Hallways, Stress, and Thankfulness

I’m really stressed out.

And the last thing I “should” be doing is spending time writing about how stressed out I am. I should be studying for finals, working on upcoming projects, writing final papers, replying to emails, or one of the many, many, many things that compose my mental stress list. But no, instead I’m sitting in a deserted hallway on the third floor of Shillman writing a blog post. The last 24 hours have been a lot to handle: professors telling me to switch my final paper topic last minute, awkward tension-filled encounters with people, homework assignments I forgot about that were due the next day, obligations and prior commitments to friends I needed to fulfill, a long shift at my new job. This morning I woke up to a lump of stress in my stomach the size of a bowling ball as I thought about all the exams, finals, papers, and projects that await me next week. And to top it all off, my bank graciously notified me that my credit card number had been stolen and someone was trying to buy a lot of cigarettes with my hard earned (though measly sum of) money. I wanted to check out of my life like a hotel room and go somewhere else and not have to deal with cleaning up this mess.  

I’m two and half weeks away from completing my first year back in school. A year ago I was living in Beijing and had no idea what the next phase of my life would entail. It was an incredible winding road but somehow I ended up in a hallway outside a Physics class at Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts (don’t worry, I’m not skipping class. I don’t take physics). When I think about the past year and the years ahead, I’m overwhelmed with grief, joy, peace, terror, and excitement. The past 24 hours have been the most stressed out I’ve been in a long time and perhaps one of the first times I’ve been stressed out about classes since coming back to school. But it’s in times like these where I know the very thing I need to do is stop, sit down, and reflect. No amount of good grades or finished To-Do lists will give me life. No amount of planning out the next 5 years or 3 months will bring me success. Only taking time to simply be me – apart from all the noise and chaos of college kid life – will matter to my eternal being. As I look out the window I can see a tree with its branches covered with little buds. Little soft pink buds that are just tiny sleeping hopes soon to crack up and spill color into the atmosphere. I am comforted by the fact that the stress of my day, though intense and very real it may be, cannot affect these blossoms. That no matter how horrible or busy or un-ideal my life may be, Spring is undeterred. Sunshine isn’t dependent on if I feel light. The breeze isn’t bothered by my furrowed brow nor the sky moved by my To-Do list. And in this moment, all I can do is be thankful for that. I am thankful that my stress never gets the final word, that my stress actually possesses no actual power. I am thankful that sometimes the best way to handle being overwhelmed by stress is to let yourself be overwhelmed by the sight of the fluffy white clouds or the fresh blue sky or a stranger holding the door open of you. My life is not merely paper and words. Yes, it is complex but it is also simple.

I don’t know where I’ll be a year from now. I don’t have any answers for any of my questions of what, how, when, and why. But today I’m grateful for deserted hallways with good views that remind me to sit down and be quiet. 

Wait, did she just say that we should stop empowering people?

A friend of mine and former boss (and one of my favorite people in general), Rachel Goble, recently posted a blog that I haven't been able to stop thinking about since I read it. Her words and insights struck me for several reasons. One was that she talked about a concept close to my heart: empowerment. I worked for almost 2 years with a project in Asia that sought to empower women. It's an important and valuable cause and message. But another reason was that I have had a thought in the back of my head for some time, one that I was afraid to speak out: What if empowerment isn't enough? What if there's more to it than that?

Whether you work with formerly exploited women like I have or lead a youth group, whether you're raising kids or managing employees at work, I highly recommend you take a moment and read her thoughts. It just may totally transform the way you interact with and view the people in your life.

Let’s Stop Empowering and Start Inspiring

I’ve been using the word ‘empower’ for years. It’s a great word – one that implies giving dignity to others; the whole ‘give a man a fish and he eats for a day, but teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime’ type story comes up when I hear the word empower. It’s even in my organizations mission statement – we seek to empower individuals. In fact, I would go so far as to say that it’s the hot word of today’s non profits. We all want to empower others: the poor, the apathetic, the girl child, the slave, even ourselves! By definition it mean

I graduated with a masters degree in Cross Cultural studies where my focus was on children at risk and international development. I joke that after three years of talking about everything I could possibly do in my life and work (in context of working with the poor) there would be no escaping that I would screw up at some points. We were warned of everything that could go wrong: from the language we use being offensive or not up to date (should ‘at-risk’ come before or after the word child. If it’s put after, then they are first and foremost defined as a child, But if put before, they are defined as being at-risk. Therefore it is politically incorrect to say ‘at-risk child’ but somewhat acceptable to say ‘child at-risk’), to the organizational structure we implemented not having that perfect balance of both empowerment (see, there’s the word again) and accountability. I had a degree in cross cultural work and yet the fear of God put in me that nothing I would do could ever be right (this might be a slight exaggeration but truly, I graduated with a sense of deep humility that development work was not something to be taken lightly).s “to give (someone) the authority or power to do something” or “to make (someone) stronger and more confident, especially in controlling their life and claiming their rights”. It’s a great word.

The word ‘empower’ never raised red flags in these years so I used it confidently and frequently.

Until a dear African American friend enlightened me. It had never crossed my mind before that what this word implies is that I have the power and you do not. Click here to read more.

A Happy New Year's Ramble

I spent this New Year’s night like I have spent many nights this past year – in an airport.

I celebrated New Years Eve in a very uncomfortable chair in the Philadelphia airport during a six hour layover. I watched on a muted television CNN’s coverage of Times Square as I ate a pretzel and cup of coffee for dinner. When the clock struck twelve and the new year of 2014 arrived, I was standing at a baggage carousel in the Boston airport waiting for my green backpackers backpack to appear. The airport seemed empty except for my fellow passengers. Someone let out a tamed “Happy New Year” as we all waited around to claim our luggage.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I really couldn’t have ended 2013 and started 2014 in a more fitting way.

The past year has been a constant series of micro-journeys, a collection of various adventures, and a relentless passage into new things. 2013 was a year of moving forward and only bringing with me what I could carry, in the physical sense as well as in the emotional, mental, and spiritual. I’ve had to pack my bags in more ways than one, leave things behind that didn’t fit in my suitcase or weren’t needed on the trip before me. It was a year like many before it, one that was stressful, fun, challenging, painful and good. It was one of getting to travel to new places, dealing with illnesses, meeting new wonderful friends, hugging old wonderful friends goodbye, new cities, old cities, stimulating work, lots of tears and laughter, all the usual stuff. Yet it was unlike any other year I have been to before. It’s a year, that as I sit here now with a tear making its way down my cheek, that makes me want to sigh and say “What on earth happened?”

I’m a little bit stunned to be honest. I cannot sum up in a phrase what 2013 was all about. I cannot articulate all of the lessons and principles I’ve wrestled through. I am overwhelmed. I am overcome with the reality that while Dad never changes, He is always surprising me – in both good and hard ways.

It has been six months now since I moved to America from Asia. Six months and I still am surprised every morning at the incredible water pressure in the shower, at the fact that taxi drivers always understand where I want to go, and at the reality that no one gets what I’m saying when I use the word ‘mafan’. Six months and I still haven’t found a friend that resembles anything like my community in Asia. Six months and my stomach still isn’t used to the food here (TMI?:-). Six months and I still experience a little bit of culture shock at least once a day. Time works wonders for many things, but there are some things it does not heal – some things I hope it never heals.

I usually get all reflective around New Years. I think about the past year and think about the new one ahead. But this time, all I’ve got is, “I made it!”

21 Things I Want to Know at 21

I’m turning 21 this week.

And in celebration of 21 years of adventures, struggles, triumphs, tears, and smiles, I decided to compile a list of advice to myself for the next 21 years of adventures. It’s a list of 21 things I want to know about myself and life right now. We’ve all had to participate in an activity or at least heard about writing a letter to your older or younger self about things you wish someone would have told you at 16 or what you want your 50 year old self to remember about your 18 year old self. Or we’ve received little cards or a notebook filled with lines of insight and sage advice from people in our lives. Well, I’ve decided to write some advice to myself. This is not a list of resolutions. This is not a To-Do list. This is not a list of what I aspire or hope to be and do. This is simply a list of reminders. It is a list of things I want to have deep down inside of me right here, right now.

 It is a list of 21 things I want myself to know at 21.

1. Don’t be such a control freak. Stress never saved the world.

2. Journal more often.

3. Let yourself be 21 even if you are an “old soul”.

4. Your story is different - stop thinking of it as a challenge. Embrace the uniqueness of your life experiences for the gift, not the burden, that it really is.

5. Turn off your computer more often.

6. Just like mom always said, when this (insert current challenge/struggle here) is over, you’re going to be bigger, better, and stronger.

7. Sometimes call people instead of texting them.

8. Be kinder to the people close to you.

9. Let yourself learn what 21 year olds learn, not what 31 year olds know.

10. Stop caring so much about what other people think of you. You know the truth. And the smart people in your life know the truth too. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Be comfortable that not everyone will think you’re great.

11. Read more books. You love reading. Read more books more often. And finish a book before you start a new one.

12. Go with the flow sometimes (and not just when it relates to the flow charts you’ve prepared ahead of time).

13. You don’t really know very much, and that’s okay. You may think you know yourself well and that you know so much about life because you have a little bit of experience, but, Emily, you still don’t know most stuff most of the time. And that’s okay.

14. You’re ridiculous. Own it. Celebrate it. And don’t apologize for it.

15. Stop comparing yourself to your peers. You do you. You’re good at that.

16. You don’t have to be sarcastic all of the time. Sincerity doesn’t mean you’re weak.

17. Things are not going to work out like how you want them to. But I promise, things are going to work out.

18. Be brave, because you are brave. You’re not that six year old little girl anymore who cried when mom dropped you off at ballet class. You are a young woman who has traveled the world, handled massive amounts of responsibility, lived out her passions and her dreams, and you are bold and brave. Don’t forget that.

19. You’re allergic to cats. So, you don’t even have the option of just becoming a crazy old cat lady if life doesn’t pan out how you thought. So, make sure you take time to invest in relationships, friendships, and the people in your life, because they’ll be there when a cat can’t be.

20. Keep writing. Know that some of the things you write will be really bad. Write anyway. Write because it makes you happy. Write because it’s important to have hobbies. Write because sometimes, on very rare occasions, the things you write will be more powerful than you would have ever thought possible.   

21. You really are a fabulous person. You are competent, funny, and beautiful. You are passionate and you genuinely care for other people. Stop telling yourself that you’re a horrible lost cause, because you’re not. I want to remind you that you are truly fabulous. 

That Awkward Silence When You've Run Out of Things to Say to...Yourself.

I drove down Winnetka Street. I switched off the radio. There’s nothing good playing these days.

The silence in my car made me feel uncomfortable. I was alone with my own thoughts. And that scared me.

Since moving back to the US a month and half ago after living in East Asia for two years, silence is not something I have experienced. At first I didn’t hear it because I felt so overwhelmed and bombarded with culture shock all up in my face constantly. At some point I had to stop processing at the same rate I was experiencing in order to stay sane. I was going through a kind of shock and I switched to survival mode. One day at a time. One day at a time, I would tell myself. Then I didn’t experience silence because all I could hear was my own voice and the voices of everyone around me. People wanted answers and I wanted them too. I talked a lot because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I’m not sure what I talked about but talking about Asia gave me a moment’s relief from not knowing how to handle my current reality of not being in Asia.  Silence and processing got delayed again when my plans for this next year and this coming semester fell through. I was sent into a scramble trying to sort out my life, where I’d live, what I’d do, and how to pay for it all. Silence only exacerbated the loneliness I was feeling; the loneliness that we all experience when we’re walking through something that we alone simply must walk through. Then silence was postponed because I was afraid of it. I was so afraid I’d discover that I was falling apart. I was so emotionally, mentally, and spiritually exhausted that I just couldn’t handle sitting down and looking myself in the eye. I tried a few times to sit down and intentionally process the transition I’m in the middle of, but every time I’d try to let myself feel something I would instantly become intensely sleepy. Just the thought of thinking through things actually physically made my eyelids heavy and my head get fuzzy. And I really would fall asleep – a confused, escapist kind of sleep. I couldn’t figure out how to express or define how I was doing and where I was at. I couldn’t process, not because I didn’t want to but because I simply had no energy. And honestly, I was afraid. I was afraid to face the pain, struggle, and stress. I just wanted to be okay.

But there was nothing good on the radio. So I switched it off. And I suddenly found myself trapped in silence. My hand reached to turn the radio back on but I paused. No, I thought, I will not run. It was just me in my car with no voice to be distracted by, only the one inside to listen to. For a while I just drove in the quiet. Then all of a sudden, tears began to pour down my cheeks. And I let them. I realized I was crying not because I was falling apart, not because I was sad, not because I was stressed out, not because I was overwhelmed. I was crying simply because I just didn’t have any words (which as an extremely verbose person is a rarity). I wasn’t crying sad tears. I wasn’t crying happy tears. I was just crying because out of all the ways to express how I was doing and where I was at, tears seemed like the only thing that would hold and express it all. I just didn’t and still don’t have any words. No words to try to describe what I’ve seen, what I’ve felt, who I’ve been these past two years in Asia. No words to capture the lessons I’ve learned in transitioning to life back in America. No words. I’m sure there are words out there. I just don’t know how to say them right now. The joy I know deep down, the pain I’m breathing through, the experiences that are changing me, the lessons I’ve hashed out and am currently hashing out – it’s all I can do.

A few months ago I wrote about how I wasn’t coming back to the US. I said, “I shall do my best to cherish each and everyday, to remember that stress never saved the world, and to laugh and cry everytime I get the chance. What my future holds I do not know. I do not even know all of what my past holds, to be honest. But this I know for sure, I am grateful for yesterday, thankful for today, and welcoming of tomorrow because discovering the adventures of surrender is the kind of life I love living.”

And after driving in silence for a few minutes down the street in Los Angeles, all I can say is that I shall continue to do my best to be fully here where I am today, to laugh and cry every chance I get, to let myself be overwhelmed with gratitude more regularly, and to switch off the radio more often. 

That's Okay

“How is it being back?”

I’ve been asked this question a million times it feels like over the past 13 days. And I never know how to answer. Are they just asking to be polite? Or do they really want to know? I always wonder. Should I tell them what it feels like today or what it feels like in general? Should I just answer with a joke? Can I pretend I heard someone call my name from the other room? Can I pretend I don’t speak English anymore?

The short answer is: Hard.

It is hard being back in the States for an undefined amount of time. Yes, that’s right. I just said it is hard to be in one of the most developed, wealthiest, secure countries on the earth. But I’m not talking about lifestyle hard. I’m talking about feeling lost. I’m talking about leaving my home, community and life in Asia that I love and belong in. I’m talking about reverse culture shock. And what I’m really talking about it is being in the middle of a big fat time of massive transition. A transition that although is good and right is still majorly life-altering, messy, awkward and hard.

Some moments it is harder than others. But that’s just how life goes, I suppose. I’m taking one day at a time. Relishing the little things I took for granted for so many years – like air, a blue sky, a full fridge, a real mattress, carpet, water pressure, and a car.

There are just so many thoughts, so many feelings and I just can’t organize them. I can’t sort them out by color and put them into boxes. I can’t give people the synopsis they want. I’m in the middle of a muddle; wadding neck deep in a thick mix of decisions, changes, deadlines, and questions.

And I’m having a hard time. But you know what? That’s okay. 

Back Through the Wardrobe

I've got my memories
Always inside of me
But I can't go back
Back to how it was
I believe you now
I've come too far
No I can't go back
Back to how it was

This morning as I set out to finish filling up the two suitcases on my floor, shuffle gauged the mood of the room all on its own and decided to play the song “This is Home” from the soundtrack of the second movie of The Chronicles of Narnia.

I’ve heard this song many times. It was my mantra in high school whenever I was missing a time long gone or a friend far away. It was the soundtrack to my pining; an emotional “Yeah…” moment where I’d look longingly off into some perceived distance all dramatically like a clip from a movie remembering the ‘better days’. Why do we try so hard to hold onto things of the past? Why do we so desperately cling to what we know? Why are we stubbornly sentimental until the point of living in a world that doesn’t exist for us anymore?

But this morning as I stood before my life and tried to pack it into a suitcase, I heard this song very differently.

I’ve got memories, a lot of memories always inside of me - memories from 15 years ago, memories from 5 years ago, memories from last year. But I think when I heard the line “But I can’t go back” I always was fighting one past for another past or for a present that was soon to be a new past. I was picking and choosing what I wanted my reality to be based on various reasons. I didn’t want to go back to the way things were before, so I clung like a screaming baby to my present, afraid to let it go for fear it might all melt away and I be found “back”.

But, to all the people who have poured into my life these past 2 years, I believe you now. It’s all come too far and I can’t go back to how it and who I was before. There is no “back”.

Life goes on and the chorus rings:

This is home
Now I'm finally where I belong
Where I belong
Yeah, this is home
I've been searching for a place of my own
Now I've found it
Maybe this is home
This is home

And a thought struck me this morning as I heard the song anew. Lucy, Edmund, Susan and Peter still had to leave Narnia. They still had to go back to England, even though Narnia was their home now. Why did they have to go back to England? Didn’t the song just say they couldn’t go back? That they had found their home? My natural response would be “You found where you belong? Then hold on tight with all you’ve got and never ever let it go! You’re queens and kings in this land you love? Then obviously you should stay here forever.” But they didn’t. Aslan sent them to England. And they said goodbye and went. They were sad. But they went, knowing full well that they were just four ordinary children in Britain in the midst of a world war. They left the magical land they had come to love, the place they were made for and belonged in, and returned to the faded days of England. Because even though Narnia might be their home, it wasn’t where they were supposed to be right now. Caspian needed to learn take the throne on his own. Peter and Susan needed to grow up and decide for themselves if Narnia was really wanted they wanted (which if you’ve read the books you know what Susan decided). And Lucy and Edmund needed to meet Eustace and eventually introduce him to Narnia.

I kind of feel like the Pevensie kids right now. I’m not a queen here, but I’ve found my place of influence. I’ve found where I belong. And although I won’t be stepping through a magical wardrobe, tomorrow I will be getting on an airplane bound for America. I still have that natural instinct to want to hold onto the good thing I’ve got, to painstakingly pry it from my hands. But I still have some growing up to do, some decisions to make, some lessons to learn, some people to meet and some world introductions to do.

The song ends:

Belief over misery
I've seen the enemy
And I won't go back
Back to how it was
And I got my heart set on what happens next
I got my eyes wide it's not over yet
We are miracles and we're not alone

And now after all my searching
After all my questions
I'm gonna call it home
I've got a brand new mindset
I can finally see the sunset
I'm gonna call it home

I’ve found where I belong. And I’m still getting on the plane back to America in 28 hours. But I believe you now. 

A New Kind of Normal

We are raised with this concept of “normal” – an idea of what is regular, standard, and common. It is what we are comfortable with, what we are used to, and what we know life to consist of. Normal are the things that we cease to notice in life – because they just are there.

Often times I have said that I just wished my life was “normal”. About half way through my time in Asia I began to struggle with longing to be normal. I wasn’t actually sure what I meant by that, but I struggled with the reality of how unorthodox my life was. I yearned to be what I knew, to have a life like what I had seen before. But no, I wasn’t your average American young woman. I wasn’t living a life that my culture had said was the ideal. While all my friends were declaring majors at good colleges back in the US, I was working a full-time job in Asia trying to figure out who I am and what to do with my life. My lifestyle was exciting and adventurous, but some days I just wanted to not be stared out when I walked down the street. I wanted to shop in a regular grocery store. I wanted to be with people who were like me – my age, my stage in life, my way of life. “I just want to be normal!” I would mumble.

But last week I walked by a man who was carrying a live chicken and big knife out to the sidewalk. I looked twice but I didn’t think twice. Last night I sat on my friends’ couch listening to Tibetan music being played in the square outside as women danced to the music in a large circle. At four o’clock every day the call to prayer can be heard over loud speakers. I go to the office every day to work with amazing women who have come from backgrounds of exploitation. I am often stopped on the sidewalk and asked to take my photo with some random excited stranger who makes me feel like a movie star. I eat lamb (and one time rat by accident) on a stick for dinner which has been cooked over coals on the side of the road. I am highly under-trained and under-qualified for my job, but I learn, I make mistakes, and figure it out as I go. The other day I was in my friend’s car driving home and realized that out of the 5 people in the car, 5 different countries were represented. I sat with a British friend, a Canadian friend, a German friend, and a Dutch friend. And this kind of diversity is a common occurrence in my social interactions.

I see and experience a dozen things every day that 2 years ago would have made me either laugh, cry, or go “Huh?” But I hardly even notice them anymore. You know why? Because this life is my normal now.  I’m used to eating yogurt out of a bag, speaking Chinglish, and getting to know people from all over the world. I drink hot water now (something I swore I would never do when I first move to Asia). I have my favorite gaifan (a veggie dish over rice) delivery guy. I’m used to squatty-potties. I don’t think twice when I see a man riding a bicycle with a couch to strapped his back.

I’ve learned that this idea of “normal” I was conditioned to believe in, pressured to pursue, doesn’t really exist. Normal is just what you make life to be. And often times life changes and you have to adjust your perspective and adopt a new normal.

I am soon to leave my normal life in East Asia – the life I know, the life I’m used to, the life I love – for a new and foreign way of life in a strange place called the United States of America. I have come to love my current normal and I know the lessons I have learned and experiences I have had in this normal will equip me for the next normal too.

Vicarious Trauma

I recently ran across a link to this article about Vicarious Trauma which was posted by an individual who works in Southeast Asia with a similar project to the nonprofit I work with. I found it very helpful and interesting to read. After working in Asia for nearly two years with women who have come out of exploitation, I can really relate to what this article talks about. Day after day I see deep pain in women's eyes. I see the look of insecurity and confusion flash across their faces. Even just walking down the street or riding the bus, I am surrounded with people who carry hopelessness in their eyes and a posture that expresses how exhausted they are at trying to balance fulfilling their familial and/or cultural duty and wanting to attain the happiness culture has told them they can buy. 

The abuse, trauma, and lack of love the women I work with have experienced makes me want to weep. It does make me weep. The more time I spent with them, the better we got to know one another, the more each woman became a part of my world. I got to know each of their unique and beautiful personalities and senses of humor. I witnessed their struggles. I saw them grow and journey down the tough road of healing. 

I grew to love each woman deeply and uniquely, and that's why I could really relate to this sentence in the article, "When you identify with the pain of people who have endured terrible things, you bring their grief, fear, anger, and despair into your own awareness and experience." 
Vicarious Trauma is a form of trauma people can experience over time after witnessing other people's sufferings and needs. It is common among humanitarian and nonprofit workers. When you deeply care about someone, and that someone is deeply hurting, you will feel that hurt too. If you are faced with horrible injustices and abuse repeatedly, it is going to start to affect you. We have all at some point had to witness a loved one or a friend go through a tough time and it hurt us to see them in that place. Vicarious Trauma is build up of that experience. It is the result of continual and intense exposure to and interaction with the brokenness in people's souls. 

But as I sit here writing this, I can't help but think of someone I know who has experienced the ultimate exposure to the brokenness of this world. He bore it all so that pain, trauma, and hopelessness would no longer have to be our only reality. You see, even after the things I've seen and experience, even after walking the red light districts of Asia, after seeing little girls and women of all ages with eyes glazed over, after seeing the heartbreaking realities of the poor, the undervalued, the neglected people of this world, I still hold on to Hope. I think I have most likely experienced vicarious trauma. Sometimes the trauma and pain is too much to bear and I just want to run away from it all and shut out the pain. But I will never ever forget the look in a woman's eyes when she is starting to believe that she is loved and valued. 

Direct and indirect trauma is a very real thing. And it is extremely complicated and incredibly difficult. But I refuse to believe that's all there is for us.

The First of Many Goodbyes.

Last night I helped carry my dear friend's suitcase out to the street. I flagged down a taxi for her, secretly hoping no taxi would ever stop, would ever take her away. But one came. No matter how long you have to wait, one always eventually comes. I opened the door for her and turned around to hug her. I clung with all my might to my friend, so afraid of the moment ending. But it did end. We reluctantly release one another. She got into the taxi. I closed the door and watched it drive off down the street.

This is the first of the many heart wrenching goodbyes that await me in the next four weeks.

I wrote the following post a little over a year ago. As I watched the taxi drive away  last night and I walked slowly back to my apartment, me and my heart tried hard to remember to breathe and tried hard not to grow hard but to let myself feel the weight of the goodbye.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Bye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.

Goodbye.


My heart wrung in between beats as if gasping for blood as lungs gasp for air when the physical struggles to keep up with the surging emotional. I held my breath afraid for what would escape if I let it out. My eyes pinched shut wishing, hoping, praying that the reality beyond my lids would melt away. Quivering my lips did all they could to contain the sobs that were building in my chest. My mind was a blank though a thousand thoughts rushed at me and blurred my vision. Thoughts of meeting, thoughts of parting, thoughts of the known, thoughts of the unknown, thoughts of love. I held on tight as did they. We embraced with committed arms and abandon reservations. Reluctantly we pulled back. Eye to eye, heart to heart, they spoke. Their words reached down inside of me and made another chip at the heart that is being carved. I felt another onslaught of tears building. Not even half did I let escape though it seemed as if I had joined in on the tropical storm’s display. The moment ended and we released one another. Our eyes shone and our faces wore a slight smile. We said, “Goodbye.”

It’s just the... (view the rest of the post)

The First of Many Todays.

This is my last week of work. This is my last Monday at SFP. I’ve been with the Project for about a year and half now. What a year and half it has been.

At age 14 I sat in chair learning for the first time about this injustice called “human trafficking”. I was so captivated by what the speaker, a young woman who lived and worked in Thailand, said that I forgot to breathe. As I sat there in my chair listening to tales of women and men, girls and boys being so severely exploited around the world, my heart was pounding so fast I thought it would explode. When she concluded her sharing and stepped off the stage, a thought – no, not just a thought, more like a firework of realization – stood before me: Maybe this was what I was born to do. I must and will help bring freedom to people. This is what I am supposed to do with my life.

All throughout high school I dreamed of helping women break free from exploitation. I dreamed of seeing them have the opportunity to live a life of hope. I dreamed of being a part – of doing my part – in bringing restoration to the broken.

But I think I thought it would always be just a dream. What did I have to offer a hurting world? What could I possibly do that would mean anything? How would I find my place?

A few months ago, I rolled over in bed and switched off my alarm. I opened my eyes and stared at the white ceiling. I tried to process the reality of the start of a new day. Then, all of sudden, my eyes grew wider and brighter. And I thought to myself, I’m living my dream.

All this time I hadn’t fully realized it. Yes, of course, I knew I was working with a project I loved and was passionate about. I knew I enjoyed my work. I knew I loved seeing women rescued out of exploitation. I knew I was doing something close to my heart. But in that moment the full weight of it woke me up with more gusto than a bullhorn. I am living my dream.

Maybe I didn’t recognize it fully until now because it doesn’t look like how I had seen it done before. Maybe it was because it wasn’t as dramatic or glamorous as stories I had heard about. Maybe it was because most of the time it is just a lot of hard work, and not very many results. Maybe it was because I was so busy. Whatever the reason, whatever I had unknowingly expected it to look like 10 years down the road, it didn’t matter. It didn’t happen how I thought it would. It didn’t happen when I thought it would. But it is my dream. It is my today.

Over the past year and a half at SFP, I have seen a lot. I have experienced a lot. I have learned a lot.

It has been a rough several months. But the look in a woman’s eyes that says she knows she is in a safe place, the smile she can now mean, the laugh she lets flow, the tears she is not ashamed of, and the Life that now fills her is… indescribable. It makes me so much more breathless than that night did long ago as a 14 year old learning about injustice and heartbreak. I have seen a lot of heartbreak this past year and half. But I have seen what restoration looks like too. I have seen what Hope is. I have seen what was dead come alive again.

This is my last week working at the Project. In a few weeks, I’ll be packing up my faithful suitcase off to the next adventure and hopefully to the next dream. It probably won’t match my knowingly preconceived notions and my unknowingly preconceived notations this time either. But as I leave my home in Asia for a while, I will carry each and every woman in my heart. For they are my friends, my sisters, and my inspirations.

I do not know what the future holds for them or for me.

But this is our today.  

There was this one time when I obeyed...

At the end of August in 2011 I made the decision to take a step of obedience. A step of obedience that led me to withdraw from college 3 days before the start of my sophomore year, pack a suitcase, and move to Asia for 10 months.  I didn’t want to drop out of school. I didn’t want to move to Asia. I didn’t want to give up everything I had known and understood about my life. But there was this burning, penetrating truth that plagued me inside – the truth of the presence of PEACE.

I knew peace like I had never known anything else before. I had to move to Asia – and I couldn’t explain why. I just knew it more than anything I had ever known before.

A 10 month “phase” turned into a 2 year adventure – an adventure that has redefined, redirected, and redeemed much of my life.

Often times people upon hearing pieces of my story or finding out how old I am are amazed at me and impressed at the whimsy of an 18 year old who moved to Asia on her own to work in the nonprofit world. Someone the other day called me “inspirational”, and I had to repress a laugh. I’m not inspirational. I’m not impressive. I’m not even very interesting. When people treat me like I’m some mature, wise young person it makes me uncomfortable. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love compliments as much as the next person. But truth to be told, I’m really just an ungrateful brat most of the time. In a rare moment of spontaneous obedience, I decided to take Him up on the challenge of surrender He placed before me and that’s how I got where I am and how I have become who I am today. It had nothing to do with my maturity or strength. I just obeyed. That’s all I did. He did the rest. People say that I’ve done so much with my life, that I’m so experienced even though I’m so young. I haven’t done anything. All I do is wake up in the morning and say, “Okay.” Many times I say it reluctantly, but I know the beautiful freedom that is found in walking on the path marked out for me.

These 2 years have passed. Life has happened. And now this 2 year season is coming to a close. And I am speechless. I’m overwhelmed with grief, gratefulness, excitement, and hope.

                      

I want to process, to talk it all out, to figure out what I’m feeling, what I think about it all. But I just don’t have any words. I just can’t figure out how to capture what is inside. All I can do is utter, “Thank you.”

Hello, Shanghai.

It was on my "Before I leave Asia..." Buck List, and over the Qing Ming (Tomb Sweeping) Holiday at the beginning of April, I was able to cross it off: Visit Shanghai

It's called the Paris of Asia, and while I have yet to visit Paris I can see why they say that. Sleek skyscrapers,  the quaint French concession, and shopping galore. I am not sure if Shanghai is really as fabulous as I have decided it is or if my high opinion is all do to the fact that I just really needed a break from my corner of the world. Either way, it was a wonderful weekend trip. Good friends, good food, and good sights!

People's Square

Yu Yuan Gardens

 

The Bund

 

At the top of the World...Financial Center.

Shanghai's current tallest building next to Shanghai's next tallest

Old Town

Re-Defining the Way We Think about the World

I'm an avid TEDTalk fan. And I have found this Talk so incredibly refreshing, thought provoking, and brilliant that I just simply had to post it here.


 

Delta Flight Wisdom

What is “success”?

I’ve been pondering this question for about 6 months now, and I still don’t know how to answer it. I still don’t know what it means for me and what it looks like in my life.

Last August I sat in the middle seat on a Delta flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo en route to moving back to BJ for another year. I sat next to a gentleman from Thailand who looked to be in his late thirties. To be honest, I usually try to avoid talking to the people sitting next to me on long flights because then I feel obliged to keep up the conversation for the next 12 hours when really I would just rather like to sleep or watch 4 movies in a row. But the second I sat down in my seat, before the plane had even pulled away from the gate, this man struck up a conversation with me. This conversation did not radically change my life, but it has stayed with me ever since and has come to mind often over the last few months. He told me about how he used to be a popular musician back in Thailand, how he came to know God, and how he now works in the hotel business and has a family. I don’t remember the details of his story but I remember very clearly a question he asked me. I remember it well because he answered the question himself, but his answer was unlike anything I had ever heard before. If you read my blog regularly you might have read my post back in September about this very question (click here). He dropped his question and answer right in the middle of our conversation. It almost seemed out of context. He said it, then moved on. I was puzzled by his statement. But little did I know that it could not have been in a more perfect context – the context of what was happening and what was to happen in my life.

He said, “How do you define ‘success’? For me, I would answer that with another question: How many times a week do you have tears of joy?”

For the past few months I have struggled with trying so desperately to feel satisfied with myself and my life. I’ve tried so hard to understand why I do not feel like I have achieved some sort of level of success or attained even a slight sense of accomplishment. Again and again I have struggled with self-esteem, with contentment, with having peace, and with knowing that I am valuable and have contributed value. I should feel successful. I am twenty years old and while I may not have created a popular internet company or raised a million dollars for a charity, I am still pretty accomplished. By looking at my resume, I should feel at least somewhat successful. If not that than at least I should feel somewhat satisfied with my work. At eighteen I became the personal assistant to a consultant to the UN. At nineteen I helped develop from scratch the Communications department at an international social enterprise. I aced the final exam at a graduate level workshop on strategic nonprofit development and management taught by professors from Harvard and Boston University. At twenty I got promoted to executive assistant to the CEO of a developing socially conscious company that creates sustainable employment for formerly exploited women. Last week I sat with a group of MBA students from Northwestern University and helped them develop their business idea. “Thank you for your time. You really were a great help. We appreciate you being willing to meet with us” were the words from one of their professors. I live independently in a world capital city. I know people doing great things and get to be a part of their work. I do not say these things to brag about myself, but to simply make a point. Because even with all these “cool things” I have done and meaningful experiences I've had, somehow I am still unaccomplished. I still do not feel successful. Sometimes I feel like I haven't achieved anything of value, done anything of lasting worth, or amounted to anything important. And I am often left to wonder, “What’s the point of it all? What am I even trying to achieve? What on earth is this idea of ‘success’? Will I ever succeed?” Because I know that even if I became a UN consultant myself or if I got a full ride to Harvard without even applying or if I helped a thousand people, I still would not feel satisfied with my achieved endeavors.

But tears of joy…they were present at times I felt like success – the attainment of something good – had been achieved…that time I caught my reflection in a passing bus and smiled at the revelation that a young woman living her childhood dream stared back at me…that time I looked up and saw how comfortable Xiao Zhang's smile was and the light that now shone in her eyes…that time I waited for an eternity at the bus stop giving me enough time think about how funny and crazy my life is…that time when I watched my boss and dear friend declare with confidence who she was and walk in the truth of who the Father made her to be…that time when I looked around the room at my community here and felt like I had come home for the first time…that time when I sat around a table of nonprofit leaders and I felt like I belonged there not because of my intelligence or my skill but because it simply made me feel alive…that time when the light turn back on in my friend’s eyes as she soaked up the love of the Father…that time…that time… that time… It wasn't about my impressive resume or how many people I had empowered or helped. It’s about remembering that my identity isn't found in what I do. It was about crying tears of joy – realizing that life is ridiculously hard, painful, and most of the time full of failure but that good things still do happen, that my heart though getting tougher each day is still soft enough to recognize love in a world of roughness, to remember that being able to laugh at yourself is sometimes the best solution to life’s problems, and that when my best isn't good enough the world will keep on spinning, babies will keep on being born, and my God will keep on being good and having His way in my life. 

What is ‘success’? I still don’t really know. But what I do know is that when indefinable wonder wets my eyes, I’ll try to take in the moment for all it’s worth.