“FIGHTING!”

I had never watched the Asian Games until the last two weeks as it ended today (Oct 8). Since our Airbnb features a TV of generous proportion, I have been immensely enjoying the Asian Games, from archery to badminton to high jump to table tennis to soccer, among other sports. Having grown up in Los Angeles, at this time of the year, I would be fixated on my Dodgers post-season run as they are poised to make a deep run again this year. I will also be following my Lakers as they get ready for their season opener. NFL and college football seasons are stimulating garnishes and time fillers that would keep me properly entertained.

These are the best Asian athletes competing in their sports except for a few big-name sports. What we see as casual observers are actual competing times anywhere from 10 seconds to 90 minutes. What we do not see are the long hard-working hours, often most of their life, dedication, craft, and improving team plays and chemistry if applicable. Most of these hours they spent are not under the spotlight, cheers, and significant encouragement. They represent the grinding hours of dedication, fighting often against oneself to push and push harder. Bruce Lee once said, “I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times.” Additionally, it is not hard to imagine an endless cycle of failure upon failure and repeat ad infinitum. As such, any sport is a long hard battle of overcoming adversities of failures. I mean, in basketball, if you miss 6 out of 10 shots from three-point lines, you are a great shooter at any level. In baseball, if you miss or get outed 7 out of 10, you are a great hitter. It is a lonely, dogged fight against oneself to console, encourage, push, and most of all, not give up. Giving up will come soon enough for all athletes, but they often say, not now or not today.

I am an active person, perhaps a very casual athlete at best. Even as a casual athlete, I have had to face constantly nauseating inner battles to pick up my ball (basketball) and play again the next time especially when I was awful the last time I played. And learn what I can but forget what happened, embracing short memory and thick skin. Sure, a few times I have played well, I replay the plays in my mind to sleep with a smile on my face. But those times have been shrinking as I age. Granted that I remain incredibly thankful that I have had no major injuries. The most serious injury was a partial medial collateral ligament tear on my right knee that sidelined me for about 5 months in my 40s. Plus a couple of broken fingers including my right middle finger which made me sheepish any time I had to raise my hand to say hi or bye, and frequent ankle sprain injuries, too many to count. I know I could have folded playing basketball years ago, sighting my slow footedness and blaming a well-worn scenario that says—my mind is making all the right plays, but my body is woefully lagging. However, even now, the pleasure of playing outweighs the pain after playing or not playing at all. When the scale tips over to pain more than pleasure (and it will), then I know it is time to quit. I have brought my basketball shoes this time, hoping to play. But so far, I have not found any opportunity.

I have thought about what sport I would pick up when I “retire” from basketball. It is an exercise I have played in my mind repeatedly. I have not landed on anything, but I think I am going to see if I can push myself to continue to play basketball. While I can take on walking (and I have) as well as hiking, I know I am unusually drawn to any kind of “ball” play. My heart still flutters when I hear a ball pounding the gym floor or walk by a tempting display of the latest and vintage basketball shoe store. I must listen to my heart, I tell myself.

Earlier this year in the evening while in Singapore, I told my wife I was walking. In the middle of my walking, I began hearing the pounding of the ball far away. The sound hypnotized me and I instinctively followed the sound, almost sleepwalking toward the sound. I walked into the semi-outdoor court without thinking, still on autopilot. I played a few pickup games with complete strangers for a couple of hours, with my running shoes. My impromptu teammates comprised a Philippino in his 40s and an Indonesian in his 30s, both engineers working in Singapore, playing against the young and athletic Singaporeans. We appreciated each other’s craft and high-fived each other throughout, grinning with joy the whole time. While playing, it did dawn on me that my wife might be worried, but my spontaneous joy was too great. Thanks largely to the humidity, I came home soaked with my dome head like a leaky faucet. My wife took a look at me and smiled. Somehow, I knew that she knew what happened not only from my sweat but also from my big penitent grin.

Back to the Asian Games. What was a pleasant surprise for me was to witness many Korean athletes smiling, even during the competition. I have viscerally felt their ecstatic enjoyment as alluring and contagious. I was more used to seeing resolute and determinative faces, nothing wrong with that either, but beams and twinkles are more inspiring. On the contrary, I have frequently not felt the same from the sports broadcasters and commentators, especially in team events. Regrettably, the broadcasters and commentators (who are all former athletes) represent the honor and shame system as well as the general Korean high standard of failure-proof culture while the athletes are mainly competing against themselves to be the best in their sport. I am sure the athletes are incredibly honored to represent Korea, but I wonder if they are foremostly representing themselves and maybe their families.

I find myself saluting the athletes in the Asian Games and the “athletes” in us all, fighting and overcoming adversities of failures inwardly as well as the “resistant to failure” system outwardly, again and again. To that end, I would like to salute myself for keeping the “fighting” spirit!

MY MASTER

From time to time, I have meditated on the Scripture with an imaginative lens, focusing on the senses and affect. Inspired initially by Mary Oliver’s poem, The Poet Thinks about the Donkey, one Chuseok (Korean autumn harvest festival) holiday morning, sitting in a cafe overlooking the unusually large patch of green grass in front of me, I let my imagination run wild and below is my journal entry.

“Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it.” (Mark 11:2, NRSV)

I was young. Waiting and waiting for my turn to serve my master. Master would choose me. I was used to standing and waiting. As I am from a small and insignificant village away from the big town, idle waiting was the name of the game. I was not sure when my turn to serve would come.

Then one day, everything changed. I do not know how it happened but two strangers I have never seen before approached me and took me away, still not riding me. Just outside the main city, a man was patiently standing and waiting. I thought he was waiting for something else, but he was waiting for me. His time would not come until I showed up.

His upright posture was not that of impatience or even a remote sense of irritability as I realized that he and I share something in common, waiting. His gentle but resolute gaze told me he had been waiting for his time. Did I say his eyes? His eyes were deep, humble, and full of unrequited love. They were also filled with resolve and sadness. I was trained to look down all my life to see the road, but I lifted my eyes to look into his eyes. Looking into his eyes, my existence made sense for the first time. He did not have to utter any word for I understood that he was going to be my master.

I was somehow in the middle of his plan. I still do not know why he needed me because it was such a short distance, not the grinding journey I had heard about. I still do not know how he knew me and found me. Unknowing and security do not always mesh well, but I welcomed unknowing as part of knowing my master. I could have easily and willingly carried him to the end of the earth and back. He was an average man of height and weight, but I felt like I was carrying the light from heaven. Honestly, I only felt the worn and warm cloaks on me the whole time. Though I was bridled for the first time, I experienced an unbridled joy as a gift from heaven.

Never have I seen the size of a peaceful crowd I saw that day. Just as my master donned cloaks on me, the crowd also came prepared as they spread cloaks and the leafy branches on the road. I knew my master was the main attraction for the crowd, but for a fleeting moment, I too felt proud to be me and used by my master. The thought entered my mind to mimic a proud high-stepping horse returning from winning an epic war campaign, but I knew I was a donkey so simply decided to be me. Besides, my master was not a war victor but a humble servant. Through it all, I must have smiled from ear to ear though nobody noticed as their eyes were squarely on my humble and light master.

A couple of months later, I saw him again on the road. He had holes in his hands and his feet were light as ever, filled with purpose. I knew he saw me as our eyes locked again. Though he did not need to for his eyes said everything I needed to hear, he gave me a faint smile and I melted all over again.

Since then, others have ridden me over the years. Some ridiculed and even cursed me as they associated me with my master from long ago. I have also become somewhat famous for the same reason. All the while, I swear I have seen him from time to time, enough to remind me he is near and still walking around, ever humble and light.

________

I am older now, having lived my life and having done what I needed to do. I have become shrewd, knowing how to cut corners, conserve energy, and fake being sick in order to save myself. I was once young, wide-eyed with eagerness, and full of zeal. As I unknowingly waited for my one and only master to find me and ride on me, I must knowingly and expectantly discover once again to wait for my master to use me. I know he is around.

ENCHANTMENT OF LIFE

I ask you again: if you have not been enchanted by
this adventure—your life—what would do for
you?

From Evidence, Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

The enchantment of life does not have to be the most rapturous kind of life. To overlay another poem of Oliver, Praying, what captures our magical imagination does not have to be “the blue iris but weeds in a vacant lot.” The enchantment of life does not have to pertain to a predictable fairy tale narrative of someone who once was ragged and unassuming becoming beauty adorned in finery. Certainly, we do not need to diss what stands as accepted enchantment for it captures all our childhood imagination. We also know that our life consists of mundane, unspectacular facets, and wears and tears. Such life teaches us that life happens to us rather than we make life happen. This is far from being fatalistic but a warm and willing embrace of being aware of life as it unfolds in real-time.

To me, the most intimate and ultimate enchantment of life is the Christ incarnate. Therein lies the secret and invitation of true enchantment. God becoming and coming to us as humans—the most revolutionary kind precisely because he came to us so humbly—is the basis on which enchantment becomes “real” enchantment. Paradoxically, this kind of enchantment is certainly not the most visible and the most glamorous kind. It is down at the ditch level. The incarnation of Christ was so radical and revolutionary that the vast majority of people missed it while looking at him squarely in the face. In fact, some are still searching. Rather than God coming down from high commanding heavens and stars, God chose and would still choose to be born in the human form in the stable.

As part of the incarnation, Christ had to live his life, a very ordinary and human life. At least according to the gospels, Jesus’ life was so mundane that it is left to our imagination (especially the first 30 years of his life), both sweet and wild. Living our life at the speed of life, not surpassing or fast-forwarding life, is the very invitation. As Christ accepted to live his life, we are to accept the life that is given to us. I tell myself to remember, Teilhard de Chardin’s words, “My self is given to me far more than it is formed by me.” We are the small Christ incarnates in this world, fulfilling God’s subversive plan of filling this earth with the upside-down reality of the Kingdom of God. God’s plan will always be undermining the power and knowledge holders, not by another form of power, but by love, the self-emptying kind, and mystery.

Would we know where to sit without carpenters (including what Joseph and Jesus were and did)? Would we know comfort and security without the carpenters? (I cannot imagine Jesus was a shoddy carpenter or somehow, he did it for the lure of money.) Would we have learned to read without “alphabet makers?” Would we have traveled the world without the explorers and mapmakers? Would we have defeated the leprosy without the invention of drugs? Would we have enjoyed the coffee without the monks accidentally discovering the potent energy in the beans? Would we (I especially) have learned the joy of slurping noodles without farmers who grew wheat and cooks who discovered we did not have to eat dough all the time?

I would like to think that we are invited to discover enchantment in the most meek and unassertive arenas of life. The biggest reason is—that is where Christ is. The world—the rulers and the empires—does not and cannot see or agree. Rulers rule from on high whereas Christ resides in the ditches, shops, offices, kitchens, etc. Life is also not segmented into spiritual and natural or sacred and secular. We finally get to see everything belongs and that everything is spiritual. The segmented or divided life gets tiring and unauthentic rather quickly. The wholistic and integrated life stands as attractive, authentic, and should I say, enchanting.

The incarnation of Christ serves as a constant reminder and the existential model for me to live my enchanting life to the fullest, the undivided, and the most authentic and adventuresome. The struggle to walk this kind of life or this state of being cannot happen without crossing the frontier of seeing with wholism and hope of my being as well as all the others. Embracing to live my life this way is the most faithful way to say yes to Christ’s incarnation.

Somewhere between revelation and random, I close with a short section of another Oliver’s poem, Sometimes.

Instructions for living a life:
Pay Attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it. (Italicized are hers.)

How do we pay attention to the full and in earnest if our life remains segmented and divided?
How do we become enchanted without being astonished?
How do we invite the world to see the enchantment without us telling about it?

LIVING WITH AND IN GOD

Twice a month, my wife and I have been meeting/zooming with our intercessor. She as a seer and spiritual director has dedicated her valuable time and energy to intercede for me and my wife ever since I became a leader of my previous organization. With her deep listening and generous heart, she has been more than an intercessor but a loving friend and a kind guide. I told my intercessor this morning over Zoom that I am done living trying to start or initiate new things. Since our sabbatical which coincided with the start of the pandemic, my posture has been to wait and see what God does and follow God’s open doors. The unrehearsed and unfiltered remark saw the daylight as if it had been wanting to peek out all along.

It is not that I do not ever think about doing new things anymore. They come in waves, some more forceful than others, and I suppose I have learned enough to know how things generally will unfold even though the details may differ. My desire to follow through with pursuing new initiatives has significantly subsided. Honestly, it is not that fun and exciting anymore, not to say that I have done new things just for fun.

Speaking of excitement, I have learned that letting God take charge and lead my life is far more exciting and adventurous. If excitement and adventure are the only gauges, then I may have found the secret of how to pursue after those—by pursuing God, waiting for God’s time and open doors, and letting God take charge of my life. Surprises are new every morning as are God’s faithfulness and mercy. Treasures both big and small rain down as heaven’s droplets to nourish and further encourage me to open my eyes and see what is real. Challenges often force reorientation and check our spirit with new discerning eyes.

In some ways, I was not surprised by what got out of me this morning because I had been sitting on what I read from Thomas Merton (from Thoughts in Solitude, P. 117) several weeks ago.

Some people live for God, some live with God, some live in God.

Those who live for God, live with other people and live in the activities of their community. Their life is what they do.

Those who live with God also live for Him, but they do not live in what they do for Him, they live in what they are before Him. Their life is to reflect Him by their own simplicity and by the perfection of His being reflected in their poverty. 

Those who live in God do not live with other men or in themselves still less in what they do, for He does all things in them. (Italicized are his)

Obviously, I do not think that living for God is inherently bad or insufficient. It is that my desire to live with God and in God far exceeds my effort-driven life without (or having assumed) living with God and in God. (The distinctions are particularities of division in Merton’s mind since he was a semi-hermit, part of the Trappists’ order.) Thus, it is the stage in which living for God happens is what my life resonates—that living for God is a natural outflow from living with and in God.

Concurrently, I have been immensely enjoying Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver. I knew I liked Oliver’s poems, but my soul is in deep accordance with how she saw the world. Her love for the natural world and all living things without judgment mirrors the generous capacity of her soul. Below, I would like to highlight three poems (short sections) by Oliver.

Why do people keep asking to see
God’s identity papers
When the darkness opening into morning
Is more than enough?

(From I wake close to morning)

I have refused to live
Locked in the orderly house of
reasons and proofs.
The world I live in and believe in
Is wider than that. And anyway,
What’s wrong with Maybe?

           From The world I live in

Then she writes a few poems about her dog, Percy. She writes how she is trying to live “the examined life” because she has been taught that.

But there are days I wish

there was less in my head to examine,
not to speak of the busy heart. How

would it be to be Percy, I wonder, not
thinking, not weighing anything, just running forward.

From Percy (nine)

It dawns on me this morning that nature including the sun, Percy, Remy (my daughter Elizabeth’s chihuahua), Luna (my daughter Hannah’s huskie), and Balto (Jeremiah, my son-in-law’s huskie) all do not try to live for God. They simply exist to live with God (how God created them to be) and in God. They do not toil, work, or even exist for God. They simply exist to be who God created them to be.

SOYANG CONCERT

It was almost as if I was back in Yangpyeong this past Saturday, with my soul at home. The setting was a cozy and vibrant church sitting right by the Soyang River near Chuncheon City in Gangwon Province. What was once an impressive hill of trash more than a generation ago is now a blissful walking and biking trail as well as an idyllic church. The church hosted my book concert through a pastor who has been tirelessly promoting my book. With the weather still being on the warm side with occasional cool breezes, they tastefully decorated and set up an outdoor venue with makeshift tents, enough shades, and plenty of cold drinks the church served throughout the concert.

We arrived earlier to soak in the vibe of the church and the surrounding environment. I had seen pictures of the church and the encompassing nature in four distinct seasons. I was looking forward to the concert, but I was just as drawn to the idea of an outdoor concert. Talking about my book was the icing on the cake and eating it. The host, an influential elder and a leader in the region had posted a couple of days earlier on his Facebook that he met a like-minded freedom brother after one short phone conversation with me. He had been reading my book and I suppose my conversation carved a glimpse of freedom in his mind. Funny, I told my wife I had sensed a similar sentiment after the phone call before seeing his post. The mutual admiration raised my expectations and carried my light spirit all the way to the church.

The elder greeted me and my wife with a big smile. If I let him, he would have given me a big bear hug, I felt. Elder Cho was a tall man, donning a narrow-brimmed straw fedora hat that was perfectly suited for the late summer. Since his voice was young and deep, I expected to meet a younger man which he was not. I found out that he had traveled extensively, studied law in the US, and semi-retired in Gangwon Province after decades of practicing law in Seoul. He also boasted of having several grandchildren as he bought three books of mine for his grandchildren. We went over the program and after I gave him two thumbs up, he invited us to the fellowship hall to get some cold drinks where we were joyously greeted by an army of dedicated women volunteers.

I was elated to find out that I was looking out to the river below and lush summer mountains both near and far as far as my eyes can see. Unfortunately, the audience was facing me and the wall of the church building with a large (I mean huge) book concert poster as a backdrop. In my opening comment, I told them I was sorry that I was enjoying the view while they were stuck seeing me and the wall the whole time as the audience was sitting in a semi-circle facing me. Occasionally, a few curious onlookers both on foot and on bikes have turned their heads and their eyes told me they were trying to size up quickly what the event was about. I was even secretly hoping some of them would stick around to listen in. . .

I also commented quite randomly and spontaneously (decided to trust my instinct) that I love the fact that Jesus was not from Jerusalem, but from Galilee. I guess I was hoping that they would be encouraged by not being in “Jerusalem” or Seoul, but in “Galilee” or Chuncheon. It did not escape my mind that the church was called Chuncheon Galilee Church. I initially thought about saying further that I am a marginal person (as I describe in the introduction of the book) but decided not to pursue the line of thinking. . .

During the only phone conversation, I told the elder that I intended to interact and converse with the audience. The elder was a bit skeptical about how the audience would interact with me as Koreans are generally taught to listen and not ask questions. I perfectly understood his point of view. I told him I understood and that I would pivot if I needed to, but my previous experiences had been quite positive. One key lesson had been that I just need to be patient and comfortable with silence. I decided to engage the crowd right away by asking them to think and share about “pilgrim” first with people next to them they do not know and share with the larger audience. I was not surprised how people were so alive and engaged. During the next hour and a half, people asked from their hearts with transparency and vulnerability and interacted with me. There are no wrong or dumb questions if they flow out of our hearts. That is how God treats us and so should we.

Two themes emerged largely based on the questions and comments from the audience during our time together: freedom and the need for a safe community. The lead pastor and his wife had just returned, the day of, from their sabbatical month, traveling all over Italy, and having visited the very place (The Dolomites Mountain range in northeastern Italy) of my book cover. The pastor shared that all his trips in the past had been guided tours/trips, but this was the first time they decided to travel “freely.” With his eyes twinkling in a gentle but convincing tone, he shared how freeing it was and though he got lost multiple times, he learned from his failures and learned to enjoy travel and life as it happened. His unprompted sharing provided real-life food for thought and I felt as if I needed to seize a God-given opportunity. In the end, I did not need to for people already captured God’s invitation.

I felt alive during the entire concert. I could have gone on for another two hours with adrenaline quietly pumping and flowing. The view of the audience and the picturesque backdrop of mountains and greens have buoyed my spirit and have appropriately been etched in my memory as a big gratitude moment. With my expanded heart, I uttered to God I am ready for more.

DESOLATION & LOSSES

Words that start with the letter “d” feature some of the most dreaded words in life, another “d” word. Think death, disease, debt, divorce, depression, just to name a few and our hearts sink deep in dread. Then there are words that begin with “dis” or “de,” certainly not to say that all words that begin with dis- or de- are all dread but you get my point.

One word I feel today, being honest with myself, is desolation. What I am supposed to feel are consolation and even exhilaration. We are in Korea yet again for the 7th time since 2021. My schedule is packed which I interpret as God’s affirmations that we are moving in the right direction and speed. We feel connected with a number of groups and are engaged in deeper and more meaningful ways. My book is supposedly doing just fine as it went into the second print run less than two months after the initial release according to my publisher. There are graceful favors and open doors everywhere, it seems. My head tells me to feel consolation, but my heart today feels desolation.  

This morning after sitting with my desolation for a day, I discovered one of the culprits of my desolation as if I needed a scapegoat to blame—we are not in Yangpyeong this time. Rather than waking up to the rising of birds and cool crisp early fall air, we are awakened by the numbing clamor of traffic and the bustling city life, and less impressive air than in Yangpyeong, for sure. Rather than being surrounded by late summer’s vibrant nature, we are surrounded by concrete jungle and makeshift or smaller patches of nature that simply do not compare. Nature that is not natural violates the essence of nature. I knew this coming in. We had made a decision not to go back to the place where we stayed since the house got sold. The new owner corresponded in ways that needed risky blind trust on our part. In the end, I politely bowed out by not burning the bridge for possible later use. Though I believe it still was the right decision, I find myself second-guessing the decision mainly arising out of my desolation.

These days, I have also found that I desire stability especially when it comes to home of our own space more than I care to admit. This has been a surprise finding as I have thrived in the past and perhaps even romanticized the notion of a bohemian lifestyle, living like the wind. I tell myself today that I do not need to arrive at a solution but just sit with it—acknowledge and accept.

Another revelation that is not a surprise is my desire to be surrounded by nature and to lead a quiet and contemplative life. And to extend the contemplative space to others as gift and be a channel of healing and restoration. . . The more expansive my soul becomes, the more generous and hospitable space I can offer to others. Nature teaches such expansiveness and embodies life as it is and as it happens. This is the teacher I miss.

Going beyond the immediacy of Yangpyeong that is not, there has been incredible gain when it comes to our future, where and what God is calling us, open doors, unmerited favors, and timely provisions. Coming out of our sabbatical in 2020, God has held our hands and led us every step of the way with intimacy and care. As much as gains, there have been significant losses as well. Simply because there has been so much gain, losses dwarfed in comparison. As such, losses have not received enough timely attention. However, as the losses have been mounting up, I have been acknowledging and naming each loss so I can properly bring closure.

Certainly, not being in Yangpyeong is the most recent loss. Leaving an organization and the people whom I served for 35 years was a significant loss even though God clearly led us out. In my present life, there are more funerals to attend than the weddings. Being present and saying earthly goodbyes to people I have known are losses that I can never change. Then there are those who are battling significant illnesses and facing serious health challenges, signaling to me more losses may just be on the way. As ecstatic as I am, the wedding of my son, Michael, and Gloria is some ways a loss since Michael moved out from our home. Donating and discarding our furniture and belongings so we can downsize and get ready for our overseas “assignment” early next year is yet another loss, albeit mundane and necessary. Our friends and the family moved out of the community, on the day we departed to Korea, which we called home for decades is another loss, not to mention other families and neighbors who moved out from the community last year.

Today, I give myself permission to express and own my sense of desolation, not what I should feel. In this space of desolation, I feel both helpless and hopeful. Helpless because I feel stuck as I realize there is plainly not much I can do to change any of the losses. Hopeful because I am not in charge and because I cannot see everything clearly. And that’s a good and hopeful thing. On a more primal level, I feel hopeful because losses are not really losses but gains eventually and in God’s timing. My desolation is met with a loving gaze of God’s grace and thus is a consolation. As nature teaches so well, death is not death but the beginning of new life. The vibrancy and flourishing of life in spring always arrives after every dead or “lifeless” winter.

INSPIRATION & BOOKS

By the time you read this, my wife and I will have arrived in Korea for another two months stint. I have multiple book related events and will also be leading/participating in a few conferences. Unlike the spring itinerary, the fall’s itinerary will be packed as we will be on the road quite a bit.

Good books according to my working definition whether fiction or non-fiction allow and invite me to read my life. This reading of my life is uncoerced as I parallelly imagine my life in the lives and thoughts of characters and/or authors. They allow me to find and discover my life as it is unfolding, as well as to question, find answers, and raise other questions. They are like kind and patient guides that probe my life like no other. I dictate the speed and intricacy of the surgery of my heart and mind. Even the books that seem to be forcefully adamant about their opinions and views, I get to discern and choose. The fact of the matter is that it is ultimately my life and I know what speaks to me and what does not at different times of my life. I often underline or make notes on the side when I am inspired and when my soul’s experiences are congruent with what I may be reading at the time. My life experiences resonate with authors’ experiences, imaginative or real, and as a result, create a sense of common bond across times and cultures. By reading these books, I am invited to read my life.

When I know I am “inspired,” it lands on me as a confirmation of what was already being awakened and formed in me. The apex of inspiration is the meeting place between the existing (but slightly lacking in assurance) internal leanings and the Kairos external stimuli. The stimuli generate a deep sense of confirmation of what we already knew and knew to be true. These moments of inspiration certainly extend beyond just good books but rather to the multiplicity of art mediums. I find it difficult and disingenuous to induce such inspiration. For inspiration to be genuine and lasting, inspiration almost always bears a surprising quality and unpredictable nature. As such, it is almost impossible to arrive at the point of inspiration through some logical and methodical processes.

I have experienced multiple inspirational moments through books over the years. Though they vary with impact, three experiences top the list. For each of those three moments, I vividly remember where I read it, what I was reading, and how I felt at the time. It was like time stood still and everything was moving in slow motion. Two of those times, I wept uncontrollably. One I was dumbfounded for a long time and lost looking vacantly at the distant San Gabriel mountains, half dazed. One of those times, I wept uncontrollably was while I was reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s Chapter 5 (The Ride of the Rohirrim) of The Return of the King. Below is a rather long quote toward the end of the chapter.

At that sound the bent shape of the king sprang suddenly erect.  Tall and proud he seemed again; and rising in his stirrups he cried in a loud voice, more clear than any there had ever heard a mortal man achieve before,

Arise, arise, Riders of Theoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

With that he seized a great horn from Guthlaf his banner-bearer and he blew such a blast upon it that it burst asunder.  And straightway all horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains.

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!

Suddenly the king cried to Snowmane and the horse sprang away.  Behind him his banner blew in the wind, white horse upon a field of green, but he outpaced it.  After him thundered the knights of his house, but he was ever before them.  Eomer rode there, the white horsetail on his helm floating in his speed, and the front of the first eored roared like a breaker foaming to the shore, but Theoden could not be outpaced.  Fey he seemed, or the battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Orome the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young.  His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! it shone like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet of his steed.  For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them.  And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City. (Italicized mine)

This remains one of my favorite literary texts of all time. “And then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, for the joy of battle was on them,” Tolkien writes. I remember reading this passage more than 25 years ago at Starbucks in Gangnam Korea. This was where I lost it completely. A middle-aged man weeping in the middle of Starbucks must have been a scene! But I could care less. . . because I was standing on holy ground. I might have knelt in submission if I really did not care what others thought of me. The conjured-up image was God’s glory reigning in the company of “men,” singing and experiencing joy amid battle. The “battle” was none other than life to me at the time as life is a great battle for everyone. Thus at the heart of it has been the overarching desire to experience the “joy of life (joie de vivre).” My heart told me that day I would love to be in this kind of company. Who will God send our way to “sing as we slay” alongside us and do life with?

Decades later and the years in between, I find myself in the middle of such a company and have received countless courage from this company of men and women. It is not unlike Eowyn whispering to the ear of Merry, a Hobbit, before the charge, “Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends.” What came to me as an inspiration became my prayer and my prayer is being answered.

For those who are inclined to watch Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the scene above, below is the link.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8yOdAqBFcQ

A MISSIONAL REFLECTION | PART 2

It is not hard to ask and do “the right things.” The WHAT of missions produced the thought and action generating out of a question, “What is the right thing to do?” I would like to think that the question needs to shift to “What is the most loving thing to do?” Though the “right things” may be right in our cultures, the “right things” may or may not be right in receiving cultures. In fact, the “right things” may not be the most loving thing. It is a form of judgment that Jesus warned us not to do. I quote from my book, From a Pilgrim to a Pilgrim (순례자가 순례자에게 published by Joy Books in Korean).

As cultural and subjective beings, we operate life with our own unique filtering system that turns reality into reality. No one sees reality as the reality. We all have our own grid for interpretation of life and make decisions based on the interpretations. Jesus does not sugarcoat this tendency and gives some stern warnings in Matthew 7:1-12. In His typical exaggerated fashion, Jesus talks of “the speck” of our neighbor’s eye and “the log” in our eye.

Then there is the strange insertion of Jesus, seemingly completely unrelated, “Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you.” (Matthew 7:6) What is at stake here is not how unworthy dogs and pigs are, but that of helpfulness. Even our best intentions of giving dogs what we consider to be holy and throwing our precious helps (jewels) before pigs are ways of judging what we think others may need from us.

Instead, we are told to “ask, seek, and knock” in the following verses (7-11). Instead of judging and making our own conclusion of things, simply ask, seek, and knock. The act of asking, seeking, and knocking is an act of non-judgment. We are opening ourselves up to listen and listen deeply.

The biblical faith can only exist as translated into a culture. One of the foundational problems in missions is that we make others love God as we do, believe as we do, and behave as we do. Thus, the missional application of this passage is immensely important. Asking and listening, most of the time, are the right and loving things. More than that, the most loving thing always translates into the “right thing.” The asking of what the most loving thing to do is the very heart of HOW of missions, the very incarnational spirit of Jesus. We must go into the world bearing in mind how Jesus came to us.

The prophets of the Old Testament and Jesus confronted the dominant empire mentality harshly. The Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God do not and cannot mix with the empire-building and saving. In other words, we must continue to recognize and dismantle our empire mentality, however impressive it is in our own cultures, as we go out into the world. The history of Christianity shows that the gospel usually flows from the bottom, and not from the top. The gospel flows from the periphery, and not from the center. Being at the top and in the center is not wrong and sometimes it requires us to be at the top and at the center, but it certainly requires greater discernment and sacrifice of not holding on.

If we believe the gospel is not limited to the gospel of the cross that saves us from damnation but has the power to transform and continue to save us in our sanctification journey, then the invitation is that we live out the gospel through our lives. There is a difference between preaching the gospel toward salvation and living out the gospel toward transformation. Jesus’ teachings on the Kingdom of God emphasized the latter which requires our lifetime.

Here is an appropriate place to mention a couple of the challenges and thus homework the Korean missions movement will most likely need to pursue. First of all, I submit that Matthew’s Great Commission needs to be understood in light of the Kingdom of God (or Heaven, to use Matthew’s language) that Jesus taught, embodied, and died for. As such, the gospel cannot be understood without the Kingdom of God. When the Korean missions movement embodies more of the Kingdom container and the message over the local church-centric message and the container, its impact will be greater and far-reaching. The bigger and more generous the gospel (which is the Kingdom) is, the more powerful and revolutionary the message will be.

The thought of the late Dr. Ralph Winter’s The Two Structures of God’s Redemptive Mission paper presentation exactly 50 years ago, here in Korea, did not escape me. (I do not need to rehash the concept here. The late Andrew Walls has a wonderful small related book titled, Missionary Societies and The Fortunate Subversion of the Church.) Under the vast and generous Kingdom reign, I believe there are multiple expressions (not just two) of how God’s people organize and operate to expand the Kingdom. Thus, it is natural to have various and unique expressions that read and interpret the signs of the times we are in. Personally, as an outsider, I would be keenly interested in seeing “new wineskins” from and for Korea’s different pockets of missional engagers, be they full-time missionaries and/or “선교인“ (as Chang Nam Son articulated well). One container whatever it is does not and should not fit all. To me, this is an extension of the well-known four-self movement toward self-missiologizing. Self-missiologizing functions as a natural extension of the self-theologizing effort.

On a final note, living out the gospel of the Kingdom through our lives does not mean perfect godly living. Rather it means embracing and living by grace day to day. In this sense, we are on the same journey as pilgrims and as God’s image bearers, not as the ones we are trying to reach. This solidarity levels the ground as all of us are traveling companions toward the union with God. That to me can only be done by “not my might or power” but by the very incarnational “spirit” of Jesus.

A MISSIONAL REFLECTION | PART 1

Early June while in Korea, I was asked to participate in National Consultation on World Evangelization (NCOWE) to observe and advise. This was the 8th NCOWE gathering with about 600 leaders with a couple of dozens of other global south missions leaders. Toward the end of the consultation after a lot of listening, I was asked by the leader of the consultation to write a reflection paper that would be shared with the participants. I told him, “Yes, of course, with honor.”

I thought I would share this short reflection (3 pages) with you in the next two weeks as a window into how I have been integrating spirituality and missions as well as how we live our life.

June 20, 2023

The air was different. I was different.

What came to me toward the end of 8th NCOWE was the verse from Zechariah (4:6) “He said to me, ‘This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit, says the Lord of hosts.”

Missions had been done for too long with overbearing might and power if we are honest enough to admit it. Missions flowed from civilized to less civilized (so we thought), modern to unmodern or premodern, privileged to less or underprivileged, educated to less educated, and economically affluent to less affluent. Even when we tried to be humble and approached with incarnational spirit, power, prestige, and wealth and the progress of the West had gained too much momentum and power. When the modern missions movement began (emphasis on “modern”), colonization was already well on the way and would reach its climax in the 19th and early 20th centuries. Though most of the colonized nations gained their independence by 1970, other waves of colonization rolled in in the form of economic and cultural superiority and resulted in suppression of the non-West by the West, by and large. With the backdrop, however, we were so concerned with “what”—the “task of world evangelization” that we over-emphasized the number of workers the world (especially the West or Global North) needed to send to all nations—over how the missions work needed to be done. In retrospect, this was absolutely needed, and not wrong. The task was mainly about “what”—the goal of world evangelization. The words like task, beachheads, breakthroughs, etc borrowed from military warfare embodied certain colonial assumptions. In all, the urgency drove us all.

Now, we, the Korean missions, are confronted with the accumulating stories of shortcomings (as well as encouraging and heartwarming stories) of what “what” had produced over the years, greatly heightened by COVID pandemic. I would like to think that we are turning a corner in embracing the importance of “how.” How do we reach and love the world God so loved? The focus is no longer about “winning” them to Christ but to love and serve them, and how to coexist and partner together to usher in the Kingdom of God to earth now. From my vantage point, the 8th NCOWE was the first large gathering of leaders that reflected such humility and honesty in willingness to face and own shortcomings of the Korean missions movement in the last generation. Additionally, the 8th NCOWE has shown great courage to do something about our own shortcomings, mistakes, and failures. (I know that there have been pockets of leadership gatherings over the years that have been discussing such questions of “how.”) Thus, the shift from the WHAT of missions to the HOW of missions is decisively significant. However, this introspective process will not be easy as it trickles down to systems, individual organizations, and churches (as well as down to each individual) and will require greater courage and humility to continue to walk in it.

To use a slightly different language, we are no longer concerned only about the “message,” but exhibit willingness and readiness to embrace the importance of “messengers.” Who we are and who we are becoming is a far greater and more impactful message than the message we use our mouths to proclaim. With the risk of sounding simplistic and general, we have been too concerned with the right message to the point that we perhaps undermined the importance of being faithful and loving messengers. The Gospel was truncated down to believing the right dogma and doctrine rather than preaching Jesus Christ—his life, ministry, teachings, his death, resurrection, ascension—and living incarnationally. The multiple iterations and mentions of the importance of “spirituality” during NCOWE highlight this shift. There were also many emphases on possessing the right “attitudes” of the workers be it missionaries or global Christians in action. To be sure, the right attitudes flow out of who we are and who we are becoming which essentially is about transforming spirituality.

WORKS OF LOVE

Prayer

How could love be rightly discussed if You were forgotten, O God of Love, source of all love in heaven and on earth, You who spared nothing but gave all in love, You who are love, so that one who loves is what he is only by being in You! How could love properly be discussed if You were forgotten, You who made manifest what love is, You, our Savior and Redeemer, who gave Yourself to save all! How could love be rightly discussed if You were forgotten, O Spirit of Love, You who take nothing for Your own but remind us of that sacrifice of love, remind the believer to love as he is loved, and his neighbor as himself! O Eternal Love, You who are everywhere present and never without witness wherever You are called upon, be not without witness in what is said here about love or about the works of love. There are only a few acts which human language specifically and narrowly calls works of love, but heaven is such that no act can be pleasing there unless it is an act of love–sincere in self-renunciation, impelled by love itself, and for this very reason claiming no compensation.

Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love

Søren Kierkegaard’s prayer before his reflections on the Works of Love is magnanimous. As a “Christian” philosopher and an avid critique/prophet against the encrusted institutional Christianity of his time, his prayer above sums up his grand narrative of the big reality. In this short prayer, Kierkegaard articulates a vision of who God is, how God operates, the roles of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit in love, who we are, and how we join in the vision of love.

The prayer phrase that remains with me is, “be not without witness. . . ” God who is infinite Love and who is endlessly sufficient needs witnesses, agents, or channels of love. I do not know how that is true but I think I know that to be true. There seems to be an implied step in the prayer that a witness must first and perpetually experience the God of love, personalize the sacrificial love of Jesus, and place oneself under the ongoing influence of the Holy Spirit’s reminders to love throughout life. That witness while not perfect becomes a channel or conduit for God’s ongoing redemptive acts of love, engulfing everything in sight in love while drawing everything to Love who is God.

I know I am not perfect and have no problem admitting that I struggle to love, unconditionally. I calculate and measure what can be rewarded or reciprocated. I become quite adept at loving something or someone that might reciprocate my calculating love. I know experientially that I cannot change by trying to change. My focus, or at least I tell myself, should be that I return to God’s first love. God first loved me, and God continues to love me perpetually as if it is the first time again and again. That is the spring well I must drink out of.

The act of drinking translates into experiencing God’s unconditional love while I am a sinner, not when I think I am a saint. I can destroy my sinner-in-me out of a “rule-based” or legalistic standard of perfection in order to make my ego feel good. Rather than helping me to become better and love better, my life can and has in the past become religiously driven but really a lifeless life. Lifeless because it is my ego in charge, not the love of God who forgives and accepts, ad infinitum. The ego simply melts away in the presence of Love.

Then there is another step of being a faithful witness. Love that is born out of freedom is true love. While we can obey to love, an obedient love, which is admirable and sometimes in great need, free love is transformative at all levels. Jesus willingly gave up and laid his life for us after authentic human struggles. Jesus’ death on the cross was the epitome of free love, impelled out of freedom and “claiming no compensation.” Jesus’ discourse in John 13 of the “New Commandment” of loving one another was followed by his ultimate example on the cross. Jesus did what he told his disciples.

Free love becomes transformative because it unlocks and gifts the very free will God bestowed upon humanity, and we are employing the free will to choose to love. We give back to God what God gave us—Love—willingly and not out of obligation. It is also transformative because it does not seek anything in return. Free love moves without an owner or a controller other than the author and the perfector of Love, God. When there is no one that can claim dominance or compensation, love blossoms, multiplies, and blankets everything in sight toward the common good.

Heaven is actualized through self-emptying acts of love by human witnesses and agents on this earth. And that is God’s Kingdom of love coming on this earth as it is in heaven.

LIKE A WEANED CHILD

Psalm 131

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up,
    my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things
    too great and too marvelous for me.
But I have calmed and quieted my soul,
    like a weaned child with its mother;
    my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.
O Israel, hope in the Lord
    from this time on and for evermore. (NRSV)

This was the passage my wife selected to do “Group lectio divina” the other day. My wife in her trademark calming and quieting tone shared with us to pay attention to our affect. Too often, we “think” about the passage. Rarely do we pay attention to our affect, she shared.

Contrary to David’s song of ascent, I have lived most of my life chasing after great and marvelous things. William Carey’s charge of “expect great things from God and attempt great things for God” dominated my life’s purpose and relentless drive. Having pursued what I deemed to be great and marvelous things for decades, my one-year sabbatical forced a slowdown (shutdown may be more accurate) especially since our sabbatical coincided with COVID against my desire for some activity.

It was mostly during this shutdown that I embraced and learned how to calm and quiet my soul. I should say even before calming and quieting my soul, I had to first recognize and honor the soul in me, as God’s image bearer. For too long, I have operated as if my soul did not exist or did not matter. What were great and marvelous things precluded my soul. The mystery of Christ in me and I in Christ was thought to be understood and I needed to get busy with my life pursuing after great and marvelous things.

Calming and quieting my soul required deep and deeper listening to my soul. Though the process of getting to know my soul started years earlier, I was still wrapped in an inordinate amount of action, performance, and recognition. By the time I entered my sabbatical, I no longer had titles or roles attached to me for which I thanked God probably first time in my life. Listening to my soul was a tricky business mainly because I had to provide a safe space for my own soul. Self-condemning and self-hatred offer no help or assistance for the soul to appear. Though I had to be honest and transparent with my soul and my life’s history, I learn to hold my soul with self-compassion and self-acceptance. A “sinner” part of me criticizing my soul may go too far in damaging my sainthood while a “saint” part of me celebrating my soul too much may boost my “sinner” or ego’s pride in me. I have been learning how to hold both the gift of sainthood, which is Christ in me, in me as well as the humility of a sinner.

Over time, it was not the external “I”, but the internal “I’ (my soul) slowly began to take over, ever so shyly and unassumingly, deciphering and navigating toward what it wants and desires (probably what it always has wanted and desired). Included in that process of my soul taking over was the process of shedding and letting things go—pursuing after what others and missions enterprise prescribed as “great and marvelous” things. I recognize that after the calming and quieting process, how we act as a result may very well lead to great and marvelous things. In this sense, the order in which how we engage and steward our soul becomes that much more critical.

I may finally be a “weaned child” at the ripe age of 60! While it is true that a weaned child has gained the first important step toward independence, a weaned child is still highly dependent on the caring mother. The child may walk and move about but would not know how to navigate life, how to eat, what to eat, how to clean, how to walk safely, how to stay safe, and other plethora of decisions in life. The focus of this particular image of a weaned child with its mother is just that—the necessary life-sustaining one-sided dependent relationship on the part of the weaned child to its mother.

Then there is verse 3 which starts out, “O Israel.” During our first reading, this word jumped out at me, “O Israel.” I viscerally equated “Israel” to “Korea” and even “Asia” almost immediately. I did not think or conjecture that to be reality. It simply came to me and i sat with it. “O Korea or Asia, hope in the Lord from this time on and for evermore.” Then I saw the progression and background of verses 1 and 2 in our second and third readings. I felt as if I was like a weaned child, maybe and just maybe for the first time in my life. Leaving Frontier Ventures after 35 years and our church two years earlier marked an era of finally being weaned from religious structures and affiliations, having pursued great and marvelous things.

At first, verse 3 felt like a huge leap or even an illogical disconnect from previous verses, from “I,” “me,” and “my” emphases to “Israel.” David in his genuine moment of poetic epiphany saw the connection between calming and quieting one’s soul (as opposed to not fixating on great and marvelous things) and being weaned and still being cared for by the caring Mother, he hoped that Israel would experience a similar spiritual (can I say?) breakthrough. If that is, I am fully on board in saying and desiring the same hope for Korea and Asia. At the same time, my role and responsibility are to continually experience like a perpetual weaned child that is connected to its caring Mother. So, I can project that same hope onto Korea, Asia, and the world.

35 YEARS MINUS 8 DAYS

August 8, 1988, was my first day. After raising adequate support, I reported to the U.S. Center for World Mission’s Mobilization Division. I realized later I should have bought a lottery ticket since it had four 8 numbers. . .

July 31, 2023, will be my last day with what was once called the U.S. Center for World Mission (now Frontier Ventures). The run will have been one week short of 35 years. That is 35 out of 60. What I initially thought as a two-year commitment turned out to be 35 years since our eyes were set on going to Southeast Asia to work among the Muslims. During our 35-year span, we had two close calls of packing up and going to the field (the first one was my initiative and the second one my wife’s). Since we were not on the same page, we discerned that it was not the time to go both times.

After tens of thousands of meetings, an ungodly number of emails (millions to exaggerate slightly), and circling around the world numerous times, we both sensed time is now. The call to go came about 4 years ago when we received God’s initial nudge from Psalm 45:10 of “forgetting your people and your father’s house” in which we interpreted “your people and your father’s house” as FV at the time. Psalm 45 passage was repeated through two random people in unexpected times. I even had a lucid dream when my eyes traced the verse plainly opened before me in a library filled with Bibles in many different languages. That was June of 2019, a few months before our planned sabbatical.

Undoubtedly, I am forever changed as a result of my years with Frontier Ventures (FV). For what seems like my “previous” life, I am who I am now because of FV and more precisely because of my work and study apprenticeship under Ralph Winter. I learned how to see beyond what was visible and accepted and how to probe relentlessly, questioning existing assumptions and beliefs. I also learned how to see big and bigger pictures and develop an ability to connect the dots between seemingly disparate disciplines and fields. Until I met Winter, I was not interested in studying. I studied because I had to. In retrospect, my natural apostolic and prophetic bent meshed well and flourished under Winter. For the first time in my life, learning was fun and meaningful. Furthermore, FV and two organizations I started became my learning lab for action. The years represented an unbeatable combination of book learning and action learning.

At the same time, my soul began to yearn for which it did not know how to articulate and FV or Winter could not help or provide. It was the beginning of my contemplative journey which ironically started (as one source) as I began to dig the history and unpack the unique gift of the monastic order tradition to the Church and to the world. I say “ironic” because Winter emphasized and modeled FV as a religious order, following the monastic order tradition minus my view and need for contemplation. (Winter had his own interpretation of what and how renewal functioned in the monastic order tradition.) This phase for the most part coincided with my leadership years, and I was convinced that I saw the indomitable relationship between contemplation and action (in missions circles, it was the missiological practices) or what I initially coined as “renewal and expansion.” I discovered contemplative postures and practices (that had been sadly and largely forgotten in the Protestant tradition) cannot be divorced from the missional endeavors for our own benefits as well as for the world.

The integration of contemplation and action remains one of my bedrock convictions.

Unlike the first two hiccups of desiring to go to the field, this time we are on the same page. After 35 years and with “forgetting our people and our father’s house” call, we feel we are finally ready to go to the field.

In recent years, we have crossed multiple significant thresholds in our life. We sensed that exiting FV is the last big threshold crossing from our “previous” life. Time is now for us to cross and to be fully unleashed and released—to live as free as the sky. John O’Donohue in his book, To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings, nails my process, sentiment, and emotions with astounding precision. It is a long quote but worth pondering if especially you find yourself standing in some new threshold.

To change is one of the great dreams of every heart – to change the limitations, the sameness, the banality, or the pain. So often we look back on patterns of behavior, the kind of decisions we make repeatedly and that have failed to serve us well, and we aim for a new and more successful path or way of living. But change is difficult for us. So often we opt to continue the old pattern, rather than risking the danger of difference. We are also often surprised by change that seems to arrive out of nowhere.

We find ourselves crossing some new threshold we had never anticipated. Like spring secretly at work within the heart of winter, below the surface of our lives huge changes are in fermentation. We never suspect a thing. Then when the grip of some long-enduring winter mentality begins to loosen, we find ourselves vulnerable to a flourish of possibility and we are suddenly negotiating the challenge of a threshold.

At any time you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing? At this time in my life, what am I leaving? Where am I about to enter? What is preventing me from crossing my next threshold? What gift would enable me to do it? A threshold is not a simple boundary; it is a frontier that divides two different territories, rhythms and atmospheres. Indeed, it is a lovely testimony to the fullness and integrity of an experience or a stage of life that it intensifies toward the end into a real frontier that cannot be crossed without the heart being passionately engaged and woken up. At this threshold a great complexity of emotions comes alive: confusion, fear, excitement, sadness, hope. This is one of the reasons such vital crossing were always clothed in ritual. It is wise in your own life to be able to recognize and acknowledge the key thresholds; to take your time; to feel all the varieties of presence that accrue there; to listen inward with complete attention until you hear the inner voice calling you forward. The time has come to cross. (Italicized mine)

If I read O’Donohue right, entering or crossing new thresholds is not the main point as it is merely a natural outcome of walking the life, fully woken up. It is all about the process: the recognition of the change of the interior landscape and the attention to divine details of where our life has been and needs and wants to go.

Having done our due diligence in this season, we believe the time has come to cross.

MY LIFE AS A LISTENING

“My life is a listening. His is a speaking. My salvation is to hear and respond.”
Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

The other morning, I told myself it was about time for Merton inspiration. Though I don’t understand everything Merton wrote about, I resonate with Merton’s writing more than any saints and mystics. A few years ago, when I was clearing all my books from my office, I saved all my Merton collections when most of my other books were donated. Now, in two medium-sized bookshelves at home, my wife organized our valued books in such ways that Merton collections occupy the most visible section of the bookshelves. Good for her and good for me.

I grabbed Thoughts in Solitude and while standing, I quickly flipped through my underlined or noted sentences of the book. My eyes glanced at the sentence above, “My life is a listening. His is a speaking. My salvation is to hear and respond.” I don’t recall when I first read the book. I also don’t know why I underlined this sentence at the time when I first read it. After a needed timely inspiration, I closed the book and placed it in my everyday bag for I knew this was the book I would go through again.

Ever since that morning, I have been lingering over the sentences. My life, my entire unrepeatably unique life, is a listening. According to Merton, we go through life’s experiences—the life we choose to live, a life that happens to us, and life with all the questions and answers—to do one thing, listening. Life as listening is no different from life as a prayer. More and more, I view prayer foundationally as listening, not merely speaking, or asking. I listen to discern what God wills in my life knowing that God’s will can never violate my desires to discover God in me. In the end, what I hope is that what God wills and what I will become one. That to me is a vision of a life well lived.

For me to listen, not only do I need to live my life, but I also need to be aware of what my life has been and is about. We cannot sleepwalk through our life or treat our life as only a means to the end of giving God the glory as if our life does not matter. Our life is both the means and the end. We steward what we are given to steward, ourselves. The invitation is to live our life and own our life with all of what we perceive to be good, bad, and weird.

God’s is a speaking. God speaks to and through my life. God speaks to me through Scriptures too which is to say that God speaks to me through men and women in the Bible and how they did life in relation to what they understood God to be at the time of their existence. God does not superimpose Scriptures over my life, valuing the men and women in the Bible more than my life or putting my life aside as if my life does not matter. Rather, God expects me to converse with the Scripture through the experiential lens of my life as a long and continued trajectory of humans gaining God-consciousness, elevating both the Scriptures and my life.

God also speaks through God’s creation of both nature and other humans. We are part of God’s mysteriously designed interconnectedness through everything that is living and breathing. The grand purpose is so that we listen, learn, and be part of the ancient and wise web of growing God-consciousness. When we view our life as a listening, we honor God to be God and honor others and otherness around us to a degree that our life feels less entitled and more generous and kinder to otherness.

After listening (or as we listen more precisely), we are in a better desirable position to discover our true vocation. Through our vocation, we then are able to “speak” with our life. The discovery of our true vocation is our timely act to speak. Here, I do not necessarily think that the process of listening and speaking is a linear process but an upward spiral movement with repeated listening and speaking—ever finetuning of our ability and capacity to listen and speak and getting closer to the union with God and ourselves. When we are in the presence of those who have found their place in the world, their presence is infectious for they speak with power, love, and purpose. They speak and we listen. The more we have people who speak out of such a union, the world will be a better place. And we can speak with our life too. In a sense, we are joining God who speaks, giving God and other fellow humans, human examples, and joining the divine and human chorus of listening and speaking.

MICHAEL & GLORIA

THE DAY BEFORE
It is the day before the wedding, our son Michael’s. A couple of mornings ago, my wife and I took Michael out for brunch. Poor guy has been suffering a nameless illness for the last several days. He thought it was initially a strep but after a couple of tests, it was deemed negative but there were no other explanations. In the end, he was prescribed an antibiotics medication for strep after having been told that it could be some sort of variant of strep. It was better to treat it than not. Thus, when I asked him what kind of brunch, he said something soupy, so we suggested Korean Seolleongtang (beef bone soup with different cuts of beef). He said, “Aren’t you guys tired of Korean food?” Before he finished his sentence, we told him, “No.” That describes an aspect of Michael, thoughtful and courteous.

We sat down for Seolleongtang and our conversations flowed. At different points of our conversation, we got teary eyed having shared deep and genuine from our hearts. At one point, I said something unrehearsed. It went something like this.

One of the trickiest parts of parenting occurs when children enter full adulthood. (I didn’t say this, but all cultures have different barometers of when children turn adults and some cultures still have retained adult initiation rites in various forms.) Earlier in the parenting phase, good parents provide safe and secure environments, lay down healthy boundaries, rules, and regulations, and pour out love, the unconditional kind as much as we know how and are capable of. Of course, I can easily think of many instances where I failed and stumbled as a parent.

At some point in adult children’s lives (I would like to think every adult child has a different timeline), there comes a time when I need to fully release my adult children—to pursue and be who they are—without needing to earn my approval or love. Having spent more than two decades of my life as a parent providing a “controlling” environment, I now must learn to let my need for control go. That to me is one of the most difficult lessons in life. A merciful part is that it is a gradual process for the most part, but a big life event like a wedding really does demarcate and usher in the full release. The release is neither an abandonment nor the appearance of nonchalance at all but a release of faith and freedom and ultimate trust in God who is good.

Michael, you now are entering your own life. Go live your life. You have my full blessing and confidence.

After having rattled off the impromptu statement above, I am still thinking about what I shared two days ago. After trying to discern why, I come close to thinking that how I approach Michael perhaps is parallel to how God has “parented” me. There was once upon a time when I needed all the boundaries and my perception of rules and regulations in relation to how I lived my life. God knows that as a free-flowing young apostle, I needed every bit of structure and boundaries. Construction or order was necessary as building blocks of life. I thought the rules and beliefs equated God. . . for good and for ill.

Then came a time when God I thought I knew was woefully inadequate to God I was experiencing later in life. The latter God was mind-bendingly bigger and infinitely more generous and loving than I had equated God to be in the first half of my life. Both “Gods” were real, but the latter God quickly replaced the former God. My life began to struggle to find meaning and reflect God of love and freedom. My only hope is that I plainly reflect this God of love and freedom in who I am, who I am becoming, and what I do in life.

THE DAY AFTER
It is now the day after the wedding. There is so much to write about but one thought that has lingered with me is how many disparate communities of friends and communities came together for one single purpose: to witness and celebrate Michael and Gloria’s union. There were Michael’s early childhood friends, church community, and school buddies in both undergraduate and graduate programs to name just a few. Then there were Gloria’s childhood friends from Michigan (where she was born and went to school—she is a proud University of Michigan graduate as her parents are), U of Mich friends, church friends, etc. I have not begun to mention the family members on both sides of the family. . .

These disparate communities all converged on July 8 to show their love and support for Michael and Gloria. These groups were not required to know each other’s names, get along, or have the same understanding and history of Michael and Gloria. They all have experienced certain slices of Michael and Gloria’s life, but none possess the absolute full picture of them, even including me as Michael’s parent. The joy, the uninhibited kind, was palpable in everyone’s faces and in their dance moves. We may all come from different backgrounds and cultures, but we all experienced union through Michael and Gloria’s union.

I thought of all the images of wedding feasts and banquets Jesus spoke of and participated in. There also were diverse (sometimes poles apart) communities that came together for one single purpose: to celebrate the union between the groom and the bride. Then there will be the ultimate wedding banquet where all God’s children will participate, not as mere guests but every single one of us as brides! We are not required to know each other, be like each other, believe the same doctrines, or even be in union with each other. They may be good if they happen, but they are not necessary. What is at stake is that we all prepare ourselves as Jesus’ brides.

Through Michael and Gloria’s wedding, I caught a glimpse of wisdom from collective images of wedding banquets and the ultimate wedding banquet to come. Michael Card’s song, The Wedding, has this stanza.

So amidst the laughter and feasting
There sits Jesus full with the fun
He has made them wine because He is longing
For a wedding that's yet to come

COMING HOME | LEAVING HOME

As a hyphenated being (Korean-American), confusion about identity is something I have lived with all my life—some years more pronounced and some years dormant. I left my home country when I was 14 years old, and it took roughly about two years before I was able to call Los Angeles my home. Ever since, rather than being settled in terms of my identity, that was only the beginning of the unfolding of nuisances, surprises, and more layers of confusion. Most of my friends were Korean Americans during high school and the church I was part of since the beginning of college was a Korean American immigrant church. Even when I joined the U.S. Center for World Mission (as a minority in a predominantly white organization), being true to my color, the first organization I founded was a hyphenated organization (Korean American Center for World Mission) as my main ministry for the following 15 years. Leading up to the last 10 years of my ministry before our sabbatical in 2020, I was immersed deeply in an organization that was predominantly white. Looking back, God was unmistakably in every significant transition. Some years, I prided myself as a good cultural chameleon adapting at will, and other years, I questioned who I was without strong satisfaction.

During my almost 35 years of ministry, as a modest traveler, I have circled the world some 60 times (about 25,000 miles for the Earth’s circumference) on the United alone. Every single time, I come home to Pasadena, I knew I was coming home not only because my family was back in Pasadena, but my heart knew where I belonged. My identity and calling were not colliding with each other. I knew I belonged in Southern California, and I felt right at home.

This morning’s familiar 3.5-mile walk around my neighborhood back in Pasadena felt unfamiliar and even confusing. It has been the walk of pleasure and fitness I counted on countless times before with our daughter’s Husky, Luna. The walk consists of walking on the main road, Washington Blvd, going east and facing the sun rising, uphill incline toward the San Gabriel mountains which curves around the historic neighborhood 9-hole golf course, and back down on a narrow street called Holliston Road. As there aren’t many cars on Holliston Road, I walk in the middle of the street as if I own the street, listening to the birds, our footsteps, and our breath. I noted that what should have been very familiar produced, in fact, a tint of ungroundedness.

We landed a couple of days ago in Pasadena after an unprecedented 6 months in Asia. In previous times of travel, coming back home to the US would have been “homecoming.” This time, we felt like we were visiting for a short while. The notion of coming home not feeling like a homecoming succinctly captures the state of my confusion. This is the first since 1977, the year I immigrated to the US. When we left Korea (and Asia) this time, we felt we were leaving home as opposed to coming home. My words fall short of how this happened, but we know viscerally that God is in it.

Our bedroom has been moved and most of the furniture we have accumulated is gone (not that we feel attached to the furniture and/or household items). One of the tangible benefits of living out of suitcases is that you acutely realize that you really don’t need much to live life—it is really freeing and exhilarating. After we purchased our Pasadena home last year with our daughter, Hannah, and her husband, Jeremiah, we told them that this would be their home as we envisioned spending more time in Asia. However, we were not prepared for the speed at which things have been progressing. Our time in Asia had God’s sovereign imprints all over the place from the beginning of our trip till the day, literally, we left for the US. Things are moving at warp speed. God is unmistakably calling us to Asia. Everything that happened in Asia was real and God’s orchestration of our time in Asia was impeccable. We received numerous and timely favors that can only come from God and there is a wide-open door for us in Asia. We discern that our sense of duty (what we must do), desire (what we want to do), and destination (where we want to do) in this next season of life is crystal clear and converging at the right time.

To make things even more confusing is the fact that we are so happy to see our adult children in various stages of their lives. There is a huge family event that our son, Michael, is about to get married in a few days (July 8). He and his wife-to-be, Gloria, have found a place near our place in Pasadena. Our oldest daughter, Elizabeth, just moved back from Minnesota after being there for more than three years and decided to settle down just two blocks away from our place. They could have settled down in other places in Southern California, but they all chose to be close to each other. It particularly warms our hearts as we are not the center of gravity anymore as we have shared with them about our plan to be in Asia. They have been the greatest cheerleaders of our life in transition which we know we cannot take for granted.

For now, I am not trying to solve my confusion. I know I do not need to. To tell me that I am confused is good enough. What rings true is that we belong in Asia (particularly Korea) and we are right in the middle of a critical transition of facing liminality and tension I have not experienced since 1977. The excitement of the unknown and continued experiences of the miraculous hands of God far exceeds sadness, grief, fear, and a hint of regret about moving home.

FOLLOWING AN UNEXPECTED TRAIL | PART 2.2

By taking full advantage of the warm ambiance and the generous flow of the Spirit moving, I asked, “What do you think of when you hear the word, pilgrimage?” “What corresponding words immediately pop into your heart and mind?” People shared freely and honestly. Viscerally, I knew people were not simply sharing from their minds, but from their life’s own experiences. The words possessed power and grace. I then went on to play a game so I could give away my book. The winner of a short icebreaker game was none other than the master Chef Kwak. By the time the game was over, I felt like all of us have been friends for a long time.

Taking cues from corresponding words related to pilgrimage, I spontaneously went on to highlight a few sections of my book as a deeper introduction. After the introduction was over, Chef Lee took charge! It was not planned. She did not tell me ahead of time and we did not rehearse what we were going to do after my introduction. I welcomed her initiative with wide open arms and submitted to let the “river” take us wherever. She masterfully, I mean masterfully, facilitated the rest of the evening not unlike a charismatic captain of a ship sailing the magnificent river that none of us had traveled before. Under her disarming facilitative leadership, everyone went around and shared from their heart. Some shared their life stories as an open book, revealing all the dark valleys and peak experiences their paths have been on. My jaw dropped several times and by the time everyone shared, my jaw had already touched the floor and could not have been dropped any further, Chef Lee gave me the last word for the evening. I met most of the people for the first time and second time with a couple of exceptions. I kept thinking to myself, “Is this even possible?”

I came to my senses and actually do not remember all of what I said in my closing comment. I do remember telling them that I felt like I watched several well-scripted dramatic movies in one evening and that I was still crawling out of the deeply immersive movies, half intoxicated. I did not and had not experienced a bunch of strangers forming this kind of bond so fast outside the church confines. We did not use familiar religious language. We did not have to. I probably was guilty of using the most Christian language, which is a rarity, everyone else simply shared their life.

One of the brothers shared toward the end about the tallest Redwood trees in the Redwood National Park in northern California. Though they are the tallest trees in the world, they surprisingly do not have deep roots. The only way they can survive the elements is for their shallow root systems to intertwine with other redwood trees nearby to hold steady and share their resources with one another. He had likened the evening book concert to exhibit such fine qualities of sharing and supporting, as tall Coastal Redwood trees.

No man or woman is an island. We are all invariably connected to one another. The question becomes “What kind of root systems are we part of? And what kind of roots do I possess?” Just as certain root systems can give us life and growth, certain other systems can debilitate and suck us dry. I think of joy as one defining characteristic of doing life together healthily. Joy does not mean an absence of pain, suffering, or problems. It is joy in the midst of them and/or despite them. Joy as a relational emotion gets released when one is simply glad to be with someone(s). One theologian wrote about joy as one defining and lasting characteristic of the early Church which we lost over time—that they were simply glad to be together. This joy over time got replaced with dogma, beliefs, rituals, and programs. Joy was supplanted with systems, rules, and regulations. The Church has tried to “systemize” joy but the goal largely remains elusive. What the heart desired and yearned for was substituted with heady knowledge and cognitive adherence. What has become the Eucharist was an actual meal shared and eaten together, not as designated insiders or outsiders, but rather as one humanity and as equals. What has become the baptism ritual was in fact a celebration of communion with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Joy arises out of deep communion, be it human or divine. It is a gift of grace from God that beckons us to draw closer to God. Tonight’s book concert presented all of us with the rapturous joy that can only come from God.

FOLLOWING AN UNEXPECTED TRAIL | PART 2.1

The afterglow from last night was still sparkling. Driving home from Kwak Jiwon Bakery after my book concert, my wife and I were speechless for an entire duration. The words, had we uttered, would have felt too cheap and shallow. The silence was the only big enough container to hold what I can best describe as one of the most enchanting experiences of my life. This was one of my dreams come true—to hold a book concert at this bakery. (To read the backstory, you can refer to Following an Unexpected Trail posted on May 9.) Earlier, my wife asked me while driving to the concert, “How do you feel?” I said, “Nothing.” I had just come back from a large missions leadership gathering that consumed me for the last 3 days. (This particular gathering was also full of surprises and connections, but that will have to be told later.) I only had a couple of hours to take a deep breath and shower and we were on our way to the bakery. I wanted to make sure we get there a little early to help if need be. The concert was to start at 6:30 pm so we arrived a bit before 6 pm.

When we entered the bakery, I felt light and free, and I could feel the hospitable spirit in the air. Chef Lee who had agreed to host my book concert was focused on getting the snacks ready as the space already breathed warmth and friendliness, but she was not in a hurry. I imagined her floating around, not running around. She had her signature large, brimmed straw fedora hat on with a green loose body suit with her fully-bodied white baker apron on. She donned a well-worn Nike board shoe. Her smile was constant and infectious. The bakery had the charm of the rustic French countryside with its large farm table flushed to one side of the wall with several small wooden tables on a creaky wood floor. Green wall plant covered one side of the wall while the striped cloth awning covered three-quarters of the ceiling, exposing a portion to welcome the free sky. Toward the kitchen side, the wall was painted in the same turquoise color as the outside of the building and a small cute window connected the store. After the sunset, the lighting accentuated and imbued hospitality adding to what was already warm and welcoming.

There were already two people waiting. One of the two was Chef Lee’s friends who we met at the bakery movie night about a year ago. The other was none other than Lee Eun Kyung, an artist. She stood up to greet us with a big genuine smile, matching her bright yellow shirt reminiscent of the seasonal Cosmic Yellow. We returned also with big ear-to-ear smiles. I did regret for a split second why I wore a black shirt with dark blue jeans. An angel on my shoulder whispered something like I should have worn something brighter in a non-judgmental tone, but I brushed it away as fast as the thought came to me. After my short inner conversation was over, the next thing I noticed was the worn book of mine in her hand. She coyly showed me the book which was underlined all over the place with her notes, not to mention her spontaneous artist’s renderings and inspirations. I was so humbled that I did not know what to do except to just stand with my two hands gently folded in front of me. She told us that she would like to borrow a phrase from my book as her theme in the upcoming exhibit next spring. I told her, “Of course, it’d be my honor.”

Others started trickling in. As we were driving in, I told my wife that I had a feeling that I would see Master Chef Kwak Jiwon and his wife, also a master Chef. Sure enough, he and his wife walked in. I was shocked when I saw him and did one of those double takes on him. His attire was almost playful and gave me peace of mind. I let out a sigh of relief. It was so him! He was wearing a sleeveless black muscle shirt. (Did I tell you he works out several hours a day, every day?) He turned 70 this year, and he has the biceps and triceps of a 30-year-old. At least, he was wearing long pants tonight, someone else shouted across the room. His response was that he had to show his social position. We all heartily laughed, adding to the warmth and friendliness. Among the guests were one man publisher, the director of a large orphanage nearby, a church elder who runs a glamping facility in the next town over, etc.

Chef Lee took orders for the drinks and prepared slices of her famous assorted slices of bread for guests. The place was tastefully decorated, not over or under. As I was desperately trying to wake up from my dream that was unfolding right in front of me, it was time to begin. Chef Lee welcomed, greeted, presented me with a bouquet of flowers, and chronicled how this event came to be.

When she took over as the main chef and owner a couple of years ago, she had just spent lots of money and time decorating the backspace which had been dormant for many years. Her vision and hope were for people to appreciate and utilize the space. Her words were that we showed up right around that time and she witnessed us utilizing the space as she envisioned: reading, writing, and enjoying the space by simply hanging out. She appreciated our presence to the point that she took a picture of us from the second balcony window unbeknownst to us. On our way out (from our first visit), she talked with us, complete strangers, and asked us to come to the premiere movie night. It was this serendipitous encounter from a year ago that eventually led to the book concert, she shared.

She introduced me and I gave a longer background story of the first encounter with the bakery and Chef Lee, who I am, and why I wrote the book. It was 7 pm by then, and Chef Lee promptly closed the bakery. We were just getting started.

MORNIE UTULIE | MORNIE ALANTIE

The timing seemed impeccable, enough to viscerally feel the inexplicable “God” moment while it was happening. It has always been easier to realize God’s gentle footprint in hindsight than to realize God while God is “happening” in real-time. God in the present moment seems to elude us which is never God’s fault but our lack of awareness. The grace of God is such that God continues to come to us whether we realize God or not.

This morning, I attended a meeting with movers and shakers of the Korean missions movement. I also view them as fellow pilgrims on the journey. As a “semi” Korean, I have been honored to be part of the group for many years. While the major topic revolved around 600 missions leaders gathering in mid-June, they also celebrated the publishing of my book. I was the recipient of their unmerited favor and filled my calendar with more events and speaking engagements related to the book during this month.

While taking the subway back to Yangpyeong which was well over an hour, I thanked God for the Kairos moment of my book. With my limited scope and understanding, I have been more than happy to surrender to God’s timing. During the subway ride, I decided to put on my AirPods and listen to Spotify’s random Soundtrack playlist. During certain times, I am drawn to listening to Original Soundtracks which normally have no words but only instruments. When there are times when words (lyrics) fall short, and I do not want to be confined to words, that is when I lean on OSTs. Since words or lyrics do not restrict me, my mind wanders as free as the sky in all directions, writing any imaginative lyrics I want. Today was such a day.

After arriving at Yangsu station, I continued to listen to the playlist even while I was driving home. Do not do what I did. It is a short 15-minute drive but let me boast about the drive from the station to our place or vice versa. The road is called Bukhangang (North Han River) Road which travels some 4 gentle groovy miles or so hugging and caressing the river which puts the otherwise uber-famous Seine or Thames Rivers to shame. Seeing with my bare eyes, its width seems at least 4 or 5 times wider with its corresponding depth compared to the rivers mentioned earlier, not to mention the volume of water being carried. One misty morning, I mistakenly thought it was a lake, showcasing its mystery and calm. This road is also flanked by forsythia and Cherry Blossom Trees in the early spring, sending cherry blossom snow in April which is a sight to behold. This drive is to die for, and I get to drive it almost daily going to the Yangsu Eco Healing Center (gym), Tai Chi, Kwak Jiwon Bakery, Clara rice cake shop, Yangsu station, etc. The people in Seoul would pay money to drive the road every day if they could.

As soon as I entered Bukhangang Road, Enya’s May It Be (from The Lord of the Rings OST) started playing, and I knew the “God” moment. Enya’s other-worldly angelic voice helps ease the dark path in peace and the promise that lives within me now. It is not the absence of darkness that produces the interior promise, but the very presence of darkness that was overcome that leads to the discovery of the rising sun and the promise. While there are numerous scenes in The Lord of the Rings that highlight darkness and the courage that overcomes it, one scene that epitomizes darkness and equally corresponding courage is the scene of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli entering the Paths of the Dead. Aragorn upon entering the Paths, resolutely utters, “I do not fear death.” In the end, there was no overcoming the darkness without passing through the Paths of the Dead. The result was that the Army of the Dead was mobilized due to the courage of Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. The decisive Battle of the Pelennor Fields which turned the tide of the fate of the Middle Earth would definitely have been lost without the Army of the Dead. Darkness often summons our existential courage to show up from deep. There is no more running or hiding from darkness and fear. I will not spoil it here but The Guardians of the Galaxy: Volume 3 portrays such courage movingly. Courage overcoming darkness seems to be a perennial truth.

I had lived through my own version of darkness to know; Tolkien’s novel and the lyrics contain perennial wisdom that anybody can identify with. Join me in this combination of visio and audio divina (divine seeing and listening).

May it be an evening star
Shines down upon you
May it be when darkness falls
Your heart will be true
You walk a lonely road
Oh, how far you are from home

Mornie utulie (darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantie (darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now

May it be the shadow's call will fly away
May it be your journey on to light the day
When the night is overcome
You may rise to find the sun

Mornie utulie (darkness has come)
Believe and you will find your way
Mornie alantie (darkness has fallen)
A promise lives within you now 

A promise lives within you now

THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Wendell Berry from The Peace of Wild Things And Other Poems (Penguin, 2018)

Despair is deafening all around us and it deadens our souls like dry branches that can easily be crushed into pieces. There is universal despair that humanity faces and then there is local despair that is unique and thus restricted to local cultures. We only need to watch the latest news, be it local or global. Despair can drown us into further despair like a downward spiral movement. Korean culture likes to rank things, first in class, second in art competitions, third in book sales, so forth, and so on. It does not take long for me to hear news about some dubious ranking Korea finds itself in. Number one in fastest aging OECD nation in the world, number one in senior poverty, number one in lowest childbirth rate in the world, etc. It is depressing and thus has ample reasons to be drowning in the pool of despair. Then there is despair that is closer to home. Despair in the form of fear of the unknown and uncertainty or what Berry later calls “forethought of grief” whether it pertains to my life or my children or loved ones.

While I do not have the luxury to “lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water,” I am fortunate enough to have spent the last two plus months here at Yangpyeong where I have witnessed wood drakes and great elegant herons feeding and flying above me almost daily. I have also witnessed an incredulous change of season from early spring to early summer, from the cherry blossoms to yellow cosmos (or “Cosmic Yellow”) that are dotted against the backdrop of vibrant greens everywhere. The half-flooded rice paddy fields are now covered with new shoots sprouting from the mirror-like calm shallow lake, faithfully reflecting the surrounding green hills and mountains. The rice paddy fields are like a boundless container that holds them all, from lake to mountain to even the sky.

Seemingly, there is a parade of wild living things: insects and animals that come out ready to see the world and play. Butterflies, dragonflies, mosquitos, spiders (big ones), not to mention ants are all major small players. Why is it that swallowtail (or spotted) butterflies are so attracted to Cosmic Yellows? I hear the frogs cry when the sun goes down from the rice paddy fields. Why do they croak and cry? I was told male frogs are the ones calling, trying to attract female frogs. Not so subtly, they are holding dance parties every night on rice paddy fields. The sound of frogs in particular reminds me of my young summer innocent days when I used to visit the countryside where my mom was born and grew up. Just last night, as we were driving to our place, my wife and I saw a shiny frog hopping and crossing the street right in front of us. I caught the sight and asked my wife, “Did you see that?” “Yeah,” she said, and we both chuckled in disbelief. It was a real live frog playing the “Frogger” arcade game. I am happy to report that the frog won the game and made it to the other side of the road, safe and sound.

Then there is water whether it is rain, creek, or river. Water does not and cannot defy gravity and always obey the law of gravity. It always seeks and flows to the lowest point. Even when spring gushes out from the ground, it is because there is a body of water that pushes to the lowest point to force water out somewhere else. Water that is living and that gives life to everything around it is humble and does not seek attention. The other day, after rain, the speed of water picked up showing its force and power. The “power” of water is such because it always obeys the natural law. The power comes from the law of nature, not apart from it. Water embodies the presence of humility in its purest form. The hypnotic sound of water flowing from creeks and rivers soothes and heals the depths of all souls.

Last fall, my wife and I brought some flower seeds from the US to gift our host since she loves growing flowers. I often hear her talking to the flowers in the mornings. We carefully selected the ones that we thought could do well in Korea. It turned out that she planted those seeds this spring. Soon after we arrived, she made a point to show us several flowers growing all charming and dainty, showcasing their demure beauty. When neighbors and others walk outside in front of our place, I could overhear some of them muttering, “Wow, those flowers are so pretty.” One of the seeds we brought was none other than California Poppy. It is a piece of “home” blossoming right in front of our yard.

“The wild things” possess the gift and lesson of presence and they do not tax their lives worrying about what is next. Jesus was so right. It makes my heart so glad and full to know that Jesus was not a “classroom” teacher. The grace-filled divine lessons are all around us if we take the time to pay attention to the natural world. “For a time I rest in the grace of the world, am free” is my confession as well.

TO DARE OR NOT TO DARE

“To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself.” Soren Kierkegaard

During our first Yangpyeong one-month stay last spring, we serendipitously ran into an artist who was holding her exhibit at our favorite Kwak Jiwon Bakery’s art space. My first meeting with her made such a warm impression that it found its way into a portion of my journal freshly that day (see below). Just as providentially, we ran into her again yesterday. Another chance meeting. . . Kyunghwa Lee, a chef, was holding yet another art exhibit but this time it featured her own “art book” she worked on during the last 3 months every week with a group of novice and seasoned artists. Chef Lee had invited us to come and see the exhibit. We told her we would be happy to.

After picking up a guest from a train station nearby who was going to stay overnight with us, we swung by Kwak Jiwon bakery to pick up our preordered baguette for today’s breakfast. Our guest did not know we were going to spend some time visiting the exhibit at the bakery. The exhibit featured not only Kyunghwa Lee’s work but also a dozen others in the group. The art book consisted of each of their “life diary” expressed in writing, poetry, photos, and small art pieces, all bound up in an imperfect but exquisitely intimate handmade book. I felt like someone was going to slap my hand for flipping through their personal diaries. What surprised me was how honest and vulnerable each of the entries was.

After spending a good hour, someone who was sitting down saw me walking from one room to another and bowed with a faint smile. Trying to be courteous, I also bowed not knowing who she was. She bowed again to my wife who was trailing me. She said, “An-nyeong haseyo” (hello) to my wife and followed with “Do you remember me?” My wife quickly brightened up and said, “Oh, an-nyeong haseyo!” I then realized it was the artist we met a year ago. We exchanged cordial pleasantries initially but eventually, we found our chairs and held deep spiritual conversations surrounding her art which is coterminous with her life. I profusely apologized to her that I did not recognize her. While it is true that she was wearing a knitted purple hat this time and dressed in less formal wear than last time, I should have recognized her. Just as quickly, we segued our conversation into art making. She has experienced the artist’s pain and disappointment while trying to earn her living. She also has taken in a few students over the years. Her philosophy lingered with me. She said she would take in a disciple or two for a year at a time not to teach them her style of art making much less her art techniques. Rather she would train them in such ways that they would discover their own styles.

Our guest who was carefully listening to her the whole time showed increasing interest and connection with the artist. The guest shared her own journey of wanting to embrace her artist’s way. She has been lacking courage since she had not studied art in college or had not spent an inordinate amount of money and time studying art abroad. The guest and the artist eventually exchanged their phone numbers. Our guest later told us that she had been searching for “signs” of whether to continue to pursue her dream of being an artist or not. This encounter turned out to be a “God moment” that she would not give up.

On another thread of our conversation, she asked me what I was up to. I shared with her that my book had just come out being less sure with what kind of vibe I should say about the book. With a curious look on her face, she asked what my book was about, and I said it is about being pilgrims in this life. She nodded, took note, and told me she would like to buy and read. I smiled in return. Chef Lee then chimed in and said, “We will hold a small book concert with author Chong Kim as our guest speaker.” The artist and another student who was listening closely both said, “We would like to be there.”

I too am on a journey I have not passed before. I have lost my footing multiple times to know that while those moments may be painful with blue-colored swollen ankles, the hurting simply does not compare with potentially losing myself and not being true to who I am and who I am becoming. This grand six-month-long Asia swing is a great dare for me. We are making plans to do another round of six-month trip next year. I am at a point where I would rather try and fail than fail to try. I have been a fan of Brené Brown for quite some time and read multiple of her books. In her book, Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead, she pens it this way, “To love ourselves and support each other in the process of becoming real is perhaps the greatest single act of daring greatly.” I cannot fail to be me. There is too much at stake. Daring is not synonymous with gritting our teeth and plowing forward with a “faith-filled” adventuresome spirit, instead daring embraces vulnerability like a friend. Genuine faith is a friend to vulnerability. Brown lauds vulnerability this way, “Vulnerability sounds like truth and feels like courage. Truth and courage aren't always comfortable, but they're never weakness.”

May 9, 2022

Today’s story began unfolding at Kwak Jiwon Bakery as we had a rare day of rest and catch-up. We decided to venture out for a quick bite of lunch and then we went over to the bakery. At the bakery, we were informed that a new art exhibit opened today. On top of that, the artist was going to come in person and interact with people. I intuitively knew this was a God-given opportunity.

Eun Kyung Lee is a modern artist. As a trained school teacher, she taught for many years until about 9 years ago. At such time, she listened to her inner desire deep enough to pursue her dream of being an artist. Being a teacher in Korea is a secure and envious job considered by many. Yet, in her own words, she had to pursue and go all in even if she were to fail and fail miserably. It would be a happy ending if I were to say she has made it. While she tasted initial celebrity-like status, she herself knows that she has not arrived, and I frankly don’t think she even cares she has made it. She knows this is a process being unfolded and that she is paving her own path that she has not traveled before. I know this journey of inner discovery requires a herculean effort and courage to switch in midlife. We told her to be encouraged and she got teary-eyed.

As a craft painter (she coined the term herself), she is attracted to organic and inorganic discards and wastes and incorporates them into her art. Most of her craft paintings are understandably three-dimensional and they often portray the existential matter of one’s being. Her vision has been to use the discards and rejects to rebirth them into a newborn story. She does this because as a teacher she was always attracted to troubled and isolated kids. Though her career went through a transition, her heart for the neglected and underappreciated remained the same.

She asked us what we do and why we were in Yangpyeong. We told her that we are missionaries interested in developing people and that we were “running” a healing stay. We talked about our spirituality and told her that we resonated with what we see in her story and art. She nodded in agreement about our spirituality as she went on the explain the background of one piece she created (see above). The painting features a three-dimensional fallen black bamboo branch with a few leaves she picked up in Kangwon Province which sits in the easternmost part of Korea. She turned the bamboo branch into an imaginary pen of her heart which it wrote, “love” (picture above). I would say she was neither religious nor unreligious, but it did not matter to me. She said afterward, “Love is the common language of our heart.” Whether knowingly or unknowingly, she is proclaiming the existential message of love to all who see her craft painting. I was glad to have bumped into her and was blessed to see the painting.