Lead, Kindly Light

God’s beauty, reflected through nature…

some pix I took this weekend while wandering around town.

Thanks to Ling for the inspiration!

One of my friends switched her facebook profile picture today – the new photo gives us a glimpse of what a cute little girl she was when she was maybe four. In the picture, she’s wearing tights – white tights, with some sort of pattern on them. They remind me of white tights I used to have when I was her age – they had little pink hearts all over them.

Even now, I shudder a little inside, to think that I used to wear those tights – that my little legs were encased in… little hearts. Little pink hearts. I hate wearing hearts, to this day. And I think to myself, why did my mom make me wear little pink hearts on my tights? Sigh. Doubtless she thought it was adorable. Blechh.

(pause)

But then I think to myself – a mother who loved her little girl dressed her precious child in tights with…little…pink… hearts. Out of love. My mother loved me, and took care of me–in so many ways, some of which I’m only now beginning to realize and appreciate. And my mom still loves me – and shows it with abundant outpouring – she calls me to just to say hello, pays ridiculous postage to send me dried strawberries and dried pears and the Korean white rice that I like and osmanthus tea, and writes me letters to tell me about her day, and prays for me every day from morning until night, and encourages me and supports me in my dreams, and releases me to God enough to let me run after them.

And as an adult, I may disagree with some of her approaches to things from time to time, and I may get restless under the occasional nagging (although–to be honest–my mom is really great about not nagging too much), but in the end, it’s undeniable – she loves me, quite possibly more than anyone on this earth ever will or could.

So… really. So what about the little pink hearts. I should have worn them with pride. I should have worn them with gratitude. So today – many years later – as I revisit the memory in my mind, I do.

[2d printing]

Especially now that classes are officially over (my last class EVER ended yesterday at 6:30pm!), many people have disappeared and are holed up in some favorite study carrel in the library or frantically locked up in their room with books and commercial outlines. We’ll remain squirreled away like hermits for about a week…but then everything will happen very quickly from there on out.

We will study hard, tap away furiously during our three- and eight-hour exams, and then step into the sunshine one day in early May to suddenly find ourselves with a bunch of free time that we don’t know what to do with. School will be officially over. Just as we get comfortable with having time, the bar studies will hit and we’ll go back into study mode for a couple months, and in the meantime, people will trickle away to whatever ends of the earth to which their next jobs are taking them, and then…

A new chapter will begin. We’ll be at the next page turn.

For my part, I’ve long understood and realized that I don’t very much like certain kinds of change. Granted, my favorite seasons are fall and spring–both of which epitomize the word “change”–but I have trouble with other kinds of change. Especially those that involve saying goodbye and entering new spaces full of risk and mystery. I may not always be satisfied with my current state in life, but at least it is safe.

In contrast, when I turn the corner in five months, I’m not sure what I’ll find. I have a vague and fuzzy idea, but quality of life resides in nuances, and I don’t know what shape those nuances will take. It could be surprisingly good – or devastatingly horrible. In all likelihood reality will end up being somewhere in the middle, and vascillate unsteadily toward either end from time to time. But for now–the mere fact of not knowing drives me crazy. And it inspires some degree of fear.

It doesn’t, of course, paralyze me – I’ll leave this place with a degree in my hand and many fond memories in my heart, and I’ll keep moving forward, because that’s what I’ve been called to do. At the same time, though, from time to time I pause and hesitate. And I get nervous about the world I’m stepping toward.

One thing that has (surprisingly) brought me a lot of comfort in the past few days, though, is a renewed sense of purpose, and drive to make that purpose come alive. After a bit of hunting online, I found an application for a volunteer program in the City’s Corrections Department. I’ll need to make some phone calls and see what sorts of opportunities are available, but even knowing that I’m getting closer to my goal rejuvenates my spirit and shoves aside some of the fear.

A note in the way of background… this semester, I was inspired by a classmate of mine – an expert statistician named Dan. We worked together on a semester-long project (that I despised), and after taking care of business at our meetings, we found ourselves shooting the breeze from time to time. During one of those conversations, I discovered that Dan’s been teaching at a local jail here for ten years, ever since he was a freshman in college. Every Wednesday, he goes to the jail to teach everything from math to art to science to … whatever. And through that work, he has had a chance to build relationships with inmates, contribute to their lives, and even see some of them turn their lives around upon their release from jail. Incredible and awesome.

I’d done some work in jails before, but only as a library volunteer or as an attorney – both of which are very different roles than the one that Dan plays. And I especially find a lot of value in the fact that he goes every week – that block of service is built into his schedule just as regularly as Bible study and church are built into mine. And though Dan is not religious, I think that as a Christian, it would be a good spiritual discipline to be so engaged in service too.

This prospect of working in a jail especially excites me because in about six months, I’m going to start work at a corporate law firm. My office will be somewhere in the top third of one of the tallest skyscrapers in the City, far above the troubles and miseries that attend so many lives on that overly-populated island of consumerism and opulence. And yes, I will (God willing) get to do pro bono work–but serving the poor and marginalized from my pristine and posh office tower is so different from going to the place where they are and interacting with them, face to face.

That was one of the hugest things that I learned from my defense work this year … it’s one thing to talk about criminal defendants from a biopolitical perspective – “oh yes, 95 percent of criminals are this-and-this-and-that, and have such-and-such problems, and are bad and hopeless people because of x, y, and z.” It’s another thing entirely to visit them in their homes, to interact with their children, to meet their parents, to speak with their employers. To discover that they are people.

Having learned that lesson well, I want to find and engage in that same sort of on-the-ground experience in the City. I’ve been there enough summers and weekends to know that it’s a fabulously fun place to be. But I really want purpose when I’m there. The whole time that I’m there. It’s not enough for me to say that my ministry will begin when I switch out of corporate law and to do something else. That will be years from now. The service has to start now, because if it doesn’t – I might spend my whole life saying, “after _____, then my life will begin.” And one day, my life will be over and I won’t have accomplished much at all.

My dream is to find a women’s prison ward where I can teach or otherwise engage in work of a rehabilitative nature. And I want to do three things while I’m there.

First, as much as God lets these sinful pairs of hands and feet do so, I want to bring the love of Jesus behind the prison walls. It’s one thing to pray for social justice in some abstract sense from the cushy confines of my apartment. It’s another thing to read the newspaper and pray for people that I read about – victims and perpetrators alike. It’s yet another thing to sit at the counsel’s table and pray over the people I see pass through a courtroom. And it’s another thing entirely to actually go to a prison and, even for an hour or two a week, dwell among prisoners in their space, and love them.

After all, prison is a place where love doesn’t often go. Love likes to enter hospitals and dwell with patients facing medical misery; love likes to enter schools and dwell with impressionable school children who hold hope and promise for the future; love even sometimes likes to go to nursing homes to tend to people in the eves of their lives. But… prison? And that’s why I want to go.

Second, I want to build relationships with the women I meet, and have earned credibility to share the Gospel with them. I want to show them that my freedom in Jesus is what drives me to visit them, and that He gives me a heart that desires to love them. On my own strength, it’s impossible. I was born with a stern and stubborn heart; only God has had the power to bring compassion into it. I want to share that, and hopefully God will do His thing and meet them where they’re at.

Third, I think I need this experience in seeing people as they truly are – as beloved creations who are created in the image of God. It’s easy to look at a newborn baby or a cute little kid and see the image of God. It’s easy to look at a stunning beauty or a handsome gentleman and see the image of God. It’s not so easy to look at a sinner who’s hurt other people [but whom among us has not?] and broken laws [whom among us have not broken God's laws?] and still see God’s face and His heart for them.

I’ve written all this out because I don’t want to forget it. It’s possible (though not all that likely) that I’ll go to sleep now, wake up, and feel less inspired. Or that I’ll start work and get too busy and be too tired. Or whatever. Whatever shape the “whatever” might take in the future, I can’t let it win. This is too important. So I’m writing this and sharing it to hold myself accountable – and so that you can hold me accountable, and pray for me – because I’ll need it.

Just one last thing. Having discussed this all in more detail, I’m realizing that at least in semi-significant part, I want to do this ministry for me, too. I want the humility that this will inspire, I want the dependence on God that it will require, and I need to be reminded that there but for the grace of God go I.

Say won’t You say
Say that You love me
with love, ever, love, love everlasting?
All my devotion put into motion by You

Every morning I
have a chance to rise and give my all
but every afternoon I find I have only wasted time
In light of Your awe
Isn’t love amazing, I forgot how to speak
knowing You are near and I am finally free
My eyes fear to close
this reckless letting go is hard to bear
on the edge of all I need, still I cling to what I see
and what have I there?
Bred my own disaster, who have I to blame?
When all I need is waiting to be fanned to flame

I opened up my eyes to see You standing there
Oh I can barely breathe, and I can hardly bear
All the love that I feel for You inside
I hope You feel it now, some, somehow

~ listen to it here

I’ve been feeling more than a little nostalgic this week, though I don’t know why.

Yesterday as I walked into the little town to the west to get a dress altered, I passed a man on the sidewalk. He was maybe 35 or 40, had long and scraggly dirty blonde hair. He wore a faded denim jacket, nondescript jeans, and in general looked like a poster child for the 1980s. He smoked a cigarette, and I caught a whiff of it as I strode past him. It was a sunny day, uncommonly warm, and the air was still. The combination of the cigarette smell, the bright sunshine, and general warmth made my mind zip back to my visits to Taipei as a child. And for maybe two more blocks after that, I felt like I was back in Taiwan, visiting my grandparents with my mom, and living that life, there.

* * *

As I walked back from the seamstress’s shop, I listened to my ipod and some Jay Chou songs played – the ones from the old set, the first huge set I received last April from my guy friend who says, “Jay Chou makes me believe in love.” Every song carries a memory.

Ju Hua Tai – this is one of the first Jay songs that I loved. And I loved it even more when two of my friends surprised me with their own recording of it… they had stayed up until six in the morning to finish it so they could present it to me the following evening. I first listened to their rendition on the bus as we all made our way back from a birthday party. How things have changed since then. The song is bittersweet; it reminds me of the great friendship we all once shared, but it also makes me remember that things won’t ever be the same again – perhaps one day their pieces will get mended back together, but for now, I only have that song to bring the two together again.

Lang Man Shou Ji – this song reminds me of the summer, when I used to get up in the morning and walk down the sunny and semi-crowded sidewalks of Greenwich Village to go to the gym. Down some floors, past the guy cleaning the windows on the door, turn right and past the flower shop and the corner bodega, padding over portions of freshly-hosed sidewalk, past the fire department, turning at the little park, and over to Mercer Street. Those were (mostly) easy days, with plenty of time for thinking.

Mai Ya Tang – the first Jay song I fell in love with, this reminds me of my trip to China. And it reminds me of all the friends with whom I went to China… I listen to it, and the China video plays before my eyes – the Great Wall, the Olympics sites, the hutongs, Hebei and those darling children of migrant workers, climbing Huashan, a lot of adventure packed into nine short days.

Jian Dan Ai – this is the first song I ever learned the Chinese lyrics for. It reminds me of that day that Stan met with me after I finished shopping in Union Square. I went with him to Brooks Brothers to check out the dress shirts, and he taught me how to identify the unique trademark of all BB shirts, visible on the cuff. We went to some random restaurant in the Village just because it reminded him of Hawaii, and we later went to sing karaoke with other friends. In fact, we went to four different karaoke places, looking for a place that had this precise song… and then, of course, we had to sing it together. It also reminds me of giraffes that eat ice cream. And how jian dan ai doesn’t really exist.

Er Shi Er – this David Tao song is laidback in melody but deeply philosophical. It reminds me of hot and sunny days in New York City, busy workdays, and some emotionally chaotic evenings and weekends. I listened to this song a lot while working long hours at the office, and after work as I tried to sort through a host of messy feelings and cope with what, certainly at the time and sometimes even now, I felt was a devastating loss. Ren sheng ou er hui zou shang yi tiao mo lu / Xiang shi mei you shi biao de di tu / Bie rang ta men shuo ni gai zhi zu / Zhi you ni zhi dao shen me shi ni de xing fu – In life you may unexpectedly come on an unfamiliar road / Like a map without a key / Don’t let them tell you you should be happy with what you have /Only you know what happiness is for you.

Hua Tian Cuo – oh, Lee Hom. Such a handsome face, such a great voice, so much talent. This song reminds me of happy times in the City – walking to Union Square or up Lexington all the way into Midtown. It also reminds me of riding the bus from church with TY – the two of us shared headphones and lip-synced our way through this song. Listen to my erhu…

* * *

And tonight, as I sat here by myself, working on my final thesis, I realized that as of today, I am finished with law school classes. I’m done with classes forever. This is such a strange feeling; it hasn’t really hit me yet. And maybe it was the solitude that made me reminiscent, or maybe it was the fact that so many people are out of town this weekend and my roommate still hadn’t come home by midnight – but… for the first time in months, I felt lonely again. And I began to miss people who haven’t even left me yet. I miss them because they’re almost gone, though. Just another two weeks and this place is going to empty out, and a new chapter of life is going to begin. I really don’t like change, especially this kind of change. I love my friends too much; they have become so much a part of my life here, and in so many ways, they are family. And how do you say farewell to family?

I played “I Believe” (Shin Seung Hun) on the piano today. It didn’t sound as good as I last remembered.

Maybe the piano is more out of tune, now that the weather is changing. Or maybe I’m really moving on.

When I passed by the investment bank where he used to work, simply by chance last Friday, I remembered meeting him there for Shakespeare in the Park on a Wednesday last June. After about two seconds of hesitation, I swatted away the mental pings of doubt, and reached into my purse for my phone, and called him. Then, walking to lunch from a seminar in Chelsea on Saturday, I walked past Bombay Talkie where we ate on the second floor and the Blockbuster video store where we got “Blood Diamond” on a rainy evening after work. I think that had been the day when he first realized things were getting serious – and that that was impossible.

Later on Saturday, I glanced down the street toward the higher-numbered avenues and could see his condo by the water. That whole neighborhood was once familiar to me. I scheduled a Sunday dinner. It certainly wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

I did it because I wanted to, and the “wanted to” was strong enough to become a “had to.” But now that I’m back from dinner, I’m not sure what exactly I think about what. Hard to believe, but it has been over nine months since we last said goodbye at that coffee shop near Union Square. It was a sad and somber farewell; we parted and agreed not to be in contact for a good long while. Then I went to see the July 4 fireworks on FDR Drive and sparks flew in other directions where they shouldn’t have, because I wasn’t careful. That was another thing that certainly wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Anyways, after six months, I called him at his home in Canada, and we talked for a little while, but not long. That brief conversation convinced me that remaining friends was not an option out of our reach, and that’s part of why I felt it was a good idea to meet up this weekend. If we were going to fully step into friendship, then okay – we should start by doing what friends do, and meet up for dinner to catch up on the last year.

We met up in K-town today, and I was happy to see him, and happy that he was happy to see me. Echoes of that old feeling of happiness returned…except for when things fell apart, most of what I remember about my short with him is just… being happy. Stupidly happy, foolishly happy, unreasonably happy.

Any relationship outside of Hollywood is unsustainable when driven largely by that kind of unfounded happiness–the kind of blind bliss that makes one ignore the importance of significant realities such as closely-aligned values, common goals, similar priorities, and all the other things that make relationships function well after the happy bug fades away. And, I think, therein lies the problem: whatever we had was cut off so quick that the happy bug never had a chance to fade away. But the happy bug doesn’t belong! And I half-regret scheduling this meeting, because it woke up some of the happy bugs from their hibernation. I should have left them in peace.

It’s not that I want the relationship (if you could call it that) back. There are a host of reasons for this. But there’s something addictive about the happys, even though I fear them now. Perhaps there is truth to what my dear friend told me forthrightly this last week: “You set yourself up to get hurt this summer.” He may be right, but part of me wishes for that freedom again. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever be willing to feel that way again, or if I’ll be capable of falling that hard again because I now fear inability to get back up, unharmed. Whoever it is in the future has got to be able to make me feel safe and shielded, loved and protected.

The only reasonable explanation I can come up with for my conflicted feelings is that this person brings me back to the time when I didn’t fear the happys, when I let my guard down and let my heart’s imagination fly, and allowed myself to be open enough to get really, really hurt. He reminds me of that better, purer time when I was stupid enough to expose myself to emotional danger. Now I tend not to let people go there – even though I wish I could be more trusting and less cynical.

And part of it is that he’s not a bad guy. He’s still just as nice, handsome, well-mannered, admirable, good-natured, agreeable, and wonderful as he was before. He’ll make a fantastic husband for some lucky girl. When he tried to put in a plug for moving to Vancouver, my heart almost fell into an old trap. I had forgotten about that little vein on the right side of his forehead that sticks out when his eyes crinkle and he laughs, and seeing it today made me jump a little inside. When he told me to be careful because he worries about my work as a criminal lawyer, I had to work to not internalize his concern. And his life still holds the promise of a great, exciting adventure ahead. BUT–

I know he’s not for me, and not just because I don’t fit his parents’ racial standards. I know it I know it I know it. The intervening months have educated me enough at least to know that we wouldn’t be a good match on a number of practical levels; the happys only get two people so far — but not far enough.

“Like a river flows to the sea
So it goes, some things were meant to be…”

And some things were not meant to be. I need to learn the difference, and live by it.

Read this online today … it seemed an apt thought for the evening. I’d give credit to the author, but none was listed. I like the general idea…hope you get something out of it too.

When I meditated on the word Guidance, I kept seeing “dance” at the end of the word. I remember reading that doing God’s will is a lot like dancing.

When two people try to lead, nothing feels right. The movement doesn’t flow with the music, and everything is quite uncomfortable and jerky.

When one person realizes that, and lets the other lead, both bodies begin to flow with the music.

One gives gentle cues, perhaps with a nudge to the back or by pressing lightly in one direction or another.

It’s as if two become one body, moving beautifully. The dance takes surrender, willingness, and attentiveness from one person and gentle guidance and skill from the other.

My eyes drew back to the word Guidance. When I saw “G” I thought of God, followed by “u” and “i”. “God,” “u” and “i” dance.” God, you and I dance.

As I lowered my head, I became willing to trust that I would get guidance about my life. Once again, I became willing to let God lead.

Dance together with God, trusting God to lead and to guide you through each season of your life.

“You changed my mourning into dancing…”
Ps 30:12

Days like these make me want to take a walk by the river – a long, long walk by the river, through and out of the city until nightfall when the light is gone and only the stars can see me still trudging along by the water. Outside the city, way past the bustle and crowd, I’d like to shrink drastically in size, crawl beneath a rock and hide.

I can’t do that, of course. I don’t have the time, and it’s not really all that safe. Oh, and there’s the practical problem of not being able to shrink drastically in size. Heh.

So, resorting to a habit dating back to childhood, I turn inward. If I can’t physically coil up and hide under a rock for real, at least I can coil up in my spirit and in my self – curl up into a pitiful little pile of patheticness. Withdraw from the world, from my friends, from my family, and just be with me… and sit there for a while, pondering my misery. Especially this time around, I feel heightened shame. I have no right to be so upset. I have a right to be a little upset–but not magnified-upset. Yet… here I am.

I’d write more, but even I’m too ashamed to discuss so publicly my bad reactions to this situation. After garnering a little – but not enough – sympathy from my parents, I hung up with them in a huff and yelled a loud curse to no one in particular in the kitchen. I almost never swear, but this is the ugliness that comes out in situations like this. And it’s so stupid. And sinful.

Pretty quickly after that, I realized who I needed to talk to. I dug out my guitar, tuned it up, and dug out some worship songs. It can never hurt to reflect on the beauty of who God is. And there’s nothing like remembering and approaching the throne of grace and reflecting on Jesus’s sacrifice of love on the cross to make a person feel utterly humbled.

Turning upward was what I needed all along. Turning inward only led me to see … well, just me – sinful old me. No wonder that only bred more selfishness and grumpiness and sin. Turning upward, looking to Jesus and singing to Him, reflecting on His love and mercy – that is the only thing that can lift me from where I am. It also helped to be able to turn to God, who knows every bit of my inadequacy and sinfulness, and know that He loves me absolutely unconditionally.

Sigh. It’s actually making me tear up right now, to think that the God of the universe – who KNOWS all the crazy bad things I’ve done and has seen me struggle through my incredibly imperfect life, loves me still. He sees my ugly and unrighteous frustration, and my selfish tendencies, and He forgives me for it even though I totally don’t deserve it. Even today, when all I want to do is shrink and hide, God lovingly reaches down to me, and beckons me to come to Him, and experience His love and comfort and gentle mercy.

Here I am, humbled by the love that You give; forgiven so that I can forgive…
Now I know the greatest love of all is mine
Since You laid down Your life, the greatest sacrifice…
Majesty, majesty, Your grace has found me just as I am - 
Empty-handed but alive in Your hands…
Majesty, Majesty
Forever I am changed by your love
In the presence of your Majesty

Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Savior, hide, till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide; O receive my soul at last.

Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, ah! leave me not alone, still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed, all my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head with the shadow of Thy wing.

Wilt Thou not regard my call? Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall—Lo! on Thee I cast my care;
Reach me out Thy gracious hand! While I of Thy strength receive,
Hoping against hope I stand, dying, and behold, I live.

Thou, O Christ, art all I want, more than all in Thee I find;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Just and holy is Thy Name, I am all unrighteousness;
False and full of sin I am; Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with Thee is found, grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound; make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the fountain art, freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart; rise to all eternity.