ARTIST AT LIVING

It is neither a genius nor
the unparalleled passion of Vincent van Gogh that
inspire me.

It is a troubled van Gogh,
fascinated by and drawn to a metamorphosis of things,
perhaps including himself,
while offering no judgment to distinct larva and chrysalis forms,
perhaps including himself.

Van Gogh’s troubles and his lonely metamorphosis,
as incomplete and fragile as it might have been,
where the incomplete is the perfect,
where the fragility is the strength,
inspire the divine vision of the human journey in me.

Not too long ago, I learned of van Gogh’s interest in butterflies, particularly the process of metamorphosis. Fascination may be a better word.

After taking an online poetry class this past June, I became restless, wanting to continue to feed a newfound desire. My wife, with her foresight and timely encouragement, gently suggested organizing a group for mutual encouragement and continued writing of poetry. I asked all my Asian classmates (four plus one) if they wanted to continue meeting over Zoom monthly. They all responded enthusiastically, and we have been meeting monthly, with each of us taking turns facilitating. With everyone being trained in spiritual direction (except for me), the group knows how to hold sacred and safe space for emerging poets in all of us. We would all write, each taking turns to read aloud to the group, and then everyone companions the reader. As we can peek into each other’s tender souls through poetry, our usage of companioning words is minimal but creates reverberation in our souls long afterward.

In one of the recent poetry Zooms, we were presented with van Gogh’s Grass and Butterflies painting. As soon as I saw the painting, something stirred in me though I did not know why. Weeks later, I revisited the painting and reflected using a combination of visio divina and imaginative “reading” of van Gogh and wrote the poem above.

As an imperfect and tormented soul, van Gogh’s contribution to the world would not be through a missionary call to the lowly miners. It would not even be a religion where he initially found meaning. Even in his art path, he would not follow the footsteps of the popular and accepted Impressionism. Instead, I would like to believe that what saved van Gogh was his attention to details, the divine details. Whether it was sunflowers, butterflies, irises, fields, cypress trees, portraits, sky, etc all came alive because of van Gogh’s prowess in paying attention to details. In the details of the most ordinariness, he came face to face with the divine, just perhaps. I imagine Van Gogh’s “invitation” would not be to admire and like his works, instead, he would be acutely exhorting us to slow down, look, and linger with details in life. And to “paint” it with our own style and life . . . D. T. Suzuki’s words ring true, “I am an artist at living – my work of art is my life.”

EYES

In just a few wordless seconds, decades flashed by
like a sweeping drama of
other-worldly beauty and glory,
too wonderful to be true.

They were the same eyes when they
first opened their curious eyes on the earth.
They are the same eyes I will never
forget into eternity.

They were the same eyes of God, the God who greeted me
with a faint smile and soul-piercing and melting light
They are the same eyes of God,
of love, mercy, and forgiveness.

My eyes and my soul feasted on the
divine touchdown of our hearts,
enlarging my feeble tent with a grander hope and vision.
To know that I can finally see and be seen.

About a month after our adult children, a son-in-law, and a daughter-in-law visited us in Malaysia, I sat at a café in Gapyeong, Korea reflecting on the holy family ritual. It remains a mystery what triggered me to revisit the “Ritual of Leaving.” (I highlighted this sacred ritual in the Oct. 15 entry.) Once I did, I could not get out of it, until I found words, as inadequate and incomplete as they are, to capture what I felt and sensed. I relived the heaven-sent memory, and my eyes promptly were welled up with tears, but unable to course down my cheeks. My eyes were looking at the farthest mountain outside the window but nothing registered. I was seeing but not seeing. Instead, I had seen something else. In that almost trance-like experience, the above poem flowed out of me, inspiring a vision of what “seeing” can be.

An influential German Catholic theologian, philosopher, and mystic of the Middle Ages, Meister Eckhart, famously said, “The eye with which I see God is the same with which God sees me. My eye and God's eye is one eye, and one sight, and one knowledge, and one love.” All eyes are one: God’s eyes. If we do the hard work of being honest and vulnerable and let our false self retreat by simple and powerful awareness . . . What begins to glimmer and glow is the shy true self. Eyes become the souls’ window, allowing the light within to recognize the light searching from without. The divine light dance glows even brighter, having been joined by the Light Who was there all along. This was a mystery until I experienced it with my family.

I WORRIED

I worried

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?

Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And I gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

Mary Oliver

I am a worrier too. At sixty-one, there are more things to worry about, the past, the future, not to mention the present. In particular, I am a professional in terms of projecting my worries into the future. I can’t help it but that is how I learned to navigate the unknown world in front of me. I also worry about aging moms, grown-up children, our well-being and health, and our friends.

Oliver addresses our helpless worries of nature in the first stanza. Helpless because there is very little we can do to help gravity and other forces of nature. I suppose the point is we worry even about the things we have very little control over.

The short second stanza reflects on our tendency to worry about the impact of our past. Does it matter whether we were right or wrong? How about in the areas of the need for forgiveness that are precisely beyond our control?

The next two stanzas unpack the future worrying fixations that may or may not have legitimacy and stem from family medical history. They range from Oliver’s simple but precious desire to sing to the possibility of more serious disease. Dementia would be the most terrible disease to a poet.

The word “finally” turns the entire poem. What follows is the realizations and actions in the past tense as is captured in the poem’s title, I Worried. The decisive verbs packed a punch after punch: saw, gave up, took, went out, and sang. The word “sang” is the redemptive reversal or the cancellation of her precise worry of hopeless singing. WHO CARES! Really, “I don’t care anymore” won the day followed by freedom. Oliver invites us to consider what we will act on to “reverse” our incessant worries.

I, too, want to be a “singer” of freedom—freedom from worrying about the past and especially the future. With admissible reasons to be worrisome in all societies and families, as all are fighting great battles, how about we join together in getting up, getting out, and shouting to the world that we are alive?

I imagine Oliver exclaiming among the trees, impressing the morning birds of all kinds. . . And so can you. . .

GRATITUDE

As has been the tradition in December, I would like to highlight a few poems, five poems to be exact since there are five Tuesdays. This year, I will also be sharing a few of my own, including my reflection and/or background of each poem.

If you are tracking with us physically, we will depart Korea on December 2 to the Philippines for my Opening Residency at the School of Spiritual Direction (SSD). After the residency, I was asked to preach at a church where I preached the last time I was in the country. We fly back to Malaysia only to fly to Singapore for a weekend to spend time with our friends. Starting on December 17, we will be in Malaysia. We host some people from Korea in January. Then we fly back to the US in early February until June.

My wife shared to a group of Zoom participants the other day, “We are happy because we are grateful. It is not that we are grateful because we are happy.” She was giving credit to Jim Wilder, an expert on spiritual formation and brain science, among other things. My blunt paraphrase, talking to myself, “Be grateful, dummy if you want to be happy.” The modern incessant pursuit of happiness emphasizes happiness for happiness’ sake. As such, it is easy to trace how happiness remains so elusive that it becomes an impossible and endless pursuit. When is “more” enough?

When the script is flipped and our focus is squarely on gratitude, happiness is a natural by-product with no effort necessary. When we seek and pursue gratitude at all levels, happiness comes to us as gifts. Happiness is like guests, arriving with gifts we often do not foresee and deserve. How do we cultivate the heart of gratitude? By starting from small and mundane levels of gratitude. . . Often, it is the scene or the view, from demure and hidden from our eyes to breathtaking, random, and unexpected kindness, last-ditch moments of grace, a phrase from background music, etc. How can I not be grateful for a hot bowl of Sulllungtang followed by Hotteok on a cold night? Which without failure would make me smile in happiness . . . Easily, there are thousands more examples. I am already hyping myself for forecasted snow tonight in gratefulness. . .

The preeminence of the pre-requisite of slowing down, even stopping, and paying attention is what is a necessary groundwork for cultivating gratitude. In other words, it is almost impossible to arrive at small and potentially unseen and unrecognizable moments of gratitude unless we slow down, at the very least. No wonder, this remains elusive for modern humanity whose success depends on a fast-paced life for more and more.

Then there are life-altering gratitude events being dropped on our laps. With uncalloused muscles of our heart ready to flex its muscles toward gratitude, we can effortlessly enter the grand gratitude gate. A few of those big gratitude gates we have entered this year are highlighted. How can we not be grateful for Malaysia, our more than capable home base this year, for people, its multicultural cuisine (me more than my wife), ease of travel, safety, low cost of living, guests who visited us, and most importantly, the community of friends? How can we not be grateful for new connections, friends, and the community we are now part of? How dare we forget and not be grateful toward God who prepared our way and tirelessly led us forward? How dare I forget and not be grateful for myriads of tender seeings, hearings, and touches of reality as reality enfolded, toward wonder, warmth, and mystery? How it is easy for me to be grateful for our adult children and spouses who carved out time to visit us and create memories that would last a lifetime.

Looking back, I realize there is yet one more requirement: the practice of letting go and living without entitlements. Holding on or demanding respect due to my title, experiences, or pedigree would be a death knell for I operate with the mindset that I must be thanked or honored. Gratitude would be hard-pressed or disingenuous. Entitlements function like a formidable inner fortress that needs to be demolished for gratitude to enter fully and freely. For a small example here in Korea, I find it freeing not to have a ubiquitous business card with my name on it. Whenever I meet new people, they hand me their business cards only to be reciprocated with nothing from my end. (It is not that they come across as entitled but only to highlight that the existing modus operandi is based on titles and degrees.) I crack my sheepish smile and apologize every time. Frankly, I would not know what to put on my card even if I had one. I suppose I am revolting in my small way to tell the world to get to know me beyond the card, take time, let us share our lives, and learn to feast.

In this season of harvest celebrations all over the world before the winter comes, feasting on happiness and laughter of joy can arrive once we do our part of slowing down and letting go to open the door to gratitude. Gratitude is like an unending supply of kindling that would maintain the fire to keep us warm in the “winter” of our lives.

AN ACORN AND YEAST

I participated in a group spiritual guidance session a week ago where I presented my reflection. We employed imaginative reading of Scripture, and I identified with one imagined character in the story. I saw myself as a gentile sitting in the back row of a synagogue as this story unfolded. The familiar story came alive, and days later, I found myself still lingering on the passage. I knew I had to write it out. Thanks for reading, as always.

Luke 13:10-21, The Message

He was teaching in one of the meeting places on the Sabbath. There was a woman present, so twisted and bent over with arthritis that she couldn’t even look up. She had been afflicted with this for eighteen years. When Jesus saw her, he called her over. “Woman, you’re free!” He laid hands on her and suddenly she was standing straight and tall, giving glory to God.

The meeting-place president, furious because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, said to the congregation, “Six days have been defined as work days. Come on one of the six if you want to be healed, but not on the seventh, the Sabbath.”

But Jesus shot back, “You frauds! Each Sabbath every one of you regularly unties your cow or donkey from its stall, leads it out for water, and thinks nothing of it. So why isn’t it all right for me to untie this daughter of Abraham and lead her from the stall where Satan has had her tied these eighteen years?”

When he put it that way, his critics were left looking quite silly and red-faced. The congregation was delighted and cheered him on.

Then he said, “How can I picture God’s kingdom for you? What kind of story can I use? It’s like an acorn that a man plants in his front yard. It grows into a huge oak tree with thick branches, and eagles build nests in it.”

He tried again. “How can I picture God’s kingdom? It’s like yeast that a woman works into enough dough for three loaves of bread—and waits while the dough rises. 

I sat with my mouth open and eyes widened, trying to process what had just happened. I also felt the temperature rising in the synagogue. Toward the end, my heart burned, and I strangely felt free and unburdened.

I had known the woman suffering from severe arthritis for many years, though I have not seen her in recent years. During the years I have not seen her, she grew much worse in her condition. Her face wore scars of pain, just as twisted as her body. She must have heard the rumor that Jesus, who has miraculously healed many sinners in nearby villages, would visit the synagogue today. Perhaps a good neighbor alerted her. . .

As one of the few gentiles in the congregation who used to sit in the back, I have been attracted to the Jewish way of life, their laws, wisdom, and most of all, their God. As a latecomer and uneducated, I had many questions over the years but kept quiet and continued to attend and listen. I also heard rumors about Jesus and how he baffled and infuriated some and inspired many. This Jesus, I finally got to see and hear in person today.

He was different, remarkably and stunningly, unlike any religious leader I have listened to. His voice was tender and yet thunderous, packed with compassion and power. His eyes twinkled, almost inviting the listeners to hear beyond the words. He shed light on many questions I had, my intuition leaped with joy in agreement even to an uneducated mind. With his words being simple and easy to follow, Jesus did not waste words. The parables he shared were illuminating and penetrating.

Though the woman could not look up to see Jesus, Jesus spotted her hunched over in obvious pain and suffering. Stopping his talk, Jesus called her, touched her, and said, “Woman, you are free!” What happened next, I will never forget. Within seconds, she stood up like a new woman, standing tall and straight, her face beaming with light and glory. All the while, Jesus’ words, “Woman, you’re free,” still rings in my ear.

Not surprisingly because of what I was used to hearing about the Sabbath's teachings, the synagogue's leader was flustered and raised hell indirectly with Jesus by talking to the congregation. Jesus did not wait for a second, shot back with inhuman authority cut through the trap, and rebuked with power, remarkably couched in a question. I felt the dead weight I had been carrying somewhat unsuspectingly shattered into pieces. I could not help but shout with the loudest cheer I knew. The people in the synagogue turned back to see where the loudest clap and cheer came from, only to see me. I could not care less. . .

As all the eyes turned to Jesus again, he spoke in short parables. I knew that the acorn and the yeast referred to the arthritis woman. My heart was filled with hope and the vision of the Kingdom Jesus spoke about. While walking back to my house, it dawned on me that I too could be the acorn and the yeast. My heart strangely warmed, and I vowed to follow Jesus and his teachings. The woman’s countenance beamed with light that was not hers and I realized that I also saw the light that monolithic day.

Years later, Jesus is no longer walking on this earth. Yet, his presence remains, ever pervasively. The light in me is still alive and strong. In addition, I did not have the language the day I met Jesus, but now I know that both the woman and I were set free. She was freed from the bondage of disease and Satan. I was freed from the bondage of religious indoctrination and a system that shrinks God to a manageable and predictable God. I know how to live and let others live. They say they can see the light of freedom in me.

THE CIRCLE OF GENEROSITY

Gapyeong greeted us with cool crisp air and an unmatched high blue sky, a signature Korean fall sky. Coming from Malaysia, the air was delightfully cool and dry. Driving into the familiar driveway featured rows of apple trees, ripe for harvest. My wife exclaimed, who is a second-to-none lover of apples, “Wow, look at those apples!” While the sound of frogs is no longer present since the rice fields are bare after harvest, the undeniable smell of cows nearby occasionally confuses the crisp air. I did not mind the smell since for one, it reminded me of my childhood in Anseong, and second, even with the whimsical smell of cows, my lungs appreciated me for the cleaner air.

On our way to Sinhari1955 café nearby, we heard the murmur coming from a warehouse storage by the apple orchard which sits adjacent to our place. Driven by curiosity, I decided to step in and learned right away that they were in the middle of harvesting apples and boxing them for sale. Since I did not want the people inside to wonder who the stranger was, I quickly babbled, “Are these the apples you just harvested from the trees?” (My wife reminds me from time to time how big my presence is. I suppose I wanted to downplay my presence but what came out of me was a dud question.) As if to ignore my dumb question, they replied with a proud yes. I followed, “Can I buy a box?” trying to salvage a forgettable situation. In doing so, my mouth beat my thought process. I could not have known how the apple would taste. However, after they offered me and my company generous slices of apple, my mouth approved, and I was sold. I ended up buying a big box, more than what we can consume in the next month. The owner, like a good hospitable country folk, threw in a few more best-looking apples in the box. I have learned that they have been growing apples for the last forty years in the same field. I was told that they are not pretty to look at with not enough bright red colors to attract would-be buyers, but their taste brings back the same customers year after year. We had a visitor the other day and after I told him how tasty the apples were, he quickly secured four big boxes, giving us one box even after I told him we already had one big box. My problem doubled. We will happily be serving the apples to all our friends and visitors.

As we got near the café, we struck up a conversation with the grape orchard owner after I greeted her. She, an older woman who had seen enough sunlight, insisted that we try their grape juice, with nothing else added. We politely said no, more than three times which would have been enough in the Korean context. When she asked the fourth time, I caved in and said yes. She gleefully darted into the storage, ignoring the heap of garlic heads she was peeling. The next thing I saw was all the grape juice pouches she could handle in her two small hands. The just as proud grape orchard owner boasted in her grape juice. Trying to match her exuberance, I feverishly agreed with her. The same visitor who left us with a big box of apples bought and left us with a box filled with grape pouches. Our November Gapyeong guests will also enjoy the juice along with the apples. Both the apple and grape orchard owners can boast without a hint of arrogance because they know the land and have put in hard work, not to mention their craft.

Finally, we got to the café, and the café owner we befriended back in the Spring smiled from ear to ear and showered us a big welcome like old friends. We told the older couple we were back for another month. Before we ordered any coffee, they asked us whether we wanted a napa cabbage head and a radish from their garden. This time, I did not hesitate, having learned from two previous encounters. I said, “Of course,” bordering cultural insensitivity. Happy that I said yes, they took us to their impressive vegetable plot behind the café and shed, cut the cabbage thrice as big as my bald head, and invited my wife to pluck the radish from the ground. My wife also did not hesitate, she pulled the radish and flashed one of the biggest and proudest smiles I have seen since we were with our children. They pulled several more green onions from the field. After getting to our Airbnb, It took us several trips to move everything into the house, with our hearts filled and warmed.

We came back to Gapyeong to provide hospitality and rest to our guests. From the apple orchard to grape orchard to café owners, not to mention our visitors, we are taught how to be hospitable. As we have received, our willing obligation and desire is to give to others, not out of reciprocity but out of enlarging the circle of generosity. “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity,” said Simone Weil. The folks in our neighborhood showered us with generosity by both giving us attention—seeing, noticing, and valuing us—and generous giving. Today, generosity has two names: attention and abundance.

LET IT BE

Let it be,
let me be,
let things be,
Let the creation be.

A delicate hummingbird moth intrusively
hovered in the middle of sacred conversations, saying
“Hello, look at me.” Followed by a tiny beetle softly landing on the sleeve,
“Hi, I am here as well.”

The café host gingerly and shyly walks by to hand over this morning’s dainty
light blue egg to a silky fowl, offering to eat the egg fresh. I replied trustingly, “Sure.” After poking holes on either side of the egg,
I, like a wild man, sucked and ingested a creamy would-be life-to-become,
giving me extra life.

A friendly host’s cat forces his way into the conversations, slithering his tail against our legs, again inviting us to see and be aware of his presence. Not to be outclassed,
the wind cascades down four fall foliage on the table,
matching the foursome huddle. 

Then we look far and wide to take in the great blue November sky,
scattered clouds as if someone from above painted for us to wow us and be aware.
To invite us ever tenderly
“I am here.”

I can,
finally, let everything be
because I AM WHO I AM is here,
everywhere.

The above poem is dedicated to our friends from Singapore, Linda and Malcolm, who said yes to my impromptu invitation when my wife and I were in Singapore two months ago. Malcolm, a family doctor, bore witness to a caring and loving family doctor when he was young and told himself he would one day be a family doctor to help others. He responded with a hearty yes as soon as I invited him and his wife, Linda. Shocked by her husband’s response who is normally very careful about planning, meticulously one at that, and far from being spontaneous, Linda asked her husband, “Are you sure?” multiple times to make sure. Malcolm reassured her just as many times. When tracing our conversation back to when Malcolm said yes, he does not remember why or how he had said yes.

Two months later, they showed up in Korea, eager and excited. Linda graduated from CenterQuest Asia School of Spiritual Direction in April. She is also a member of the inaugural CenterQuest Asia Poet Society. The truth is that we knew right away that we were kindred spirits when we first met in January 2023 during the Opening Residency of CQ Asia School.

The immediate context for the above poem took place as we sat at the outdoor table and shared in my fav café, Sinhari1955, near our Airbnb. The divine descended with a feathery flair of heaven, allowing the deep to meet the deep. The seductive spell of safety and freedom prodded and invited us to go deep. Bordering distracted intrusion, a rare hummingbird moth, the ever-generous and kind café host, an easygoing cat, a brave beetle, and the many-hued leaves joined the conversation seamlessly, making a gentle and unforgettable impression. Soon, we all realized that they were not distractions, but gifts. We marveled at the gifts, happily followed along the gift trails with our conversations, and effortlessly looped back to our intimate sharing.

Then, I excused myself from the conversation for about 12 minutes. I felt I needed or had to capture what I was processing into a raw poem. In just a couple of days, they will fly back to Singapore. Some repeated keywords they have captured in their hearts are hope, healing, possibilities, and consciousness. Aided by great food, spectacular nature and its colors that change by the hour, and interspersed silence in walks and car rides, we crossed the frontier threshold of our interiority and blurred the lines between what is me and others and otherness.

SUJI ENNEAGRAM

The fabled Jirisan (or Jiri Mountain) felt warm and mysterious. I have driven past Jirisan multiple times, but this was my first time being enveloped in the amiable embrace of Jirisan. After bidding farewell to Michael and Gloria, we were promptly on our way to Jirisan, south of the peninsula. After having planned our participation in Suji Enneagram instructors’ training months ago, we had to switch our mental gears quickly to adjust to what was ahead of us for the next three full days. Suji Enneagram adheres to the same Enneagram tradition globally but the founder, Suji, developed a new way, a Korean adaptation, to approach Enneagram after studying for years. She was desperate to help sexually trafficked teenage girls discover their God-given identities amid indescribable wounds, pain, and suffering. The world stamped and discarded them as if they were not part of the same dignified human family. A sadder part of the story was that they did not fight back.

Suji believed that Enneagram would ultimately reset and restore the girls’ God-given identities. Her intuition was right. Decades later, some of the girls rose from the ashes and now are part of the solution to the same persistent problem in Korean society. Suji Enneagram is unique in that the “education” is highly interactive and believes in a self-discovery mode of learning (for they had to because of involving teenagers) whereas many Enneagram outfits mainly are content to download information. Furthermore, Suji Enneagram focuses on discovery and subsequent transformation based on how God has shaped us from the beginning as opposed to merely passing out information. The message of “calling from Heaven” is repeated to discover and live from the calling from above as well as to let go of false images or ego-saving ways of functioning in the world.

The venue was magical, two simple buildings standing on the ridge of Jiri Mountain, overlooking the magnificent contours of the valley. Though fall foliage has not kicked in due to unseasonably warm weather right through our visit, my eyes feasted watching the valley changing from day to day in fog, rain, and clear-crisp sun-lit days. The food was locally grown and harvested, thus wholesome and healthy. After two weeks of food extravagance with my children, my stomach thanked me for plain simple meals, not to mention the uber-clean air we breathed.

Predictably, we went from 8 am till 10 pm every day, packed with all the participants going deeper into the discovery of how God made us. Since we were all essentially working through our charts to listen to who we were, I felt the time blew by. We were trained to “read” others’ “charts” based on what they observed in themselves. I was amazed at how the trainers were able to read charts of the participants while providing deft insight and turning them into an unshakable calling from “Heaven.” More than anything, I appreciated their profound respect and dignity of all humanity, and how they approached the training showed their commitment to honor. Suji and the leaders were not into building their own “kingdom,” but they held their mission with humility and conviction.

Our original plan was to hike small portions of the Jirisan Dulle-Gil (an extensive peripheral trail, close to 300 km, that hugs around the entire Jirisan ranges). The entire trail is divided into 22 courses, with each course lasting for one half-day tracking. We were only looking to do 3 or so courses but after looking at the rainy forecast, we decided to call it off. Plus, as we were not as prepared, even if we had done the hiking, it would have been challenging with no equipment, proper shoes, and even backpacks. Instead, we asked for one extra night’s stay at the Suji Enneagram facility. The founder graciously offered us a small but comfy room, overlooking the picturesque valley.

The next day, Suji invited us for a simple breakfast. The conversations flowed (flew might be a better description) and we clicked as both of us are ENTP in MBTI. She invited me to help with English enneagram education being done in other parts of Asia, the Americas, etc. In fact, when she handed me the certificate the night before, she charged me to take Suji Enneagram all over the world, specifically mentioning Latin America and Africa. The comment did not go unnoticed. During breakfast, I asked whether she was aware of what she was saying. She said she did, but it was not something she was prepared to say. She added by saying that the USA and Asia were already part of my vision fold, and she wanted to encourage me to “take on the world.” We heartily laughed about the exchange, but it remained with me.

While enjoying breakfast Suji had prepared, I added that the origin story of how Suji Enneagram was birthed sounded like the “Gospel” and how Jesus would have approached the girls. I told her the birth story gives me trust, confidence, and necessary empowerment. Suji is barely five feet, wiry, and speaks the Gyeong Sang Province dialect that is known for its punchiness and brevity. Even though she talks a hundred miles an hour, every word she uses is intentional and packed with meaning and hope. Her aura is unmistakably imposing but she is wise and humble enough to use her influence and authority to continue to drive Suji Enneagram even in her 70s. She did say she saw herself retiring in two years. In the end, she knows herself well. She knows that God has given her the power to protect and provide safety for the underprivileged, the rejected, and the discarded. Meeting Suji inspired me and seared my heart with hope for Korea and the world.

TWO WORLDS AS ONE

After a dizzying and incredibly enriching time with our adult children in Malaysia, we flew to Korea with our son and his wife. We knew we would be terribly depressed after such a sweet time. Being with Michael and Gloria helped ease our emotional touchdown to reality and physical landing in Korea. After knowing that we would only have less than three full days together, we hyped ourselves that we would hit the ground running.

Looking back, one of the greatest gifts was the opportunity for our children and their spouses to witness our life in action both in Malaysia and Korea—why we had to move to Asia. Rather than being a concocted imagination, even if the best ones at that, they bore witness to our home away from home, our surroundings, our mundane life, and more importantly, the communities, both proximate and virtual, we belong to. They met our Malaysia “team”/community for a durian party. As this is the tail end of the season, they served expensive Musang King durians, one of the best kinds. Regrettably, none of our children took a fancy to the durians. Some valiantly tried a few more bites but their faces told different stories, making the durian lovers laugh out loud.

Back to Korea. Since we had shared much about Yangpyeong with our children over the years, the four of us made a point to spend a day in Yangpyeong. We took them around to see our “old” neighborhood, and walked the same path along the river and ripening rice fields which my wife and I walked countless times. With an unseasonably warm breeze on our faces, we were quickly surrounded by tall and slim fluorescent Cosmos flowers, bowing rice stock on one side, and lazy and full river on the other side. Our conversations flowed like the river, slow, intentional, and warm, embracing a reminiscence of the past and a musing into the future. 

A day earlier, I contacted Chef Lee to see whether we could see her. Sure enough, she was excited to see us and our son and daughter-in-law. She had also called Master Baker Kwak and alerted him that we were at the bakery. Master Baker Kwak zipped over as soon as he got the call. I did not know that he would be in town. Later, I found out that he just spent three months visiting bakeries all over Spain and Portugal, exchanging artisanal bread making. As he showed up flexing his impressive calf and bicep muscles, my son’s eyes widened to see a man who was 10 years older than his dad, looking like a full back. One of his next goals in life is to participate in a senior body-building competition next year, I was told. If he was not already by this point, he surely became one of my inspirations at that time. Conversations were delightfully mundane, real, and filled with zest and hope for life. Chef Lee invited us to a potluck party on October 31 with her friends and artists.

Afterward, Michael and Gloria understood why we called Yangpyeong our home away from home. What existed as two different and separate worlds of our lives collided and meshed in harmony and glory into one. THIS, to me, was the best gift for my wife and I, of our children visiting both in Malaysia and Korea.

In addition, they realized that nature, friends, simplicity of life with all the modern amenities, great food, etc all played their role in grounding us. We can see better and hear better. Our lungs, hearts, and minds thank us. Our soul is at rest and ready to engage the world. I was elated that Michael and Gloria got a peek at our souls.

JOY ECSTASY

October 13, 2024

Just barely two hours ago, three of our children, including our son-in-law, left for the US. Hours later, my wife and I will travel to Korea with our son and our daughter-in-law to spend the next few days. They will eventually fly back to the US, and we will remain in Korea until early December.

Before our redeye flight tonight, I am carving out time now to process the last nine glorious days and write something meaningful and coherent, mainly for my keepsake. I have been sitting at a café, unable to find and stitch words to summarize my experience of our family time together. I realize that I am still walking on clouds and have not touched the ground of reality.

After sitting idle for long minutes, the word gift comes to me. It was the gift of time (Chronos, Kairos, and synchronous all roll into one), God’s provision, one another/family, and most of all, the gift of joy and ecstasy, the purest kind. We knew aligning our calendar and committing to making our family time happen would not be a small feat. Normally, it would be parents visiting their children who have flown the coop for work, school, or whatever. Our case was the reverse. Our children came to see us. And they came willingly and excitedly.

Since there were eight nights together and since we missed many of this year’s birthday celebrations as one complete unit, we decided to celebrate one birthday each night. Predictably, I ate more sweets in the last week than all year combined. Additionally, we celebrated Christmas in October and exchanged Secret Santa and white elephant gifts. The daily highlight was our night capping family activity: offering words of life and encouragement to the birthday person and “God-hunt” exercise. We showered each person with words of life and encouragement using words, phrases, and images of the Christ we see in him/her. It was the time of Christ in each of us encountering Christ in each other. On a major side note, I was overwhelmed with God’s grace and redemption. “What have I done to deserve such sweetness, joy, and love!” coursed through my being multiple times, thanking God a thousand times.

Unashamedly, we are a family of foodies. We ate from morning till night. Entrusting Mark Wiens, we drove up to Penang only to eat our way through the two days we were there. Being goofy, giddy, silly, and childlike was expected, and playing children’s and lateral thinking puzzle games while traveling in the van. Back in KL, as one team, we played Pico Park 2 on Nintendo Switch (even my wife joined for one level), bowled, and lifted weights. While playing in the pool, we made up impromptu variations of Marco Polo games, oblivious to the watchful eyes around us. For three hours, we sang our hearts out and danced the night away as if we owned the night in a karaoke room. The boys swung baseball bats after watching the Dodgers clinch the series over the Padres. The girls made hand-knotted bracelets and received the full oil massage, beaming afterward. We watched the sunset, walked in the rain, mall-hopped, and walked through the natural butterfly habitat (in Penang), and were promptly wowed, cementing the butterfly as our family’s emblem. Butterfly translates into God’s protection, provision, and faithfulness over our family.

My wife facilitated group silence, and a “God-hunt” exercise each night, focusing on different topics including joy, freedom, nature, most alive, etc moments to trace our day to discover how God has been present with us as individuals and in our family. We nodded, smiled, and laughed out loud in agreement, allowing all to relive and savor God’s footprints of the day. During our last night together, as my wife opened the sharing time, I was urged to do the Ritual of Leaving exercise. (If you want to learn more about the ritual, read my earlier post on April 23 of this year). I told my family I had an idea of what to do as our last family ritual. Without me spelling out, my wife already knew what I had in mind. Having bolstered by synchronicity, I led the exercise of looking into each person’s eyes and bowing in silence with our arms across our hearts. In my short introduction to the exercise, I told my family we are doing this as fellow human beings, not as parents and children, but essentially as fellow pilgrims. Tears flowed and the sniffling soon became louder as a sacred hush enveloped us and heaven’s joy filled our room. My wish and prayers have been answered!

Japan and Korea, here we come in the spring of 2026!

THEY ARE FINALLY HERE!

THE SOUL OF NATURE

Nature, in wild and pastoral, exudes radiance and vitality,
In life and death, and death and life,
forever and over and over again speaks to anyone who would listen
and pay attention,
to learn and imitate the divine within.

A heaven’s mid-August sound and light show ensues in the land of Malaysia,
all of a sudden, I am the smallest kid in the entire world,
looking up and wide in utter awe and wonder
lightening, a showier spouse of shy thunder, showcasing its unmatched brilliance,
painting the vast sky as if the sky is the size of a small boy’s notebook,
thunder growls boisterously as if the sky is a tiny recording room,
showering the offspring of rain, one direction, from heaven to earth,
an adamant reminder of where we come from.

Great heron defies and defines elegance beyond words,
to grace the earth so effortlessly and perched on top of the trees to look far and wide,
that grace is generosity
hummingbirds’ ultra busyness while being angel light,
proving busyness is not the problem but heaviness and seriousness are,
butterfly embodies transformation and transcendence,
that beauty is formed in darkness and solitude,
stream sings of its eternal quality of spring while demonstrating humility,
that eternity and humility are inseparable,
trees as majestic and mystical mass stand grounded and rooted for many ages,
      teaching sustenance of majesty comes from being grounded and rooted and connected

My soul yearns for connection and searches for courage, simply to be.
What is more real? What I think of myself? Or what others think of me? Perhaps neither. Perhaps both. Perhaps “think” is the wrong word.
How does God communicate what is real me?

The soul of nature reflects its beauty and wildness, undistorted and unfiltered,
declaring to anyone who would listen and pay attention
that we too are to reflect the divine within back to the Divine and to the world.

CHRISTMAS IN OCTOBER

Anticipation is killing me, not literally but figuratively tenderly. This is the most anticipated event of the year. Our adult children and their spouses (all six of them) will be raining down in Kuala Lumpur in less than four days. I will be pinching myself the whole time leading up to the very moment of seeing their actual faces with my eyes. My memory takes me back to when Hannah served in Indonesia for a season and Michael taught English in Korea after college. We decided to converge and spend time in Thailand for a few days after having flown in from three different countries. I vividly remember when Elizabeth and Hannah (my two princesses) met for the first time in months in the arrival terminal at the airport in Bangkok. They spotted each other from afar, ran towards each other while screaming and jumping up and down with no care of the world around them, and finally embraced each other. The sheer ecstasy of the shared joy was forever seared in my heart. One more thing: Hannah was in Japan with YWAM for months after high school. I had a ministry trip planned in Korea, so I decided to swing by to see Hannah. After having spent a glorious couple of days with Hannah in Tokyo, I remember the hard and tearful goodbye.

When you love, you learn to wait. Waiting is not a duty, but a hope-filled tangible expression of love. The ability to wait arises from deep longing which shares the same deep and ancient well of love. Loving is longing even when someone(s) is right in front of you. Love believes and hopes to create more longing for intimacy. Love holds the generous space for becoming, both for the loving and the loved.

I have been studying, “taking notes,” and imagining what to do and where to take our family. All of my culinary excursions are about to culminate when all eight of us roam the streets of KL, from the hole-in-the-wall to Michelin-star restaurants. We will explore the world cuisine represented in KL from the Malay, Indian Muslim, Hindu, Japanese, Chinese (various regions), Korean, Syrian, etc. We have rented an Airbnb, which is big enough for privacy and group play. I hope they get to experience a few of my favorites, to witness a lightning and thunder show with an awe-inducing downpour spectacle. I hope they get to see the charm of the city and the kindness of diverse peoples in this land. I hope they get to see firsthand how Mom and Dad are doing, still discerning and traveling on the pilgrim journey with all the joys and challenges.

We are planning to drive up to Penang Island, another foodie heaven with its regional touch and flare, not to mention the UNESCO heritage section of the city center in George Town and the National Park beaches swarming with turtles and monkeys. Not terribly excited to see the monkeys but turtles, yes. This will be the first time where all eight of us will be in the same car, traveling together. The three-to-four-hour drive will bond us even further, I am sure. It was here in Penang last year where I had five intermittent dishes (I’ve done some intermittent fasting and I have also done many intermittent feasting), all starting after 3 pm! My wife was in shock and disbelief at the time and still is. I have proof, a picture of my wife watching me devour one after another while crossing her arms, expressionless.

Since we won’t be home in the US for Christmas, we decided to celebrate Christmas in October. We have drawn Secret Santa gift exchange names. Since we will be spending eight nights, we decided to celebrate each of our birthdays every day or night. Every day, there will be a celebration for each person and the family together. Joy is a heavenly gift emotion when someone is simply happy to be with you. I earnestly pray that we will experience heaven’s gift of joy. And because joy is a shared emotion, joy further believes, hopes, and ushers in strength, creating an ever-expanding ripple of joy to others. Joy builds strength and interior muscles to believe and hope for more, touching others around us. I yearn for that to be more of a reality. Joy is not meant to be a crumb or an afterthought. Joy is felt and shared when we realize God is happy to be with us.

QUANTUM MECHANICS & INTERCONNECTEDNESS

This week, I would like to share another section of my upcoming paper. I hope you can get the gist of what I am trying to communicate. If you are interested in reading the whole thing, let me know.

In this section, I will attempt, with the risk of sounding amateurish, to ambitiously synthesize Carlo Rovelli’s phenomenal little book, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics into the preceding idea of incarnation and of being interconnected. Some portions of the book read more like poetry than a science book. First, I see God as the author and perfecter of unitive consciousness, the foundation of all connectedness. Secondly, Rovelli claims, “The very foundation of science is to keep the door open to doubt.” This statement gives me confidence and respect.

Quantum mechanics and experiments with particles have taught us that the world is a continuous, restless swarming of things, a continuous coming to light and disappearance of ephemeral entities. A set of vibrations, as in the switched-on hippie world of the 1960s. A world of happenings, not of things. [1]

A tree is not a thing, as is a rock, it is a happening. From a close to 14 billion years perspective, nothing can be seen as a thing, but a happening.

We are made up of the same atoms and the same light signals as are exchanged between pine trees in the mountains and stars in the galaxies.[2]

We are made of the same stardust of which all things are made, and when we are immersed in suffering or when we are experiencing intense joy we are being nothing other than what we can’t help but be: a part of our world.[3]

I find the above claim simply breathtaking and mind-numbing. Incarnation relates to quantum mechanics theory as all things are connected. How they are connected and how they interact remains a profound mystery. As humble subjects, we recognize God as the origin and designer of all incarnations. Listen to Rovelli below.

I believe that this example demonstrates how great science and great poetry are both visionary, and may even arrive at the same intuitions. Our culture is foolish to keep science and poetry separated: they are two tools to open our eyes to the complexity and beauty of the world.[4]

I was not prepared to read the above statements. What it reminded me of was a section I read recently from Mary Oliver’s[5] Upstream.

I would say that there exist a thousand unbreakable links between each of us and everything else, and that our dignity and our chances are one. The farthest star and the mud at our feet are a family; and there is no decency or sense in honoring one thing, or a few things, and then closing the list. The pine tree, the leopard, the Platte River, and ourselves—we are at risk together, or we are on our way to a sustainable world together. We are each other’s destiny.[6]

Rovelli and Oliver, as scientists and poets, have attempted to describe reality utilizing their trained intuitive lens and finite human language. Additionally, they know not to or dare to “close the list.” Beware of ourselves or anyone else for that matter in being the authority of choosing the list. From my personal, subjective, and experiential lens[7], my intuition concurs with that of Oliver’s and Rovelli’s and my soul knows the vision of a “sustainable world together” to be true. Before leaving this section, I must include Rovelli’s “conclusion” in his book, “It is part of our nature to love and to be honest.”[8]

It is worth bringing Ilia Delio, who has been mentioned earlier, as a Franciscan sister, theologian, and scientist (and an expert on Pierre Teilhard de Chardin), to validate the above assertion.

Christ invests himself organically within all creation, immersing himself in things, in the heart of matter, and thus unifying the world. The universe is physically impregnated to the very core of its matter by the influence of his superhuman nature. Everything is physically “christified,” gathered up by the incarnate Word as nourishment that assimilates, transforms, and divinizes.[9]

Richard Rohr was the first one who enlightened me with the differentiated concepts of pantheism and panentheism. Pantheism is defined as “God is everything.” Panentheism says, “God is in everything.” God is the least common denominator in the entire universe. Suddenly God being at the center, there is mysterious “Christified” order within disorder, unknown (and perhaps unknowable) certainty within uncertainty. I would like to close this paper with the idea of “unifying the world.”

[1] Carlo Rovelli, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Penguin Books, 2014, 32-33.
[2] Ibid, 64.
[3] Ibid, 77-78.
[4] Carlo Rovelli, Reality Is Not What It Seems: The Journey to Quantum Gravity, New York: Penguin Press, 2014, 88.
[5] Oliver, lover of nature, was an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.
[6] Mary Oliver, Upstream: Select Essays, New York: Penguin Press, 2016, 154
[7] This phrase is based on my 2023 ASFM paper titled Human and Spiritual Journey as Subjective, Personal, and Experiential.
[8] Carlo Rovelli, Seven Brief Lessons on Physics, Penguin Books, 2014, 78.
[9] Ilia Delio, The Unbearable Wholeness of Being: God, Evolution, and the Power of Love, Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books: 2013, 79.

FEAR OF THE LORD

As I am working on my paper for the upcoming Asia Society for Frontier Mission’s annual gathering in Bali (which I won’t be able to attend in person), I have decided to highlight a section of my paper. This year’s theme centers around the concept of imago dei, mutuality, the dignity of humanity, etc as they relate to the frontiers in mission. This year’s gathering is a continuation of last year’s focus.

Here, I would like to weave the well-known verse, “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” How to live well or wisely with others has been a timeless biblical tradition and focus. Fear of God does not equate with the well-accepted but short-sighted notion that we will somehow get punished if we fail to do good. Thus, the narrative of we’d better “fear” God and its consequences of what God will do to punish us out of God’s perfect justice. The five “wisdom” literature in the Scripture, in my opinion, points to the notion that wisdom is knowledge deepened or seasoned in love. Wisdom has nothing to do with how modern people would equate to intellectual knowledge. Rather it is how to live well with others by orienting our hearts in fear of the Lord. Thus, wisdom can be summarized as how to love God, myself, and others well.

Rolheiser’s words are worth pondering with our missiological lens especially as we consider the topics of “imago dei,” “mutuality,” or just being human beings as fellow poiema (God’s magnificent poetry in motion). I quote him heavily below as they are packed with highly relevant insight into today’s world. And I will try to deduce my reflecting summary.

G. K. Chesterton once suggested that “the greatest of all illusions is the illusion of familiarity.” Familiarity is also the death of respect, wonder, and awe. When our minds, hearts, and imaginations are no longer poised for surprise and astonishment, then we no longer have a healthy fear of God or indeed of each other, which means living in such a way that nothing becomes too familiar to us.

By extension, to live in fear of God means that we live before God and the rest of reality in such a way that there is never contempt within us. We take nothing for granted, everything as a gift. We have respect. We are always poised for surprise before the mystery of God, others, and ourselves.

To fear God is also, as Michael Buckley puts it, to let God “contradict the programs and expectations of human beings in order to fulfill human desires and human freedom at a much deeper level than subjectivity would have measured out in its projections.” To fear God means to set aside our own expectations, needs, and imaginings and let God set the agenda and define the limits. 

A healthy fear of God brings with it a sense that must flow over into our actions, that our freedom is not unconditional but conscienced. When we fear God, we fear misusing our freedom, not because we fear God’s punishment if we do wrong, but because we fear hurting others, being idolatrous, or feeling self-righteous.

To live in holy fear of God means bringing one’s freedom under the Lordship of God. One lives in holy fear of God when one is aware that freedom is a gift given us for love and that, outside its continual genuflection before a God beyond itself, freedom very quickly becomes a god unto itself and leaves in its wake a trail of violation, idolatry, and self-inflation.

Lastly, a healthy fear of God means living in genuine humility.

The humblest person you know is not the person who lives a timid life but the person who lives a life that constantly acknowledges its interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character.

(All italicized are mine.)

I wish I could unpack all of my reflections based on Rolheiser’s reflection. A few things to highlight are as follows.

Fear of God requires a two-pronged posture: letting God be God and deep concern for others. And that there is no separation between the two. The first has to do with our penchant for control and certainty, undesirous of surprises and mystery. Upon further and honest reflection, we know having a sense of control and certainty is an illusion because reality is full of surprises and mystery. In this vein, it is worth examining whether the current missions effort has been operating out of the fear of God, allowing ample room for surprises and mystery and being honest with our control and certainty.

The second concerns our sinful human ability and capacity to compare and judge. Fear of God forces us to show respect and believe in all humanity's dignity. How do we live and behave in such a way that there is never contempt toward others but respect, awe, and “everything (and everyone) as a gift?” Many human atrocities throughout history have to do with how people loved themselves so wrongly (and twistedly) to the point they had to either get rid of others or subject others under them. This disease is exactly the opposite of Jesus’ teaching of “love your neighbor as yourself.”

Fear of God in essence relates to our use of freedom. Our freedom has its designed limit and boundary: “Freedom is a gift given us for love.” Apostle Paul’s warning and teaching to use our freedom to serve others is consistent with the idea that freedom’s goal is to love. In short, we are to use our freedom to love others well which is congruous to the Great Commandment of loving our neighbors as ourselves.

Lastly, the idea of “interconnectedness and its radical incarnate character” has deep and far-reaching implications in this year’s ASFM and beyond. Which leads me to the next section. . .

DANANG SUNRISE

In early August, my wife and I spent several days in Danang, Vietnam, a quick getaway for a required visa run. All my life, I was associated with the west or “left” coast. Even in Korea, having been born and grown up in Seoul, we were much closer to the West Sea than the East Sea. As the East Coast remained elusive, witnessing sunrise has been a rare occurrence.

I did not write this poem during the dawn of the day, but days later. As the sunrise scene got seared in my mind, I stayed with it and let it percolate. Then one morning in Kuala Lumpur, I had the urge to capture what I was processing. As often is the case, I do not know how the poem will end until I get there. This was no exception.

Having grown up near the west coast, the Pacific Ocean,
I have taken sunsets for granted for I have witnessed many
with my growing photo library to prove my point
Disproportionately, dawn is another matter, elusive at that,
location and weather and assiduity are required.
When in Danang, Vietnam recently on a visa run,
I quickly learned that we were facing the east ocean.
From the comfort of our hotel room, I could observe the sunrise,
too early for my liking at 5 in the morning

Not knowing what came over me, I set my alarm to witness the dawn one morning at 4:50
the daily spectacle and silent wonder over the vast horizon, as if to say
silence and wonder are perfect partners
it is the nature’s best performance of the day, the ribbon-cutting ceremony,
the sun glows faint light grey and yellow on the horizon,
changing its crimson hue in the mid-course to light-infused orange to wow us all,
to make us wordless in awe, even the busiest mouth,
to teach our chatty minds to relax, to linger
then the final bright and overbearing red glow that announces to the world,
I am here, ready to start the day, and so can you.

The non-discriminating light blankets everything in sight,
providing warmth, dry, and nourishment in non-judgmental kindness,
the rest of nature simply bows, obeys, and takes its cues from the rising sun,
the tall manmade buildings, as impressive as they are, face the ocean as if to
worship the rising sun
are simply no match in elegance and majesty.
Dawn is a miracle, not a chance,
reminding the world that we each are a miracle too.
And that there is the miracle Giver.

PAY ATTENTION

I am finishing up a 6-week course called, Basic Intro Trilogy, as a final pre-requisite class before the grand start of the upcoming School of Spiritual Direction in December. This “trilogy” class covers the basics of Christian spirituality, spiritual formation, and spiritual disciplines. I would like to share one of the short reflection essays I submitted, with a bit of embellishment.

---

The key dynamics of a contemplative lifestyle, to me, can be summarized by the intentional and disciplined effort of paying attention. The practices of STOP, LOOK, and LISTEN are finer and more detailed components of our practiced ability, and the need to slow down and pay attention. (STOP embodies the discipline of pausing promoting stillness. LOOK brings the discipline of seeing gifting awareness. LISTEN ushers in the discipline of hearing resulting in attentiveness.) Here, I echo the wisdom of Mary Oliver’s words in her poem, Praying.

It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

The acts of paying attention whether they are blue iris, weeds, or a few small stones, and patching a few words together so that they become a doorway into a silence where God can speak are effortlessly inviting. Rather than being the doorway, praying had become a contest and a prize to pursue over the years, rather than silence and stillness, verbosity and mindless hustles often filled the days. I remind myself that silence creates an empty space for God to speak. While it is true that God can speak through both a peal of thunder and whispering silence, I as the recipient may or may not hear unless I am silent.

However, the truth is that I have viewed stopping as a luxury for the vast duration of my life. The tyranny of the urgent (and I would add the important) drove me into endless actions like some action hero. If one is a full-time Christian worker, one is expected to burn out. Being burned out is often viewed as a badge of honor to detriment. Because I have not fully learned to stop, look, and listen even if they happen, they have been shallow. I say this with compassion for myself. As I have learned to stop, thanks to my one-year-long sabbatical which coincided with the Pandemic and thus became an elongated sabbatical, I have the capacity and acquired the necessary tools to know how and when to stop, look, and listen.

Writing from my heart, especially as it relates to paying attention to my feelings, as opposed to from my head helped enormously. At the risk of sounding obvious, experiencing that I am more than what I think or can think has been a revelation over time. I began to see myself differently. And I began to see God differently. (And should I say that I began to see how stuck we are as a low institutional cookie-cutter religion. . . ?) Questions such as Who am I? and Who is God? dramatically altered. Self-compassion flowed naturally and compassion for others followed. As I learn to stop, look, listen, and value them, I realize the importance of such a vast and free space of hospitality for others.

If and when I can help others enter the graced space of stop, look, and listen, that would be my best gift to my fellow humanity. Surely, as they learn to pay attention, they will invariably notice exquisite blue irises, uncared-for and unintended weeds, and a few random stones, sometimes benign and sometimes annoying, along the way. Simply letting go of our life as a maddening “contest,” however we may have defined it, would be a great feat.

A FAIRY TALE

“Baseball is writing its script to a perfect fairy tale ending” is a fitting phrase to describe the latest feat of Shohei Otani. The baseball god was smiling if there was ever one. Otani dinged 40 homers while nabbing 40 stolen bases in a Major League season to join five other, all hall-of-fame and hall-of-fame-bound players. He did it with a grand style by hitting a walk-off grand slam in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and scores tied. His flair is his signature smile, waving his hands like a kid while running around the bases. Joining the 40/40 club is an amazing accomplishment; it requires a rare combination of power and speed. It is a fairy tale because, before superstardom, Otani was once a wide-eyed kid with big aspirations.

As incredible as Otani’s record-setting accomplishment was, Otani’s feat was overshadowed by a high school baseball team across the Pacific Ocean in Japan, only hours earlier. Kyoto International School was founded in 1947 as Kyoto Chosen Junior High School to educate Koreans living in Japan. The school’s baseball team was installed in 1999 as it tried to navigate through its low student enrollment. Additionally, the school enlarged its enrollment net by accepting non-Koreans by the early 2000s, thus changing the name to Kyoto International School. Currently, out of 138 high school student body, about 60 are in the baseball program. However, in its founding years, the program was a laugher after accepting baseball players who were rejected or unwanted by other baseball teams in Kyoto (which was not a powerhouse city to begin with). Against all odds, several years ago (2021), they not only made it to the tournament but they reached all the way to the semi-final game.

I have read that the school is beyond any reasonable bus or train ride. Even after the nearest bus station, students must walk about 30 minutes uphill to the school. The baseball field is a joke as the entire field is the size of an infield. Naturally, they can only practice infield defense interspersed with lots of running. Their faces are as dark as any dark-skinned athletes I see on TV. At one point, they were playing with a ragged baseball all busted at its seams only to be taped several times over. A professional baseball team in Korea heard about the news and donated 1,000 baseballs to the program. As poor and inadequate as the conditions are, the program persisted. Their recruiting strategy mainly was to recruit players with character, endurance, and dedication over talent.

Out of 60 players, only 3 have Korean roots. Even with the name change, the school decidedly and unapologetically boasts its Korean heritage by requiring all students to take Korean history, culture, etc. The school’s anthem is in Korean. Embedded in the anthem is the phrase, crossing “Donghae” as opposed to The Sea of Japan.

The setting of the tournament is Koshien stadium, celebrating its 100th anniversary, considered to be hallowed grounds by the Japanese and also home to “Summer Koshien” welcoming 49 teams having their respective regions/areas out of approximately 3,700 teams all over Japan. As the Koshien is one of Japan's most-watched sporting events, simply making it to the annual Koshien tournament would bring the highest honor to any high school. On August 23, the perennial underdog, Kyoto International School, won the whole thing by knocking out powerhouses one after another. The championship game brimmed with its nail-biting moments as it went into the extra inning. Ultimately the Kyoto International team survived the score of 2 to 1 after prolific pitching and outstanding defense from both teams. After winning each tournament game, one of the grand traditions is to play the school’s anthem, broadcasting the event to the entire Japan.

Aside from any history-charged cultural and political takes, I found myself glued to my iPhone, following the championship game score and cheering for the underdog. The underdog in me was cheering for the underdog in them. The accomplishment was nothing short of a provincial sandlot team winning against a much more talented and sophisticated baseball team from the big city. On a side but related note, it turned out that Otani also played in the Koshien tournament while flashing his 100-mph fastball as a prodigious high school kid.

The baseball god was cheering for the drama and the lives represented on both teams, capturing the hearts and imaginations of many in Japan and beyond.

God is cheering for the underdog, the rejects but full of unrealized potential in all of us.

God also is cheering for the character, endurance, and dedication in all of us.

A FREEDOM DAY

The day we arrived in Singapore last Friday was Singapore’s National Day celebrating 59 years of breakage from the Federation of Malaysia in 1965 due to multiple disagreements. Understandably, there was a huge commotion on the streets, on TV, and in the hotel where we stayed promoting several National Day packages. When we rode a Grab taxi to our hotel from the airport, a song commemorating National Day, “We Are Singapore,” was being played on the radio. “What a patriotic Grab driver,” was my initial thought, which quickly subsided after learning about National Day.

We are back in Malaysia and Malaysia is gearing up for its National Day celebration on August 31 from Britain in 1957, the so-called “Merdeka Day.” Though the day is still two weeks out, more Malaysian flags are proudly dotted everywhere every day, reminding all of the momentous declaration of independence. Undoubtedly, there will be huge spectacles and celebrations.

Then, of course, today (August 15) here in Malaysia, we are celebrating Korea Independence Day called “Gwangbokjeol,” in 1945 after having been under the Japanese colonial occupation for 35 years. While the “independence” movements are not new historically, these modern-day “freedom” movements are unlike the world has seen from 1945 to 1970 with more than 90 percent of the world gaining independence from respective colonial rule. The only “non-Western” country to have never been occupied would be Thailand (which conveniently translates into the land of the free man) due mainly to the fact that two powerful colonizing countries (Britain and France) agreed to leave Thailand as a buffer nation lest they get into unnecessary squabble.

An inordinate amount of blood and sweat has been spilled seeking and fighting for political, ethnic, social, and religious freedom movements as they are part and parcel of humanity’s desire to be themselves which is synonymous with God’s original design to flourish. Soon after I married Grace, I found that her maternal great-grandfather, Byung Jo Song, was one of the key freedom fighters against Japanese rule. This freedom gene is coursing through her veins which is doubled by marrying a wild Mustang freedom advocate. Being free is to be human. God is obsessively adamant and affirmative about freedom even if it means humanity would rebel against God, employing the very freedom God grants. Many if not all freedom heroes and heroines would rather die fighting for freedom than live passively under bondage. I cannot think of any other human endeavor more endearing, enduring, and significant than the collective freedom urge and movements. Far more than human DNA, the movements speak more of God and how God upholds freedom, almost to the point that God looks reckless and even foolish.

Jesus unrolled the scroll of the prophet Isaiah in his first synagogue speech and read this portion in Luke 4:18-19.

‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
    because he has anointed me
        to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
    and recovery of sight to the blind,
        to let the oppressed go free,
   to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.’

“The poor, the captives, the blind, and the oppressed” were at the very heart of Jesus’ ministry (which is consistent with the “beatitude” multitude) and the remarkable hope-filled message of freedom was the mission of Jesus. From this lens, as I consider the current and dire global and regional conflicts that are too many to count and follow, some are trying to maintain their despotic control while others are desperately trying to be set free. For “self” (however we may define what self represents from national self to factional self to elite self to even tyrannical self) interests and entitlements on the surface aside, the more existential struggle for all humanity is to gain and live out freedom. It is just that some have to maintain the control or status quo while others have to rise and disenthrall. In his annual message to Congress in 1862, Abraham Lincoln gave these moving concluding remarks. “The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, we must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.”  

It is too trite to say, “Believe in Jesus and He will set you free.” While it may be true at the experiential and personal level, the systems and powers that sometimes unknowingly but also knowingly take people captive must be dealt with. Jesus fought against such existing and powerful systems, ultimately giving His life. Of course, as important as the message of freedom, the way to freedom and the way of Jesus never condone violence and always seek creative solutions to rebel and upset the status quo. The process of gaining freedom is far more important than the result. How many times have we witnessed the harrowing oppressed after achieving freedom morph into imperious oppressors? Could it be that we are being set free in the process of pursuing and struggling toward liberation?

Then there are freedom struggles on an individual level. 5 years ago on this day, I announced to my former organization that I intend to step down from all of my leadership roles. After having worn many hats of roles and responsibilities over decades, I considered it a day of freedom. I knew it as it was happening and felt the unfamiliar quiet, exhilarating sensation. Leading up to this decision, however, was a long arduous process of agony of letting go while trying desperately to find my identity without roles and responsibilities. The invitation from God was to “leave” after living my entire adult life of “go.” As life is a series of goings and leavings, I was to leave to discover another go. How I experienced freedom was by way of leaving at the time. We are in the thick of another go, struggling to hold a steady gaze of “setting the captives free” for myself and others.

WHAT IS PRAYER?

“Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view.” Ralph Waldo Emerson.

It is nearly impossible for me to define or make sense of prayer anymore. During my younger days, I was sure I knew what prayer was. For a long time, prayer was me asking God what I wanted or needed for me and others as God-centric as possible. What amounted to prayer as supplication and petition was viewed as a lifeline to sustain life and make life abundant. Then, prayer was about joining God in God’s work in seeking God’s glory. I treated prayer as a spiritual weapon to engage in spiritual warfare against the darkness and usher in God’s light-filled kingdom on this earth. This form of prayer paired especially well with my missions engagement. In broad stroke, prayer evolved from “man” focused to God-focused over the years.

While I still value, hold merit to both (as the Bible encourages and commands us), and practice both, prayer for me foundationally has become all about listening and seeing—the act of paying attention. The objects of attention are multipronged: self, God, others, and the world that is both near and far. The attention is almost always present-focused. While reflecting on the past and ruminating about the future are helpful, they tend to be more of a mental exercise or even chatter, not necessarily grounding. As such, it is never a neat endeavor, impossible to come to clear-cut conclusions every single time. In the very process of paying attention, I am sensitized and changed by having to discern what God may be doing. The word may is key because I hold my discernment loosely as it forces me to continue seeking.

Emerson’s rumination of prayer is avuncular and attractive. Contemplation is a way of seeing—“a long loving look at the Real.” It mirrors how God would see us and the world, lovingly and long-ly. What is Real is the present of what is happening now, not in my mind’s quarters as helpful and insightful as they may be. The “facts of life” contain everything: my and others’ needs, the world’s hunger and sufferings, healing and restoration, hope and vigor, as well as warfare and battles. Life is all of these things, irresistibly sweet and unbelievably difficult. Then the last phrase, “from the highest point of view,” exhorts us to detach ourselves from human and earthly fixations, preoccupations, and controls and puts us squarely in the realm of the heavenly as how God would see it. We are to see how God would see, thus joining God in our prayers and actions. The detachment is not an aloof disengagement but a loving engagement from on high.

Consider Mary Oliver's words regarding Emerson's impact on her life.

This[1] is the crux of Emerson, who does not advance straight ahead but wanders to all sides of an issue; who delivers suggestions with a kindly gesture—who opens doors and tells us to look at things for ourselves. The one thing he is adamant about is that we should look—we must look—for that is the liquor of life, that brooding upon issues, that attention to thought even as we weed the garden or milk the cow.

Tangentially speaking, milking the cow takes anywhere from 5 to 7 minutes (if by machine) or 20 to 30 minutes (if by hand) two or three times a day. The majority of a cow’s daily life is filled with grazing, meandering, regurgitating, and simply standing around and seemingly doing nothing. The “purpose” of dairy cows is to produce milk. The truth of the matter is that a cow needs all day and night to produce, not only during the actual milking but during all other non-milking activities and “non-activities.” One cannot accuse the cows to stop standing around and start producing milk. Therein lies the perennial truth of not needing or seeking straight answers, instead suggesting the very need for “wandering.”

According to Oliver, Emerson’s adamance of looking (should and must) is a gem of truth as uncomfortable as the adamance is. This looking, what Emerson calls the liquor of life (I love that expression), is identical to a “long loving look” and of what contemplation is about. One other thing: the encouragement to look at things for ourselves (neither from someone else’s perspective nor with someone else’s convictions) is a stunning insight.

Over the weekend, we took a short flight to Singapore. Along with a few deepening fellowships over meals, we were asked to speak to a group of 10 Singaporean couples (right around our age bracket) who have known each other for more than two decades. This was the first time where I was asked to speak and interact with earnest and devout Catholics. After a sumptuous home-cooked potluck meal, my wife and I shared our life and faith journey with them, painting in broad strokes how we got to where we are. We were quickly reminded that as life has both personal and universal features, a few universal nuggets of our stories connected with them. Then during the second half of our time, I facilitated the time of “looking, wandering, brooding, and paying attention” and sharing regarding what is Real using a series of questions. During Q & A time afterward, one of the participants proposed whether we would be willing to come back and lead a longer (two nights and three days) retreat, going through similar but deeper reflections with more generous time. My quick Enneagram type 7 mouth responded, “I am already there” while peeking at my wife causing the group to laugh out loud. After our interaction time, we were served local delicacies for dessert and some fine wine recommended by the host husband. The wine and the company as the liquor of life sealed my memory of the evening. What fine contemplation!

This process of contemplation (or prayer if you like) ultimately is not about us (though we are included thankfully), but for the sake of others and the world. This is where contemplation always triggers necessary and thoughtful action and through action and engagement, more necessary contemplation until we breathe our last breath. Thus, action and contemplation or contemplation and action go together. One does not and cannot exist without the other. Jesus is the standard bearer and the perfect embodiment of prayer and action.

[1] According to earlier sentences, she speaks of Emerson’s keen gift of exhortation of not “bending toward the narrow and the absolute but to the extravagant and the possible.” That answers are no part of it.

THE GLORY OF GOD

“Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:40)

We are in the middle of our visa run to Vietnam. As short-term tourists in Malaysia, we cannot stay for more than 3 months at a time. Thus, in need of a visa run, Vietnam appeared on my radar especially since we struck out the first time more than a year ago. On that fateful day, we obliviously arrived at the KL airport having bought the air tickets and booked the hotel in Danang, Vietnam only to be turned away at the airport. No visa, no Vietnam, we were told. I tried frantically to redeem the trip, trying to secure a last-minute visa. But to no avail since there was no such thing as a last-minute visa to Vietnam.

So, this was a redemption trip. A month ago, when we knew we would go to Vietnam, I discovered that we could apply for E-visa online. Easy enough. Both of us put in the application. While Grace’s visa came through without drama, my visa application got rejected twice, forcing me to relive the rejection, really my unawareness, a year ago. First was my passport photo, not sure why they rejected my application. Later, my best guess was the size of the passport photo. I reformatted the photo and sent it in. The second rejection involved not putting down the hotel address in Hoi An, Vietnam. I asked Grace and she did not put down the address, yet her application got approved. I quickly became snarky. But dutifully, I did what they asked me to do. I told myself if they rejected my application again, Vietnam would be no more, not this time or ever. Two days later, my visa came through subsiding my conspiracy theory that they really did not like who they saw on the passport photo. Maybe that theory still has some merit, I do not know. However, I quickly pivoted to purchase air tickets and confirm the hotel reservation.

Vietnam in July and August is hot and unbelievably humid. It is what I call “double 90s,” low 90s in temperature with more unbearable and unpleasant 90 percent humidity. Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I took four showers in a day. Most hotels rent out free bicycles and ours was no exception. I took advantage of renting a nostalgia-inducing antique but functional bike in a baby blue color with a convenient basket in front of the bike. The most ideal time though it is still hot and humid is to ride in the early mornings. For the last two mornings, I rode once to the beach and the other to the farmland where no tourists go. Both mornings, I came back drenched in sweat. Two days earlier, as we approached the Danang airport from the sky, what caught my eyes was the vast green farmland naturally divided by many gentle meandering rivers like veins coursing through the body. Looking from above, the dominating vibe of the landscape possessed the irenic and gentle spirit of Vietnam countryside.

The second morning after the bike ride, my sense was confirmed after a few interactions. I could not remember the last time I rode a bicycle, so my riding was wobbly. Especially when I was trying to shoot a video to share with my children back home, I almost fell while riding on the country road by the river. As I barely survived not falling, the motorbike man saw what was happening and stopped to offer hands in case I fell. Out of his gentle and kind spirit, his concerned face asked me in Vietnamese if I was OK, I nodded I was OK half-smiling out of relief and half-abashed. After thanking him in the only Vietnamese I know, I continued to ride. Only this time, I was done shooting a video. The two most iconic images I witnessed when I was riding were one: a young girl tossing and drying her hair in the back of the motorbike after having been at the beach in the morning. The other was an expressionless tiny older woman riding a motorbike with a non la, ubiquitous Vietnamese conical hat, with an unlit cigarette hanging sideways from her mouth, cool as a cucumber. She looked as if she could be an action figure in a Tarantino movie. I will throw in one more image. Right after I was done riding in one morning, I saw another older lady, riding a bike with one hand while holding and guiding another bike, not unlike riding a horse while holding another horse’ reins. She was effortlessly gliding on the street with no wasted movements.

Yesterday, after I sent my video footage and a few photos to our children, the girls replied with one of their activity photos of making bead accessories along with the verse I highlighted above. Immediately, it got hold of me and I have been thinking about the verse and the passage (The Story of Lazarus). “The glory of God” Jesus referred to, at first, was about the impending miraculous resurrection of Lazarus. In other words, “believe that I could do the miracle of bringing him from the dead and you will see the glory of God.” That would be the rightful context to interpret that way. Upon further meditation, I am reminded of Jesus’ earlier words in verse 4, “It will become an occasion to show God’s glory by glorifying God’s Son.” (The Message) God’s glory is tied to glorifying God’s Son, who in Person was ever so present right in front of everyone to see—to witness the event showcasing the glory of God, the resurrection of Lazarus. Today, I revisit what I jotted down in my journal two days ago, “Dare I lose sight of Christ who is the ultimate glory of God in the miraculous immediacy of Lazarus coming back to life.” My focus must be on the Healer, not only the healing. No wonder Jesus said, “I am, right now, Resurrection and Life.” (verse 25) The Christ, who is the indwelling glory of God, performed a miracle of showing God’s glory, reminding all that He is Resurrection and Life.

Jesus firmly reassured and promised to all that he would be with us until the end of the age. The Christ, the revealed indwelling glory of God, is with me every day and moment in all the mundane and extraordinary, upsetting, downcast, and the highs and lows of all emotions right in the middle of my now life. That’s a marvelous reminder.

“Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:40)