A lot of life seems chaotic right now, both personally and in our nation. There is a temptation when things are spinning from control to rage with fury to combat the tide, or on the flip side, to check out completely. I almost don't want to hear what the latest is sometimes, so count me in the camp of closing my eyes and plugging my ears.  Unrest is not new. Things have been to topsy turvy for a long time now...since Genesis 3, in fact, when things were turned hell bound because of the Fall. 

What, then, do we do in the present chaos? As citizens of a heavenly kingdom, we make known the qualities of that kingdom - peace, justice, mercy to name a few - we incline ourselves to see those principles manifest in our present. The church of Jesus Christ presses forward, rolling up her sleeves, placing herself squarely in the chaos, and announcing a future kingdom that promises that things will be made right again. 

Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Matthew 6:9-10

Last month on our annual family road trip down south, we were met with sporadic showers accompanied by a marvelous array of rainbows, showcasing prominently in the rain. Overwhelmed at the sight, my mother declared, "How can there be both rain and rainbows?" Her question prompted a laugh from all of us. "Mom," I said knowingly, "there can't be rainbows without rain." This was immediately followed by another laugh, and then we all sighed as we recognized the deeper significance of that statement. Indeed, in order for us to really grasp the true hope of our faith in God, trials must accompany our discovery (1 Pet 1:6-7). I will only know how good God is when I see how absolutely messed up things (myself) are.

We are often surprised when things get hard (1 Pet 4:12). And sometimes that rainbow isn't so immediately apparent. But we can look with anticipation to the full revelation of God's glory - making the rainbow a mere prelude.

It takes real work to have a sense of gratitude, or readiness to show appreciation. I would argue that it's actually not natural to be thankful. The heart is stubbornly selfish, and even if we are grateful for a moment, the next moment may find us wanting. Or worse, bitter and unappreciative.  I know this because even those whose very lives have been spared - who have every reason to be overpouring with gratitude, will find themselves struggling to display sustained thanks in every situation. This is true for believers in Christ. Rescued from eternal damnation, we live our lives at times in indisproportional gratitude and praise to the One who authored it all. 

For my ungrateful self it takes work to undo the natural tendencies of the heart. God's Word in all its authority has its way of piercing my calloused heart:

For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. - 2 Corinthians 5:21

For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich. - 2 Corinthians 8:9

Amen. May we all learn to be ever more grateful for our great riches in Christ. 

Understandably, much of the American public is sad following our recent presidential election. Eight years ago I wrote that I had never seen an election filled with so much emotion. Of course, the overriding sentiment was much different. This time, there is palpable disappointment, even fear. I've had to console others while myself grieving something entirely different - the loss of my beloved grandmother. Last weekend she departed at the ripe age of 97, leaving a state of disbelief that her ubiquitous presence will be no more. It seemed that she would always be here, and that our scripted exchanges - limited due to my broken Chinese - would never grow old. "Why are you dressed so nice?" was her common greeting when she saw me, even if I was in full weekend mode in sweatshirt and jeans. I took each compliment in stride and immediately returned one back at her: "Your hair looks really good!" (which it did, because I would often see her after going to the hairdresser). When annoyed she would declare, "Your mother is so frustrating!" To which I would respond "She's your daughter!" My sister and I were in constant rivalry trying to out do the other to see who could make my grandmother laugh, ending in an inevitable tie each time because my sister's inferior language skills would produce outright laughter just for not making any sense.

My sadness for my grandmother is a different sadness than I feel for our nation. It's interesting that though different, they stem from the same root: the futility of the human condition. I am sure to be sad again on different occasions, but only while my cry grows louder - Come, Lord Jesus, come.

I realize this post (er,...ramble) about how time passes likely marks a rite of passage as a full-fledged adult, not just young adult. And this rite of passage is one that is certainly earned with experience, of which there is much variety. When I look back, sometimes the past feels strangely distant. Like, I can't believe that those experiences were reality at one point, and now they feel so far removed. So it got me to think - ought I to feel more nostalgic? I passed this year on going to my high school reunion and found myself with absolutely zero desire to go. That part of my past seems just that - my past. Some of us hold on to the past and live as if the past is still the present. And then there's the opposite extreme of completely ignoring the past like it never happened.

I think there can be middle ground here. My high school life certainly is not forgotten. It was a revelation of who I am at the core (the good, the bad, and mostly ugly). If those years had been more positive, would I have more desire to go back to relive them? Certainly. But one of the lessons you learn as an adult is that life goes on. You've changed. And you can't just go back to the way things were.

I've learned to remember the past and allow it to inform the present. But I do not allow it to dictate my present. I'm also very grateful that God saves us from our past sin so that we can live in present victory. And this to lead us to future glory, which at present, is something we can all eagerly long for.

When I was in 8th grade, my teachers voted me the most congenial girl in the class. I was the unexpected choice from my more likable, outgoing classmates. I could sense the surprise when my name was called for the award. After all, my efforts outside of my world were minimal at best. Sticking closely to a small group of friends was what I preferred. Regardless of whether that title was deserved or not, I have now spent years trying to understand how to be just that. Congenial. Pleasant or agreeable because of a personality similar to one's own. I think of Christ who was able to engage such disparate groups of people - from the poor to the marginalized to those high ranking or religious. Here's what I've learned in attempting to connect with others:

1. Address people by name. It's a small gesture, but inserting a person's name is huge when it comes to acknowledging another person. It reminds me that this person has worth and value. I've learned that people also love to hear their name, even the most inconspicuous.

2. Speak with others what you know is on their hearts. Engage people where they're at. Be interested in what they're interested in. When you don't know a lot about whatever that is, ask questions. People get extra chatty about things that are near and dear to their heart.

3. Listen more than talk. It may be harder for some of us, but be mindful of  dominating a conversation. I have walked away from conversations where I realize in hindsight that I was completely self-centered. If we listen more, we make a statement that we mutually respect and care for the other person, so it's not all about us. It's not rocket science, but listening is more nuanced than we realize, and the implications of doing it well strengthens our relationships.

I probably won't ever receive another award for congeniality, but there is still greater motivation for me than ever (1 John 4:19), even without the title.

I think the term "sore loser" has a bad reputation. I mean, who doesn't feel sore when they lose? If you're not sore, you didn't care in the first place. Okay, okay, so I know the soreness here refers more to being a poor sport, but when you lose, well, you ought to feel sore.  When you lose, there are annoying cliches offered to console you. Like, "there's always next time," or "let's recall former glory," or "hey, you tried." But I think there's no hiding when you lose. It...just...sucks. 

I think we have to know the agony of defeat in order to taste how sweet victory is. But oh, you say, isn't that cliche? But it's true. The bitterness of defeat tells me that losing is bad. Or more plainly, that it sucks. 

In case you're wondering, I'm trying to get over the SF Giants' stunning loss and end to their fabled post season run. Give me a few days. 

Many people take to social media to air their beliefs, and I'm mostly inattentive, especially since my posts largely involve the superiority of my favorite baseball team or what I last ate. My blog, however, is where you find more depth (that is, when I get it together to write). There are times, however, when certain posts stand out in the endless scroll through my feed. And mostly these are from Christians that are declarative in a misinformed way, prompting me to write some considerations to make before hitting "post."

1. Check for Scriptural foundation. This is #1. "Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth." (Jn 17:17) This is what Christ prayed for us as believers, and something we should remember. Truth comes from God's Word. We shouldn't be declarative without a solid biblical basis.
2. Remember your audience. I'm not sold that your social media feed is the best place to garner attention for your beliefs. Your audience is wide, and not always understanding (or willing to read through).
3. Beware of the repost. Sometimes we blindly repost something from someone else without fully reading it or thinking about what we are posting.

We all crave recognition as humans. We want to be noticed at some level (even the most inconspicuous of us), and when our efforts go overlooked we feel slighted.  Thirteen years into my profession I've learned that I can't allow work to justify my worth. I must fight doggedly against this knowing my weakness is living for the acceptance of others. When I allow work to be my means of self justification I am always lacking. But when my view of work transforms, knowing that I can go at it with all my heart because it is Christ who I am serving, I find freedom. 

Rejection packs a blow that grows decisively more wretched as it sinks in. If you've ever watched The Bachelor (this is my admission, yes), rejected contestants go down a predictable downward trajectory (captured ever so deftly on camera) - first shock, then grief, and then the self-pity ("why does this always happen to me?"). Perhaps it's a case of schadenfreude, or delighting in someone else's misery, but there's something in those moments that intrigues me. I think because they are moments which are all too familiar. Rejection stinks, and with it, a resulting pain that is deeply unsettling.  The Book of Isaiah tells us that Christ was "despised and rejected by men" (53:3).  We know this to be true as we read the Gospel accounts of how Jesus was rejected by many, leading to His crucifixion. I have to think that Jesus felt the pain of rejection somehow. Yet we also see that He persisted in his mission and message. He knew the will of the Father (Luke 17:25). And it is through Christ enduring rejection that we are made forever accepted to God - with His wounds we are healed. 

Rejection will still hurt, but Christ turned it around so that we may never face permanent rejection of the Father. This is the good news of the gospel. 

Happy Resurrection Sunday!