My crooked belly, my crooked heart

I love Avis. She's like a big sister to me. She is also an awesome physical therapist. I had a severe backache when I was pregnant with Hanan. She made it go away. It was magical.

Recently, the pregnancy backache came back. Avis took one glance at me and knew right away that I was in pain. More importantly, she knew why I was in pain. "Of course your back is aching," she said, "you are carrying the baby on your right side." I have learned not to doubt her. But still, I asked: "How do you know that?!" She answered, "Because it is so obvious. Go home, look in the mirror, and you will see that your belly button is to the right side of your tummy."

Sure enough, she was right.

My belly is crooked, people!

How was it that I look at myself in the mirror everyday and not see that my entire torso was lopsided?! Like Avis said, it was so obvious.

I am that person in James 1 who looks at herself in the mirror and yet I do not understand what I see. And I forget what I look like the moment I walk away.


At our church, there are two bathrooms. The smaller bathroom has a mirror that made people look thinner. The bigger bathroom has a mirror that made people look fatter. Guess which bathroom I like to use?

We choose to see what we want to see.

We want to see ourselves in the best light. We want to look thinner or taller or more in shape. We want to look symmetrical. Belly buttons should be in the center (is this too much to ask?!). We want to see ourselves as good people, who commit very few wrongs. And when we are wrong, there must be good reasons (a.k.a. excuses) for our mistakes.

Hans preached on Psalm 33 two Sundays ago. He concluded with a point that went straight to my heart: the upright and the righteous are not those who do not sin. Rather, the upright and righteous are people who see themselves as they truly are — sinners who cannot save themselves. Therefore, they hope in the steadfast love of the Lord.

The object of their their hope defines them: What are you beholding?

Scripture is like a mirror. It reveals our true selves. It reflects our crooked hearts. We do not love God with our hearts, minds, and strength. We do not love our neighbors as we love ourselves. We cannot do or be better tomorrow, because we are crooked and twisted to the core. When I attempt to destroy my idols, I only make new ones.

So we pray as David prayed,
Lord, create in us clean hearts.

A bold request. We ask for nothing short of a miracle. To ask God to do in us what he did in the beginning — to create something out of nothing. We ask our Lord to do this, not because we deserve anything, but because of his steadfast love.

In your mercy,
oh Lord, remove the scales from our eyes.
Help us to see our crooked ways,
twisted and deformed.
Create in us clean hearts,
that we may trust in your steadfast love.

Fly

Hans told Emeth the other day that being a missionary is better than being a doctor. Instead of heartily agreeing with my husband, my mind's immediate reaction was, "Really?!"

Hans was right, of course.

I want to be like Hannah who offered her son to serve in the Temple.
I want to sharpen three arrows who would fly and fight in the Lord's winning battle.
I want to raise three men who would lay down their lives for the sake of the Gospel.

Yet, in moments like these, I realized just how bound I still am to the ways of the world.

Let's face it. Our dreams are not outrageously creative. You've seen them. Those inspirational quotes about dreaming big dreams, chasing the moon, falling among the stars. Blah blah blah. To be the best at this, to be the first at that. To be fulfilled, to be distinct, to be authentic. To be "most-something," anything. All is vanity. Nothing is new under the sun.

This is not what I want for my sons.

We are eagles created to fly. We were once bound, dragged down by the miry bog. The Lord in his grace and by his truth has set us free. We are now free to soar. Instead of spreading our wings, however, we are busy, busy, busy—building cages. Cages engraved with our earthly titles. So we can sit in them and have others admire how beautiful are the edifices we have made for ourselves. Some are made of sticks and bricks, others silver and gold. Very impressive. Not really.

Because a cage is a cage is a cage.

We must chose one or the other. Either we seek first and work hard to build the kingdom of heaven, or we seek first and work hard to build our own kingdom of one.

Soul, grace and truth has set you free.
Burn the cage.
Fly.





*Photo credit: our friend Vivian. Thank you!

Breathing, bleeding stones

I woke up on Saturday morning to Hans' voice humming Moon River to me. It was the perfect song to begin our day together, the day we would be homeless -- together. With the help of dear friends, we packed up our earthly belongings, and drove away just as the sun was setting.

This was not part of the plan. How I fought and resisted the thought just a few weeks ago. But it was most difficult to remain sullen when we were drowning in love and kindness.

A small army invaded our home. They scrubbed beside me (sometimes instead of me), braved through the boys' toys and my kitchen things, and loaded up the trucks in the scorching sun. They filled the last few hours of our apartment of six years with roars of laughter, and their fine friendships.

So, until further notice, we do not have an address. We are drifters drifting. This world is indeed not our home. No, our home is not made of sticks and bricks, but living, breathing, bleeding stones.

Moon river wider than a mile
I'm crossing you in style someday
You dream maker, you heartbreaker
Wherever you're going I'm going your way

Two drifters off to see the world
There's such a lot of world to see
We're after the same rainbow's end
Waiting 'round the bend
My huckleberry friend, moon river and me

Tis the season to be stressed out

Hans and I are both students. We live with students. We go to church and serve with mostly students. So -- we know. Deadlines and big decisions loom ahead. You don't have to be a student to understand these things. The burden weighs us down, our weaknesses glaring. Tiredness, depression, and panic seeps in. Life seeps out. We are left like dry bones, hearts barren.

'Tis is also the season when God's Word, prayer, and fasting fall by the wayside, and replaced by more urgent, "necessary" things. There is simply no time to read God's Word. Prayers are becoming mostly about me, my fears, my goals. Tell me what do you want me to do? Tell me what is your will for my life? Fasting? Completely out of the question. How am I suppose to get through the day without food?!

Welcome to my foolish head.

He has spoken, but we are not listening. He shows us the way to freedom and restoration, but we do not follow. He tells us his will for our lives, but we do not trust or believe him.

Fast and pray -- this how we must repent. This is how we are to place ourselves once more in the way of grace. Jesus did not say, “If you fast" or "If your pray” but “When you fast” and "When you pray." These are not optional; they are not electives in the syllabus.

When our flesh rebels, when we find all kinds of excuses, when we do not want to fast and pray -- this is exactly when we must fast and pray. Throw ourselves at Christ's feet. Repent. Worship. Bend our knees. Trust. Obey. Simply because he commands us to do so.

Prayer and fasting is the perfect posture to offer this God-depending, God-glorifying, flesh-denying, self-forgetting worship. These are acts of faith. This is the way of grace.

On our knees,
doing nothing,
empty, weak, hungry,
we wait,
we pray.

I am yours;
save me.

On winning hearts

When Hans was my gentleman-friend, our long-distance "dates" would at times include lengthy readings from Jonathan Edwards' treatise on Religious Affections. Little did I know, Mr. Edwards would be a most kind and patient teacher. Years later, these readings proved to be most precious during some of the most difficult trials.

Reading long 18th-century treatises over the phone for hours was an uncommon strategy to win a lady's heart (though I don't think that was his intention). Especially when these readings often brought up difficult subjects, which were followed by painful, ego-shattering conversations.

But, win he did. He had my heart.
What he won me with, he won me to.

With his love for the truth, he taught me to love the truth. He cared deeply that I would remain faithful to Christ, and that I would understand God rightly. By this, I knew he cared deeply for me.

Ultimately, the task of parenting is to prepare the boys for our absence. Our days are numbered; our time runs short. The daily battles of my mind and heart can be summed up with one question: What am I teaching my children to love?

I can think of many answers to this question. Some things are more important than others. Right now, teaching them to love carrots, nap time, clean hands, and the dreaded toothbrush strangely occupy much of our time.

There are other things too. Among which is one of utmost importance: love others. Love the King of glory, love each other, and love our neighbors. This is the fountain from which all else will flow: joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. Vitamin A in carrots and cavity-free teeth shall pass, but love is here to stay.

So in fear and trembling, we place these boys in the way of grace. And we point, and we say, "Look! Look at the cross, on which the King of glory died." With much hope, perhaps what we win them with will be what we win them to.

I have three little sisters of my own. Over the years, a few other girls kindly adopted me and made me their own. Little sisters ask a lot of questions. Sometimes, they ask about boys. I am glad that they ask, because I tend to be quite bossy that way.

I think I've found a new answer to their questions. Or rather, a new way of repeating some old answers. I think this sums it up quite well: What you win them with is what you win them to. And, what they win you with is what they win you to. It's good to know where they are taking you.

Speaking of love, here is a most peculiar proposal from Adoniram Judson to Anne Hesseltine. He wrote this letter asking Mr.Hesseltine for his daughter's hand in marriage. His words make diamond rings look like pebbles on the beach, seriously.

I have now to ask, whether you can consent to part with your daughter early next spring, to see her no more in this world; whether you can consent to her departure, and her subjection to the hardships and sufferings of a missionary life; whether you can consent to her exposure to the dangers of the ocean; to the fatal influence of the southern climate of India; to every kind of want and distress; to degradation, insult, persecution, and perhaps a violent death. Can you consent to all this, for the sake of him who left his heavenly home, and died for her and for you; for the sake of perishing, immortal souls; for the sake of Zion, and the glory of God? Can you consent to all this, in hope of soon meeting your daughter in the world of glory, with the crown of righteousness, brightened with the acclamations of praise which shall redound to her Saviour from heathens saved, through her means, from eternal woe and despair.

Mr.Hesseltine handed the letter and the decision to his daughter. She accepted.

What Adoniram won Anne with, he won her to. Together, they sailed beyond their deaths, and unto that golden shore, where their pain and tears are no more.

Take, Eat

Hunger. The first thing babies communicate to mom and dad: "I want food, and you." As the years grow, our hunger grows. Our wants multiply, our appetites become larger and more complex. We discover new kinds of hunger, deeper yearnings of the soul and mind.

We crave to be heard, to be validated, to be seen. We want to be perceived as strong, smart, and bold. We want to be the best -- at something, anything. Women love "how-to" lists. Give us twenty-five ways, in three steps, using one rule to make--something, anything--more delicious, more beautiful, more superior. And oh, and we want to be desirable, and gorgeous too, please.

As Eve was in the beginning, so are we. She was hungry for beauty, and she wanted to be wise. It wasn't enough to be like God, she wanted to be God. She wanted to make her own decisions, determine her own path.

So she took, and she ate.

When my sisters and I were little, a friend of my mother scolded her for the way she dressed her daughters. Why were her daughters not in ankle-length skirts? How could my mom allow her girls to wear pants? How dare her daughters keep their hair short? She tore my mother to shreds with her accusations. My mother was so forbearing, so gentle. Now that I have children of my own, I wonder what I would have done.

There was nothing modest about that friend's promotion of "modesty."

My Sunday school girls often ask me for the nitty-gritty when it comes to dressing modestly: What about a two-piece bathing suit? What if there are only girls around? What about a strapless wedding dress? What about certain brands of clothing?

I am encouraged that they are at least thinking about what they wear, but I resist to give them a yes-or-no answer. I give guidelines, yes, but I refuse to choose their wardrobe because true modesty is not just about clothes. Just as true frugality is not about money, and true fasting is not about food.

What I am most concern about is that we recognize the hunger and the desires that drive us. And we set our eyes on the Feast of Life, where we can find bread and water. Only there, can our hunger be satisfied.

Idolatry is our hunger for anything other than God. Sin is, as it was in the beginning, our sad attempt to stuff our hunger with deadly things.

We crave for people's praise, acceptance, and attention by the way we dress. We do this not only to attract the opposite gender, but also for the approval and envy of our peers. We want to claim a superlative of our own; to be the best -- at something, anything. To be the most daring, most in-shape, most fashion-forward, most expensive, most frugal, most weird. And yes, and even "most godly" and "most modest."

Some try to dodge this whole modesty question all together: "God looks at the heart, so what I wear is not important" or "I don't have a problem with modesty because I don't even care about what I wear."

But clothing is important to God.

Before Adam and Eve left the Garden, he knew his children were ashamed, and fig leafs were not enough. So, an animal was slaughtered and God covered Adam and Eve with its skin.

How Christians cloth ourselves brings glory to God because our clothing points to Christ, our perfect covering. The Lamb of God, who was slaughtered for the sins of the world. The way we dress is a simple act of love for our neighbors, our proclamation that we are Christ's disciples. And our obedience to Christ is a mark of our allegiance, our act of worship.

So, do not live on hungry souls. We fast with joy, knowing that our souls are filled and fed on the Word of God. We shop not on empty stomachs, but on hearts fully satisfied, knowing that our Treasure is great in heaven.

We are invited to the Feast of Life. Come, taste and see that the Lord is good. Be hungry no more.

The King of Glory extends his nail-pierced hands,
"Take, eat, this is my body, which is given for you.
Do this in remembrance of me."

__________


Here are the links to the series:
Part 1: In the Garden
Part 2: Shame
Part 3: Sackcloth
Part 4: Bridal garment
Part 5: Christ
Heart-Applications
Applications: Take Two