Sometimes I'm tired of crying, so I laugh instead.

I laugh.

When I think about where I am, who I am – I laugh.

I laugh that kind of laugh that comes out like a bubbling brook from a deep, deep spring
 It starts out like a little trickle then bubbles up and out
That kind of laugh that is heavy, that kind that carries the memory of pain with it
The kind that tastes bittersweet in your heart but taste all the better for it
The kind of laughter that says, “I can’t believe I’m laughing right now but I just can’t help it.”
The type of laughter that comes out gently but strong, oh, so strong
The kind of laughing you do with your heart not your lungs
It rises and falls and leaves you with a knowing smile
A laughter that says, “Oh dear, how on earth did I get here?”
A laughter that whispers, “I remember the hurt.”
A laughter that whispers still, “Somehow it’s okay. I’m okay.”
A laughter that is more like a sigh than a laugh, really
It tells of a colored past – one that was both inside and outside the lines
It speaks of a muffled present
And hints at carefully, hopeful future
The kind of laughter that says, “I’m still alive. My momma was right: I won’t die from hard things.”
A laugh that breathes deeply
A laugh that comes with a few tears too

The kind of laugh that makes me shake my head in disbelief
A laugh that is the beginning of belief
It sets me free a little

The kind of laugh that makes me know that I am alive.

THE bus.

I feel like I can't live in this country without mentioning in my blog at least once the ever baffling, ever frustrating, ever overwhelmed and overwhelming experience of taking THE BUS . And when you are waiting for your bus, it really does feel like you are waiting for THE bus - the one and only bus of your kind because it takes an eternity to appear.
I should have gotten a clue about what my life would look like from here on out from the first time I took the bus home from the office. We had been standing in the cold at the bus stop for some time, when at last the 988 bus came into sight. It arrived and much to my despair even though the windows were foggy on the inside from body heat I could still make out the image of countless bodies and faces pressed up against the glass. The bus was full. And by full I mean jam packed, almost overflowing, mind boggling full. I sighed and said "Well, I guess we'll have to wait for the next one." My local co-worker looked at me confused, "Oh no! We can make it on this one! There is room!" She took a stance that looked like she was going to make a running start for the open bus door that was just a wall of packed to the brim bodies. But then she did that single selfless bus act: she put me in front of her and then made a running start for the bus door. There I found myself being carried toward the bus by a surge of travelers trying to deny the laws of physics and squeeze their way onto the already packed bus. I was caught between the determination of my friend and the wall of bodies that filled the open bus door. It was no use. I was still outside the bus though firmly secured by other people's various extremities to the side of the bus. The bus doors wouldn't close and my friend had not made it on. Then she took a step back and charged forward once more. I leaned with all my body weight in as did she. Some kind soul from within the bus reached out and helped pull us aboard. In a last attempt we squeeze in as a hard as we could into the small open pockets of space under people's arms and in between their legs as the bus doors struggled with all their might to close around the mass of people held within the walls of the green 988 BJ bus. We all held our breath as the doors finally met and the bus drove on. "See," said my friend, "I told you we could fit." Indeed, we did. I couldn't even move my head to look at her to smile back.

And this, this was only the beginning. Little did I know that bus riding in this city would prove to be this much exercise more times than I ever could have hoped. As someone who intensely loves my personal space and often times tenses up when someone sits so close on the couch next to me that their leg brushes mine, riding the bus every day has proved a wild and stretching experience. I am proud to say I have gotten fairly good at turning off my nervous system below my neck - at least I turn it off mentally and ignore the fact that my every body part is being squashed, hugged, and straddled by millions of strangers.

Needless to say, you can imagine my intense delight at fact that my new apartment is walking distance from the office.

And this is just the daily bus. I won't get into traveling via the subway at rush hour or a 12 hour train ride the week before Chinese New Year. Let's not go there. No really, please, don't make me go there.

Since I'm not much of a blogger....

...or a photographer for that matter, here are a few photos (that I mostly stole from other people) of a few recent happenings in my life. Mostly of things that keep me busy in between what mostly keeps me busy.


A 3 hour drive which turned into a 6 hour drive excursion out to the Dragon Gorge during Fall Holiday with my fabulous roommate...

 Just a random sight walking to the bus stop...                         

My 20th birthday! Celebrating adulthood by eating one of my favorite childhood desserts :-)

Accidental Chinese Hipster Party. Yeah.

Surrender's Ed

When I made the decision to return to Asia for another year, my mind was racing trying to envision solutions to all the logistical problems. Naturally, the usual suspect was stressing me out the most: money. Obedience to Him pays off, but it certainly does not pay – at least not in green paper. How was I going to fund my obedience? I wondered. How was I going to get enough financial support to be able to stay in Asia for another year? My mind could think of no solution.

Then an image came to mind. The image of my little light blue `99 Toyota Corolla parked on the side of my parents’ house.

I could sell it.

No, I couldn’t.

The thought of letting go of my car was for some reason ridiculously painful. I instantly thought of a million legitimate reasons why I should not sell my car…I’d need a car when I moved back to the States, I’m American which means we love our cars, it was a part of my identity, my car is great, my car is mine, I don’t want to sell it, why should I sell it if I’m only going to be in Asia for a year, and the list went on and on mainly with the motivation: I don’t want to sell it, it is mine and I like it. My car was a source of freedom, an element of my identity, an object of control. I could get in my car and go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. When I was in my car I was in charge. My Corolla was a little kingdom of my realm of power and control. I felt free when I had the opportunity to hop in that thing and just drive away. And the thought of not having that, even though it would be parked on the curb at my parents’ house half way around the world, still unnerved me. It made me freak out. I must have a car! I thought.
But the stronger “must”, was that I must follow Him. I must obey. If that meant I had to sell my car in order have enough money to buy a plane ticket, then I would sell my car. I wrestled with Him and tried to make Him understand how hard it would be for me to sell my car. But He just kept saying “I’m worth it. I am worth selling your car for.” And then the truth of that soaked in. He was. He was worth so much more than my silly little hunk of metal. If the choice was keeping my car or following the King of the Universe who loves me, there was no choice. The latter was the only thing that made any sense. I finally got to the point where I was able to put my car up for sale without any reservations in my heart. I was sad at first and as silly as it seems, I had to mourn the loss of my freedom. But once I got to the point where I could say “I will and do give up everything in order to follow you”, I became truly free. I realized that my car, which I viewed as an object of freedom and control, was actually enslaving me. It was controlling me. My attachment to it was determining what I thought and how I felt. When I was able to give it up to Him, I became so free, so released into His goodness, into pursuing Him with nothing tying me down. When I stepped out and experienced what it was like to be found solely in Him, I found surrender to be the most freeing place to be.

I gave up my freedom in order to be free.

So, my car was up for sale. I was headed back to Asia in a matter of days, and I still had no one to buy it. I guess I should have been stressed out because I still needed the money. But I wasn’t. Because He showed me that it wasn’t about a logistical problem of funding, it was about a logistical problem of trust. It wasn’t about my car. It was about my heart. And once I was able to enter into what He wanted to teach me about trusting that He is good and learning to let Him be my everything, selling or keeping the car didn’t even matter anymore.
And as it turns out in the end, He didn’t lead me to sell my car. A few weeks ago He provided the opportunity for someone to rent my car while I am here in Asia for a year. Not only did He provide a car for my friend, He let me not have to sell it and still receive income from it. But He also left room for more trusting on my part. He has another lesson for me to learn in this. You see, if I had sold my car I would have had enough finances for the entire year upfront and therefore would not have needed to continue to trust Him day to day for provision. I’m receiving income from renting my car out and from supporters, but at the beginning of each day I still never know if I will have enough to make ends meet. That’s where the more trusting part comes in. I knowing that I am free in Him and now I need to learn how to be safe in Him. As I chose to trust Him throughout each day, by the end of the day, to my surprise, He is still good and still provides me with my daily manna; day by day, not year by year as I would have liked. But it keeps me coming back to Him each morning, each moment, because He really is the only way I can get through financially, mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. And as long as I let Him, He will always be faithful because that is just the way He is.

May all praise and thanks be given to Him, our Father and faithful Provider.

Why, hello there, Life.

Have you ever woken up and thought, “Where am I? And how on earth did I get here?”

I have; this very morning, in fact. And the weird thing is, I didn’t wake up on someone’s couch. I didn’t wake up with a splitting headache. I didn’t wake up in a resort on the beach. I woke up in my own bed, in my own room which I have been sleeping in for quite a while. I was wearing my usual pair of pajamas. And I was snuggled under my usual blanket. I opened my eyes and instantly knew where I was. I recognized the shadows casted on the wall by the stream of light coming in through the crack in the curtains. I knew exactly where I was and how I had gotten there. I was in my house, in Asia, and I had gotten here by car, plane, and taxi to be exact. But my first thought this morning was still, “Where am I? And how on earth did I get here?”

I know exactly where I am. I can mark out on a graph and name all the events, choices, and circumstances that have led up to me being here. But I still don’t understand it. I still cannot believe it. My life just totally took me by surprise. And each and every day is a surprise because I just never saw any of this coming.

I rolled over in my bed and stared at the ceiling in disbelief. I sighed. Life is such an adventure when you’re living it in Him.

The recent in betweens.

Here's a bit of what I have been up to this past month. Actually most of these are photos of what I've been up to in between what I've really been up to but since it appears that those are the only things I remember to take picture of, I thought I'd share.

This is what I see when I open my front door. I love my neighborhood

Spent a glorious weekend up in the mountains! I didn't think I was much of an  outdoors-y type of person. That is until I moved to a city of 23 million people with a severe lack of anything green and alive (the grass in the park that you are not allowed to walk on doesn't count)

Hungry, anyone?

Watching a stunning sunset while stuck on the bus in traffic for hours

Solving the Puzzle of Me

Today as I sat on my couch talking to Him, I stopped mumbling enough to listen to Him say this: “Don’t you see, Emily? It’s not about what I am in doing with you this year, or what I did last year, or what I’m going to do next year. It’s about you and Me. Forever.”

Three months ago my life took an unexpected turn. Again. I would like to say it was turned upside down but I wonder if it was upside down to begin with. I felt like my life was a jumble of odds and ends and I was trying to make sense of what to do with it all. Life is a puzzle with pieces that need to be put in the correct places or else it’s just awkward and incomplete. Without fulfilling the intended design of the puzzle the image produced will be distorted or in many cases, left unfinished. You may still be able to tell what picture lies on the puzzle but without each piece interlocking just so with it’s perfectly cut-out to match neighbor pieces, the puzzle will never get to communicate its full impact, its completed message. Many of us have set out to conquer that 1,000 piece puzzle found in the closet at our grandparents’ house. Driven by the pure boredom of a child forced to stay inside and be good as relatives chat about the weather and argue about conflicting details of certain memories, we sat down to attempt the puzzle. But how often did the puzzle get abandoned before it was finished? How often did we get distracted by our cousins playing outside? How often did we try so hard to make a certain piece be forced into fitting because it just seemed like the only option left? How many times did a younger sibling or a pet dog run carelessly by our masterpiece only to break up all our hard work and then we’d huff and puff in anger and blame all of our lack of puzzle success on said sibling or pet? And how many times did we get called away by someone else to pack up our unfinished endeavor back into the box because it was time to go?

I hope you see I’m not really talking about puzzles.

Our lives are composed of countless of choices, people, seasons, moments, habits, dreams, failures, successes, lessons, tears, and laughter. Each shaped by our personality, our tendencies, our aspirations, our fears, our experiences, and by how we chose to live out of our joys and our pains. Each piece is awkwardly shaped – unique and one of a kind. The key is figuring out how to combine, fit, and put together all those pieces right where they belong so we can produce a life of achieved potential, a life lived fully and completely, and a life that produces its intended statement. Our life is a box of puzzle pieces – a mixture of various elements, a heap of potential. Many of us remain that heap of potential and never manage to spill all of its contents on the floor and begin to construct its purpose. Some of us just manage to construct the flatten edged border of our lives; the parts with clear cut lines and boundaries but never venture into the wilds of the middle. And we have all in our quest of living life lost a piece and had to hunt around the room, under the sofas, under the tables to find that lost piece. If you’re like me then you usually find you’ve been sitting on the piece this whole time. A lot of us get deep into putting together who we are and how to live out of that, though some of us never get the chance to finish. We either start seemingly too late, get distracted along the way, or give up in frustration and lost ambition. And we all have at sometime let someone else help construct our puzzle. Not that engaging with other people is a bad thing, that is actually what we were made to do, but when we let other people, other circumstances, and other factors tell us who we are, what we look like, and how we should live, we end up losing the whole picture – the real picture.

Perhaps what I am saying doesn’t make sense at all. Perhaps it’s all just a bunch of cliché babble. But today at least for me, thinking about life this way makes it a little less daunting. It helps it makes sense a little better. Not that I understand it any better but I understand how to view it a little bit better. I fear I’m venturing into nonsense-cliché-ism again…

I think I’ve always view life merely as a path. You get on it and you just follow its line. Sometimes you get to a fork in the road and you have to make a choice. But nevertheless you just plow onward and onward hoping you didn’t make a wrong turn. I also viewed my life as a series of events: dots on a line or a graph that heightened, fell, and evened out. But most of the points are self-contained, they are specific instances, phases, seasons, stages, and individual features. Some spill over into others, and others affect some but it just is what it is and you just go along with it trying to make the best of it and hoping you’re making the right decisions.

Wow, I am really all over the place here. Much like my actual life I suppose. (There’s a double meaning in that. I’m clever, you know. Or at least so I’m told.)

But to bring it back to the beginning of my post, my life isn’t about a series of events, a series of milestones and decisions. It’s not about forks in the road or “this time of life” or “that time of life”. It is about the whole picture, the whole purpose, the complete intended design. So often I get stuck. I can’t see past a certain factor or situation. I get all consumed with just a few pieces of the puzzle and try to figure out how it’s all going to work out when I’m only obsessively looking at 5 pieces of a 5,000 piece endeavor. It is not about a decision. It is just about loving Him. And that is it. You do that first and foremost and the pieces will come together just as they were intended to, just as He designed you to fit together. And don’t just love Him with some pieces of your life. You might produce a semi-completed, lopsided picture that way. But if you want Him to receive the full blown glory in your life, you’re going to have to include all the pieces. Spill out all the contents of your box of potential and set out to love Him with your whole life, every single part of it. Surrender the pieces you don’t like, those ones you do, the ones you want to keep for yourself in the box, and the ones you're sitting on.

My tendency is to get frustrated. I can’t see how it’s all going to work out. I can’t figure out what should go where or what the picture is even supposed to look like. I don’t understand why He wants to shift certain portions to different locations. I get impatient when searching for fits and try and manipulate angles and lie to myself and say “It works. It’s fine.” And many times I forget completely what I’m even trying to accomplish. And that’s when I need to refer to my reference: the photo on the cover of the box – the Image I’m trying to display. That is what it is about. Keeping our eyes on Him. All the time. Not just in context of this year or the current season of life we find ourselves in, but all the time, every day. Drawing from the real picture, the eternal purpose we will start to realize that the awkwardness, the toil, the mess of our puzzle is beginning to come together into something beautiful.

Forgive my ramble. I’m not sure what came over me. What I started off meaning to say is not at all what I’ve said. But if you’ve bothered to bear with me and read through the whole thing, I hope you will join me in spilling out the contents of your own puzzle onto the floor and dive into loving Him with all your pieces. The odd shaped ones, the corners, the dark colored ones that will seem pointless, the ones that seem to belong to a different puzzle, and the ones bright with color and shape. Let’s not get hung up on what we understand or don’t understand. And let’s just love Him with all we’ve got.

We’ve heard that all before. But it’s still true.

Three months ago my life took an unexpected turn. “But that piece can’t possibly go there! We were suppose to work on this section of the puzzle first!” I had exclaimed. But little did I know that when I decided to finally give up my agenda and give into the pursuit of Him, pieces fit together more beautifully than I ever could have imagined. I don’t understand their beauty yet but as He is revealed in my life each day, I am made a little more whole.

I do apologize. This post is unoriginal, raw, random, and reminiscent of that person who hogs all the sharing time at ch.rch gatherings with emotional cliches and painful to bear sappy analogies. But this is a blog after all! ;-)

A Year in Photos

This year has been composed of 7 different countries, 32 flights, 1 elephant ride, numerous adventures, many good friends, and countless memories.
Here are a few of my favorites...

 

And that's not even a glimpse! What a year! Can't wait to see what this next one will be composed of!

I've Got the Joy Down In My Heart.

On the flight back to Asia I sat next to an older Thai man. At one point during our conversations 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?”

His statement struck me deeply. I am still pondering over what he said. This was unlike any kind of success I’ve ever heard of from anywhere else before – not like anything I’d heard from culture, religion, teachers, politicians, businessmen, or pastors. I immediately liked how it sounded. I liked the idea. I liked the perspective his words offered. But it wasn’t until three days later I began to understand perhaps what it meant.

I arrived back in Asia dazed. How on earth has this happened again? I asked. How did I manage to end up here again? What kind of path in life is this supposed to be? After living in Asia for almost a year, I am still trying to figure out how I got here. Because it all happened so fast, even though I can see my whole life had been slowly leading up to it. It has been a fun journey. It has been an adventurous ride. It has been a priceless gift that I would not trade for anything. But it has been difficult. It has been a bloody battle, a continuous struggle, and a painful hike. So, although I am so glad to return to Asia for another year, I am tired – exhausted, in fact. I feel drained. All my “life muscles” are sore that any range of motion hurts. I am broken down. I am overwhelmed. I am hurting. And I am often on the verge of giving up completely.

But that is OK. That is OK because sometimes life is like that and it is OK because when it comes down to it, I’m still crying tears of joy. I sat on the people-packed subway yesterday with my heart aching, my mind shutting down, and my shoulders slouched. But as I looked around my subway car at the people who surrounded me, my eyes got blurry and a single tear slipped out and danced down my cheek. I reached up to wipe it away when I realized that it was not a sad tear, it was a joyful tear. You see, underneath my desire to only remain under the blankets of my bed for forever is a knowledge that my Father is still good,  He is up to something in my life, and He for some reason wants me where I am right now. A woman with a beaming smile or a bubbly, laughing child is usually what I picture when I think of joy. Not a girl in a black jacket crying on a busy subway. But there I was. Amidst what I was feeling, among my exhaustion, I was able to take a deep breath, smile, and know that He is good, so good. And that is joy too. Deep down I still know He is who He says He is. The highs and lows, the ups and downs, the wins and the losses of life aside, when I think about Him and His love for us, I am still overwhelmed with joy. And for me right now joy is not jumping up and down, being in a great happy mood. It is taking a moment to remember to smile, letting a tear escape, and reminding myself of Who is giving me life in that very moment. And because of that, even though I might feel like I want to give up, He is still succeeding in my life.

Today this joy is my strength because today He is still good. Just like He was yesterday, and just like He’ll be tomorrow.

Finding Myself a Foreigner

I looked around the airport in a daze. I felt strange, out of place. The airport signs were in my language. People looked like me. But I felt awkwardly uncomfortable like I just didn’t belong here. The customs officer handed me my passport back across the counter. The country’s name on the front of my passport matched the badge on his uniform. “Welcome home, ma’am.” He said. His words took me a bit off guard. I, a bit surprised by how strange his words sounded to my ears, nodded and replied clumsily, “Yeah…thanks, sir.” I clutched my passport as I walked toward the baggage claim; my mind racing from overload yet sluggish from the long sleepless flight.
Home? I thought to myself. This is supposed be my home? I didn’t feel like I had come home. Although everything around me was familiar and seemingly comfortable, I felt like I had landed on an alien planet. I felt like I did not belong. I felt like a foreigner in my own country.
My blog is entitled “Musings of a Waiguoren”. Waiguoren means foreigner. This blog was meant to hold my thoughts and experiences of living in a foreign country, a country that I did not come from, a place that was different from what I knew, an experience of another world. But here I was, standing in the place I should know best, discovering that I had come off the plane as the same foreigner who boarded the plane. I felt like a stranger here. Like I didn’t belong. I stood there waiting for that eternity we all have experienced at the baggage carousel thinking: So I don’t belong anywhere now? I will be a foreigner no matter where I go?
This thought first made me sort of panic. But then I realized why I was feeling this way. It was not just that I had seen more of the world and had grown accustomed to a different way of life. It was not just that my perspective of culture, people, and the world had changed. It was because I had changed. The more I saw of the world, the more I realized I do not live for this world. The more homes I made, the more places I lived, the more countries I traveled – the more I longed for Home. After a year of traveling, of being the stranger, and after returning to my native land, I realized if I base my sense of belonging on the degree of familiar, comfortable, or fulfillment a certain place provides I will search in vain for a place I truly belong.
In fact, I was intended to view this world, this life as a foreigner. I was not made for here. I am an outsider. This planet and my time here is merely a single adventure within the grand adventure of real, eternal Life. Yes, I now saw the world through a different lens because of my travels. But more than anything it was that my sense of belonging in Him has grown.

In addition, there are elements of my culture I never considered strange before that I now just find plain weird. Tanning for instance. Why on earth are people obsessed with looking orange? And food! Why does one need seven different kinds of butter to choose from? Why do we think we cannot live without an overwhelming supply of variations? And why is everyone so busy? What are they busy doing? I think we should take a break from being busy and go dance in the park or sit outside on street corners and share a drink together. Where’s the laughter? The smiles? The sharing of real life? Where’s the things that matter? If there is one thing I’ve noticed in my travels it is that I’ve seen people with a lot less than me, laughing and smiling a whole lot more than me.

Life is so much more than what we give it credit for.

Yeah, I’m kinda sad that I’ll probably always feel like an alien wherever I go now. But it makes life on this planet all the more adventurous. I’ve learned I can make anywhere I am home because I belong in Him anyway.

And that’s my musing as a waiguoren :-)

10 Important Life Lessons You Learn from Living Abroad

I once heard someone say something along the lines of "All pride travel gives you, travel quickly takes away." I have found this to very true. We live in a big world which is full of many wonders, challenges, and adventures which often leads us to have to humble ourselves, get over our preconceived notions about what we "know", and learn that life is mostly awkward and uncomfortable -  but insanely beautiful at the same time. It is my firm belief that everyone should live abroad for a period of at least 6 months at least once in their life in a country totally different from their homeland. The lessons you learn are priceless.
 I recently ran across this blog and loved it so much I simply had to share it. I resonate so deeply with what the author writes. I couldn't have said it better myself actually.

"10 Important Life Lessons You Learn from Living Abroad"

A lot of people philosophize about the Peter Pan appeal of traveling—about regression to a childlike state of wonder and freedom.  We can all see the appeal of traveling back to a time when everything was thrilling and new. But if a vacation is an escape to the magic of childhood, then living abroad is a visit to the pangs of adolescence.  Welcome to the purgatory between young recklessness and adult competency!  Unlike tourists, you are charged with errands and chores; unlike locals, you have no idea how to accomplish anything on your to-do list.
But once you get past the growing pains, and start learning how to take care of yourself on unfamiliar territory, you get to experience the magic of actually growing up.  It’s a world of implicit triumphs and it’ll-be-funny-later humiliations.... click here to read the rest  

http://www.bootsnall.com/articles/12-01/10-important-life-lessons-you-learn-from-living-abroad.html 

Shadowfeet

Normally, I'm not really into when people post song lyrics for their Facebook statuses and on their blogs. But tonight one my of favorite songs, which I have not listened to in quite a while, came on Shuffle. And tonight my desire to share the truth found in this song outweighed my own little peeve.

Shadowfeet by Brooke Fraser

Walking, stumbling on these shadowfeet

towards home, a land that I've never seen

I am changing; less and less asleep

made of different stuff than when I began

And I've sensed it all along

fast approaching is the day

When the world has fallen out from under me

I'll be found in you, still standing

When the sky rolls up and the mountains fall on their knees

when time and space are through

I'll be found in you

There's distraction buzzing in my head

saying in the shadows it's easier to stay

but I've heard rumours of true reality

whispers of a well-lit way

You make all things new

When the world has fallen out from under me

I'll be found in you, still standing

Every fear and accusation under my feet

when time and space are through

I'll be found in you

Someone was pounding at our door. The three of us exchanged looks from over the laptops we were all on in our living room. Who would be knocking at our door at this time of night? We wondered. And why were they so urgently rapping against our door? What was the matter?
We set aside the laptops and wandered over to the front door opening it cautiously. I was relieved but concerned when I recognized our visitor to be one of the women who is a part of the Project. She stood at our front step with a perplexed look on her face while she held the hand of her four year old son. She tried to explain to us in her broken English that she needed us, that she needed our help, that she need our pr.s. She said she had just moved to a new home just down the block from us and wanted us to come ask for a blessing over her home. We of course said we would and slipped on our shoes to join her on a walk through the dark alleyways and narrow streets to her door. We entered her one room apartment. There was double bed that her and her son shared, a desk, and a cupboard. She again bravely charged ahead with her English and effectively explained that some of her former co-workers from the bar she used to work in lived next door and just down the street. Her eyes were filled with worry and she wrung her hands as she told us that she did not know what to do or say. Seeing the former co-workers again obviously brings up a lot of pain and stress for her regarding her past. I could tell she was worried about what this would mean for her. We stood together in a circle in her little apartment and held hands and closed our eyes. We asked for peace to settle on this home and her life. She took a deep breath and her posture became more relaxed by the end of our lifting her up. She then asked us to lift up the women she knew from her previous line of work. We closed our eyes and begged the Father to open their hearts to His love and His truth, to give her the wisdom to know how to reach out to them, and for Him to flood their lives with His presence. She then asked us to lift up her son Joseph, that he might know the love of a father. Myself and two of my housemates spoke blessing and favor over him and asked that might know the Father’s love deep down.
We opened our eyes and wiped away the tears – tears of emotion, tears of joy, tears of desperation, tears of peace.
And then she spoke to the Father about us. In her own language she lifted us up. It didn’t even matter that we didn’t understand. He knew what she was asking and I could feel the power in her words.
I was humbled that this woman would speak to the Father for me. Her love and desperation against pain and toward Hope cut right to my very core.
I was humbled that I would be asked to speak to Him for her. Out of all the people she could have turned to, Father thought us to be the right people to help her. He trusted us and said “You are good enough, go love My child.” I was baffled and humbled by what He thought of me. I was touched by the reality of us holding hands in her little apartment talking to the Creator of the Universe on each other’s behalf.

May He continue to pour out His peace and love over her and her son.

Abandon

-noun 
 1. a complete surrender to natural impulses without restraint or moderation; freedom from inhibition or conventionality: to dance with reckless abandon. 

 Its black letters stare starkly at me from the white page. Its combination, the meaning of its wholeness strikes a chord deep within me. Over the past few months that word has loomed above me, following me everywhere with its heaviness and truth. Yet every time I hear it, every time I listen, it frees me a little more.
I like insurance and reassurance. I do not naturally follow “natural impulses”. That would be completely ridiculous. Utterly insane. And totally irresponsible. Moderation I always viewed as a must.
 But I remember the first time when He leaned in close with a light in His eyes and whispered intently, “Abandon, Emily. Follow me with abandon.” I stared back at Him, deep into His eyes as if to say I had no comeback this time. His gaze never let go of me. His eyes held an inexpressible joy as He urged me to let go.
I wasn’t surprise at His words. I had known all along that He meant what He said and that He said He wanted it all, that total surrender was a requirement, that I could not look back. But I was deeply challenged by His call. I was made frightened and uneasy by His word choice. Abandon, the word echoed in my head. Although it was a scary thought to leave moderation to the wind and join the wind, abandonment I found suddenly strangely tempting. No more holding back. No more covering all my bases. No more being tied down by my own restraints. Just running free. Totally free. With all that I was, with all that I am toward all that I will be, toward all of Him. Leaving everything in the dust and sprinting with every muscle straining my body to reach what I love the most, who loves me the most.
 Even with all my fears, all my worries, and all my ideas, I didn’t want to arrive at the end and find I only had half a heart to give Him. Now wouldn’t that be irresponsible? To give Him half a heart when my job was to give Him a whole one? I pictured myself arriving at the end and suddenly realizing that I had suitcases of moderation with me while He had told me over and over again that He would provide everything I needed. How’s that for ridiculous?
I wanted Him to have it all. I knew He deserved nothing less.
So, when He leaned in and searched out my eyes asked me to follow Him with complete surrender and let go of everything that was not Him and give into the urge to find Him out, I knew I had to do it now. I know I must obey. I want to obey. He deserves nothing less than all of me, all my time, and all of my life. I will chase after Him with all that I am. I will not give Him half a heart. Whether it means leaving my belongings and family behind to follow Him across the globe or trusting Him fully when His leading does not make sense to me, I will not look back.
I want to live with abandon. I want to give it my all. He was not kidding when He said He wanted surrender, and I don’t want to be kidding when I said I would give it to Him.

Afternoon Outing

I faced a big decision yesterday. Hang out at the Summer Palace? Or hang out at Olympic Park? Oh, the choices I am faced with living in BJ! We went with Olympic Park! It was closer.

It is amazing to me that no matter how advanced we get in technology or what kind of political tensions we have with each other, we will lay it all aside for the Olympic Games. It still all comes down to who can run faster and who can throw a ball a farther.

Cottonwood Trees, Eggplants, and Smiles

A soft smile rises on my cheeks. I take a deep breath. I’m carrying a large jug of water and a plastic bag containing three potatoes, a clove of garlic, a carrot, an eggplant, three tomatoes, and pepper. I’m still not sure what I’m making for dinner but it will be something with vegetables. As I make my way back from the little produce stand to my house, my senses take in the life that makes up my neighborhood. Children are laughing in the park. A gentle wind plays with my hair. A teenage boy walks his dog. Two old men converse in loud and passionate tones. I side step a puddle (here you never quite know if it’s water or something else…). I make my way from the open part of the small street and park area into the narrow streets and pathways that weave together to create a maze of homes. Two little kids dart at me from around the corner of a house quickly followed by a third who runs after them excitedly down the alleyway. They laugh and scream as they play tag up and down the rows of houses. It’s warm outside. Fluff from cottonwood trees floats through the air like snow; dancing on the slight breeze the cotton rises and falls. I hear crackling oil in a pan as I pass an open kitchen window. I side step another puddle. This one is definitely not water. The sound of dinging bike bells and honking horns is also heard as the riders and drivers navigate their way through the narrow streets. I duck beneath the clean underwear and t-shirts that hang out to dry on the powerlines that are strung across the row of houses. Hammers pound and drills drill not too far off as workers work away on the outside wall of someone’s home. A little boy howls in delighted laughter as his father chases him down the path and scoops him up for a hug and a tickle. The grandfather looks on approvingly. The aroma of garlic and fried dumplings escapes another kitchen window. My mouth waters. I’m tempted to find the owner of this kitchen and invite myself to dinner. Walking arm in arm two teenage girls wearing brightly colored sweaters stroll past me giggling and chatting away. A young man sits on his front step intently focused on voice on the other end of the cell phone. Red Chinese lanterns hang from doorways and windows. I cross an intersection of two narrow streets and happen upon an older lady who collects the bags of garbage piled in the corners. She heaps them in the back of the little wagon attached to her bicycle. Looking up she smiles at me. I smile back. I continue to make my way down my row until I reach my door. I balance the jug of water on my hip as I scrummage around in my bag for my keys. I find my single house key which is attached to a jingling bell keychain with monkeys on it and insert in into the lock. I turn the key and unlock the door. I step up into my house and close the door behind me. I lean back against the door. Tears fill my eyes and my heart is overwhelmed. Life is so beautiful. I smile as I breathe it in deep.

Thoughts... (Yes, sometimes I think and then have the nerve to write it down!)

Let's face it. I'm not a blogger. I am just not disciplined enough. (Or maybe I'm too disciplined to let myself post any thing that hasn't been rewritten 20 times and rethought 100 times.)
In any case, since I'm so poor at posting regular current thoughts and experiences I thought I'd type up something I found today in my notebook that I had written down several months ago...

January 2012

I can't get her out of my mind. There was something about her that struck me. For some reason this time she wasn't just another kid on the streets.
Last week when we visiting another city, we were walking back to the hostel one night. A girl, probably 8 or 9 years of age, was begging on the street corner. She didn't look destitute, but her clothes were worn and her face was dirty. She came up to us with her empty plastic cup asking for money.
We smiled, but ignored her pleas, and continued to walk down the street like we've been told to do. They say you're only feeding the begging system if you give them money. They say especially be wary of giving money to children because an adult probably put them up to it.
And I think there is some truth in what "they" say. And sometimes I heed their warnings.

But I couldn't this time.

I've seen dozens and dozens of begging children. I've seen hundreds of people with an empty cup on a cold street corner. But for some reason this girl struck me in a way no one else had. There wasn't anything noticeably different about her from all the other begging kids that have tugged at my sleeve.

I saw her this time.

Of course I've always found these children heartbreaking, but this time I looked at her, I saw her eyes and I felt my heartbreak. I heard it crack.

We walked by her, trying to politely ignore her somewhat annoying pleas. But she persisted. she kept up with our quick pace. She walked by our side, almost in front of us as if to block our path, as if to us her cold little body as a barrier though she be ignored and pushed aside. But it was her eyes that made me stop in my tracks.
Her eyes stared blankly ahead, never making contact with mine. They were dark and glazed over. As if she did not expect to be treated like a human person. She stared dully at nothing and continued to tap her cup at us in mechanical, emotionless rhythms of movement. It was if her mind was far removed from that dark street and her arm knew how to make a begging gesture on its own from far too much practice. "What must that do to her soul?" I wondered. What must begging do to her view of herself? Having to feel so degraded, being walked past without so much as a glance, being ignored, having to release her right to respect, having to act like merely a pestering, begging arm - what was that doing to her heart? How was that damaging her mentally and emotionally? How did this affect what she thought about herself?
It was so much more than merely humbling yourself to have to become embarrassed by begging. She was seen as a beggar, and somewhere along the line she became merely another beggar on a street corner instead of a child in need of protection. I stopped and put ten kuai in her cup. I wish I could have put Hope in her cup. She glanced up at me quickly, murmured half of a thank you and then ran down the street to chase some other foreigners. She probably thought I was just paying her off. Putting money in her cup so she'd leave us alone. But I just wanted to acknowledge her. I wanted her to feel seen.

I should have gotten on my knees and given her a hug. I should have taken her to the store and bought her a proper coat.

Maybe she doesn't even need the money. Maybe she is not poor at all, one might say. Maybe she's fed fine and just works for some grown-up. But does that make it any less horrific? Does that damage her precious soul any less? She is still on that street corner when she should have been in a warm bed having someone read a bedtime story to her. She was still being ignored. Her eyes were still lifeless and hopeless.

I've seen a hundred of these kids, but for some reason I cannot get her face out of my mind. For some reason I cannot help but cry for her. Specifically for this one.

God be with her. You know her name.

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 beginning, isn’t it? I feel like my short nineteen years of life has been mainly composed of goodbyes. And I have a creeping suspicion that many more, much more goodbye saying awaits me. I am terrible at goodbyes. I avoid them with great intention, which also means I at times avoid attachment. If you never fully let your hand hold, then you won’t have to reverse the motion to let it go. A loose grasp is my farewell insurance.

But my insurance plan didn’t work this time. I had become attached. I had loved, fully loved, and I had been loved, fully loved. I had felt safe. I felt at home. I felt welcomed. I felt celebrated. My grip, yes, had grown tighter and stronger, but more than anything the love itself grew to fit my purposefully open grasp. It enlarged to fill the space I had left in avoidance, in anticipation. The object within my hold had grown stronger, thicker, and with greater form. Actually it had surpassed the extent of my hold and escaped my hand and ran down my arm.

I so dislike goodbyes.

But we weren’t made for goodbyes, were we? We were intended to invest and be invest in. We were made for home. We were created for completion. We were not made for parting, for trailing offs, or for slipping aways. Change is necessary. Growth: imperative. But goodbyes, goodbyes go against everything within us. I’m not talking about the transition cycle necessary for seasons. I’m talking about when you look someone in the eye, say that single heart wrenching word, and you walk away leaving a part of your heart with them. We are relational beings. We are intimate beings. And saying goodbye means parting with an avenue to be both.

I am so bad at goodbyes.

Opened-ended goodbyes are the worst in my opinion. They provide no closure along with not enough hope to be satisfied. Not knowing if it will be a month, ten years, or never until you see them again rings my heart with sorrow.

This is a life of goodbyes. I thank God the next is one of everlasting hellos.

Adventures in the Land of Smiles: Round 1

Thailand is called the "Land of Smiles". For good reason too. The people are friendly and always seem to have a smile on their face. And I just can't seem but help but smile either!.There's just so much to smile about here!

I've been in Thailand for a week now. And I've fallen in love with the place. I've traveled up north, in the middle, and now down south. I've only gotten to see a bit of the country so far but it has been great. I've seen the big cities, small villages, and now the coastline. It is a color land filled with beautiful people.

Chiang Rai (northern Thailand)

Northern Thailand




Currently I am about 4 hours south of Bangkok along the coast (RIGHT along the coast. Like 100 yards from the beach). Needless to say, I am thoroughly enjoying the warm weather. It is hot and humid and I am loving it. So nice to see the ocean again!
I am SUPER busy with work this week, but I'm finding time to have fun too. Tonight some friends and I went night swimming in the sea. It was so fun! It was very dark and you could see tons of stars glittering in the sky. The water was full of glow-in-the-dark algae. The sky above us twinkled with heavenly lights and the water around us glowed with earthly sparkles. It was stunning. Then we sat one the beach and sang songs together to our Father.


I had my "Aha!" moment of realization today. It tends to take me awhile to process things. And then suddenly it all comes together in a moment and I get it. My realization of me moving to China took place about 3 week after I had been there. I was standing in a park surrounded by old Chinese people flying kites, and suddenly looked around and saw it and shouted "Oh my gosh! I'm in China!!!!"
It only took me a week this time for me to grasp the reality that I am in Thailand. I was on the back of a motorbike riding through a little fishing village and then all of a sudden a burst out laughing and realized "OH MY GOODNESS! I AM IN THAILAND!". There is just something about those moments that triggers my understanding of the reality of my surroundings and the reality of where I am, what's happened, and what is happening.

I just LOVE Thailand :-)

THAILAND! OH MY GOLLY!

I am in Thailand right now.

*Excuse me as I have a moment of freaking out and trying to comprehend that I am actually here*

I have wanted to come to Thailand for as long as I can remember. It is the biggest dream I have ever had. It's been the one thing I have wanted the most. Coming to Thailand is literally a dream come true for me - a dream that at many times I was afraid to dream, a dream that was on the other side of the world for me, a dream that I thought maybe was just not realistic. But my dream as become reality. And I am so happy to be here. It doesn't feel like a dream. It feels so real. Almost inevitably true.

The plane from Kunming, China started to descend. As we broke through the clouds I got my first sight of Thailand. My eyes filled with tears and my face wore one of the fullest smiles it had ever held. I couldn't believe it. After so many years, I was here! I got off the plane and had to try extremely hard not to skip the whole way through the airport to Thai immigration.
All those books I read, all the money I saved from that job in high school, all those photos on my bedroom wall, it all came together and took solid form. Thailand was under my feet. It felt strangely familiar. Though it is a completely foreign place to me, I felt like I have always been here. I felt like I had come home.

Two weeks ago I was nervous to come. "What if it's not like I have imagined? What if I don't like it? What if it doesn't like me? What if? What if? What if?" Suddenly my dream was coming true and I was overwhelmed. Maybe it's safer, maybe it's better in dream form, I wondered. Maybe I should keep it as a wish in a box in the back of my closet. But no. I knew that would never do. I couldn't live without coming here. Without smelling the air, and feeling the red soil beneath my toes. I had to see the kids' faces with my own eyes. I had to hear them laugh. I had to come. I don't know what pulls me to Thailand. I'm not sure how a string got tied from my heart to this country, but here I am!

I can't remember what I imagined it would be like. I can't remember what I thought it would be, because all I can see is what it is really. All I can do is smell the wet air and thank our Father for making my dream, the dream He put in me, come true.

Living your dream is quite demanding though, so I'm going to go grab some insanely delicious Thai food to fill my hungry stomach.

And I will post soon again on what I have seen and experienced to so far! I have only been here 2 days but already have seen things that have made laugh so hard, and things that have made me weep brokenheartedly.

It is such a beautiful place.

I see why the call it the "Land of Smiles" :)



P.S. Big Plus: It's no where near as cold as where I have been living these past few months! First thing I did when we landed: pulled out my flipflops from my suitcase :) It's so nice to not have to wear more than one pair of pants.

Photos from Home #1 for this year

Flying in...

Just chilling in the park playing music...

Central Square

Phase 1: Complete

Tonight is my last night in this city.

When I first arrived here I felt like I had landed on another planet or traveled to another world. I began to understand what it really means to be a waiguoren (foreigner). Nothing looked familiar. Nothing felt familiar. Nothing was familiar. Living here was my first introduction to this country. At first I wasn't quite sure if I liked this city. It definitely took some readjusting and a bit of time to sort through culture shock. But I have come to love this place. With all its quirks and unique little things. I love the parks everywhere. I love the old men who carry around their bird cages. I love the hilarious attempts at translating signs into English (The sign outside one store I shop at reads "Uno Meal Feed Line". I still haven't figured out what it's supposed to say.) I love how all the trees in the city light up at night. I love how the whole city lights up at night! I love that my bathroom makes me laugh every time I go in to it. There's a hole in the floor for the pipes to come up. You have to put your hand down the tank of the toilet to flush it. If you lean on the sink it will fall over. The shower head is duct-taped to the wall. And there a piece of paper taped over a big hole in the middle of the door. (but most important, there is hot water! which I am grateful for every day) I seriously chuckle almost every time I enter the bathroom. I love the diversity of the city. I love all the different demographics. I love mian pian (a type of noodles that this region is known for).
There are many things I did not enjoy - like being constantly stared and pointed at, yak meat, and the freezing cold. But even those things fade in comparison to all the great things about this place and these people. Sometimes I just tell myself that they are staring and pointing because they think I'm so beautiful and that it's not really because they think I'm a weird white foreigner (which is indeed the real reason). The cold has taken the most getting used to. It is about 12 degrees Fahrenheit outside right now (-11), and tonight is a "warm" night. Let's just say I will be one happy girl when I arrive in Thailand on Thursday. I greatly look forward to not having to wear multiple pairs of pants and socks.
I have thoroughly enjoyed living here. It's been an adventure. I will miss it.
Now on to the next adventure: Thailand!

Dying to Live

You think I would have known better than to ask "Father, help me to surrender more of myself to You. Show me what I am holding back." In truth, I did know what it would mean if He granted my request. Although I honestly had no idea what I was asking. But I had to ask. I was compelled to want this, even though I knew I was basically asking Him to make things harder, to take control over some of my favorite things to control, and to put me in a very uncomfortable, painful, and difficult process. I'd been down this "surrendering" road before, and I knew I was not asking Him to join me on a stroll through the park. But like I said, I had to ask. Once you've tasted the finer things of life, it's hard to go back to what you knew before even if there is a higher price to be paid for those fine things. And that's why I asked. Because I had tasted, and I had seen, and I had known that He is good. I had known that He is best. I was dying to live more of the Life He gives. "What am I holding back?" I repeated.
He wasted no time in answering my question.
I won't go into details. I'm not brave enough for that yet. But let's just say that He showed me something I never placed under the "Learn to Surrender At Some Point" category. In fact, I had probably placed it under the "No Need to Surrender, You're Allowed to Keep This One" title. It never occurred to me that He might ask me to give up this thing. I saw it as my right to have it. In fact, it is my right. But that's exactly what He was asking, "Give up your rights, Emily. The rights you deserve. The rights you have the right to." Now, of course, you are probably thinking. Of course to follow Him you have to give up your rights. You know that. I knew that. Anyone who's ever been to Sunday school knows that. But it's a whole different ball game when He looks at you, points to it, and says "OK, hand it over." I looked back at Him flabbergasted. "But..but, that one is mine..." I stammered. I couldn't bring myself to look Him in the eye but I could feel His penetrating gaze upon me no matter where I looked or what I tried to change the subject to.
Ever since I was little it was obvious that fairness and justice are some of my key values. As a kid I dreamed of winning a Noble Peace Prize because of the outstanding contributions I made to fighting for human rights for people and women around the world. I used to practice my acceptance speech in the bathroom mirror. I currently dream of fighting human trafficking. Here I was, a human rights activist down to my very core, and He was asking me to give up my human rights. My right to want and to seek a reasonable life. My rights to feel emotions and respond in ways that are warranted according to the situation. But He doesn't operate in our kind of reasonableness, does He? He is not really concerned about what we sanction to be warranted, is He? My right to a reasonable life, to a life that makes sense, was what I was holding back. "My sense isn't your sense." He said. Indeed this was no stroll through the park. I felt like He was asking me to join Him on hike up Mt. Everest's big brother when I was aiming for something a little more down to earth. But there was no going back. Once I got over my shock, once I got over being offended, I said "OK." I was still unable to look Him in the eye, but I stammered, "OK, You can have it." I knew I had to die to myself, release my ideals, and let go of my "rights" in order to make it up that mountain. You see, I got into this whole thing in the first place because I was dying to live, but He taught me that I had to die so that I may live. Literally dying to live. But to live indeed! Life on top of the mountain really is the best, even if you had to dump your favorite things out of your backpack along the way to lighten your load.
Tonight I was talking to a friend of mine who has been at this whole living life thing some years longer than I. She said if she were to sum up her whole life in one word it would be "Give-up". After all these years, she said giving-up, letting go, surrendering is the lesson she keeps taking away from her journey towards Life.
The American, the 21st century woman, and the human rights activist within me is appalled. But I can't be a good citizen if I don't follow what is truly Good, can I? I can't be a powerful, thriving woman if I don't tap into who I was really created to be, can I? And I can't effectively stand up and fight to protect the rights we have as humans until I first understand what it means to follow the One who gave us the right to be called children of God.
I'm still not even half way up the mountain's slope, but there's just no going back now. I must have more of Him. I must give Him more of me. I am dying to live, to truly LIVE.