Clinging

Ever since my first experience rock climbing outdoors, the word cling conjures up an image of white-knuckled fingertips tensed on a thin rock ledge. And this image has become a metaphor for my spiritual clinging. I think of holding on to the solidness, the trustworthiness of God with the last bit of energy that I have. As spiritual metaphors go, it isn't terrible--although Jesus is on belay* is an important corollary.

Lately, my son has been teaching me a new image to go with cling. My son is a Cling-on**. He's a sweet, enthusiastic hugger, and when he's distressed he pastes himself to my shoulder.

As I've been processing my current pain, I've been thinking about this image of clinging. Two things come to mind: First, that my son's immediate reaction to pain is to look for me. Even though I can't do a thing about the pain receptors firing away in his brain, even though I can't make his blood clot, he wants to snuggle up on me. Second, as his mother, I am so pleased that he turns to me. I am so happy to have him rest on my shoulder. I can't fix anything, but I can be near.

This new image encourages me to focus less on how much energy I do or don't have to cling or when my energy is going to run out and I'm going to fall off the rock. Instead, I imagine that God is equally and more pleased that I would tuck up on his lap. I have very few answers, very little understanding of what is going on in my wreck of an emotional world. But the solid presence of God as my refuge is a beacon of hope in this period of darkness.

*The person on belay is the person holding the rope and catches you when you fall.

**That's a bad Star Trek pun. Klingons are an alien race in the Star Trek world.

Sink in

I am in the midst of another season of depression. This is the third time I've been aware of. It's not as bad as last time and certainly not as bad as the "first"* time.

One verse that has been illuminated for me has been from what's known as the Beatitudes in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted
~The good news according to Matthew, chpt 4

This verse has always been a throw-away verse to me. Yea, yea, God promises comfort to those who mourn, how comforting.

As I experience this round of depression without a therapist or psychiatrist, I've been reflecting on my interior life. Like what the heck am I doing when I sit in my favorite chair, staring out the window, "petting my pain" like a black cat in my lap? I mean that's kind of weird.

Depression scares the crap out of me. I hate it. I hate how dark a space it is. I fear drowning in the pain. But in this blessing, the promise is conditioned on mourning. What I'm hearing is, "press into the pain and don't fear the sorrow because I, God, am there to be your comfort."

I don't know if I'm hearing this right, and I don't know if I can sink into the dark place trusting the comforting presence of God. But honestly, this is the most hopeful thing I've come across recently.

*I likely had bouts of depression before my "first" time but didn't know it. What I count as the first time was the first round that I needed and got help for.

Jesus for stupid people

Some times life is life, stress is stress and pain is pain.

There's always been a part of me that wants to logic things out, to know causes and their effects, to solve problems, to understand. Over the years and just right now, I'm learning that sometimes what people most need is a hug.

Jesus is for stupid people, for that woman at the well who had 5 husbands, for Thomas who wouldn't believe until he poked his fingers in Jesus' scars, for Peter who denied being Jesus' friend when the going got tough.

My daughter is in a difficult three-year-old phase where she says no to stuff that she likes and is good for her. And by saying no, I mean turns into a screaming banshee curled up on the floor. Where I want to run away and wait for it to blow over, I'm learning to stick by her until she's in a better place.

Sometimes people make financial or relationship decisions that I think are dumb, dumb, dumb. But who cares? I'm learning who cares that it's their own fault they are stressed and crying their guts out? Jesus is for stupid people. He's been for me when I've been tres stupido and I can be for these friends too.

Thank God Jesus is for stupid people. If Jesus only hung out with people who always had it together and always made the right decision, and never made the dumb choice, he'd be kickin' it out in space with the Father and Holy Ghost.

Here in the US, it's another election season and I think this is applicable. Hey, y'all, Jesus is for stupid people. You know, the folk on the other side, the folk who have earned your scorn. I don't know that this would change a vote, but this should change our hearts. We are one of the stupid, loved by God and thus compelled to love our stupid neighbors, the ones with that bumper sticker.

Jesus for 'special' people

My husband and I met at University Presbyterian Church just off the UCLA campus. It was a really different church from the ones I had grown up in. Being oriented to the college campus, most congregants were undergraduate or graduate students with a few people who stuck around after graduation and even fewer who had no affiliation with the university.  Having a Korean pastor, most of the congregation was also Asian; fresh-off-the-boat international students and US-born Asian-Americans. So picture a congregation between 18-35 years old, mostly Asian, with elite university-educated minds.

Nevertheless, what strikes me about my time there is what a motley crew of 'special' people we were. When I say 'special' I think I actually mean odd & needy. I arrived at the church in culture shock after having spent a year overseas; I had very little financial means; I was skeptical of the value of the formal church setting; and I'd had a really bad roommate experience while overseas. I was a mess. And as I think of all the friends at that church, I think about what a mess they were too. Individual, messy stories.

Our leaving LA coincided with our feeling that it was time to move on from that  church. So I'm not saying it was a perfect church. But a distinguishing feature of that community is loving messy people and loving messy people who are supposed to be ok. University elites are supposed to ok, to have succeeded in the past and to succeed on into the future. What I got to participate in for myself and with others was Jesus loving the little child in each of us; the child that we'd hidden away but was scared nonetheless, was hurt and confused.

Now that I've had some time away, I think how small my dissatisfactions were compared to the privilege of being with a pastor and church committed to loving 'special' people.

Crisis

Despite the title of this post, there are many parts of my life that I feel quite happy about. The family is more or less healthy for the first time in months. I've mostly come to peace about my mostly stay-at-home-mom, but partly research linguist life. My husband and I are about to celebrate our 6th anniversary on a fun date this weekend. I'm discipling a younger believer in the faith in a way I have not since college. I'm helping the church women's ministry with some big picture thinking which is totally my cup of tea.

Good stuff. Good stuff.

Nevertheless, I'm at a total crisis regarding two things: 1) the centrality of the "Great Commission" and 2) therefore, being at a church laser-focused on the Great Commission.

The "Great Commission" comes from the last chapter of the gospel of Matthew where Jesus commissions his disciples saying,

"All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." ~The good news according to Matthew, chapter 28

 This is probably the central mission I've heard since I was eight when my parents moved us from a Chinese church to a large, mostly Anglo church. The front of that church said, "To know Him and to make Him known" and over the door on the way out it said, "Go Ye".

I am not repudiating either the truth that Jesus commissioned his disciples and by extension us/me to making disciples of all nations or my American evangelical heritage.

However, I question the primacy of the Great Commission over the Great Commandments:

‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ ~The good news according to Matthew, chapter 22

It is hand waving to collapse the Great Commandments into the Great Commission. Making, baptizing, and teaching disciples may be part of loving God and my neighbors but I don't accept that it is the whole of it. I know why the Great Commission is appealing to me; it has a "Christ's love compels" motivation and a to-do list. It's easy to see the Great Commission as a task to be accomplished.  And a good, just, moral task. And if I'm doing that I'm ok. People should like me. God should like me.

And that's the messed up part. That's where I worry I've lost the Great Commandments. Is love about to-do lists? It seems that way sometimes when I'm putting away laundry, but then again not when I'm cooking.

On that note, I'll say that cooking might be where the Great Commandments and Great Commission meet. When I cook for my family, friends, and neighbors, I feel like I'm loving God by living out who he made me to be, I'm loving the people around me by putting tasty goodness in front of them, and I'm making disciples as I teach my children to lovingly serve people.

By adding in the Great Commandments to my heart song, I've destabilized the place of the Great Commission which has been so central for so long, I feel like I don't know how to move forward. By adding the Great Commandments to my heart song, I worry that my church community which is so explicitly focused on the Great Commission won't have a place for me. I'm in a place of disorientation. Crisis.

When you can't see anymore

I did not grow up with a lot of baking. My mom did bake some, but mostly I remember the comforting clang of the wok and the bubbling of our rice cooker.

But then I married my Anglo husband and shortly thereafter discovered I was gluten sensitive. And when we moved away from California to Austin, my husband's beloved sourdough bread became harder to find. All of this gave me a lot of motivation to learn to bake.

I started with gluten-free baking to satisfy my occassional cravings for bready type foods--pancakes and muffins and such. Then a few years later, when we moved to Austin, I started learning how to make sourdough bread for N.  As I become more comfortable with the oven, I also started to learn to roast meats and vegetables in the oven. 

Now, 5 years in, I've got my own rhythms down. With meat, I am big on using a probe thermometer. No more guessing about done-ness, just look at the temp. With gluten free baking, I use almond meal with various cheaper flours I can get at Asian stores (rice flour, sticky rice flour, tapioca starch). I weigh my ingredients on a kitchen scale allowing me to scale proportions easily. 
The result of this internalizing is that someone asked for my cobbler recipe and I wrote:

The 'biscuit' topping was 2 parts almond meal, 1 part corn flour, 2 parts milk, 1 part cold butter, baking powder, salt, sugar

Now, that actually works GREAT for me. But it's a pretty horrible recipe for most people and especially this friend.

For my everyday life, it's good and appropriate to develop rhythms and habits so that I'm not having to think about every. single. thing. But the trade off is that it becomes harder to not think in those ways, but it's vitally important to do so for other people.

I am realizing that when I quickly dismiss something as "dumb"--another political view, another way of  parenting, another way of organizing life--I'm using my built in heuristics. My habitual way of thinking and making decisions is preventing me from seeing the other considerations people have. What I fear is that some of my habits of thought are so ingrained that I'm truly blind, unable to even realize I have a blind spot, and thus unable to back up and try again.

My cobbler recipe take II:

Peach cobbler--
FRUIT INNARDS
6 cups peaches, sliced & peeled
1/2 c sugar
1 tbsp cornstarch
1 tbsp lemon
1/4 tsp cinnamon
--Over med-low heat, stirring frequently, bring to a boil, after 1 min pour into 9" pie pan or 8" square pan
--pre-heat oven to 400 dgr

BISCUIT TOPPING
6 oz almond meal
3 oz corn flour (the kind used to make tortillas)
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar
 3 oz (6 tbsp) cold butter 
6 oz milk

--whisk together dry ingredients
--cut or pinch in butter
--add milk and stir together til everything is wet, will be pretty goopy and wet
--scoop lumps over the peach mix (I had about 8-9 lumps)
--for a decorative touch sprinkle with sugar crystals

--bake at 400 dgr for 20 minutes or until brown on top
--serve warm with vanilla ice cream

Seeing differently

I used my recent birthday money to buy a new camera. The stock lens that came with it has a wide field of view (14mm, 28 mm film equivalent). Up until now, my favorite lens has been a zoomed in, portrait lens (85mm, 136mm film equivalent). I love being able to stand across the room and catch the private expressions of my kids doing their thing. I love being able to focus on little nuances. But that's not what a wide angle lens gives you.

With this new camera and lens, in addition to getting beautiful color which is why I got the camera, I'm being forced to see differently. This lens captures the background environment even when I'm inches away from my kids. So I'm finding that this lens is forcing me to tell situated stories, layering what's happening in the foreground with what's in the middle ground and background. Now that I have more than one child, this is become quite useful and more interesting. It's a lens much more suitable for capturing context and interactions.

The dramatic life changes I've experienced these past several years has also forced me to see differently. As excitingly diverse my fields of intellectual interest were in graduate school, my life was extremely contained in specific spaces with specific kinds of people. Now as a new-ish mom, in a new neighborhood, mostly out of academia, I'm encountering a much broader variety of people, something I didn't expect when I moved out to the burbs.

I have relationships across more socio-economic strata and education levels than before; high school graduates with solid middle class incomes, college and post-college educated folk on the poverty line, the more usual college educated, middle to upper-middle class, the blue collar lower-middle class, etc. As I get to know these folk, life gets more complicated and less complicated.

More complicated is how people navigate their worlds: health care, government services and bureaucracy, family and friend obligations and needs. Things I've only read about I now hear about first hand. Less complicated are basic needs and general wisdom. Everyone wants loving, harmonious relationships. Nobody is sheltered from having family issues. Spending more than you have leads to problems. Being healthy is a blessing. Having friends in times of need is critical for physical, spiritual, and emotional well-being.

The academic life for all its goodness can easily be one of myopic theory. Out here in the everyday life, people have substance, and they don't fit in boxes. They are unique individuals, made in the image of and specifically loved by our Creator. While I may one day get to spend more time in academia or more time with my favorite zoom lens, I'm glad to be in this season learning to see in these ways.

New recipes

Been trying stuff in the kitchen and here are two keepers.

HIGH FALUTIN' BREAKFAST TACOS

1 portabello mushroom, diced
1/4 c chopped onions
2 eggs, scrambled
handful fresh basil
4-6 tbsp crumbled feta
4 corn tortillas
salt
pepper

Over medium heat saute mushrooms and onions, salt & pepper to taste. I splashed a tbsp of water in to help things along.
Turn heat to low and pour eggs over, stir and cook to desired done-ness.
Remove from heat.
Heat tortillas (a  griddle is handy for this step). Put about a tbsp of crumbled feta on each tortilla. When feta is soften put a 4th of the egg mix on each tortilla, a few basil leaves, and serve.

~ I actually had this for lunch, but I really enjoyed my fancy pants breakfast tacos.

BREAKFAST CUSTARD

8" square or circular pan. Pie dish might work.
3 c. rolled oats
1/3 - 1 c. brown sugar
1 c. add-ons (dried or fresh fruit, chopped nuts, or both)
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp baking powder
2 eggs beaten
1 c. milk
1/4 c. oil

Mix dried ingredients in pan. In separate bowl, beat eggs, stir in milk and oil. Pour into pan and mix thoroughly.
Place into COLD oven. Bake at 300. In my oven, it took 35 minutes for it to be firm on the outside and jiggly toward the middle. Start checking around 20-25 minutes. Cook time will vary oven to oven.

~A lot of variation can be introduced into this recipe in terms of spices and add-ons. But the ratio of 2 eggs to 1 cup of milk is important. Also starting with a cold oven is important. The idea is to slowly cook the eggs at a low temperature. A water bath is normally used for custard, but I don't want to deal with the extra step and gear.

Give me Jesus

So in the world of the elite, the big kerfluffle has been that a high powered woman has written a long article entitled Why Women Still Can't Have It All. By all, she means a prestigious work position and a satisfying family life. This kicked off a lot of discussion all over and some of it is collected here. I really liked my friend's personal response. She reflects on her own personal experiences and begins her final paragraph with this sentence, "Jesus never said we could have it all."

That crystallized my thinking on the matter. Not only did Jesus never say we could have it all, he said, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up the cross daily and follow me. (The good news according to Luke, chpt 9)”

I just read a novel set in World War I. It presented many leaders as selfish and incompetent causing many of their followers to suffer and die needlessly. Eventually, some simply stopped following. Jesus is the antithesis of these leaders, selfless and masterful.

Following, by definition, involves giving up some control because someone else is leading. Jesus doesn't gloss over this. He baldly told his hangers on, "Hey, if you decided to hitch on to my wagon train, you're going to have to give up what you want and you're going to take on a tortured death symbol (the cross)."

What separates Jesus from every other leader is that he is the rightful leader--as creator of the universe--and the good leader--as a loving omnipotent father.

So "How can I have it all?" or even "How can I have as much as possible?" is really the wrong question. The better question is, "Where does Jesus want me?" The best place we can be is wherever Jesus is taking us.

As an aside, that was my consolation when I was living overseas and got into a bus that had just slid a 100 yds on ice to a stop at my bus stop. I figured that if God had brought me there, he knew about crazy buses and ice and that I'd need them to get  to my work, and he'd take care of things from there.

So yes, I have been grieving many of the professional changes that motherhood has brought on, but I have not regretted the changes. For me, that's been part of denying myself, taking up my cross, and following Jesus. I read about a doctor mom who left her 9 month-old stateside to spend time setting up a clinic overseas. That kind of self-denial, cross-bearing, and following is something I hope I would never have to face. But she did it, she bore those costs trusting in the Jesus she was following.

In the end, perhaps what we may realize is that we have the most profound richness in life when we are most deeply entrenched in Jesus-life. And isn't that what we really want, to live rich, meaningful lives?

A college friend introduced me to Fernando Ortega's song, Give me Jesus. It's repetitive, but the meditation and plea is the substantive rebuttal to "How can I have it all?"

In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise
In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus

Chorus:
Give me Jesus,
Give me Jesus,
You can have all this world,
But give me Jesus

When I am alone
When I am alone
When I am alone, give me Jesus

[Chorus]

When I come to die
When I come to die
When I come to die, give me Jesus

Affirmation

Affirmation, on the one hand, feels like a really namby-pamby, soft, needy word. On the other hand, my experience is that it can be a razor sharp blade that frees someone to be more of who they were made to be.

My deepest hurt, I've realized, about our current church is the lack of affirmation and the constant, relentless message that we are not doing enough, not doing what we are supposed to be doing. I've been grappling with this for some months now, and it feels good to be able to identify the pain, but also stunning to see it in black and white. Partly because the problem seems abusive. The beatings will continue until morale improves. But mostly because I believe in the vision and mission of the church and was so encouraged to find a community with such a heart. Additionally, I believe we are doing what we are supposed to be doing. I believe that we could, we should be affirmed.

To be honest, I don't know what to do about this. No community is perfect; I don't think we're looking for that. But I feel we are being ground under and I don't know what it would take to live free.

Hope deferred

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. ~Proverbs 13:12

We appear to be turning a significant household corner. Our son appears to be ready to sleep through the night and our daughter appears to be ready to wear regular underwear and use the toilet on her own. It's only been 3 days so far, but man are we ready for both of those breakthroughs.

We're a couple months shy of our 6th wedding anniversary and if I had to sum up year 6, at this point, I'd say grueling. We are so tired. We never thought either of these milestones could take so long for our kids.

At the same time, I think I have finally made peace with becoming a mom and have been able to enjoy the deep sweetness in it. The pleasure and satisfaction of parenthood is very difficult for me to express. I have never identified with and never liked what I considered to be saccharine, pastel renditions of mother-child relationships.

The best metaphor for a mom-moment is a memory I have of a summer in college when I worked in maintenance at a conference center. I had spent the whole day outside in the dust and dirt. I was tired and sticky. And somehow I got back to the showers first and had the whole place to myself. As the drops of hot water hit my arms, I was fascinated to watch little rivulets cut through the layer of grime.

That refreshment after a long day of physical labor is the best I can do to explain what it feels like today to see our children growing up and hitting milestones we have been hoping and praying for these past months.

Super Mom breaks a leg

At 4:45PM last Monday, I had homemade granola about to burn in the oven, a roast on the grill, a house that needed tidying for guests, a sticky almost-3 year old, and a fussy baby.

In a fit of SheerGenius(tm) while I had my son on the changing table I thought, "He's half undressed anyways, I should bathe the kids." And then in a moment of UtterStupidity(tm), I left him on the table to turn on the hot water.

In the interim, my daughter wet her underwear, and my son fell on the changing table and started screaming his head off.

Two days, many miles on the road, many interviews with nurses, doctors, social workers, a blood draw, urine sample and several dozen xrays later, my son's broken leg was in a cast and we were done with the "suspected non-accidental tauma" protocol.

I had a lot of time to review how we got to the fall. At the end of the day, I'd say it was 2 parts pride and 1 part selfishness.

I like having guests and I really like playing with meats on a grill. And then there's MyAgenda which includes baths for the kids on Mondays, making more granola when I run out like I had that morning--even though I certainly could have had something else for breakfast and could have made more another day, and having a basically presentable house by 6:30 on Mondays when friends come over for dinner or church small group.

I knew when I decided to do bath time right then, that I was trying to be Super Mom. For that matter, I knew when I started doing the granola that I was being a little crazier than I needed to be. But I wanted to be super. To have a list that I could show my husband, "See I do cool stuff with my day too!"

It's pretty devastating to realize that pride can literally come before a fall. Especially when the faller is your cute little boy who has no business bearing the brunt of your inner ugliness.

What is amazing, however, is that I don't have to live in mom guilt. My pastor likes to use the phrase "standing under the waterfall of grace". It's a pretty phrase, but it should be offensive too. The apostle Paul wrote, "there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

That means that even though I screwed up, and I really did screw up, Jesus is not holding a stick over me and I'm not either. I am receiving a forgiveness I don't deserve; it's both-and. I don't deserve it and I am receiving it. I hope that kind of ticks you off.

We're about half way through Lent, charging our way to Easter where Jesus dies for the wretchedly ungodly and buys freedom for prisoners who deserve their sentences.

Hallelujah!

Disciplined Helplessness

One of my favorite summertime memories from childhood is swimming lessons. The lessons followed a Red Cross curriculum, so in addition to learning strokes, we also learned water safety stuff.

One thing we did in every class was the survival or dead man's float. All you do is hold your breath and put your face in the water. The air in your lungs keeps you floating and you relax all your limbs to conserve energy while you wait for someone to rescue you.

One reason I stopped writing blog entries the past 10 weeks is that I've been relearning my spiritual dead man's float. Last fall was really rough and after months of telling my husband I wasn't depressed, I had to admit that I probably was.

Depression isn't a new thing for me. I'd say it's kind of like my right hip. At the tender age of 26 I had hip surgery to smooth out a cartilage tear. After almost a year of physical therapy, I'm generally out of pain, but it's a weak joint that requires extra attention.

At 25, I had a major bout of depression. After a lot of counseling, a year of antidepressants, exercise, sunlight, the whole nine yards, I've been generally ok, but it's a tendency I have and I have to be vigilant about it.

What I learned the first time and what I'm learning this time is what I call disciplined helplessness. When I find myself sucked down the toilet bowl of depression, I live in general helplessness. Life sucks and it will always suck.

Disciplined helplessness is different. I am tired; Jesus can give me strength. I am grouchy; Jesus knows and helps me to be gentle and kind. I don't know what to do; Jesus has wisdom for me. I am not enough; Jesus is sufficient.

The mental script is different and I have to fight for it to play louder than my general helplessness. The fight isn't an overcoming fight; I'm not trying to win. I'm not able to win. It's about consistently falling in the direction of Jesus. Falling into his hope, falling into his strength, falling into his love.

The spiritual dead man's float is about not thrashing in panic, but staying afloat, and waiting for Jesus's sure rescue.

That's ugly

Somehow in the awesomeness of Christmas, the part where Herod kills all the baby boys in Bethlehem has never really hit home with me,

¹⁶ When Herod realized that he had been outwitted by the Magi, he was furious, and he gave orders to kill all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity who were two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had learned from the Magi. ¹⁷Then what was said through the prophet Jeremiah was fulfilled:

¹⁸ “A voice is heard in Ramah,
weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
because they are no more.”

~The good news according to Matthew, chapter 2

My son is in the two-and-under age range and I know many families with young sons. I cannot fathom how devastating it would be for all of us to lose our sons on the basis of such a decree. Just the thought of it brings a deep ache.

When I first read this yesterday, I felt how can the loving gift of baby Jesus sit in the context of so much senseless death and weeping?

Our church community is in the midst of a venue change as we handle the needs of a numerical growth. At the same time, we have suffered the early passing of several members from disease.

It is very hard for me to accept goodness in the midst of death and suffering. I want good to be good and darkness to be absent. I want answers and I want justice.

And I don't get what I want.

So today, as I continue to process goodness and, let's call it what it is, evil, the only thing I can say is that sin is ugly. Evil is really evil. Herod was wrong. Disease is something God is going to banish when his ultimate victory and reign in the world come to be. Let that day come soon!

In the meantime, I realize that I tend to want to let sin slide. Or at least, the sin in my life. It's not that bad. But it is. It is a gross, disgusting affront to God when I am not kind and gentle with my children, when I don't watch what I say and what my tone is. And that's true no matter how tired I might be or how honestly annoying they are. Thank God, that he is bigger than my tongue and with his strength I can do differently.