did not expect was the accumulating benefit of not only exercising but an awakening ability to see and observe things, particularly nature, at my walking speed. I walk when I am in Pasadena. I walked when I was in Yangpyeong and Namhae. I walk when I am in Seoul. I walk with my wife, my daughter’s husky, and occasionally with friends. 

I noticed when I was away from the city vibes, including Pasadena, say in Yangpyeong, my daily walk was more of meditation than exercise. I noticed the subtle changes as the spring rolled forward and through the various weather changes. Below is a portion of my journal entry in Yangpyeong on May 4. 

The most surprising teacher of them all here at Yangpyeong has been nature unfolding and changing before us every day. What nature simply is is a wonderful teacher, the most existential and thus the most available kind. Nature resembles and reflects God’s nature and character. It does not overpower us with its messages, but it presents a continuous changeless changing message if one can see and listen. It does not “speak” to us audibly, but it might as well, because nature’s speakers are everywhere. The very fact that nature perfectly obeys in love and does not betray the here and now, the present, has been the most powerful teacher, which I had not expected. In silence, it speaks to me to live in the here and now. 

QUEST FOR WHOLEHEARTEDNESS | PART 2

Pursuing wholeheartedness requires “radical simplification” Whyte continued, as Whyte and Thomas Huebl held a conversation as The Poet and The Mystic. As I am on a quest toward wholeheartedness, I have started taking steps toward radical simplification. This process comprises discerning and deciding what really matters and radical letting go of what does not resonate with my pursuit of wholeheartedness. To put it positively, it is allowing others to pursue their wholeheartedness that is not mine to pursue. In a sense, there is a communal element to the wholeheartedness process. I can lean on others’ pursuit of their wholeheartedness and complement what I can bring to the table out of my wholeheartedness for a better and hopeful future. 

Taking stock of what I possess and do not possess is a good start, I am telling myself. We are in the process of purchasing a home for the first time in our life. My organization is partnering with Habitat for Humanity for us to own the house we have been living in since 1998. Until now, we have been paying rent (with generous subsidy) without much complaint. When I say “we,” we include Grace, myself, Hannah, and Jeremiah (Hannah’s husband). I had told myself I would not want to own a house, as Grace and I envision a freer lifestyle and ministry not bound by locations, systems, and possessions, including a home. Thus, we told Hannah and Jeremiah that they would eventually own the home we are purchasing and that we would “rent” from them when we are in the US, utilizing it as our US base. They are enthusiastic about the arrangement and want to support us above and beyond, so we can pursue our calling. 

What follows is our finances. The concept of radical simplification in a practical way includes a significant portion of how we steward our finances in this next phase of our life. We want to live simply and generously. I have seen and tasted how freeing it is to embrace simplicity and generosity. Yes, simplicity and generosity can co-exist in the same sentence. Freedom of simplicity is too great and attractive to compromise or let go. As Hannah and Jeremiah moved in to live with us, my wife recently packed away multiple kitchen wares in two big boxes and donated them to a local thrift store to make room for Hannah and Jeremiah’s kitchen wares. This is a small tangible step of letting go and inviting freedom. My wife is much freer in letting go than I am as I mull over letting go of dishes, plates, etc that I have been accustomed to using for many years. 

Then there is the death of a dream I once had. I had somehow drilled into my mind that I as a parent had to and wanted to maintain a base where our adult children can come back. I put it on myself that I had to provide a sense of stability and security for my children. Radical simplification pokes and exposes good-intentioned but “misguided” dreams I have. My good intentions may have imprisoned my children inadvertently had I pursued the dream. I am learning to let the dream go and make space for the children to pursue their own dreams, unattached to mine. 

Ultimately, radical simplification probes deeply what really matters to me now, stemming from my God-given self. My posture is that of consenting to God what God wills in my life and making way for God to do God’s work. It is akin to Mary who said a big “yes” to God and bore God’s son in her womb, paving the way for God’s incarnation to be fully expressed. My interior work and God’s incarnational work in me converge, create, and deliver a unique and divine gift for the world. I must believe pursuing who I am helps and heals the world.

QUEST FOR WHOLEHEARTEDNESS | PART 1

“The antidote for exhaustion is not rest. It is wholeheartedness,” David Whyte, a poet, shared as he reflected on the most significant turning point in his life.

I am on a relentless quest for wholeheartedness. And I KNOW this one matters. For most of my life, I pursued visions and projects based on external realities that were not largely congruent with my interiority. I force-fitted and convinced my true God-given self that the external realities were worth pursuing and giving my all to while often ignoring internal prompts and questions related to wholeheartedness. I had thought that obedience was what mattered, and my wholeheartedness did not matter much. I had reduced my faith and work to passive and comfortable assent to programs and slogans. God’s realities filtered through the so-called biblical worldview became somehow the absolute real over who I was. What I thought or questioned did not matter much because God and God’s glory were what mattered. The nagging interior questions naturally took a backseat but thankfully have not been thrown out of the car altogether. Little did I know at the time that the so-called biblical worldview was an interpreted worldview by some tradition or culture, which was squarely lodged in the U.S. evangelical box.

The concept of “priesthood of all believers” assumes a leveling effect of all “readers” and even further “interpreters.” When we read, we interpret. No one reads the Bible without interpreting, interpreting with our cultural and experiential lens. The unique lens describes who we are in all our blessings and limitations. God seems to be ok with that and even further invites us all to use our lens. The important admission and I would add maturity, is whether we are aware of the lens we are wearing. The unawareness does far more damage than “wrong” honest interpretation. Interpretation is not the problem, as we all interpret. 

The interpretative journey of mine took a significant turn when I discovered a massive hidden (hidden from me) well of the living water of broader contemplative traditions. The contemplative traditions cut across and embrace certain ecumenical traditions as well as elements in other religious traditions. While I would not declare that the contemplative traditions are the biblical worldview, (I don’t personally believe THE biblical worldview exists. The biblical worldview is that paradoxically it embraces many different cultural and religious traditions and encourages subversive transformation from within.) the most lucid benefit has been the growing discernment journey of what is real over what is illusionary. Additionally, contemplative traditions fight for wholeheartedness from within as well as the soul’s relationship with God and the world (people and the creation). It seeks radical harmony and fights for the betterment of all. If it is not good for me, it is neither good for God nor for the world. If it is not good for God, it is neither good for me nor the world. If it is not good for the world, it is neither good for God nor for me. 

AN IMPROBABLE WELL

Over the 4th of July weekend, my wife and I drove to Sunset Triangle for coffee, which we had not done in a long time. During my leadership years between 2012 to 2018, I frequented a neighborhood called Silver Lake in Los Angeles over countless weekends. The specific area my wife and I came to often is called Sunset Triangle Plaza, which sits on Sunset Blvd on the corner of Edgecliff Drive. It is a piece of triangular land that comprises a tiny park and a larger than usual pedestrian-only street. The area also features a small outdoor farmer’s market twice a week. The farmer’s market scene is the closest thing to the traditional market scene in Korea without the soul-tugging foods. Silverlake has witnessed significant gentrification since the late 1990s and is now called “the eastside,” cognizant of the more famous “sibling” westside area that is closer to the beaches. I have not counted but would guess that Silver Lake probably possesses more vegan restaurants and cafes than most neighborhoods in LA.

One of the reasons why I was attracted to this plaza was because it was so radically different from my immediate placid neighborhood in Pasadena. I did not mind the 15-mile drive over many weekends to visit a café. The one I visited often used to be called Night and Day, which has since closed. It resembled more of a tattoo parlor than a café. Night and Day was gritty and even grungy but had decent coffee. The most attractive feature of the café for me was the outdoor seating where I got to sip my Americano or Cold Brew and just sit and engage in people-watching. I would bring my books and spend hours alternating between the worlds of my book, reflection, and what my eyes were tracing. I do not recall which was more real, my reflection or the people I got to watch. Strangely, the times I spent there were therapeutic and refreshing enough that I came back again and again. 

Sunset Triangle Plaza is a microcosm of what LA is about. One can see all kinds of people of various ethnicities, genders, and wealth. It is quite a common sight to see homeless folks sitting or lying in the park and even mingling occasionally with the young and diverse affluent folks. As my wife and I sit in the same unadorned outdoor seating after years have gone by, I see a purple taco truck (go Lakers!), a seemingly popular brand-new vegan restaurant, and an always hopping Taiwanese restaurant right next to the café. I see a guy wearing a t-shirt that says, “Save the Bees” and observe a young proud father taking a picture of his son right in front of me with his mom watching, which brings me the gift of a smile. All the while, I notice the stark contrast of the trees that are struggling to transition to fuller green from brownish green due to extreme drought this season while the sky is impeccably blue. 

I am fond of this area mainly because I did some of the most grinding soul’s work here while soaking in the real and vibrant humanity right in front of me. It was the most unlikely and improbable well for my soul’s thirst and nourishment during my dark valley days. While I wish I can say I saw each person as full and glorious God’s image-bearers, my soul was generous and expansive enough to extend tacit blessings without judgment, especially to those who seemed very different from me. I suppose as I was learning to be self-compassionate, I would like to believe that self-compassion led to compassion for others. In some ways, the last thing I wanted to do was to pick an imaginary fight with the rest of humanity. I knew my soul would suffer more and thus lose every single time. . . 

While my eyes alternated between watching the surrounding scene in front of me and reading David Whyte’s poems, my eyes locked in on the poem called The Well. (I won’t quote everything here but two portions.) The beginning stanza opens,

Be thankful now for having arrived,
for the sense of having drunk from a well,
for remembering the long drought
that preceded your arrival and the years
walking in a desert landscape of surfaces
looking for a spring hidden from you so long
that even wanting to find it now had gone
from your mind until you only remembered
the hard pilgrimage that brought you here,
the thirst that caught in your throat;
the taste of a world just-missed
and the dry throat that came from a love
you remembered but had never fully wanted
for yourself, until finally after years making
the long trek to get here it was as if your whole
achievement had become nothing but thirst itself.

The phrases “a spring hidden from you so long” and “hard pilgrimage” immediately caught my imagination. It is here at this café that I found a hidden spring for my soul. The café became a spring when I first discovered Richard Rohr’s writings. The first book I read by him was The Enneagram: A Christian Perspective. I was hooked by both Rohr’s style and content as well as the Enneagram wisdom and tradition. From Rohr, I migrated over to Merton and countless other saints and spiritual teachers, both contemporary and historical, mostly from the wider ecumenical tradition. It all started here at Sunset Triangle, the most unlikely and unassuming place for a spring well.

“If your whole achievement had become nothing but thirst itself” was difficult to accept and swallow at the time. The crown of achievement culminated in making the long trek without quitting and accepting and experiencing thirst. Desperation had become the crown of my achievement. So ironic and yet true. Now my experience of deep thirst can be shared as a thirst-quenching well without disrupting others’ own sacred journey of experiencing thirst alone. Then the last stanza. . . 

No, the miracle had already happened
when you stood up, shook off the dust
and walked along the road from the well,
out of the desert toward the mountain,
as if already home again, as if you deserved
what you loved all along, as if just
remembering the taste of that clear cool
spring could lift up your face and set you free.

I find myself walking along the road from the well out of the desert toward the mountain “as if already home again and as if you deserved what you loved all along” and “set you free.” I resonate with the poetic justice of deserving what I loved all along which to me was to be free. This is a very personal reading of these last verses, of course. I am grateful for having drunk from a well that has a clear physical attachment to it. Today, sitting and sipping cold brew, quenching my thirst, at the familiar Sunset Triangle “well” gave me an unexpected opportunity to look back on the road I traversed and to look forward to the mountain road ahead of me. 

LOVE, LOSS, GRIEF, AND HOPE

Increasingly, I see my life as a cycle of love, loss, grief, and hope. Then repeat. It is not the fatalistic “I am stuck” kind but a generous and invitational kind that allows me to expand and grow as a human being. Ultimately, growing and maturing in perfect love is what God may be after. 

Leaving a community of friends in Korea was sad and difficult this June, more than I admitted at the time. In recent years, we have rekindled love and deep life connections with them. There is mutual love and respect expressed through vulnerability, hospitality, and encouragement. It was a loss at the time which transitioned into grief. My natural tendency is not to dwell in the land of grief but to quickly trigger my mind to the next exciting and encouraging event in my life, which I did this time again. Sure enough, I had Hannah’s wedding on my mind, the first among our four adult children. Even then, I KNEW I did not grieve properly. I did not see it as a loss. I told myself that I would see them again, so I did not allow myself to fully experience loss and grief. 

A week after we came back to the US, I went to a gathering of friends. I affectionately call them “anam cara," meaning soul friend in Celtic. These are friends I have known for close to 40 years. The friendship began when we were all attending the same church college group in Los Angeles. Some married within the group (including yours truly) while some married out and grafted their spouses into the gatherings over the years. I remember back in 2001, precisely on the infamous 9/11, we (some 70 of us including our children) were together for a reunion gathering up in the local mountain retreat site. Though we are now all dispersed and scattered beyond one church and So Cal location, we have kept in touch and have grown in our friendship and love. What privilege and blessing this is! 

At the friends gathering, we took turns sharing and updating our lives, followed by prayers and blessings. We do not compromise on food, so we also made sure to share a sumptuous feast, thanks to the hosts.  I left at night feeling a sense of loss followed by grief. The truth is I would not feel the loss if the situation and relationships are not founded on love. It is precisely because I love that I feel the loss even more. When I admit feeling loss, grief enters in. The invitation then is to open the door of my heart and welcome grief as a guest. 

A few years ago, my oldest daughter Elizabeth, Grace, and I were enjoying lunch at one of our favorite local Mediterranean cafés nearby our house. I distinctively remember that Elizabeth asked us whether she could move to Minnesota in order to “spread her wings and learn to fly.” After a short thoughtful and grace-filled conversation, we blessed her and her desire. She knew and we knew that she was not asking for permission, but blessing. What she did, though, honored us deeply. Months later, she packed up her stuff and left for Minnesota. She was very mindful about visiting the rest of the family back in Pasadena. She even worked from Pasadena for a few months during the height of COVID lockdown season, avoiding the dreary winter in Minnesota. Thus, in some ways, I did not feel the loss as much. Until this time. . . She took a weeklong vacation to help with and to be in Hannah’s wedding as the maid-of-honor. Understandably, the week flew by. She was here one day and gone the next. I cling to a memory of the street taco run with Elizabeth and Hannah a few nights before the wedding. (Angelenos, check out the Angel’s Tijuana Tacos if you haven’t already!) My heart warmed as I watched Elizabeth joyously supporting and performing labors of love for her sister and the wedding. I cherish the conversations to-and-from the hopelessly congested LAX. The loss is real this time, which has migrated over to grief. I am giving myself permission and freedom to grieve. 

Did I tell you Elizabeth has a Chihuahua dog called Remy, named after the leading character in the movie Ratatouille? Remy is a star and has more Instagram followers than I do. Over the recent years when Elizabeth came to visit us, she would bring Remy. Remy and I became best buddies. He is a cuddly lap dog who loves to sit on someone’s lap all day long if you let him. He is also a dog with a thousand facial expressions. He cracks me up and everyone around him and yes, I laugh at him. It is quite common to hear someone(s) bust out laughing WAHAHAHA or sigh AWWW throughout the day. Remy visited for a week for Hannah’s wedding. I experienced loss when Remy left as I noticed my lap was barren. What followed was a sense of grief. I know I cannot and should not “hold on” to Remy because I do not want to experience loss. Good loss can be experienced when acknowledging and not wanting to control ownership or demand status quo.

Hope is not the opposite of grief. Denial is. I am learning not to deny. I am learning to invite the feelings of loss and grief as welcomed guests in my heart. Hope can function as an antidote for grief over time, but only when there has been a proper process of grieving. Without dwelling in grief, hope never arrives. Even if it does, it remains shallow. The authors and poets of the Bible notch grief up even higher to a level of lament. God fully expects and invites us to grieve and lament. Grief allows and paves the way through a doorway of healing for a full flowering hope to arrive as barren winter patiently awaits the burgeoning life of spring. I feel I am at the cusp of tasting hope yet again. Hope, in this season, is a continuation of deepening intimacy and fellowship of life with family and friends amid natural normal disruptions as well as difficult seasons of life. In short, hope is community I can do life with. Hope is founded on the realization that I cannot do this life alone. (This rings so true now I am getting teary-eyed.) Hope is spring coming, infusing a vision of the vibrancy of life and exquisite enjoyment of life in love. Hope is the expectation of love blossoming all over again. Hope of a spring serves as a precursor to nature’s full blossoming of summer of love. 

SUMMER: ABUNDANCE OVER SCARCITY

We in the Northern Hemisphere have officially entered summer with the summer solstice on June 21. As we welcome summer, my body remembers the dry heat, flip-flops (which I wear all throughout the year), and a few hot sleepless nights as I spent most summers in Southern California. One thing I do not miss is the humid sticky summer in Korea or any other place where stickiness and irritability rule the day. Hot I can handle as long as it is dry, but humidity is a beast I have yet to conquer. One of our family traditions for many years over summer was to spend a weeklong vacation in a scorching hot dry desert in Palm Springs, California. The punishing heat was ideal for play in the pool and for a natural outdoor dry sauna (which was my fav), especially if you crawl and hole yourself in air-conditioned hotels or time-share condos. So, we would go from the pool to the room to a 2-dollar movie theater and repeat. We smelled like whatever brand sun block lotion we put on throughout the entire week. The temperatures fluctuated from balmy 110s to occasional sizzling 120s. 

I took my family to Palm Springs one summer when our children were all less than 10 years old almost as an experiment. I thought we would try Palm Springs and see. We had hit the beaches up and down the So. Cal coastline, explored the city vibes like San Francisco, San Diego, and of course, Los Angeles, hiked the mountains, took countless road trips to national parks, and braved the amusement parks. As much as we enjoyed all of the above, we discovered that we all loved the hot summer desert experience. Perhaps it was the desert mirage that got us hypnotized and we just did not know it. So, we kept going back and every time we went back, we took a few other innocent victims (I mean other families) along with us. In a few years, our humble tradition grew to more than 60 people from our community in Pasadena. It became a communal tradition every single summer. 

Parker Palmer’s insight on summer is worth pondering and well noted. “Summer’s keynote is the victory of abundance over scarcity, and nature shows us how that victory can be achieved.” I remember the abundance of relationships, fellowships, food, and simple sweet times during our annual Palm Springs “feast.” I was a happy uncle to some 30 kids from ages 2 to 18. I was a safe father/“lifeguard on duty” to teach kids how to play safely in the water, even though I did not know how to swim. I was an innocent kid at heart playing with other kids who would play catch, torpedoes, and Marco Polo in the pool. And then there were the generous potluck dinners every night in one designated condo unit where we would bring all our BBQ, main dishes, salads, fruits, desserts, and drinks. The room was filled with the aroma of the potluck dishes blended with the smells of various sun block lotions and aloe vera lotions. We would showcase our daily tan progress to one another. Invariably, we would have one or two who got burned in our midst. Every dinner was a party. 

While the desert summer seems to perpetuate scarcity, regions that experience all four seasons can surely appreciate going from scarcity to abundance in nature. Unfortunately, I live in Southern California where the weather is pretty constant, mild, and simply blah for some people. This is one reason why others choose to live in So. Cal. including yours truly. If it is not 75 degrees outside and sunny, it is either too cool, too warm, and not perfect. At the same time, I do miss the four distinct seasons as I remember my growing years in Korea. 

Parker’s insight deepens. “Here is a summertime truth: abundance is a communal act, the joint creation of an incredibly complex ecology in which each part functions on behalf of the whole and, in return, is sustained by the whole. Community not only creates abundance—community IS abundance. If we could learn that equation from the world of nature, the human world might be transformed.” While the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, the whole sustains each part to function and flourish. Palm Springs reminds me of the wonder and experience of the abundance of family and community. I can go as far as to say that community WAS abundance for all who participated in the almost lunatic behavior of embracing the sizzling temperatures in Palm Springs. The last line of Parker is a gentle charge and challenge for all who desire to experience and witness the transformation of humanity.

THE MONK AND THE ARTIST

Soon after we came back to the US, someone introduced this poem in a group spiritual direction session, and I ended up sharing my reflection. Below is the poem followed by my reflection.   

The Monk tends the edges

And graces the borders of the in-between

He sees the hidden worlds between worlds

Walks in the shadowy lands

Amid awake and asleep

The Artist lifts the veils

And reveals beauty that would go unseen

She sees inside the creases and crevices

Unfolds the color of flowers

Puts scent on canvas

Together they play

Dancing on the narrow edge

Of time

That is NOW

They greet the present moment

Brushing past each other

Sharing secrets

Deb Swingholm, The Artist’s Rule: nurturing your creative soul with monastic wisdom

The first two lines grabbed me as I identify immediately with “the monk” tending the edges and gracing the liminal space. I see myself standing and living on the edge of the inside, thus, identifying with the monk. Inside is where the proven normality lies. Nothing wrong with what is normal and accepted, but I have known for long that that is not for me. At the same time, I am not so far out that I cannot identify with the inside, precisely because I have operated from the inside and know what it is like to be inside. There is a good tradition as much as a tradition that is unhelpful or just simply burdensome and not useful at all. I am quite happy to reside in a liminal space, almost to the point of associating being on the edges as my calling. The good tradition unlocks and empowers the freedom within, I would submit. The bad tradition enslaves and judges, violating the freedom within. 

I, as a monk, have “walked the shadowy lands” where light and darkness co-exist. I have also “seen the hidden worlds between worlds.” Shadow and darkness are not to be avoided like some sort of plague, but to be embraced as part of life’s sweet aloneness journey to discover what we are made for. It is hidden, because it is far from the center grid, and even when some people may see it, it is often ignored. Sometimes, a great paradoxical mystery is that the hidden invisible worlds are more real than the manufactured actual visible worlds. While it takes seeing to live, the invitation is to live out what we are seeing. That is what faith is. 

Then appears The Artist. The colors and scents reminded me of our time in Yangpyeong, almost to the point of a tender ache in my heart. It is a longing ache because this section of the poem encapsulates what I experienced through the Artist’s unveiling and revealing. I have seen the captivating beauty of nature and the goodness of human hearts I would not have seen or what would have gone unseen. I have experienced deep longings of the heart and slow lingerings that unveiled the gift of now. I dearly miss the morning walks flanked by the river and the rice fields and random chance encounters of God’s daily surprises or God’s treasure hunt as my wife would say. Thanks to the Artist who lifted the veils so I could see and experience. The combination of the Artist lifting the veils and my unhurriedness allowed me to see creases and crevices of wonder and beauty. The wonder was the beauty seen, or in my case, finally seen. And the invitation for many more. . . I witnessed the beauty, the beauty of The Artist, the beauty of The Artist’s creation, and the anticipating beauty of what is to come through The Artist’s work. 

I love the expressions of “together they play,” “dancing NOW,” “greeting the present moment,” and my favorite line in this poem, “brushing past each other.” I am reminded of Rumi’s line, “We rarely hear the inward music, but we’re all dancing to it nevertheless.” My dance which is uniquely mine, because of its inward music infused with the dance in the NOW (which is none other than God) is the dream dance of divine and human partnership in the context of the present moment. 

This playful freedom invigorates and energizes the soul within. Without freedom, the soul never fully flourishes. In fact, the soul shrinks and shrivels beyond recognition without freedom. The monk and the Artist playfully collaborate and create something only that this pair of humanity and divinity could create. This joint creative process is a playful work and a work of play. And if it is done right, it opens a door for others to join in the unleashing of creative play. As I shared during the session, the phrase, “playful holy ground” when referring to my experience at Yangpyeong was uttered out of my soul. Thus, “brushing past each other” becomes the secret that only the monk and the Artist share and cherish. Perhaps, in the end, it is not merely the beauty of The Artist’s creation, but an unrepeatably unique beauty flowing out of collaborative endeavor between the monk that I am, and the Artist God is. 

A BRAND NEW SUIT

My wife and I have been shopping for a brand-new suit for me. I cannot remember the last time I purchased one. I hold a pretty vivid memory of wearing a suit and tie every Sunday for church in the early 1980s. Times certainly have changed, further compounded by COVID. It was not long ago that Nordstrom Rack had a pretty big selection of men’s suits. One can understand my small shock that where the suits once were there were socks, undershirts, and underwears. The suit section shrank to only three racks and was pushed aside to a corner. Oh well, whatever. Someone told us to try Macy’s. We had better luck there. After trying on more than a dozen different kinds of suits (from skinny, to slim, to modern, and to classic fits), I chose a dark blue modern-fit jacket and pants. It is clever marketing to name “classic” to mean something other than skinny and slim, I mused. And what in the world does “modern” mean? Am I not a modern man? Again, whatever. .

The special occasion is none other than my second daughter’s wedding which is 5 days out. Surprisingly, I am holding myself very well, knowing I am about to “send off” my princess. I vividly remember listening to Bob Carlisle’s "Butterfly Kisses" in a random parking lot in Chicago when my princesses were barely 5- and 2-year olds. I promptly broke down in a full burst of uncontrollable tears, anticipating “losing” the girls to some random guys. I still cannot listen to the song without tearing up. . .

Predictably, when Hannah’s fiancé, Jeremiah, came to ask if he can date her a couple of years ago, I knew I was protective of my daughter. While I admired the courage of Jeremiah to come and ask, I also knew I would not want to be in his shoe, knowing how lukewarm I was to him. I can tell this story now because Jeremiah won me over with his love and dedication to my daughter, and I have seen how good he is to Hannah. Jeremiah is a solid man of God who loves God. I am very proud of welcoming him into the family. They look great together. I’ve been impressed with how they communicate with each other, in big and small matters. What more do I want as a father of the bride? I am ready to hand my daughter’s hand over to Jeremiah. 

Love is letting go and releasing someone to be who they are, who they are born to be and do. I would never dare to control Hannah or Jeremiah, but to be fully who they are meant to be. Love is also bearing burdens. Looking at my own life, they will go through different shapes and sizes of challenges and difficulties. While not controlling or being possessive, I as a parent will continue to bear and/or share burdens with them and their future. Love is cheering, cheering for shared joys and accomplishments. I know I will cheer for my first grandchild and their many other “first fruits” as a couple and family. I will cheer for them to simply continue to journey and to be faithful to the process of life, which is the same as being faithful to God. Love is hovering around like a “guardian angel” to protect and guide anonymously and secretly, and not as a helicopter parent, waiting to pounce and punish. I realize that these are all tangible qualities I have experienced of God as a parent in relating to my own life. As who God has been in my life, I merely want to replicate being a small god to Hannah and Jeremiah. 

I was leafing through Hannah’s baby and childhood album, savoring, and celebrating her life from a tiny baby in my arms, minutes after her birth, to a girl who is now taller than me (though I may continue to deny it, as I try to stretch myself standing next to Hannah). She is taller than me figuratively too because she is so mature and knows herself so deeply compared to when I was her age. She has all the tools to make life worthy and meaningful together with Jeremiah. 

There is no telling how I will be walking down the aisle with Hannah as I have not gone on this road before. I might be fighting back my tears, which would not be bad. But then, I might lose all my bearings and break down and crumple down on the floor. This is not whatever. I gotta get my bearings, I am telling myself, at least not until the wedding is over. . .

All the precious time
Like the wind, the years go by.
Precious butterfly.
Spread your wings and fly.

She'll change her name today.
She'll make a promise and I'll give her away.
Standing in the bride-room just staring at her.

She asked me what I'm thinking and I said
"I'm not sure-I just feel like I'm losing my baby girl."
She leaned over
Gave me butterfly kisses with her mama there
Sticking little white flowers all up in her hair
"Walk me down the aisle, Daddy-it's just about time."
"Does my wedding gown look pretty, Daddy? Daddy, don't cry"
Oh, with all that I've done wrong I must have done something right.
To deserve her love every morning and butterfly kisses
I couldn't ask God for more, man this is what love is.
I know I gotta let her go, but I'll always remember
Every hug in the morning and butterfly kisses...