Bleeding faces {guest post by my sister Jean}

I'm so proud and so happy to introduce my sister Jean to you today. One of the dearest people in my life, she is currently studying Biblical Counseling in Central Baptist Theological Seminary in Plymouth, MN. This following piece is her reflection on her acne. Her struggle with her extremely sensitive skin has been fierce and painful for well over a decade. Because of the way Jean pursues life, she is relentlessly theological, even in the way she observes her pimples. She is a woman of great courage.

~~~~~~~

This picture was taken right before my most recent breakout.

A few days ago, I saw some devastating pictures of Pakistani Christians suffering from a suicide bomb attack (some images are gruesome, here is the link if you want to see them). Hospital beds were crowded with injured patients waiting to be treated. The cement floor was dirty and the walls were covered with black stains. In another picture, there was a man whose shirt was soaked in blood, a little girl in a blood-stained dress, and a woman with a bleeding face.

Suddenly, the one valuable thing I had at that moment was something that had weighed me down recently: my acne-ridden face.

I have a carpeted apartment, a nice bed all to myself, mold-free walls, a stocked up kitchen, no missing limbs, but as to a bleeding face…I do have that. I don’t have one that’s bruised and injured but my skin throbs and bleeds more frequently as of late. My aching face was the one thing I could hold onto to enter into their pain, even if to a much smaller degree. I am suddenly grateful for what I had been despising.

It makes me think about suffering in a new light, another redemptive value about suffering I had never thought of. Perhaps another reason God has for allowing Christians in comfortable nations to suffer—due to the fallenness of this world—is to remind us of our brothers and sisters in other nations who are suffering death and persecution for their faith, not to mention poverty and much harsher living conditions. In other words, God knew I needed His help to consider the pain and suffering of others and that is one reason why he has allowed me to have this very, very light affliction — my acne-prone genes. He knew I would be a much different person, for the worse, without it.

Suffering of any kind also reminds us of yet another bleeding face, that of the “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief,” who had “no form or majesty...and no beauty that we should desire him,” and who “was despised...as one from whom men hide their faces” (Isa. 53). If God did not spare his own Son of suffering, and this for our behalf, then we must not believe the lie that our suffering means God does not love us. As Robertson McQuilkin beautifully pondered, "...what always caught and held me was the vision of God's best loved, pinioned in criminal execution in my place. How could someone who loved me that much let anything hurt me without cause?...[T]he heavy heart lifts on the wings of praise."

So, bad acne as cure for the soul? Who would’ve thought? God would, and of course he would, because he is a God who redeems and refuses to waste anything.




“So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison...”  -2 Cor. 4:16-17

Salty and bright

{a reflection on the collapsed factory in Bangladesh}

When I found out about the collapse of the clothing factory in Bangladesh, the first thing I did was to check the tag on my shirt.

Was it made in Bangladesh?
Who made my shirts, my shoes, my scarves, my pants?
Was it one of the 400 ladies who were killed?

My heart sank as I glanced at my closet.
So. Many. Clothes.
Too many.
(Why do I have so many clothes?)

I may not own anything made in that particular factory, but I am sure some of my clothes were made by people working under similar conditions. People who are underpaid and exploited because they need to feed their families. Some of those girls, they looked so young. Am I responsible for their deaths?

No, of course it's not my fault.
I have no way of knowing the conditions of the places where my clothes were made.
Blame greedy factory owners. Blame greedy and corrupted governments. Blame greedy capitalists.
I am innocent.

Or am I?

When it comes to issues of the public square—like sweatshops, abortion, and terrorism, we can sometimes feel so powerless. We feel as though there is so little we can do to create real change.

At the root of these great injustices is sin. We can begin fighting injustice by fighting the sins of our own hearts. After all, I am the only person I am able to control.

I am greedy. I covet things. I fall prey to the allures of fast fashion and cheap chic. I love branded bargains and slick deals. I love stuff.

Fighting injustice begins in my own heart. I am called to be salt; I am called to be light. I cannot force people to taste justice and see goodness. However, I can learn to be salty, and I can learn to be bright.

The Lord is my perfect garment. I shall not be in want.
Therefore, I can buy less. I can buy secondhand. I can buy wisely.
I can love simple living.
I can love people, not stuff.

Things I wish people told us about babies

Our friends Ivan and Sherri just had a baby (so happy!). And Ivan was the one who suggested the title for this post.

Because I didn't think I would write a post like this.

Within the first year of motherhood, my sentiments about people's (kind and well-meaning) advice were more along the lines of "things I wish people would not tell us about babies." Some were helpful, some were not, and others sent me into bouts of worries, guilt, and despair.

This is not a list of advice. These are just some things Emeth and Hanan have been teaching me.

1. Every baby is different.
True, we've only taken care of two babies. Yet, they are so different.

Other people do not know your child. Writers of books and articles do not know your child. Doctors and nurses and lactation consultants do not know your child. They do not know how your body feels or how your family functions. You do.

So, glean with caution. Glean from their years of expertise and knowledge, be grateful that they are available to help, but do not allow their opinions to rule your lives.

2. Every baby comes broken
3. into the arms of broken parents.
Emeth was not a compliant baby and he was very high maintenance. The first few weeks of his life were dark and happy and confusing. Now that he is four, his "difficult traits" are blossoming into his love to be around people and his intense need to understand his surrounding. But we had no way of knowing at the time.

He was a difficult baby. And I was constantly overwhelmed with guilt. I remember crying to Hans, convinced that I broke Emeth. Hans wisely and lovingly told me that Emeth was already broken. He was broken the moment he was conceived. Only the Lord, in his goodness and mercy, can save him — as he first saved us.

4. I have nothing to prove.
Still learning this one. Should have lived by this before becoming a mom. Better late than never, right?

5. The concept of time will never be the same again. Ever.
Me-time, us-time, work-time, play-time, sleep-time, shower-time — all comes crashing into one overwhelming blob.

Time is no longer linear, no longer compartmentalized, no longer predictable. The rhythm of life changes all together. And that's normal. Learn the new song. And don't try to sing the old tune to the new beat.

Nowadays, my time management mantra goes something like this: Stop chasing after what I would like to do. Learn to love what must be done. Repeat.


6. Hold principles firmly, hold methods loosely.
Principles are things that we must do as parents. Love your children. Rejoice in the Lord. Be kind. Be patient. Be faithful. Be gentle. Train up your child in the way of wisdom. These are non-negotiable.

Methods are the many ways, the different tools, we use to carry out our principles. I was so caught up in finding all the best methods in the beginning (oh you know, epidural or not, breastfeeding or not, co-sleeping or not, scheduled or demand-feeding, and all those baby gears!). I am not saying all methods are created equal, but I am saying that we need to hold our methods loosely. Don't get too invested in them. Because, at the end of the day, God has given you to your child. No matter which method you use, you are there. You are the best method. God has chosen you for your baby, and your baby for you.

That said, there was one method I held on for dear life when the babies were little. Baby-wearing. It's awesome, if your baby enjoys that sort of thing. Women (and men, I suppose) of ages past knew what they were doing. When Hans wore our babies, other moms commented on how he secure he must have been of his manhood.
 
7. Hold your baby. A lot.
Because they tend to wiggle more as they get older.

A letter to the King's Daughter

Dearest sister,

I received word that you have been weary. I am writing in hopes to remind you of who you are. You are the Daughter of the King. Let your confidence not be in yourself or in other human beings, but rest your hope in the Gospel -- by which you have been rescued.

Our Father did not create us to be weak and powerless. He has given us strength to work and minds to think. Remember your charge. The children of the King are to be fruitful and have dominion over his creation. We were created to be rulers.

Therefore, the daughters of the King must know the King's law. For how shall we rule if we do not know the will of our Father? His Word gives life. Let his instructions cover our tongues and our lips like sweet honey. Be quick to apply it first to ourselves.

Remember our Father, and how he rules with patience and mercy. Remember our eldest brother, the Firstborn of our Father, and how he ruled. The cross was his throne, where Prince of Peace was glorified. He ruled by dying in our place, in order that we might be his family. Rule likewise in God's kingdom.

Look around you, for this is the domain to which you have been entrusted by the King. Is your domain your home? Is it your work place? Is it your school? Who are the people you see everyday? Who are the people nearest and dearest to you? What are their needs? How can you make your sphere a brighter, lovelier place?

Be ready to give grace, as the recipients of grace. You are an ambassador of our Father, you represent the King. Be a hostess wherever you go. It does not mean you are necessarily outgoing, or that you have to be the leader. Being a hostess simply means that you are attentive and mindful of other people. Do not wait around or expect others to be kind to you first. Engage people in conversations. Be watchful for those who might be in need of a friend. Being "shy" is sometimes another excuse to be self-centered. 

Our Father calls his children to be fruitful. So do not be idle. Never be doing nothing, always be doing something. Be busy with good works. Be certain about your purpose and your end. Labor with hope and joy. Go after things that last forever. Seize every opportunity to serve others. Make things for them, write to them, cook for them.

Dress as the daughters of the King. Present yourselves in a befitting manner, for we live and stand in the King's court. Our eldest brother suffered shame and nakedness in order that we might be clothed with his righteousness. So, cover yourselves — with humility and good works.

Love your brothers, for they are the sons of the King. Respect and protect them. Do not lead their hearts astray. One of them may be your husband (someday). As for the rest of them, you don't know to whom they belong. So, back off. (Until, of course, you know for sure he is yours to keep)

The daughters of the King rest in the King's thoughts towards us. We rest in our relationship with our Father. Therefore, we give, we love, without expecting to be loved in return. We do not need to freak out about today, or worry about tomorrow. When other hurts and despise us, show grace in return. Have the heart of an ocean, and not be shallow and easily disturbed — like a puddle.

Be self-aware, especially of the motivations in our hearts — why we do what we do. When we find sinful and self-glorifying intentions, repent. Let all reflection turn into repentance and thanksgiving.

We are passionate creatures. We were given emotions to love God and love others, though our tendency is to love ourselves. Resist morbid introspection, a.k.a. dumpster diving. Resist sentimentalism. Resist self-pity. These do not bear fruit. Do not work up all kinds of emotions and daydreams, indulging ourselves for the sake feeling something. When we fall into despair, lift our eyes to cross. When we feel needy, give.

Weary though you may be, keep your eyes on the cross and keep walking. Walk with your sisters, and occasionally — dance! Run! Rejoice always! For we belong to our Father, and Christ is our Brother. Remember who you are, by grace, you are the King's daughter.

Much love,
Your sister

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

On absurdity and unkindness

Years ago, I had a dear friend who had anorexia and bulimia. One night, very early in our friendship (when I didn't know about her eating disorders), she looked at me and cried, "You are so thin, and I am so fat!" I was so confused. Her size-zero pants looked baggy on her. I will not tell you the size of my pants, but I can tell you that I was (and still am) not a size-zero.

I told her that she needed to love herself more.

A year after that incident, I was asked to give a workshop in the juvenile justice facilities on sexual harassment. I walked into a classroom containing twenty-two blank stares in blue uniforms. By the end of the workshop, we were a wreck. Some were crying, most were distraught, four admitted that they had been raped.

I left them with colorful bookmarks telling them to love themselves.

Weeks ago, Yohanan was teething (the well-used excuse for fussing). He just had a flu shot. His skin felt warmer than usual, a slight fever. He looked at me and his hand patted his chest, signing "Please." Hold me, mommy, just hold me.

Then, I understood
the absurdity
of the colorful bookmarks,
the unkindness
of telling my friend to love herself.

Girls in blue uniforms stood before my mind's eyes, their blank stares judged me. No, Miss, we cannot love ourselves. Can't you see, Miss? We are hurt, and broken, and sick.

How do we see ourselves?
Are we gods and goddesses -- the way they sing about us on the radio?
Or do we see ourselves as God sees us?

Children, toddlers, babies--
faces of beauty in the fullness of their glory,
helpless, rebellious, center of our universes,
always manage to get our hands on some poison or choking hazards,
prone to wander, falls, and pain.

We are children
like Yohanan,
we are not able to love ourselves.

When I see my children sinking in their self-inflicted misery, I don't tell them to love themselves. No, I tell them that Mommy and Daddy love them. I tell them that their Maker and Savior loves them. And then, we would dance, and sing, and hold on to one another (until, of course, I have to make dinner).

Love
looks to others.
When love looks to the self, it becomes something else.

On whales, trains, and stories

One night, after the children were in bed, I went into Hans' study and started spewing information about pregnant humpback whales, the growth spurt of baby humpbacks (100 pounds a day), and how they nurse (40 times a day, yielding about 130 gallons of milk, 50% milkfat). Fascinating stuff, right?

I stopped when I saw a huge grin on Hans' face. "What is so funny?" I demanded. "You are talking about breastfeeding whales," he responded.

OK, fine. I can see how that can be perceived as a little weird.
I blame this on motherhood. Emeth gave me his sea-creature-fever and I didn't even know it.

Mommy cow scolded baby cow for standing on the train tracks.

The train was, of course, carrying an octopus and a shark.

These are familiar sights around our home. This is Emeth's world. And it has become our world. Colliding stories. They make perfect sense in the mind of their creator, "Mommy, let me tell you a story. One day..."

Emeth lives in stories; and Emeth lives out stories.

During dinner one night, he was licking rice off the his plate. When I reprimanded him, he answered: "Emeth is not a cow?" Ah, thank you for the explanation. I am never sure where we are during our walks anymore, "Emeth, are we a school of fish in the coral reef (the bushes) or are we trains on the tracks (the sidewalk)?" I need to pay more attention.

I am well aware that one of the biggest advantages I have over all the other voices in his life is that I get to tell him his first stories. Stories make his world. Stories draw boundaries between light and darkness, day and night, sea and sky, right and wrong, good and bad. Stories give him people and things to love.

Mr.Squash meeting the wild animals at the zoo.

Hans found it slightly disturbing when I became fascinated with North Korea. I was digging around the web for articles, videos, pictures, anything really. And as always, after the children were in bed, I sat in Hans' study and spewed information.

How do they bear the weight of their fear? How do they endure the silence and the emptiness of their streets? How did they become so deceived?

Stories.

The same can be said for the concentration camps during World War II. Or how people captured other human beings and make them slaves. Or how pimps deceive young girls into prostitution. They each began with a story -- very, very bad ones.

We expect to be entertained when we walk into the cinema. As we drive down the highway, we are bombarded by streams of billboards. Movies, dramas, video clips, reality shows, commercials, books, the news. We think we are above them. We think they are harmless. In fact, we don't think very much of them at all.

Kim Jong Il, the dictator of North Korea, thinks very much of these things. He knows the power of storytelling. Some call it propaganda. Actors and actresses in North Korea are handpicked by Kim Jong Il, and they are counted among the most privileged of the country. They live and perform to give joy to their "Dear Leader."

In Pyongyang, there is a shrine dedicated to the "Dear Leader." Well, actually he has many shrines, but this particularly one is a museum of cinematography, in which he is the star. Of all things, the people revere him as a genius of the cinema, the theater, and the circus. Prime ministers and presidents of other nations do not receive such praise in these fields. But it seems that his strategy works, the level of control Kim Jong Il has on his subjects is astounding.

When I spewed information about North Korea on my sister Catherine (my poor family), she thoughtfully responded: "I wonder whether I am living in a delusion?"

Yes, of course we are. Like children, we live in stories, and we live out stories. But unlike children, we don't think very much of them. In fact, we don't think very much at all.

Because he loves me

I get my weekly dose of feel-good-about-myself-music in the grocery store. While I shop for food, people on the radio sing about what a wonderful human being I am. That I am amazing, and perfect -- just the way I am. There is nothing they would change, they say, because I was born this way.

I'm glad Hans doesn't tell me things of that sort.

Recently, I made a mistake. The same kind of mistake that I made for the 798th time. Except this time, Hans bore the brunt of the consequences. Because I was careless, my husband suffered.

As always, he forgave me. I married a kind man. He comforted me, and gently encouraged me -- to change.

It wasn't pleasant to hear, of course. But it was the most loving, the most hope-filled thing that he could say to me. He didn't give up on me, or leave me to be the way that I was. My husband believed that I could change because he loved me. Because he loved me, I wanted to change.

"Love yourself." This is the first commandment in the religion of self-esteem. It is the chant of our generation.

I was once a preacher of this religion, along with those singers on the radio. When I was teaching in juvenile prisons and teen pregnancy centers, I gave each girl a bookmark with the words "love yourself" on it. I now cringe at the thought that a few girls even said they were going to make tattoos of  these words. I hope they didn't. And if they did, I hope they will forgive me.

My problem is not that I don't love myself. On the contrary, my problem is that I only love myself. There are other (less flattering) words to describe this: selfish, self-centered, self-righteous. I was born this way.

I don't want to remain the way that I am. I want to change. I want to love others more than I love myself. But I don't. And on my own, I am unable to change. I make the same mistake 798 times.

When I was deep in my rebellion, Christ died in my place. He didn't give up on me, or leave me to be the way that I was. He rescued me, and set me free -- so I am able to love God and love others.

My Lord is changing me because he loves me.
Because he loves me, I want to change.

On liberty and strength

Someone asked me the other day, what am I doing "other than being a mommy." It was a kind gesture, to be sure. But here were a few things that went through my head:

1. Um... What?!
The friend happened to be male, single, and living his dream career. Obviously, he was not a mom, or he wouldn't ask me that.

2. But how should I answer his question?
What do I do "other than being a mommy"?
*thinking*
Wow. I've got nothing.

3. Wait. Really? Am I just a mom?

4. Fine, but I'm not just any mom. I am a mom who cooks intelligent food.... and plays intelligent games... and makes intelligent decisions for my children.

5. You are absurd. And you say (and think) absurd things. Since when did intelligence become so important?

6. Since it became the definition of a successful woman, that's when! A strong woman. A liberated woman.

7. And that is what you want to be?

8. No... Yes... but...

9. And you were just teaching Emeth that being kind and patient is more important than being smart. Nice job at walking the talk, Mom.

10. Do they look like chains to you?
 
After all these years of trying to break free, I am still bound by what culture thinks about motherhood: being a mom is not enough.

Once upon a time, I worked for a feminist organization that educate girls to be "strong, smart, and bold." That was our motto. Girls can be whatever they want to be -- other than being "just a mom."

Lies!
Lies that I apparently still believe.

Soul, you are very slow to learn.
Not so intelligent after all.

_______

Here are some quotes from Chesterton that I often revisit:
(Chesterton, What's Wrong With the World, 1910)

1. Like the fire, the woman is expected to illuminate and ventilate, not by the most startling revelations or the wildest winds of thought, but better than a man can do it after breaking stones or lecturing. But she cannot be expected to endure anything like this universal duty if she is also to endure the direct cruelty of competitive or bureaucratic toil. Woman must be a cook, but not a competitive cook; a school mistress, but not a competitive schoolmistress; a house-decorator but not a competitive house-decorator; a dressmaker, but not a competitive dressmaker. She should have not one trade but twenty hobbies; she...may develop all her second bests. This is what has been really aimed at from the first in what is called the "seclusion," or even the "oppression," of women. Women were not kept at home in order to keep them narrow; on the contrary, they were kept at home in order to keep them broad.

The world outside the home was one mass of narrowness, a maze of cramped paths, a madhouse of monomaniacs. It was only by partly limiting and protecting the woman that she was enabled to play at five or six professions and so come almost as near to God as the child when he plays at a hundred trades. But the woman's professions, unlike the child's, were all truly and almost terribly fruitful; so tragically real that nothing but her universality and balance prevented them being merely morbid. This is the substance of the contention I offer about the historic female position.


2. Two gigantic facts of nature fixed it thus: first, that the woman who frequently fulfilled her functions literally could not be specially prominent in experiment and adventure; and second, that the same natural operation surrounded her with very young children, who require to be taught not so much anything as everything. Babies need not to be taught a trade, but to be introduced to a world. To put the matter shortly, woman is generally shut up in a house with a human being at the time when he asks all the questions that there are, and some that there aren't. It would be odd if she retained any of the narrowness of a specialist.


3. How can it be a large career to tell other people's children about the Rule of Three, and a small career to tell one's own children about the universe?
How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone, and narrow to be everything to someone? No; a woman's function is laborious, but because it is gigantic, not because it is minute. I will pity Mrs. Jones for the hugeness of her task; I will never pity her for its smallness.

Vampire, Werewolf, and Desires (a reluctant part 3)

I know, I know. Who knew there was going to be a part 3?! Vampires are so out of style. (See part 1 and part 2 from last year)

In my effort to think of an illustration for Sunday School, I could not resist. Alas, Sunday came and only four students showed up that morning (I am not bitter, obviously). One of the four was a boy who didn't even read Twilight (we appreciate you, Kevin!).

Oh well.

I wanted to make a point about idolatry, namely to discuss the differences between surface idols and deep idols. Surface idols are things like grades (you must understand that I teach Chinese high school students), money, family, careers, dreams, addictions. Deep idols are the cravings of our souls for approval, control, admiration, power, comfort, security, pleasure.

In one of the books, Bella was going back and forth between liking Edward the vampire and Jacob the werewolf. She was in despair (Oh, the agony!). And then, she discovered that she she was in love with both (this is where I resist the urge to pull my hair out).

Here was my point: The vampire and the werewolf were merely surface idols, Bella's deep idol was her desire for approval, admiration, and security. Or, in other words, she was in love with both Edward and Jacob because what she really wanted was something else.

Deep idols are the roots that hold the weeds; deep idols are the currents beneath the waves. Surface idols may look different from one person to another, or change depending on the stages of life, but so long as the root remains -- we are bound.

Jesus repeatedly warned his listeners against the love for money. Money serves so well as the surface idol to a variety of deep idols. For those who desire praise and admiration, they flaunt their money. For those who desire security, they save and invest. For those who desire power and control, money paves their path of influence. So for those of us who are frugal, we need to beware that we might be frugal precisely because we love money; or we love the control and security that being frugal gives us.

Therefore, fasting from coffee or facebook or chocolate or texting is not sufficient. Fasting might be necessary -- to wean us from a dependence on these things, but eliminating these things will not change our idolatrous hearts.

Purging must take place from within. Parting from our idols is a painful thing. This is where we scream, "but that's just the way I am" or "how I am wired" or "the way I was raised."

So, it is not enough to identify what I daydream about and what freaks me out. I then need to ask why. Why are these things so important to me?

The truth is, no amount of praise or control or power will ever satisfy. There is no lasting comfort or pleasure or security on this earth.  This tells us perhaps we were made for another world.

Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists. A baby feels hunger: well, there is such a thing as food. A duckling wants to swim: well, there is such a thing as water. Men feel sexual desire: well, there is such a thing as sex. If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world. If none of my earthly pleasures satisfy it, that does not prove that the universe is a fraud. Probably earthly pleasures were never meant to satisfy it, but only to arouse it, to suggest the real thing. -- C.S. Lewis

On Bacteria and Abortion

One of the more useful classes I had to take for my college degree was Microbiology. For my term project, I studied the bacteria found in public restrooms. I carefully swab the toilet seats, faucets, and door handles in every (female) bathroom in the dormitories. I then grew the bacteria on Petri dishes and examined them under the microscope. What (nerdy) fun.

Here is a summary of my findings (according to the number and grossness of the bacteria):

Toilet seats < Door handles < Faucets

Ew to faucets indeed.

That was nine years ago. Since then, I have not touched a single faucet or door handle or toilet seat in public restrooms without a paper towel or something to shield my skin from that thick, slimy, invisible layer of microorganisms.

My belief in bacteria dictates my action. Oh yes indeed it does. In fact, it even governs a sick feeling I get just thinking about faucets.

Years ago, around the time when I took that Microbiology class, I learned that much of the abortion debate centered around the question "when does life begin?" At conception? First trimester? Second trimester? Third? One's judgment on this issue depended on their answer to this question, that was what they said.

Belief dictates action.

Emeth at 14-weeks

Since then, I've had conversations with women who had abortions, and more importantly, had two pregnancies of my own. Thanks to technological advancement, we now have reliable windows into the womb. Faces. Heartbeat. Movement. A separate genetic code from the mother. The fetus is clearly not "part of the woman's body." The question is no longer "when does life happen?"; we know we are carrying human life. Yet, people still choose to abort children.

We are a generation who believes murder is permissible.

My actions betray my beliefs. Every moment, every day. When I do not spend time in God's Word, when I am not living a life of obedience, when I do not fear the consequences of my sin — I am proclaiming:

The Lord and Creator of Heaven and Earth < Bacteria

Grim indeed.

On Vampires and Desires (Part 2)

The second discussion took on quite a different tone. By then, I realized the girls' infatuation with the series was no laughing matter. I was very grateful for Hans' stabling and non-giggling presence next to me that Sunday morning.

There is in each of us desires. Certain yearnings are more forceful and obvious than others, such as our need for intimacy and our desire to be wanted, to be attractive. And then, there are others that are more subtle--things that we may not even realize. These desires are not inherently evil. Our crooked hearts do, however, often turn toward the wrong direction in search of their fulfillment.

Vampires, as depicted in the Twilight series, are repeatedly described as being like gods and goddesses--even the evil, human-blood-drinker kind. They are Beautiful. Powerful. Immortal. When human beings are transformed into vampires, their senses and "gifts" intensify and are made even cooler. They are supernatural, surpassing humanity in every way.

Stephanie Meyers' vampires is strangely comparable to, though a much less descriptive and imaginative version of, C.S. Lewis' solid people in The Great Divorce. Human beings, on the other hand, are like the weak and non-substantial ghosts.

Throughout the story, ever so predictably, Bella wants to be a vampire. So that she can be with Edward. So that she can be beautiful next to Edward. Why would anyone want to remain a plain, non-sparkling human when you can be a godlike vampire?!

Even Emeth recognizes the picture on the cover of Twilight--"Apple!" he declares.

Now, what does an apple have to do with vampires?

When you eat of it, you will become like God. (Genesis 3:4-5)

The lie is not very original, is it? In fact, it is the oldest one in the book.

Give into your desires. Being your own god is really much better than being a creature. Take the bite (pun intended). And your dreams will come true. And you will live happily ever after (the title of the last chapter of the saga).

As at the first, the lie is not completely devoid of truth. We can become like God. We are created in his image. We are created to be beautiful, powerful, and immortal. We can become like God--by obeying our Creator-King-Father. We become like God by worshiping him.

Even sadder still, when Satan tempted Eve and promised a God-like existence.She had forgotten a fundamental truth -- that she was already like God. Her Maker created her in his image. So, she betrayed the One who loved her for absolutely nothing.

The world hungrily devours the Twilight series. They are hungry for love, beauty, power, and immortality. Yet, they are eating jello (grosser things come to mind, but let me spare you) which does absolutely nothing.

Jesus is the Bread of Life. He alone fulfills.


Link to Part I

On Vampires and Desires (Part 1)

I spent two Sunday School lessons on vampires. The girls were thrilled. They were actually excited to be there. Go figure.

I promised my Sunday School girls I would read Twilight and give them a treatment of my response. Everyone, every single one, of my girls read the book, except for Hui--who just moved here from China.

I started by giving them a character analysis. Keeping my face straight while describing Edwards Cullen, the vampire, was quite a task. I lost it when I got to the part about his "set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth." We then talked about the highly volatile nature of the relationship between the Bella and Edward.

The girls accused me of over-reading. They said, and I am going to quote them word for word: "We don't read this the way we read the Bible, okay?" I replied by asking them whether they really wanted me to quiz them on the characters in the Bible. Needless to say, they regretted saying anything.

I was intentionally scrupulous. I wanted them to see how much goes by unobserved--the underlying assumptions that create the story that they liked so much. The unobserved is often the most dangerous. These have a way of leading our hearts astray without our knowing.

I actually found the series quite fascinating as a case study for human desires, particularly of the female kind. We know that it sells. We know that girls and women of a spectrum of ages love it. It sells because the story resonates with what we want to daydream about.

We desire to be desired. And this story provides a god-like, dazzling vampire who lusts after an ordinary and clumsy human girl--for her thoughts, her touch, her scent, her blood. We want to be loved, to be protected. We want to be in the story.

Link to Part II