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.