God has a funny sense of humor. When I graduated from college, MCC started out as my backup plan to the Peace Corps. I spent 3 years serving with MCC in rural Cambodia. When I applied to graduate schools, Drexel University was my backup school. I'll be graduating in 2 months. In the fall when I was deciding which dietetic internships to apply to, the program at Immaculata University was a wishful choice of maybe being able to stay in Philly. In August I'll be an intern in Immaculata's program.
Staying in Philly made the least amount of sense financially. My family wanted me to move back to Virginia. Tim's family would have been pleased if I moved to California. Doesn't it make more sense to be near family before I run off to another country? Doesn't it make more sense to move to random cities while I'm still single? Doesn't it make more sense to live in the state I'm a resident of? But then, when do I do things that make sense? Moving halfway around the world for 3 years? Joining a church when I might not be living in that city within the next 10 months? Starting a relationship with a man I had met once, who currently resides on a different continent?
Yet, staying in Philly makes the most amount of sense spiritually. I don't have the words to express what WPMF, my church, means to me here. Through that difficult first year of being back in the States, they gently cared for me and taught me what it means to follow Jesus within this context. They are literally my family here in the city. The best part of all of this is that I can remain active in WPMF.
I still feel the need to plan the next five years of my life since I now know the general area I'll be this next year. But, I don't need to do that within the next 10 minutes, or the next 10 days, or next 10 months even. Slowly, I'll figure it out, and I'm sure God will throw in a few surprises along the way as well. Besides, what kind of adventure would it be if I knew exactly what I was getting myself into?
Saturday, April 09, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
great minds think alike...
me: I lost my voice on Thursday, and it's still on vacation.
my brother: Well, I am sure it will return in time. Maybe it will show you pictures of its vacation?
me: I hope so.
my brother: Well, I am sure it will return in time. Maybe it will show you pictures of its vacation?
me: I hope so.
Monday, January 03, 2011
waiting
On Dec 14, in the midst of Advent I was able to reflect on waiting…
This year I've found waiting to be an integral part of my daily activities. I have been waiting to see Tim on December 15 when we would fly to California together for Christmas with his family. I have been looking forward to this for so long. Sometimes patiently, sometimes frustrated, I have counted the weeks, then days, and now hours.
I'm a person who likes to look forward to things, even simple things such as going to the farmer's market on Saturday, waiting for bread to rise, the walk home from school, or going to a movie with my brother. Knowing that I will be able to enjoy that certain activity fills me with joy and, somehow, I become more productive. But usually, right before that long-awaiting activity materializes I am engulfed with a flood of doubts. I become nervous, giddy, excited, scared and uncharacteristically scattered.
WPMF has an Advent theme song this year. At first I was disappointed because it’s not a traditional Christmas carol, but rather a comforting melody of God’s assurance. God sent his son, Jesus; isn’t that assurance enough? But Jesus hasn’t been born yet; we can’t yet celebrate his arrival. We’re still waiting, doubting, giddy, excited, scared, and uncharacteristically scattered. We still need the calm assurance that Jesus will come not only in the silence, but in the noise of Septa buses; not only in the warmth of decorated houses, but in the bitter night on a park bench; not only around a table of plenty, but among the bare pantry shelves; not only in our hearts, but into our actions.
And while this waiting is all fine and grand, it’s only a muddled reflection of that sheer, abundant joy of seeing months of anticipation materialize before your eyes.
Now Advent is over. I was reunited with my love, met his family and had an amazing time in California. In Khmer, if you are particularly well, you say you have a ‘happy heart’…my happy heart was bursting with joy and thankfulness just to be with Tim. While I enjoyed our visit to the Cambodian community in Long Beach, hiking in Yosemite National Park, strolling down Christmas Tree Lane, tour Alcatraz, eating delicious Indian food in Berkeley, seeing the magnificent Pacific coast along CA State Road 1, I found I enjoyed sitting next to each other in church, listening to him play piano, shopping in Asian markets, meeting up with friends from Cambodia and Cambodian friends, making MCC school kits, cooking in his parents’ kitchen, camping in the rain, trekking up unconventional paths from the Pacific, listening to music in the car, walking down Huntington Boulevard, playing Settlers with his family or watching NOVA just as much. I can’t say which part of the trip was my favorite, other than experiencing everything with Tim made it immensely more wonderful.
But then my heart was ripped out as I left Tim at the Philly airport waiting for his plane to Germany. Once again, I realize I need the assurance that God will come to me not only when my heart is full of joy, but when I can’t seem to stop the flow of tears; not only when I’m focused and productive but when I’m distracted and complacent; not only when I’m content, but when I’m longing for something else. This time acknowledging my need for God isn’t a concrete manifestation of something I can physically do; it’s a spiritual exercise in diligently working on my responsibilities here as I have reentered what I see as a period of waiting. The only thing is… I believe God doesn’t see this a period of waiting, but rather a time to experience life more fully.
This year I've found waiting to be an integral part of my daily activities. I have been waiting to see Tim on December 15 when we would fly to California together for Christmas with his family. I have been looking forward to this for so long. Sometimes patiently, sometimes frustrated, I have counted the weeks, then days, and now hours.
I'm a person who likes to look forward to things, even simple things such as going to the farmer's market on Saturday, waiting for bread to rise, the walk home from school, or going to a movie with my brother. Knowing that I will be able to enjoy that certain activity fills me with joy and, somehow, I become more productive. But usually, right before that long-awaiting activity materializes I am engulfed with a flood of doubts. I become nervous, giddy, excited, scared and uncharacteristically scattered.
WPMF has an Advent theme song this year. At first I was disappointed because it’s not a traditional Christmas carol, but rather a comforting melody of God’s assurance. God sent his son, Jesus; isn’t that assurance enough? But Jesus hasn’t been born yet; we can’t yet celebrate his arrival. We’re still waiting, doubting, giddy, excited, scared, and uncharacteristically scattered. We still need the calm assurance that Jesus will come not only in the silence, but in the noise of Septa buses; not only in the warmth of decorated houses, but in the bitter night on a park bench; not only around a table of plenty, but among the bare pantry shelves; not only in our hearts, but into our actions.
And while this waiting is all fine and grand, it’s only a muddled reflection of that sheer, abundant joy of seeing months of anticipation materialize before your eyes.
Now Advent is over. I was reunited with my love, met his family and had an amazing time in California. In Khmer, if you are particularly well, you say you have a ‘happy heart’…my happy heart was bursting with joy and thankfulness just to be with Tim. While I enjoyed our visit to the Cambodian community in Long Beach, hiking in Yosemite National Park, strolling down Christmas Tree Lane, tour Alcatraz, eating delicious Indian food in Berkeley, seeing the magnificent Pacific coast along CA State Road 1, I found I enjoyed sitting next to each other in church, listening to him play piano, shopping in Asian markets, meeting up with friends from Cambodia and Cambodian friends, making MCC school kits, cooking in his parents’ kitchen, camping in the rain, trekking up unconventional paths from the Pacific, listening to music in the car, walking down Huntington Boulevard, playing Settlers with his family or watching NOVA just as much. I can’t say which part of the trip was my favorite, other than experiencing everything with Tim made it immensely more wonderful.
But then my heart was ripped out as I left Tim at the Philly airport waiting for his plane to Germany. Once again, I realize I need the assurance that God will come to me not only when my heart is full of joy, but when I can’t seem to stop the flow of tears; not only when I’m focused and productive but when I’m distracted and complacent; not only when I’m content, but when I’m longing for something else. This time acknowledging my need for God isn’t a concrete manifestation of something I can physically do; it’s a spiritual exercise in diligently working on my responsibilities here as I have reentered what I see as a period of waiting. The only thing is… I believe God doesn’t see this a period of waiting, but rather a time to experience life more fully.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Faith Journey
One year ago, I wrote a blog post about Christianity losing its passion. I expressed own desire for a faith community that was seeking to follow Jesus, regardless of how uncomfortable that walk might become. I longed for a living church, active in seeking justice and peace not only in their own lives, but in their neighborhoods, streets and city. While I desperately missed an old life in the rice paddies of Cambodia, I needed to become connected in this new place, Philadelphia.
One year later, without realizing it, I found what I was looking for, a faith community that is actively seeking God’s grace despite their own biases and shortcomings. I found an open body welcoming me to join in seemingly simple activities - volleyball, trips to the library, dinners, plays, or a simple stroll down the sidewalk. I found a vibrant replica of Christ’s love and compassion and a people alive with the Holy Spirit. I found a Mennonite church that was so unlike the comfortable, wealthy, cliquish, plain, do gooders I knew in college. I found a church I wanted to be a part of.
I grew up in the Orange Church of the Nazarene. Any time the church doors were open, and even sometimes when they were not, I was there. My mom was heavily involved as a board member, treasurer and Sunday school teacher while my dad only attended services. I always knew God loved me and Jesus died for my sins. I never had a conversion experience. I wanted one, so sometimes I would make up an acceptable story about asking Jesus into my heart.
When I was 12 I went to a typical Wednesday night service with my mom. We didn’t have a pastor at the time, so we just knelt at the altar and prayed. I was sitting quietly wishing I had stayed home, when suddenly I heard a distinct voice say “I want you to be my missionary.” My immediate reaction was “You don’t want me God. You really wanted that person over there; I just got in the way.” This dialogue continued for about a year; God gently pursuing me, and my adamant refusal. As a child, I didn’t travel. I hated being away from my parents. I liked being safe, and what God was calling me to, did not seem safe. Around the same time my brother was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. My family struggled in so many ways that year. I eventually told God I’d go anywhere if he helped my family.
The Nazarene church was incredibly supportive through all this. By the time I was a teenager, I had these great ideas of what we could do as a youth group: hanging out at the homeless shelter, volunteering at the food pantry, going to youth conventions. However, my youth group wasn’t interested, so my ideas were pushed aside and we would just watch movies. Eventually I voiced my disillusionment with the complacency I saw, several families left, and I was blamed for splitting up the church. I knew then, as I know now, I was not responsible for the families that left, but the pain I felt was still very real.
I left the following year for EMU. I was skeptical of Mennonite faith for most of my time at EMU, despite attending a Mennonite church for 3 of those 4 years. I struggled most with pacifism; my dad is a veteran and I grew up honoring veterans in church. I now claim to be a pacifist, but I still struggle on how to value our veterans while not supporting war. Likewise, there is something so enticing about an interpretation of Christianity that seeks reconciliation and harmony with those around them. I have deeply appreciated how interconnected the Mennonite world is, despite my initial impressions of an exclusive society.
Before I left for my MCC term, I asked the Nazarene church to be my sending congregation. About a year into my term, the Nazarene church stopped communicating with me. I would send emails and just stopped getting responses. I felt abandoned. While I loved the Cambodian church I attended, it wasn’t challenging my faith. I returned to the States in July 2009 without a church community and in a very dry place spiritually. As I attended churches in North America, I became increasingly cynical with the state of the established church. I remember I was sitting in a Sunday School class discussing what we would die for. I didn’t want a faith to die for; I needed a faith to live for. The harsh reality of corruption, poverty and malnutrition was too deep in my heart to accept a comfortable, bland, narcissistic version of Christianity. I needed a bold, radical challenge to seek healing in a world that is inherently broken with systemic injustice. And, I knew I couldn’t survive alone; I needed a tangible community.
I believe God brought me to West Philly. This past year has provided space for healing. In July I visited the Nazarene church, one last time, to forgive them for the pain I’ve carried around so long. For me, coming to the Mennonite world has been a process of releasing resentment caused by failed expectations and misunderstandings. It’s been a process of moving towards openness, tolerance and unity.
Back in high school, my youth leader told me I would ruin my life if I went to EMU. Perhaps he was right; God ruined my comfortable life and it’s been the most amazing adventure. If this is Christianity, then I eagerly look forward to the next time God ruins my life.
(Shared this morning as I joined West Philly Mennonite Fellowship)
One year later, without realizing it, I found what I was looking for, a faith community that is actively seeking God’s grace despite their own biases and shortcomings. I found an open body welcoming me to join in seemingly simple activities - volleyball, trips to the library, dinners, plays, or a simple stroll down the sidewalk. I found a vibrant replica of Christ’s love and compassion and a people alive with the Holy Spirit. I found a Mennonite church that was so unlike the comfortable, wealthy, cliquish, plain, do gooders I knew in college. I found a church I wanted to be a part of.
I grew up in the Orange Church of the Nazarene. Any time the church doors were open, and even sometimes when they were not, I was there. My mom was heavily involved as a board member, treasurer and Sunday school teacher while my dad only attended services. I always knew God loved me and Jesus died for my sins. I never had a conversion experience. I wanted one, so sometimes I would make up an acceptable story about asking Jesus into my heart.
When I was 12 I went to a typical Wednesday night service with my mom. We didn’t have a pastor at the time, so we just knelt at the altar and prayed. I was sitting quietly wishing I had stayed home, when suddenly I heard a distinct voice say “I want you to be my missionary.” My immediate reaction was “You don’t want me God. You really wanted that person over there; I just got in the way.” This dialogue continued for about a year; God gently pursuing me, and my adamant refusal. As a child, I didn’t travel. I hated being away from my parents. I liked being safe, and what God was calling me to, did not seem safe. Around the same time my brother was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. My family struggled in so many ways that year. I eventually told God I’d go anywhere if he helped my family.
The Nazarene church was incredibly supportive through all this. By the time I was a teenager, I had these great ideas of what we could do as a youth group: hanging out at the homeless shelter, volunteering at the food pantry, going to youth conventions. However, my youth group wasn’t interested, so my ideas were pushed aside and we would just watch movies. Eventually I voiced my disillusionment with the complacency I saw, several families left, and I was blamed for splitting up the church. I knew then, as I know now, I was not responsible for the families that left, but the pain I felt was still very real.
I left the following year for EMU. I was skeptical of Mennonite faith for most of my time at EMU, despite attending a Mennonite church for 3 of those 4 years. I struggled most with pacifism; my dad is a veteran and I grew up honoring veterans in church. I now claim to be a pacifist, but I still struggle on how to value our veterans while not supporting war. Likewise, there is something so enticing about an interpretation of Christianity that seeks reconciliation and harmony with those around them. I have deeply appreciated how interconnected the Mennonite world is, despite my initial impressions of an exclusive society.
Before I left for my MCC term, I asked the Nazarene church to be my sending congregation. About a year into my term, the Nazarene church stopped communicating with me. I would send emails and just stopped getting responses. I felt abandoned. While I loved the Cambodian church I attended, it wasn’t challenging my faith. I returned to the States in July 2009 without a church community and in a very dry place spiritually. As I attended churches in North America, I became increasingly cynical with the state of the established church. I remember I was sitting in a Sunday School class discussing what we would die for. I didn’t want a faith to die for; I needed a faith to live for. The harsh reality of corruption, poverty and malnutrition was too deep in my heart to accept a comfortable, bland, narcissistic version of Christianity. I needed a bold, radical challenge to seek healing in a world that is inherently broken with systemic injustice. And, I knew I couldn’t survive alone; I needed a tangible community.
I believe God brought me to West Philly. This past year has provided space for healing. In July I visited the Nazarene church, one last time, to forgive them for the pain I’ve carried around so long. For me, coming to the Mennonite world has been a process of releasing resentment caused by failed expectations and misunderstandings. It’s been a process of moving towards openness, tolerance and unity.
Back in high school, my youth leader told me I would ruin my life if I went to EMU. Perhaps he was right; God ruined my comfortable life and it’s been the most amazing adventure. If this is Christianity, then I eagerly look forward to the next time God ruins my life.
(Shared this morning as I joined West Philly Mennonite Fellowship)
Monday, November 01, 2010
needs/wants
I say wait.
I need to finish my degree and become established in my career. I need to complete an internship, take an exam and put two letters behind my name. My name I don’t plan on changing.
I need to be in a better place financially. I need to pay off my debt and not be a liability.
I need to experience living as a single woman in a city. I need to experience the diversity of what this place has to offer before I become responsible.
I need to stay where I found a church I love. I have never wanted to remain in a place because of church. I need the healing this experience has brought.
I need to be close to my family after being gone for so long. I need to attend family gatherings while my grandparents are still alive.
But are these really needs…or just wants?
I say I want you.
But what I really mean is…
I need you.
I need to finish my degree and become established in my career. I need to complete an internship, take an exam and put two letters behind my name. My name I don’t plan on changing.
I need to be in a better place financially. I need to pay off my debt and not be a liability.
I need to experience living as a single woman in a city. I need to experience the diversity of what this place has to offer before I become responsible.
I need to stay where I found a church I love. I have never wanted to remain in a place because of church. I need the healing this experience has brought.
I need to be close to my family after being gone for so long. I need to attend family gatherings while my grandparents are still alive.
But are these really needs…or just wants?
I say I want you.
But what I really mean is…
I need you.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
One
One year. July 26, 2010. On Monday I will have been back in the States for 1 year. I guess I can't use culture shock as an excuse anymore. I can't say I'm re-acclimated either.
Has it really been a year since I've been back in America? So many seemingly concrete things have marked the passage of time, yet the moments have held so much more. It's been a good year, yet nothing like what I was planning last summer as I boarded that plane. This year has held some unexpected surprises, moments that cause me to gasp. Moments when I find myself smiling for no apparent reason. Moments that want me make me pinch myself to make sure it's really happening.
This year held so many of those moments...playing in the snow, dinners with housemates, classes where I soaked in information. Moments of seeing friends again after too many years of being parted, making ice cream with Danny, or seeing my family excited to go to church. Moments of couples vowing their love to each other, of reunited families, of good food and much laughter. Moments of seeing the first rhubarb of spring, of noticing the first bud on my chili pepper plant or seeing violets bloom again. Moments of anguish and sorrow. Moments of nervousness and fear. Moments of mistakes and corrections. Moments of anticipation and hope.
It's been quite a year; I eagerly look forward to the next.
Has it really been a year since I've been back in America? So many seemingly concrete things have marked the passage of time, yet the moments have held so much more. It's been a good year, yet nothing like what I was planning last summer as I boarded that plane. This year has held some unexpected surprises, moments that cause me to gasp. Moments when I find myself smiling for no apparent reason. Moments that want me make me pinch myself to make sure it's really happening.
This year held so many of those moments...playing in the snow, dinners with housemates, classes where I soaked in information. Moments of seeing friends again after too many years of being parted, making ice cream with Danny, or seeing my family excited to go to church. Moments of couples vowing their love to each other, of reunited families, of good food and much laughter. Moments of seeing the first rhubarb of spring, of noticing the first bud on my chili pepper plant or seeing violets bloom again. Moments of anguish and sorrow. Moments of nervousness and fear. Moments of mistakes and corrections. Moments of anticipation and hope.
It's been quite a year; I eagerly look forward to the next.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Gratitude
There is so much beauty in this world.
The hydrangeas this year have been gorgeous. I do believe they are one of the most popular plants for flower beds in West Philly, and they are utterly breathtaking. I don't think I ever noticed how many color varieties of hydrangeas existed.
Andrea and I went berry picking last weekend. There's a state park near Lancaster city bursting with mulberry trees and black raspberry bushes. While it's still early in the season for raspberries, we managed to pick about half a quart. Yummy, fresh black raspberries for free...what could be better? Well, perhaps seeing Andy and Lana and many other dear friends in Lancaster. It was a fabulous weekend, only to be brought to an abrupt turn when I returned to Philly to news that my oldest host brother passed away in a drowning accident. Surely, this couldn't have happened. I felt so far away from my host family, Prey Veng, everything. I still do in some ways.
Maybe that's why I've been cooking Cambodian food all week. I transported papaya, for snack after volleyball on Thursday, tied on the back of my bike with a kroma. When I bought the papaya at the Cambodian shop nearby, I chatted with a ming I had never met before, in Khmer, for a good 20 minutes. After volleyball some of us went out for bubble tea, another happy memory of Southeast Asia. As crazy as it sounds, I needed that 10 mile loop with papaya tied on the back of my bike with a kroma. I needed the space earlier in the week to talk about my host brother. I feel so useless sometimes.
In Cambodia, when a person passes away, there's a series of 'bunns' or celebrations. The first is 3 days after the person passes away, culminating with a trip to the wat to cremate the deceased. The second is 100 days after the death. The third is 1 year after the death. For those who have the resources, additional bunns can be held each year afterwards. My most distinct memory of funerals are the sounds; funeral 'music' is characterized by the awful, high pitched wailing of a dying string instrument and drums. It's one of the most mournful, heart wrenching sounds. But, aside from the noise, funerals require your presence. Like when I see hydrangeas here in Philly, they require me to be mindful, to stop and reflect. Like the raspberries that will be just thorny bushes in a few weeks, our lives will end. Even when the pain starts to dull, my host brother will still be deeply missed.
The hydrangeas this year have been gorgeous. I do believe they are one of the most popular plants for flower beds in West Philly, and they are utterly breathtaking. I don't think I ever noticed how many color varieties of hydrangeas existed.
Andrea and I went berry picking last weekend. There's a state park near Lancaster city bursting with mulberry trees and black raspberry bushes. While it's still early in the season for raspberries, we managed to pick about half a quart. Yummy, fresh black raspberries for free...what could be better? Well, perhaps seeing Andy and Lana and many other dear friends in Lancaster. It was a fabulous weekend, only to be brought to an abrupt turn when I returned to Philly to news that my oldest host brother passed away in a drowning accident. Surely, this couldn't have happened. I felt so far away from my host family, Prey Veng, everything. I still do in some ways.
Maybe that's why I've been cooking Cambodian food all week. I transported papaya, for snack after volleyball on Thursday, tied on the back of my bike with a kroma. When I bought the papaya at the Cambodian shop nearby, I chatted with a ming I had never met before, in Khmer, for a good 20 minutes. After volleyball some of us went out for bubble tea, another happy memory of Southeast Asia. As crazy as it sounds, I needed that 10 mile loop with papaya tied on the back of my bike with a kroma. I needed the space earlier in the week to talk about my host brother. I feel so useless sometimes.
In Cambodia, when a person passes away, there's a series of 'bunns' or celebrations. The first is 3 days after the person passes away, culminating with a trip to the wat to cremate the deceased. The second is 100 days after the death. The third is 1 year after the death. For those who have the resources, additional bunns can be held each year afterwards. My most distinct memory of funerals are the sounds; funeral 'music' is characterized by the awful, high pitched wailing of a dying string instrument and drums. It's one of the most mournful, heart wrenching sounds. But, aside from the noise, funerals require your presence. Like when I see hydrangeas here in Philly, they require me to be mindful, to stop and reflect. Like the raspberries that will be just thorny bushes in a few weeks, our lives will end. Even when the pain starts to dull, my host brother will still be deeply missed.
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