I've Moved!

This blog is entering retirement after many years as a wonderful outlet for my words and adventures. If you want to keep reading, head on over to my new blog, "Of Grace and Grit."

Oakland's best kept secret

This summer I will have spent two whole years in Northern California! When I first arrived in Oakland, I felt like I had landed on another planet.  It was chaotic, crowded, loud, dirty, and dangerous.  Oakland is still most of those things two years on, but I usually see it through different eyes now.  I even get defensive and a tiny bit proud when I talk about this city.   

In China, whenever we were having a particularly tough day trying to make sense of the culture and environment around us, we would say we were having a "bad China day."  I definitely have "bad Oakland days" as well, but they are moderated by so many highlights.  First of all, I love my church community.  To be a Christian in northern California is in some ways like China, too.  Christianity is not a part of the culture, so if you find someone else who is a Christian, then you know they do not take their faith lightly.  The people within in our church are incredibly generous, well-educated, and outwardly focused.  They are making big waves in this community, but in a meaningful way.

Secondly, I never freeze here or have to scrape ice off my car.  That saves me from plenty of frustration and frozen limbs and pricey winter wardrobes.  Yes, it can get a bit monotonous with perpetual sunshine and 67 degree weather all year long, but I really can't complain much.  Plus, that means you really don't need a gym membership.  You can enjoy the weather and amazing scenery almost every day of the year by hiking, biking, and running at any of the nine million local, state, and national parks.

I also love the ease of my commute and the immediate access to any type of cuisine at any moment.  I can walk out my door, hop on a ten minute bus ride, and end up at my office.  My office is located right next to the BART train station, which means San Francisco is then also only about 17 minutes away.  Most weekends Jeff and I have to debate about whether we'll eat Thai, Laotian, Indian, Vietnamese, Korean, etc. etc. for dinner.  Too many choices right at our doorsteps.

My number one favorite thing about Oakland, however, is Lake Merritt, which sits right in the middle of Oakland.  At about 3 miles in circumference, it is the largest urban salt lake in the country.  It seems to be the glue that holds the city together, and the point from which you orient yourself to get around in the city.  The lake is where East Oakland turns into West Oakland; where North Oakland turns into Central Oakland.  On one side is my office.  On another side is Jeff's apartment.  And the two main streets, Grand and Lakeshore, provide more definition to the lake.  

Apparently up until a few years ago, it wasn't nice.  It was filled with trash, and you could get robbed at any time of the day.  It still has a very urban, somewhat gritty feel, but it seems like life is really happening here.  You feel alive.  Everything and everyone you look at is full of color and vibrancy.  Plus, it was here that Jeff and I began our weekly 3 mile runs together before we started dating.  Ah, the memories.   

After work I will walk back home along the edge of the lake or take the short 10 minute walk from my apartment to the lake on the weekends.  I will trace my way along the hills of Easter egg-colored houses from the 1920s mixed in with condos from the 1960s, and a few coffee shops, laundromats, and tiny restaurants thrown in as well. 

Once I set foot by the lake, I take in all the colorful souls around me.  People come and park their cars along the street and just sit and chat outside of their cars.  Some of them are playing drums or blasting samba music from their stereos.  I have hypothesized that people come here to hang out instead of their own neighborhoods, because it is safer and more interesting.  Hipsters slackline in between trees.  Rowers glide across the murky surface of the water.  The same man always sets up a blanket to try and sell items he has scavenged: random pairs of high heels, picture frames, and knick knacks.  Elderly Chinese people slowly perform tai chi, although I have seen one very elderly lady a couple of times practicing leg kicks with such enthusiasm and force that it's a miracle she doesn't topple over.  One man even had his 10 foot long pet snake out for some exercise.  And tons of people of all ages and colors are jogging, walking, or lounging on the big blanket of grass.   

San Francisco and Silicon Valley hipsters are discovering Oakland, so I am trying to enjoy Oakland just as it is for this season, as it might not last much longer like this!  You're welcome to come visit me anytime!  So in closing, I will leave you some pictures of Lake Merritt.  I usually try not to take pictures on my phone in any other part of Oakland, because it is not uncommon for someone to relieve you of your phone if you have it out in the open... Oh, Oakland! 

Visitors from afar

I have lived the past 11 years away from family-- four years in Virginia, two years in China, 3 years in Indiana, and now over a year and a half in California.  Sometimes I was only able to see my family once a year.  I have always been incredibly close with my family, but how then have I lived geographically so distant from them all these years?  Do I not really love them like I think I do?  Am I neglecting them?  Am I selfish person?  I know all those things aren't true, but it still doesn't mean I don't miss them everyday.

They are probably the reason I have ventured out into the world to see, do, love, and learn so much.  Knowing I have people in my life who will always support and challenge me to continually grow and become the woman God intended, has helped me explore the world and do things that most people in the middle of the Kansas prairie haven't even dreamed about.  I'm not naturally a brave person, although I have always longed to experience new cultures, places, friendships, and jobs.  Yet my family has encouraged me to step out in faith, take risks, and live life to the fullest.

Last month I was blessed with a visit from my Mom and Andrea.  I took five work-free days to hang out with them.  The three of us stayed cozily in my cute little studio by Lake Merritt, which Andrea loved walking around nearly every day.  They helped me see Oakland through new eyes, while also helping me accomplish a lot of things on my wedding checklist.  Andrea made us stop and smell just about every gorgeous flower in bloom, and both Mom and Andrea seemed to make Oakland a happier place.  They radiate a joy and happiness that can cheer up the gloomiest soul in Oakland.  I was surprised at how many people smiled and said "good morning" to us when we were trekking all around the Bay Area.  Hmmm... Maybe I could smile a little bit more too.

Here's a little snapshot of some of the fun:

 Visiting the Golden Gate bridge up close.

 Had a nice little jaunt around Muir Woods.

 Andrea, one of my helpers at the wedding dress boutique in Berkeley.

 The moms meet for the first time in Chinatown!

Eating at hole-in-the hole Geta Sushi in Oakland, where we ate about five pounds of amazing sushi.

 And hiked some more in Redwood Regional Park!

A worthy journey

Once again, I apologize for my lengthy absence from this illustrious blog!  I haven't had as much time to be introspective as I usually do, since I am in the midst of tax season AND am preparing for getting married AND just lose track of time in my advanced age of 28.6.  Anyway, here I am, so I hope there are no hard feelings.

The question most often on people's minds these days seems to be, "How's wedding planning?"  Here are some possible answers, depending on my mood or the circumstances of the day:

"It's going well! Things are coming right along!"

"It's hard to plan for something that seems so far away."

"I am learning lots of useful life skills, such as what a chiavari chair is."

"I'm enjoying it."

"We are checking things off our list right and left."

"No comment."

Overall, wedding planning is going quite well.  Jeff is a great planner, and we both have our strengths for different pieces of the puzzle which complement each other.  And wedding planning does indeed seem to often be one giant puzzle to me.  Why is everything so expensive?  How did the wedding industry become so... like an industry?  And why does everyone trying to sell you something in this industry seem so high strung?  Do we really need 12 settings of fine china on our registry?  Do these color palettes go together?  

Thankfully I know that it will all come together.  A wedding is just one day, while marriage will last much longer.  We have been preparing for this big step in other ways besides sending out save the dates and adding items to the wedding registry.  We have started premarital counseling with one of our pastors and have just wrapped up a study of Timothy Keller's outstanding book, The Meaning of Marriage.  We have been reading and discussing the book with other couples, some of them not married, some of them married.  I know I have gleaned a tremendous amount of wisdom, and just have been soaking up advice.  Last, but 900% not least, we have been spending time praying and reading the Word.

Probably nothing can really prepare us for what's next, but at least we both have Jesus!  The wedding day is not an end point that we are trying to survive until, but just the very beginning of a worthy journey toward our final day when our glory selves are revealed before the throne of Christ. 

A tale of two loves

It is 2015!   TWO THOUSAND FIFTEEN.  When and how did that happen?  Wasn’t Y2K just yesterday?  Life is entirely different than just a couple of weeks ago when Jeff and I headed to Kansas to spend Christmas with my family.  The holidays ended up being filled with more events and emotions than I could have ever expected when we stepped on the plane heading east.

There were two main characters from the holidays that stood out the most: Jeff (my now-fiance) and Jerry (my grandfather).  I’ll start with Jeff.

In Topeka he met my family, experienced a traditional Christmas on the prairie, and met many important people in my life.  Nearly every neighbor and family friend nicely threatened him to take good care of me, as I was a very special person.  Yet he never flinched or wavered from wanting to make me a more permanent part of his life.

On Christmas Day we all served at the Topeka Rescue Mission, where my mom works.  The Mission is a fixture in both the Christian and Topeka community, as it is the only shelter for those who are homeless or struggling immensely in poverty or substance abuse.  It was, by far, the best possible way to spend Christmas Day.  Nearly 500 people came to the Mission for a warm meal and gifts.  Those who came through the door were of every shape, color, and age.  Their need and the community’s generosity brought me to the verge of tears many times that day.  Jeff and I prayed for guests who wanted prayer, and meandered around helping with other odds and ends.  After a few hours, we headed home earlier than my other family members.

Then Jeff said he had a gift for me.  He had asked (and apparently received) my Mom’s permission to marry me!  He started to play a worship song through Pandora and then gave me a Christmas-y box to open.  It had four coupons he made for me: 1 special letter, 1 hug, 1 “I love you,” and 1 gift at the bottom of the box.  That gift was a gorgeous engagement ring.  He pulled out a bonus “1 hand in marriage” coupon from his pocket, took the ring, and got down on one knee.  Right then, a commercial played on Pandora, perkily advertising for a mattress sale at Macy’s!  I couldn’t stop laughing.  Later he grumbled about why on earth he didn’t pay the extra $3.99 to get commercial-free radio.  But after we composed ourselves, he asked if I would marry him, and I said “Yes!”

I am looking forward to marrying Jeff, who loves me dearly and loves Jesus even more.  His character, missions-minded heart, humor, humility, easy-going attitude, and super hot body made it pretty easy to say yes to being his wife!  I will provide more details on future plans in the near future, but I’d like to talk about another love in my life, Jerrold Gearhart or “Grandpa G.”

Later that day—still Christmas Day—we received the news from my grandma that Grandpa G. had passed away peacefully in Rochester.  He had gotten pneumonia earlier in December, seemed to get better for a short while, and then declined again.  He also had dementia for the past three years  So on Christmas Day, Grandma was still sitting by his side, holding his hand, as he went to celebrate Jesus’ birthday with Him in heaven.  Most of his children and grandchildren in far-flung places, including us, had choked out our goodbyes over the phone to him a couple days before.  Grandpa was one of my favorite and dearest people on earth. He had lived his 92 years with great purpose and love.  Losing him left me feeling cold and numb.  

A few days later we jumped in the car and drove 1200 miles northeast to frigid upstate New York, arriving on New Year’s Eve.  My entire extended family from seven different states also arrived for his funeral.  It was bittersweet to see my family members, while knowing that Grandpa G. wasn’t there with us in person, regaling us with his witty comments, corny jokes, and clever ditties or songs.

At 10 a.m. on the most beautiful, snowy Friday morning, we laid Grandpa to rest at the Holy Sepulchre Cemetery in Rochester.  Although I knew Grandpa was in heaven, it was still incredibly painful and sad to see his American flag-draped coffin being carried by my cousins to his final resting place on earth.  Four active duty Marines in their dress blues saluted as they carried the casket to the tent that blocked us all from the snow and cold.  Grandpa had been a decorated Marine Corps bomber pilot in World War II nearly 70 years ago.  And so the Marine Corps Honor Guard stood there with their faces and hands freezing off, in order to respectfully send Grandpa on his way.

A deacon led us in a couple of prayers and said a few words, which I don’t really remember.  Petite little Grandma G. bravely stood there in her black coat and cute white hat.  Two Marines came over to the coffin to solemnly fold the flag into a triangle while one Marine played “Taps.”  One of them walked to Grandma, handed her the flag, saluted, and then told her the nation grieved for this loss and thanked Grandpa for his incredible service to both God and country.  How could anyone not burst into a flood of tears?

Then Grandma walked up to the casket, placed her hand on it and said in her typical fashion, “I haven’t done this before, Jerry, and don’t know what to say, but thank you for a wonderful 62 years.  Or was it 63?”  Afterwards we all slowly made our way back to the cars, right as the snow stopped and the sun peeked out from the wall of gray clouds.  Grandpa was in a better place with his Savior, surrounded by his mother, father, and sisters, all while knowing he had left earth better off with four amazing children and eight grandchildren.

Only family members were at the cemetery, so we all headed to the funeral home for a memorial service, where 100 old neighbors, friends, and colleagues showed up to honor such a beloved man.  My professional musician cousin, Eric, played the violin, and people came to the front to share humorous and poignant memories of their father, grandfather, and friend.  I listened, proud and enraptured, as colleagues from Kodak, where Grandpa worked for 35 years, shared about the “most brilliant chemical engineer” at all of Kodak.  Kodak used to employ 60,000 people in Rochester before the company disintegrated in the late 1990s.  They talked about how his patent made it possible for a huge Kodak Colorama sign to hang in Times Square for many years, how he was a problem solver who could solve problems no one else could, and how he taught many younger engineers everything they knew.

Then Andrea and I went up to talk about Grandpa.  I went first, talking about how he never cut corners and how I loved spending weeks at a time with him during the summers in Kansas and on Cape Cod.  He helped explain my trigonometry homework to me when I only wanted the answers, he made us walk seemingly for miles on the beach at Cape Cod to find the perfect spot, he fulfilled his childhood dream by going to Antarctica for a month on a Russian icebreaker when he was 71 years old, and he always lamented that guys these days were blind and dumb for not dating or marrying me.  I shared a bit more about his love and care for us, and how it was fitting that I waited for just the right man he would want me to be with and became engaged on the very day that he went to heaven.  Maybe he knew that his task of watching out for the Freeze girls was coming to the end, as Jamie and Jeff now had that role for Andrea and me.

Andrea next talked sweetly about her 20 year journey as Grandpa’s apple pie apprentice.  From the age of 3, Grandpa taught Andrea how to make the best apple pie on earth.  As the years progressed, she was given more and more responsibilities when making an apple pie together.  For the last pie she made with him on Thanksgiving 2010, he just watched and gave some advice while she made the whole pie.  She had graduated as a fully-credited apple pie maker, and Grandpa was proud.  She also would miss his stories, humor, intelligence, hugs, and big precious eyes that could make anyone melt.

After the service, so many people stayed to chat.  It was a happy crowd.  No one was happy Grandpa was gone, but they were delighted to have known him and learned from him and been in his life.  The mostly white-haired crowd milled about in their reserved, dignified, and well-dressed Rochesterian way, hugging my Grandma, laughing about some ski club story, or looking at pictures of him throughout his life.  It was a fitting way to celebrate one the dearest men in my life.  For 28 years he was there for me and my family, especially after my parents divorced.  He taught me so many things, encouraged me, challenged me, and delighted in his rediscovered Christian faith.

I love you, Grandpa, and will never forget you!  Thank you for teaching me to be loved and how to love.  I hope and pray I will live a worthwhile life like you.  And I’ll see you very soon once this short life has come to an end.

Jerrold J. Gearhart: September 29, 1922- December 25, 2014

 Will dearly miss this handsome man!  Grandpa on his sailboat in the 1980s.

Grandpa visited us often in Kansas and we always had the best time!

Andrea showing off the dollhouse Grandpa built for her.

The Thanksgiving when Grandpa and Andrea made their last apple pie.

All the family gathered in Rochester.

Andrea and Laura with their beaus on Christmas Eve.

Calm my anxious heart

Recently it has been easy to fall into the trap of anxiety, which once it grabs hold of you, won’t let go without a fight.  There are possibly myriad reasons to be anxious, especially in the past month or so. 

Work is moving along at such a rapid-fire clip that it would be easy to feel overwhelmed and stressed-out.  After having anaphylactic shock a few weeks ago to the flu shot, it is also easy for my body to be frightened of so many more things now, even food that I usually enjoy.  Protestors, and oftentimes rioters, have been marching up and down and across Oakland for three weeks, right into my neighborhood.  It would be the easiest thing in the world to panic every time I hear the now-familiar whir of the news helicopters, sirens that won’t stop, or highway patrol officers in their riot gear.  You can’t go out about every other night, because roads are blocked or things are on fire or being smashed in. Then Jeff and I have been intentional lately about discussing marriage and moving along that path.  While it is intensely wonderful, it can also easily induce feelings of anxiety: how could I possibly ever be a loving wife? How could I totally intertwine my life with another? I'm too sinful and self-centered and restless.

So easy, easy, easy to be anxious. But I am gradually learning to make the decision to not be anxious.  It is a learning-process and just doesn’t happen by itself.  A couple of other women from my church come to my house to discuss a book called Calm My Anxious Heart.  I have let anxiety control my heart and my life, even if mostly in subtle ways.  The opposite of trusting God is anxiety and worry, which is sin.  I’m so thankful for what I am learning from these women of faith and from God’s Word.  And it seems like I have had plenty of practice lately in not being anxious (see above!).  I have chosen to trust God and that He is infinitely good.  

God is helping me turn my focus to see usually anxiety-producing circumstances as faith-building.  Work may be challenging, but I also get to love and be loved by amazing co-workers.  In my job I get to help make a tangible impact in reducing poverty, even if it’s only temporary.  The hospital visit last month renewed my ties with God and strengthened relationships with several people in my life here.  And even though I don’t understand the tireless protestors who block freeways and sledge-hammered my office building, I pray continually that God would help me to have compassion for these people who must feel such extreme frustration and anger and helplessness. Lastly, as for my relationship with Jeff, I also feel confident that God is equipping us well for the future through unique and mundane experiences, other couples at church, His Word, Bible studies, conversations, and prayer.  I am so thankful for his friendship and companionship that continues to be enriched every day.  

It’s true that we don’t know what the future holds.  There are so many things to be fearful of, but then I remember God’s promises and how he has already worked in my life.  From bringing me to faith, to journeying with me around the world, God has always been merciful and mighty to save.  His perfect love casts out all fear… end of story.  

So whatever you challenges or hurdles you may be facing today, I pray that you will rest well in the arms of Jesus.  He has you and won’t ever let go of you.  Christ, the risen Christ, who faced the depths of hell on the cross for us, has been challenged by it all and knows what we are experiencing.  So let’s stand firm in our faith and refuse to dwell in anxiety.  We are filled with the light of God and the world can and will know it as a result of how we choose trust in God over anxiety and fear. 

Land of the Oaks

Each time I sit down to try and write down some thoughts on this blog, I always stop myself.  In my head I think, “Laura, if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

To be honest, life in Oakland and the Bay Area makes my heart ache in so many ways.  Even after 28 years of living in a variety of places and living through a variety of experiences, I still view life in a primarily black and white perspective.  My moral compass trembles every day, as alarm bells go off in my head for things that seem apparently wrong, amoral, unethical, perverse, or unjust.  Sometimes I wish I could just be deadened to that feeling.  It is tiring to have alarm bells go off all the time and feel like I must process everything I have just witnessed.  Why do my beliefs have to clash so often with everyone else’s? 

Wrong is called right, right is called wrong, darkness is called light, and light is called darkness (Isaiah 5:20).  I can make a list of large and small issues that come to mind right this moment, but even now I’m afraid to write them down, knowing that this blog is somewhere on the Internet, and anything I say or do could one day be held against me.  I don’t pretend to hold the key to absolute truth, but I do believe I have a solid foundation through the Word of God, which still stands true, while other fads and explanations for life have come and gone.

Just like my body seems to have a dismal barrier to protecting me from the heat and cold, my body and soul also seems to be immediately sensitive to all that is occurring in the broken world around me.  I am reminded that I am not here for myself.  Yes, I am called to be a light in this world filled so much with bitterness, anger, and unforgiveness.  On my 32 minute walk to work, I talk to God the entire time, knowing that He is the one who will sustain me throughout each new, unfolding day. 

Everything and everyone is a rush of color and commotion on that mundane, yet somehow momentous walk that will set the stage for that day.  Slowly I plod down the long hill running parallel to the noisy freeway, pass fresh graffiti, take in that morning’s color of sky, maneuver around a man who staggers out of the bushes, walk around the elderly women stretching or doing tai chi on the edge of the lake, nod at the ancient old man who always greets me with an accented, “Good Mornnnning!” as he hobbles by, smile at the same man on Perkins and Grand who, without fail, asks for 50 cents every day, step aside for the 3 white-haired friends animatedly chatting about other friends, bypass another familiar man pushing his rusty grocery cart full of recyclables picked from the city’s waste bins, glance at the same smashed television sitting forlornly on the sidewalk by the Indian restaurant, quickly jog across the Children’s Fairyland entrance as cars peel in, wince as someone curses out another driver, hurriedly rush by the Glass Cathedral Catholic Church overlooking the opposite end of the lake, squeeze through the crowds of commuters surging from the 19^th St. BART station, swing open wide the back door to our 12 story office building, struggle out of my now-too-hot sweater on the stuffy elevator, and arrive on the 4^th floor READY.    

So by the time I get to work I am fairly alert, and God has helped slowly readjust my eyes to try and see with His eyes.  And of course there are other positive things to focus on: a decent job, coworkers who are like family, loving friends and family both near and far, a boyfriend who is quickly becoming one of my best friends, a Scripturally-rooted and bold community of believers at church, amazing restaurants with every kind of cuisine under the sun, nearly daily sunshine, a perfectly located apartment, great health, and more outdoor activities than I’ll ever be able to fully experience.  And last, but definitely not least, the Royals gave the Giants a run for their money in the World Series!     

In the land of the living

The date 9/9 has carried a lot of weight throughout my life.  In 2001, I had just turned 15, was starting 10th grade, and chose to publicly make the stand to follow Christ by getting baptized.  I remember wading into the warm, murky waters of Lake Shawnee wearing a gloriously baggy orange t-shirt (it was 2001, after all!) and denim shorts, all while thinking, "Please don't let a jetski run over me..."  I had already committed my life and future to Jesus, but this was still a big step that I can remember vividly.  From that day forward, my life was no longer my own.   

Exactly 11 years later, in 2012, I was hit by a car while biking.  Thus began a period of weeks and months where I had never felt alternately so close and so far from Christ.  It was a season where my faith was truly tested and refined like never before.  “I would have despaired unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.”  Psalm 27:13

That Midwestern lake filled with jet skis, boaters, and swimmers seems a whole world away from Oakland at this moment.  15 year-old Laura had no idea what was in store at the time, but knew she wanted Christ walking alongside her.  He would be with her from the Midwest to the East Coast to the Far East to the West Coast.  

That Midwestern college town intersection filled with a swarm of compassionate residents, police, and EMTs also seems even further away.  26 year-old Laura had no idea that the line between life and death was so slim, and that she could almost taste and see heaven, but she knew that Christ was still beside her on earth: He held her and gave her the will to heal and to pick up the shattered pieces of her body and mind.    

It is 9/9/14 and I can see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!  This land of the living has been incredibly challenging and often like walking through a desert land, but He has gone before me and has never left me.  I rejoice that God has used my stories from past 9/9s to help bring glory and fame to His name, and will continue to do so.  I rejoice that God has used my stories from past 9/9s to remind me that He is never done growing and changing and shaping us, even if I want to say, “Okay, thanks God!  Think I’ve had enough growing and changing and shaping for a while.”  I am certainly not the same Laura I was in 2001 or 2012 or even yesterday.  

And there my 9/9 reflections come to an end until next 9/9.  I will celebrate today by working diligently, loving others well, and drinking some champagne!  Happy 9/9!

A China weekend 2.0

Since I now live in California, I lead such a jet setting life. So I spent this past weekend in LA by jetting off to Long Beach to visit my dear old friend, Jodi, and her husband, Samson! They have been living in China for the majority of the past 6 years and are back in the States for a few months to deliver their first baby!

It seems that I have known Jodi through many years and life stages. She has featured in many posts on this blog in the past. In 2008, we served together in Nanchang on the same team, and then were roommates and our very own little team the following year. We prayed together, traveled together, and learned how to navigate China life together. We made a perfect pair: petite, outgoing Asian-American and tall, gangly white girl. And I distinctly remember the conference in Chiang Mai where Jodi and I both met Samson for the first time. She told me how Samson had said he liked her smile, and she was not impressed by him or that comment at first. But God can change hearts and minds, which is exactly what He did with Jodi.  

Over the years we have stayed in touch through email, Skype, and WeChat. I returned to the States, but she stayed faithfully in China. I also visited her in Harbin the summer of 2012 (just a day after she and Samson became engaged!). The last time I saw her in person was in the fall of 2012 when she married Samson in front of over 300 people. Now "Samodi" is an old married couple expecting Baby Tang any day now! Jodi has always been family to me, and it has been an amazing privilege to hear about the work God is doing in her marriage, her friendships, and ministry. She encourages and exhorts so gently and well.

Another bonus was that Jeff was also in town over the same weekend visiting some of HIS old China teammates. He also lived in China for 2 years right after college, so I loved meeting his friends who haven't lived together for a decade, but are still extremely close-knit. I learned even more about his character, while listening to equally hilarious and poignant stories from their experiences in China. And it was so strange, but I felt entirely more at ease with them than most other people I have interacted with over the past year in California. We are all kindred spirits!

Jodi, Samson, Jeff, and I also got to hang out a good amount. We played the card game Nertz for endless rounds, had dinner, ate icecream in celebration of Jeff's birthday, went to Jodi's Chinese church, and chatted about faith and ministry. Everyone clicked well, and I felt so happy and comfortable. Samson later told me in a slow, deliberate voice that he really liked Jeff. He held eye contact with me for a long moment, probably thinking, "Please don't mess this up, Laura."  :)

So although I missed the strongest earthquake in the Bay Area in 25 years, I still feel like this weekend was extremely memorable. Please pray for "Samodi", their baby, their hearts, and their future. I'm looking forward to the next reunion with Samodi! Perhaps it will even be in China next time...

China circa 2010.

Hanging out with Samodi in Harbin just a day or two after their engagement, 2012.

With the expectant couple in Long Beach, 2014.

Hiding place

Sometimes I half joke that you need to be a vulture to live in the Bay Area.  Need a parking spot?  You must circle around and around until you can swoop in and snap up a spot from an equally desperate driver.  Need something at the grocery store?  You must edge your way through the aisles with your pointy little elbows.  Need an apartment?  You must compete with 40 other eager beaver applicants for one availability.  Need to get on the BART train?  You must not let the wheelchair-bound and elderly get in your way.  Need to get off at that exit ramp?  You must wedge your car into the lane next to yours, even if there's not even an inch opening for you.  Need a promotion or raise?  You must grab it for yourself, as it will not be handed to you.

Maybe I sound a little bitter or negative.  Usually each day is a blessing and adventure, but sometimes I just get overwhelmed and exhausted.  I know I am not a naturally assertive person.  In the name of survival I can be somewhat assertive, however.  Thankfully I did have training in assertiveness during my time in China, which is once again being used here in California.  I'm a complacent, easy-going soul who will fight for something if I really want it or need it.  But it can be exhausting and soul-sapping.  I miss people who don't mow you over if you're in their way.  I miss easily accessible parking.  I miss walking down the street without getting asked for money every five feet.  I miss strangers and friends alike asking how you truly are doing.

A couple of weeks ago, I walked to our office window and peered down at the controlled chaos four stories below us.  An ambulance had pulled up to the sidewalk where an elderly lady was sprawled out on the ground by the bus stop, not moving.  Several people sat or stood on a bench, looking on indifferently.  Other people just walked on by.  I was moved by how alone she looked there on the cold, unforgiving pavement that was coated with months of Oakland grime.  Did she have family?  Could anyone hold her hand?  Was she scared?  And then she was whisked away in the ambulance.  People's lives continued.  My own life continued.      

That scene shook me up for some reason... More than the other scenes of begging or carjackings or people screaming at the top of their lungs at each other in the middle of the street.  Most of all I get afraid for my own attitude and heart.  At the end of the day I consider how or if I truly loved people.  Or I wonder if in my haste for survival, I was the one who did the trampling or behaved unkindly and insensitively.  I ponder if when I put on my armor of defensiveness I prevent life-giving interactions and conversations from taking place. 

Sometimes it hurts too much to care, especially when you feel helpless to bring about any change.  Lord, forgive me for my hardened heart!  As I asked God for forgiveness this morning, I then read:

"I confessed all my sins to you and stopped trying to hide my guilt.  I said to myself, 'I will confess my rebellion to the Lord.' And you forgave me!  All my guilt is gone.  Therefore, let all the godly pray to you while there is still time, that they may not drown in the floodwaters of judgment.  For you are my hiding place; you protect me from trouble. You surround me with songs of victory."  Psalm 32:5-7

As I head back out into the world from my quiet little apartment, I can rest in the knowledge that I am forgiven, I have all I need, and I am surrounded by songs of victory-- all for the sake of the Gospel.  

28 candles

Last week, just like on the eve of each birthday, I took a few moments to sit down and journal thoughts about the past year--the victories, the setbacks, the good times, and the super tough times. And then I reflected about how through it all, Christ was there. There for the change. Growth. Joy. Frustration. Brokenness. Wholeness. Sorrow. Delight. Not for even a split second of my 27th year or entire life was I alone. And nothing that happened to me was a surprise to Him.  

I also considered how with each passing year and each passing day, we accumulate more memories and experiences that at first are finely textured and vivid, but gradually blur together into muted strains of color. Yet there are brilliantly colored pictures in my head that haven't yet faded:

• Diving into the murky, warm waves at the beach with Andrea
• Tightly holding onto my 91 year-old grandfather's hand as he sang about the bluest sky
• Alternatively laughing and crying with Mom as we made the long journey west for my move to California
• Becoming a member at my small, new church, knowing in my heart I had found a home
• Rocketing down a snow-covered hill on a sled with Andrea and Jamie
• Sitting around the fireplace at Christmas, feeling that no matter happened in life, all would be well
• Taking in the awe-inspiring views of the entire Bay Area from the Twin Peaks
• Sitting around my friend's cozy apartment sharing about our lives 
• Gazing up at the navy-blue evening sky filled with countless stars flickering like candles
• Meeting a guy in the missions group at church who somehow quickly became a good friend and now boyfriend
• Walking down the dusty sidewalks that haven't seen rain in months, looking into the eyes of people seeking relief from pain and emptiness
• Falling to my knees many evenings to listen to God and once again, hand my life, dreams, and hopes back over to Him

So while my 28th year begins, I also look forward to those Kodak moments this year that will leave an imprint on my mind, heart, faith, and other people's lives.

Grace Cathedral in San Francisco.

Limited Holiday Edition- Part 2!

I spent the Fourth of July holiday in a different world: at home in Kansas.  It’s always a culture shock to return home for a visit, especially after living in China or California.  In all the other places I’ve lived, I’ve thought, “This isn’t the real world, compared to Kansas.”  But now I have finally come to the conclusion that Kansas is not the real world.  It is its own unique place—huge, barely populated, windswept, inexpensive, conservative, and slow-paced.  99% of the world actually doesn’t live like Kansas-- where most people can afford a house at only $100K, where complete strangers go out of their way to be friendly to you, where people talk even more slowly than they drive, where you are guaranteed to run into someone you know from your past whenever you’re out in public, where the weather and crops serve as universal conversation starters or sermon introductions, where American flags and bunting are year-round décor, where everyone already seems to know what has happened to you over the past year before you get a chance to tell them, where neighbors cut your grass for you when your mower is broken or call at 11 p.m. to tell you that you left your garage door open, and where time seems to stand still.

Growing up, I couldn’t wait to leave the Midwest for greener pastures.  Or at least a life near a body of water or a big city.  Now after 10 years away, my heart has realized that greener pastures don’t necessarily exist.  Things I used to disdain I now long for: so much open-space, a tight-knit community, a laid-back way of life, values that seek to honor family, friends, neighbors, fellow residents, and country, an evening where the summer night-life consists primarily of fireflies, countless stars in the sky, and games of Scrabble... 

I realize I am wearing rose-colored glasses.  Topeka has its own share of poverty, crime, brokenness, and problems, albeit much different than my current home in Oakland.  And I realize that I will never live in a perfect place until I am home in my eternal home in heaven.  However, I think some of my goals and values in life have shifted as I’ve grown older and lived all over the map, and my visit home has reminded me of those.  Where I used to once be quite ambitious about a career and making a name for myself, I am now concerned about being part of a community (rather than just a huge, bustling city), being closer to family (rather than as far away as possible), being actively engaged in a church (rather than just attending a church), being a light to those around me in all circumstances (rather than only befriending people I like being around), and being a loving and encouraging friend, daughter, sister (rather than doing whatever might be the opposite of that), and being a growing follower of Christ (rather than remaining stagnant in my walk with Him). 

Although I knew this limited edition holiday, part 2 (read about part 1 here), couldn’t and probably shouldn’t last forever, there were some wonderful highlights of all shapes and sizes:

-Being reunited with my family!

-Tagging along to numerous adventures with Andrea and Jamie—like slacklining, meals with friends, badminton games, delighting in dozens upon dozens of acres of wildflowers, eating a birthday picnic by the Gage Park rose garden, and gazing at the sky in the quiet evening while sitting perched on fence posts.

-Enjoying the unseasonably moderate weather and vast, green expanse of land as far as your eyes could see.

-Catching up with neighbors at the annual neighborhood Fourth of July picnic in my Mom’s yard.

-Exploding massive fireworks that are most likely illegal in most parts of the country.

-Sharing a giant cinnamon roll with Grandma from Annie’s Place.

-Walking around our part of town while marveling at the huge houses and yards.

-Singing praise and worship songs contentedly while standing cozily in the church pews with the Freeze and Taylor families.

-Riding the very old Gage Park train and carousel for only $1.25 with my sister, dad, and stepmom.

-Having a surprise birthday party that included my 85 year old grandmother chucking a dozen balloons into the living room from the second story balcony.

-Sitting on the lawn of Topeka High listening to a patriotic music concert with the school’s venerable old tower chimes.

-Sleeping very little because we were always engaged in some kind of activity.

-Eating homemade lemon ice-cream in delicate little crystal dishes at the Keys’ house.

-Visiting my mom and dad at their respective places of work.

-Listening to freight trains rumble by the Kansas River.

-Laughing so hard until I felt nearly ill.

-Dining on plentiful portions of meat.

-Buying gas for only $3.38/gallon!

-Sleeping in the same room as my sister, who always promptly fell asleep before we could even chat.

-Glancing up every day at the biggest, bluest sky in the whole world.

I was so thankful to be able to make the trip back home, and now feel a renewed sense of purpose here in the Bay Area… Walking into work this morning, I felt a slight rush of excitement as buses honked impatiently, as I crossed the street with a rainbow of different kinds of people, and as commuters piled out of the BART train station. God loves these people and this place just as much as Kansas.  I have been called here for a time such as this, so I look forward to continuing to build my home here.  And I also am aware there are only 5 more months until Christmas: Limited Edition Holiday, Part 3!

Hanging out on split-rail fences like true Kansans.

Back at Topeka High!

Ahhh... the prairie.

Nearly lost Grandma to the cornfields.

A special place with special firecrackers.

Reunited with my sister/supermodel friend while wearing a birthday princess badge, of course.

Look at that flag billow in the breeze!

The one and only Gage Park train.

The lovely Freeze ladies.

Bon voyage to two of my favorite people in the whole world!

Stormy seas

It is rare that Oakland receives a decent thunderstorm.  As months have now gone by without any rain, I find myself thinking about life's storms.  My grandmother had an elder brother who was a pretty decent watercolor painter.  Several of his large paintings hang around her little cozy home.  The pictures have always captured my attention--they depict tranquil beach scenes and rustic sailboats in various soft brown, peach, and turquoise shades.  Grandma has other paintings of his tucked under her bed in a box.  Unframed, they sit nakedly on canvas.

She has allowed family members over the years to choose one painting for their own homes.  A long time ago I chose a painting, which still resides in that box.  One day I'll figure out a way to transport it.  Maybe all the other tranquil beach scenes had already been claimed, but I chose one that was in stark contrast to the others.  The seas in this painting are dark, angry colors of blue and purple.  Huge waves and gale-force winds nearly threaten to engulf a brave, tiny boat.  My mom asked why I would select such an unhappy scene.  There might be something wrong with me, but think I chose it because the boat wasn't sinking or overcome.  It was a reminder that there is something beautiful and raw and poignant about life's storms that crop up after seasons of relatively smooth sailing:

Sometimes God will calm the storm for you, but sometimes God will calm you for the storm.
~Ann Voskamp

Reflecting over the past year, other sea and storm-related themes have arisen.  For much of it, my life was remarkably tranquil and comfortable.  But then this spring I gradually became more aware and convicted of my sinful heart and sinful decisions I had been making in life that were not only affecting my life and walk with Christ, but also others'.  In response, I was moved to make some changes that unmoored me from my predictable, safe life.  As a result, the seas were stirred up, and rain descended.    

If you yourself do not cut the lines that tie you to the dock, God will have to use a storm to sever them and to send you out to sea.  Put everything in your life afloat upon God, going out to sea on the great swelling tide of His purpose, and your eyes will be opened.  If you believe in Jesus, you are not to spend all your time in the calm waters just inside the harbor, full of joy, but always tied to the dock.  You have to get out past the harbor into the great depths of God and have spiritual discernment.
~Oswald Chambers  

I think Satan wants you to feel that you're drowning in the thrashing waves and blinded by the rain, but:

There's a God who allows Himself to be a Lighthouse to us through storms.
And then God allows storms so we love the Lighthouse long after the storms.
~Ann Voskamp

I'm not sure at the moment where I'm headed, but I choose to trust and keep my eyes fixed on the lighthouse.  The storms have abated for a while now, but even when they start again, I know I don't have to bail water out of the boat on my own, as Christ never abandons us or leaves us to our own devices.  And in the midst of the storm, my emotions and heart that were being deadened to sin slowly came back to life.  Filled with competing feelings of pain, grief, anger, confusion, fear... and hope, peace, relief, joy, calm... I lifted my head to the sky, rain pelting my face, hands lifted up, and realized I am gloriously ALIVE!  Alive in Christ.  Alive for the marvelous purposes He has in store.  Alive to die to myself.  Alive to truly live for Him.    

A novel topic

I think I must be a recovering blog addict!  After writing blog posts diligently and consistently over the past several years, I seem to be taking a blogging break.  Not having Internet at home really limits my blogging activities.  But I have found a way around that obstacle today.

And I honestly don’t really know what to write about.  I could write about Oakland or work or life activities or my family or what I’m learning at fellowship.  But today I want to write about ballet—a topic I haven’t discussed much on this blog.

Tonight I would be going to my weekly ballet class, but since it is a rare 90 degrees outside, that means it will be approximately 106.3 degrees in the old studio in Berkeley, where air conditioning doesn’t exist.  So I will dream about it.

Of all the things I’ve ever done in life, ballet is one thing that has consistently brought the most joy for many years and now decades.  Not only was I built for ballet, but I love it.  So many other activities and pursuits in life have come and gone, but ballet is one thing I remain passionate about.  In ballet class, I have to think hard, but each movement seems to come naturally.  I know it wasn’t always that way—I had to train for years and years, but it is a wonderful feeling.  It is a wonderful feeling when everything else I seem to do or try feels like varying degrees of uneasiness or awkwardness:  Jobs.  Learning languages.  Conversing with people.  Playing tennis or other sports.  Dating.  Serving in church.

I appreciate the structure ballet offers.  There are hundreds of movements and steps.  You don’t just make up stuff, like most of the culture around me seems to do with everything else.  In ballet, you either do something correctly and beautifully or you don’t.  There seems to be sort of an absolute truth with ballet.  There are standards and I can know if I have reached them or are close.  In society around me and in other circumstances, there often doesn’t seem to be much of a standard, or that standard is always fluid.  Yet, there is still room in ballet to express yourself within that structure. 

When the music starts and class begins at the barre, the rest of the world fades.  I don’t worry about the poverty in Oakland, the politics in the U.S., not being married, stress from work, or what is happening tomorrow.  Everything seems to dissipate and I feel like I could accomplish pretty much anything. 

I’m so thankful for the ability to dance and to dance well.  It has brought me such joy (not to mention very nice legs!)  In the few minutes following my accident when I saw the blood covering my arms and legs and couldn’t move them, I immediately worried about if I could continue dancing.  Thankfully I would be able to after a few months, although I will never be back to where I was.  And I think about the joy that it has brought others.  You can dance anytime and anywhere.  This skill was particularly handy in China, where I was able to be the crazy foreigner dancing in school performances and on national television...

I know I’m not the best dancer in the world, but it is one thing in life that I seemed to have mastered fairly well and hopefully can continue with for many years.  And so today instead of dwelling on poverty stats, crime rates, or the future, I thank the Father for blessing me with this amazing gift!  And I thank my patient, dear mother who put me in ballet class in the first place so many years ago after I attempted so many other sports, cooked dinner when I'd return from the studio really late, bought me countless bobby pins and pointe shoes, and listened to my complaints about the teacher and grueling pace of classes.  And thanks to everyone else who encouraged me to stick with it and not give up!  

6 months and counting

Six months ago I was in tears.  I had just arrived from the Midwest in my dusty, trusty little black Ford Focus packed with all my worldly belongings (minus some things graciously stored at my mother's house).  The aforementioned mother had also come along, helping drive and encourage.  We joked that once we reached the desolate, sad town of Winnemucca, Nevada, that there was no going back.  Winnemucca marked the point of no return.  I was moving to Northern California.  In a lot of ways California seemed like the scariest move of my life.  Yes, I had moved around every couple of years in the U.S. and even across the Pacific Ocean, but this seemed different.  In my mind I had always been determined to never end up in California--it seemed to contradict every part of my Midwestern upbringing, Christian worldview, and sense of frugality and simplicity.  The negative assumptions of California seemed to hold sway over my hopeful thoughts that the move would represent a new start, while the gorgeous weather and recreational activities would be well worth any of the hardships associated with packing up your life and moving to the Wild West.

Yet, when you are job searching and need a way to support yourself, you will take leaps of faith.  Laura moving to California = leap of faith over the Grand Canyon.  The seemingly perfect job opened up, and I was on my way.  All along the journey, I found myself doubting.  1900 miles of driving through mostly bleak, desert landscapes doesn't do much to bolster your confidence.  But I was determined to make it and thrive.  Even after passing Winnemucca and arriving in Oakland, I wanted to turn around.  How was I going to find a place to stay in the overly crowded, competitive rental market of the Bay Area?  How was I going to find any friends or a church?  How was I going to figure my way around and not get shot?  How was I going to make this new, seemingly hostile place home?

A day after we arrived in the Bay Area, Mom and I sat at a little café in Berkeley.  Berkeley--the den of inequity, protests, and bra burning that I had heard about growing up and still heard about on the news.  I glared about me at the happy young pedestrians gallivanting about in their hipster clothes and the middle-aged to elderly hippies who had never outgrown their Birkenstocks and long skirts.  I fumed.  I didn't understand them and didn't want to love them.  I was adrift.  The boundaries of Berkeley blend into Oakland, which is where I was to work and live.  In Oakland I was also uncomfortable.  The diversity was amazing but overwhelming.  The extreme poverty and wealth living side by side was breathtaking.  The streets were colorful but blighted.  Again I fumed.  Surely this was a mistake.  How was I to create a life here?

Soon, however, everything seemed to fall in to place.  At least I wasn't living in Winnemucca!  I found a place to live.  I learned that my new job was wonderful and better than I could have expected.  I discovered that most people were actually very friendly, if not a little strange (but aren't we all?)  It took a while, but I found a small, amazing fellowship of believers.  I found activities that interested me: ballet classes, Spanish lessons, tennis, hiking, libraries, restaurants, historical places… I made fascinating friends and became part of a wonderful community of believers.  Even Berkeley has started to win me over.

Six months from now, I don’t know what life and the world will hold.  But that’s more than alright!  It’s freeing to take daily steps of faith holding onto God’s hand, knowing that when big leaps of faith are called for, you may end up experiencing a life greater and more fulfilling than you could have planned on your own.

Saved for something

Over the past few months I have felt very content and happy, which somehow makes me not feel very content and happy. Why is it so hard to just be thankful for God's good gifts instead of thinking it must be a trap and that I'm doing something wrong?  Aren't so many people on earth suffering?  Shouldn't I?  Or at least shouldn't I be expending effort in trying to end the suffering of others?

Yes, I live in Oakland working directly to cut poverty in the Bay Area, but somehow it doesn't seem enough.  I can work to help families get food on the table or pay for a place to live, but then I am still faced with the broken lives and injustice that cannot be solved or put back together because of some money or programs. 

Peel back the intermingled layers of graffiti, grit, sunshine, and palm trees, and there are real humans impacted by their choices and the choices of others:

There's the man who gave his life trying to save another man from the path of an incoming Caltrain.  The 13 year old shot to death while walking home from the Boys and Girls Club.  The mother who lost two sons to gang violence within two weeks of each other.  The 17 year old killed by her younger brother in a dispute over laundry.  The young man kneeling at the entrance to the freeway surrounded by rubbish and broken glass, silently begging for some extra cash.  The pastor's wife who has just been robbed once again of her cellphone.  

There are residents who are outraged at the violence and senseless waste of life, but they are also resigned to thinking things will never change.  There are people who don't know they have the choice and power to want more in life than the poverty and crime that surrounds them.  Even those who have wealth and opportunities that stand in stark contrast to most of their fellow residents are yearning for something more:  Hope, meaning, direction, calm.   

Yes, I am very white, very educated, and from a very middle class background in the Midwest.  But I have not lived a sheltered life--at least my dear mother made sure I didn't.  I started reading the paper every day when I was 10, went to a public high school where I was a minority in every way, had African-American roommates in college on the East Coast, lived in an impoverished part of China, and have worked in public service for a few years now.  There are so many facets to ending poverty and inequality, but it seems like Jesus is so often removed from the equation.  From experience and witnessing the transformed lives of others, the catalyst has always been Jesus: Brokenness and hurt and sin colliding head on with love and mercy and holiness.

I think deep down I'm afraid of becoming too comfortable and complacent.  After my accident, I had to decide if I would truly recognize that my life is in God's hands.  Safety is just an illusion.  Safety is fleeting.  Or at least how the world defines safety.  I know I am as safe as safe can be, whether that is in the middle of China, Indiana, or California.  Even death can't tear me from the arms of Christ--the safest place to be.        

Our pastor recently said, "God never saves us from something without saving us FOR something."  I have been saved from my own sinful destruction for His glory.  But how do you live that out on a day-to-day basis?  In the post-modern, post-church Bay Area?  How do you not become paralyzed by all the need and emptiness?

I know there's a reason I am here, although I may not be able to know what it is yet.  Beside the occasional periods of sadness and fear, I also have a growing sense of love for this place that is becoming home-- the spirit of resilience, the incredible diversity, the authenticity of people you meet, and the countless Oaklanders working to end the poverty and conflict found in most cities that is only amplified in Oakland.  Last week, a couple of my girlfriends and I took the train south to the central CA city of San Luis Obispo.  In the hostel where we stayed, the mixture of Europeans and other Californians seemed in awe that we were from Oakland.  Yes, you definitely earn some street cred by living and working in Oakland, although I live in a relatively safer part of town than my friends.

Perhaps I was a little crazy moving to Oakland as someone who is recovering from PTSD.  But maybe this is exactly the place to heal, as I'm surrounded by people who are also in need of healing.  Hopefully years from now, I will be able to witness an economically vibrant, safer Oakland with flourishing churches, changed lives, and bright futures.  Until then, I will try to stay engaged and hopeful that I can also affect this city, even if it is only one step, one conversation, and one life at a time.

   

Limited Edition Holiday

Happy 2014!

I apologize for my lengthy absence from this blog.  It's difficult to have motivation to write when you feel like you're too busy, or you don't have anything necessarily worth writing about.  But with a new year, I have new resolve to continue blogging and processing through writing.

Currently I am wearily sitting in my Oakland apartment after work, which is getting hectic as tax season approaches.  Memories from the previous week's visit home to Kansas are still visible in my mind, however.

Each Christmas is always different, but amazing in its own way.  Last Christmas my Mom and Andrea came to visit me in Indiana, where we had a cozy little holiday.  This year, we all briefly convened in Topeka.  I left sunny, warm-ish, crowded, crazy Oakland for the little oasis of home on the range in the Midwest.  It snowed the day after I arrived and stuck around long enough for a white Christmas.  Our days were spent sledding, visiting friends, playing games, laughing until our sides ached, and eating.  Our evenings were spent hanging out, talking, laughing some more, and keeping warm by the fireplace.  

One afternoon I borrowed the car to drive to Lawrence.  I was a little teary-eyed from the beauty that surrounded me-- a kind of stark Midwestern beauty that is entirely different from the beauty of warmer northern California.  I wish I could have made the scenery into a postcard, but I'll just have to remember it in my mind.

For miles of open road there are mainly just a few farms scattered across the rolling plains.  Red barns, brave little farmhouses, rusty silos, and bales of hay were covered in several inches of soft white snow.  The sun shone meekly from a pure cornflower blue sky.  The 14 degree cold ensured that not a drop of snow melted from the trees or fields.  Harsh winters turn Kansas into a rather bleak and barren place, but somehow it is still one of the most gorgeous sights to me--in some ways more beautiful than national parks in the West, mountains in Bavaria, and jungles in southeast Asia.

Maybe there is something that endears you to home because of the people and memories you have left behind.  Maybe there is something that endears you to home because of your family and friends that will always accept you and love you and welcome you, regardless of how many years have passed.  Maybe there is something that endears you to home because it gives you a faint peek into what your heavenly home will be like some day: a place of love, belonging, and community that will never fade away.

To stay warm, I slept on the floor of Andrea's little bedroom, which is perfectly cozy and well-heated.  One of our last nights, I started to despair about leaving.  When you're tired, and it's past midnight, the thought of voluntarily returning to Oakland seems just a bit too daunting.  All my life I've bravely ventured to living all across the globe.  Perhaps my accident last year and realization of just how important family is to me has weakened my resolve to be brave.  For example, who in their right mind would trade home for the crime capital of the West Coast?  Christmas at home had been perfect, and I wanted it to go on forever.  As tiny tears threatened to slide my face, Andrea gently reminded me that it can't go on forever.  Just like the Russell Stover's chocolate boxes we were all fond of eating, this had been a special, Limited Edition time at home.  It was incredibly enjoyable, but couldn't last.  The magical kingdom of a Kansas Christmas would soon melt away.  We had to go back to our usual lives, while being thankful for the time we had together.

Now I'm back in the Bay Area, and of course I'm also happy and content here, but just in different ways.  Hope you are having a blessed New Year no matter where you may be--  whether you're close or far from home!     
        

The San Francisco skyline all decked out.

Silent, snowy night in Topeka.

Hung out with these fun kids most of my time home!

100 years!

I was going to write another blog post about poverty, but that can wait, because today is a celebration and I have a more interesting story to tell at the moment.... 

100 years ago in Tennessee, a beautiful little baby girl was born into the world who would shape the lives of everyone she ever interacted with or met.  This little girl grew up in a large family, lost both parents early on, worked as a secretary with the FBI to support her siblings, and was an all around classy and clever young woman.    

74 years ago, on her 26th birthday, this amazing woman married an equally good-looking man who loved her dearly.  Her husband went to war, survived the war, and returned to have a little family in Texas.  She raised this little family with grace and love, knowing that she walked steadily and confidently with Jesus.

Although she wasn't perfect and experienced much loss in her life, she only grew stronger and more beautiful with each passing year.  She had incredible, quiet, resilient faith that sustained her through each day.  She was not college educated, but was one of the smartest, most well-read people.  Dog-eared, penciled-in copies of the Bible, Chekhov, and Tolstoy never sat far from her, even up into her 90s.  She wrote poetry, regaled her family members and strangers with fascinating stories from her childhood in the South, and genuinely listened to others.  On the outside she was also elegant and put together--she and my grandfather played tennis every day until they were 88, and her hair was still quite dark even into her ninth decade.  She was not a flashy woman, but had a calm, quiet grace and joy that drew people to her like a magnet.    

5 years ago this gorgeous woman, inside and out, turned 95!  She was still extremely sharp, bright, funny, kind, and loving.  She had a small surgery on her birthday and then passed away a few days later after being in a coma, leaving nearly a century of love and light in her wake. 

This unique, amazing woman was my grandmother, Evelyn.  

When she died, I was living in the middle of China, thousands of miles away.  When I heard she was slipping away from this world, all I could do was crumple to the ground of my little bedroom, sobbing for hours.  Never before had I felt so sad and broken as one of my closest, dearest friends on earth was leaving us for the glory of heaven.  I had been blessed to live so close to her in Kansas most of my life, able to visit her several times a week throughout high school and during summers in college.

Oh, I just wanted to hold her thin, beautiful hand one more time.  Hug her one more time.  Laugh with her one more time.  Watch her smile delightedly one more time.  See her eyes sparkle with joy one more time.  Gain more words of wisdom from her one more time.  Listen to her captivating descriptions of birds and plants and nature one more time... Just. one. more. time.

I mourned.  I wanted to post a big portrait of her outside my apartment and blare somber funeral music for days like the Chinese grieving the loss of their loved ones.  I wanted to scream if one more Chinese friend told me to just keep smiling.  I wanted to be by her side like the rest of my family as she stepped into Jesus' presence.  

But then I remembered how it was her own sense of adventure, love for life and other people, never-ending perseverance, eternal optimism, and perpetual encouragement that helped bring me to China in the first place.  As I grew up she became one of my best friends--we could talk about anything and everything.  She was my champion, but she also graciously taught me that life actually didn't revolve around me, even if I was cute and talented.  My grandmother pointed me to something far greater than myself-- to Christ.  And she displayed how life was only worth living if lived for our neighbors, friends, family, and strangers.

So today I wish Grandma a happy 100th birthday!  Thank you, dearest Grandma, for being such an amazing example for all of us.  I look forward to hugging you and laughing with you again very soon in heaven!    

In closing, here is a link to the original letter I wrote to her 5 years ago.    

Today Andrea bought flowers in honor of Grandma on the East Coast, while I covered the West Coast!

Grandma's engagement picture. 

The happy couple.  

Her famous laugh.

 

The stellar tennis stars.

I miss them!