Fieryhalo

I’m sitting in a 12th story room overlooking a harbor in the New Territories just north of Hong Kong Island. I have a mug of hot coffee in my hand with Psalm 1:1-3 elegantly scrawled into the ceramic across the side.  I can’t help thinking how appropriate that passage is at the moment. I have a pile of writing to do with a couple big deadlines for tomorrow but I’m blogging because I kinda needed the break just now.  I’m so silly, aren’t I? This isn’t exactly a break from writing.

This musical I’m working on is going to be such a powerful tool for the churches of the world and not because of anything we’re doing to make it happen. God is truly awesome. The music my family has shared in Asia and the U.S. will have an even further reach as believers worldwide sing and act out a message of hope and healing for their broken relationships. It’s the root of everything my life has always been about (just like that passage in Psalms 1).  The upside of this musical is that I get to meditate on the gospel message of this story for most of my days and have meetings with precious friends here as we work together for this goal. The downside is: I miss my family… a lot.

It’s actually pretty funny… this downside. You know tragedy and comedy can usually be very similar depending upon your perspective. It became obvious to me when I was sitting in the terminal at the San Francisco airport waiting for my flight to Tokyo. It had only been a few hours since I’d said goodbye to my family. First of all, it certainly should’ve taken me longer to feel those “I-miss-my-family” pangs. Secondly, you’d think that when I began to really feel the loss it would make me want to cry.  In fact, the opposite was true. I couldn’t help laughing! I was suddenly struck by the red electronic marquee over the check-in counter by the door.  It read:

UA 853

Narita

Boarding at 12:49 PM

Duty Free P/U inside

The last line of the marquee suddenly gave me the strangest idea that maybe I didn’t want to go inside after all.  I shook my head and stifled giggles as I imagined the jokes and laughter of Brent, Bryson, and my dad specifically.  If the girl behind that counter hadn’t been foreign, I’d have been itching to go up and ask her where the P-U came from if it was duty free. I mean really… if they’re taking such pains to warn us about the P-U, you’d think they’d also want to explain where it was coming from and at least apologize! I had a flight attendant friend later tell me what a strange brain I have and that P/U actually stands for “pick-up”.

Can you believe this actually made me think of my family? I think the main reason is because they are some of the only people on the planet that understand my love for funky double-meanings and marquee humor.  The other reason was that there was no one to share my laughter.  Even if someone else doesn’t personally think a thing is that funny, if they care about you, they usually just enjoy the light-hearted glow of the moment.  When you’re alone, you miss the reflected or, in the case of my family, exponentially multiplied glow.

They aren’t the only ones I’m missing right now either.  Speaking of exponentially multiplied glow… I know I promised a couple amazing people I’d be blogging about time spent in San Jose right away (I’ve had more hits on this blog in the past week than I’ve ever had since I started it…so cool)… you guys rocked my world last week in a BIG way. So I’d just like to say, please be patient with me; it’s definitely coming soon.  My focus here, for the time being, is very preoccupied with two thoughts: family and music.

Even still, I hope you know I love you all dearly. You are my heart. I will try to post again soon.

The word is… Hong Kong is now on my immediate itinerary. Instead of flying home with the rest of my family next week as I originally planned, I’m flying directly from California to China. That was a surprise. I wasn’t expecting this at all… evident by the fact that I packed nothing more than a lightweight carry-on for the previously planned 15 day trip to Cali. Flip-flops, t-shirts, and my laptop was all I thought I needed. What a life.

As a side note tribute to the coolness of California, we stopped for Baby Blues in Venice just two days ago. It was my dad’s special request. If you ever watch Food Network like I do, Guy from Diners, Drive-ins and Dives reviewed this place last year. His enthusiastic recommendation is still written in black sharpie on their wall by the door. The place was even better than I’d expected. The music and atmosphere was amazing and our waitress, Kasey (in the Miller cap in the picture on the left) had a personality as big as the Texas beef ribs she brought to our table. It was true soul food. I agree with Guy. If you’re visiting L.A. and you want an all-out experience instead of just a meal, Baby Blues rocks.

Isn’t God awesome? It’s amazing to me how many things I’d planned for this year that have nothing to do with what I’m involved in now. This Hong Kong musical fell from the sky and will be a powerful tool for evangelism in China, India, Indonesia, Malaysia, Korea, Singapore, and the U.S. because it’s all about family issues (everything from divorce and unfaithfulness in marriage to teen purity and homosexuality). It’s one thing to know the truth from having heard it spoken; it’s another thing to experience and understand it by living vicariously through a cast of likable characters.

The more time I spend writing for this musical among other things, the more I think about how important each word is. How many times do we hear God described as “The Word”?  This always sticks out to a language/communication guru like me.  There’s so much emphasis on reading your Bible (aka The Word) in Christianity, it almost feels like you should be ashamed if you don’t set aside your mandatory fifteen minutes a day.  If you truly received a God blessed “guiltless” life of total freedom in Jesus Christ, why does it matter whether we read a book or not?

There’s something to this. It’s a miraculous concept to think of someone limitless like God in terms of something so limited as language.  How do you define the Almighty Creator of… well… everything using limited sounds made by limited beings?  The idea blows our minds because we simply can’t think that big.

“The Word became flesh”… “and the Word WAS God”… “my Words will never pass away”

If the Word WAS God and the Word became flesh in the form of Jesus Christ (not to mention the creation of the ENTIRE physical world <Gen. 1 “And God said…”>), how much importance should we place on our words?  We were made in God’s image. He was and IS the Word. So what does that say about us?

We ARE our words.

I’m writing from a friend’s house in Pasadena, California (at 3 o’clock in the morning no less). I’ve been really busy here but I love California. The past few days have been precious reminders that differences shouldn’t separate people.  Does this have anything to do with liberal all-inclusiveness, you ask?  Sorry but no. I’m NOT talking about different beliefs here. I’m talking about differences in life experiences, culture, and gifts.

If we’re willing to be open toward people who don’t come from the same background and endure a little temporary discomfort, it’s amazing how many incredible resources we find in other believers of Jesus Christ.  It’s that “different but united” partnership that made the most powerful impact on Vietnam this past year when my family got together with Vietnamese Christian leaders and saw 20,000 first time decisions for Jesus Christ at Christmas. If you want to see the pictures you’ll find them here.  CBN also broadcast the events and posted them online here.

Following what we saw in December, even though it’s several months later, this trip to Cali is the after party.  We’re hanging out with Vietnamese and Chinese friends until later this month.  We even spoke and sang at a seminary convocation for a few Vietnamese friends today.

My family is the same in the United States as we are in Asian countries, we sing the same songs, share the same message, and our God is the same all-powerful, miracle-working God.  Even still, only a few hundred or thousand show up for meetings in the United States, contrasted to the over 40,000+ that show up in Vietnam.  After having spent so much time with native Asians, I can hardly imagine how Americans are missing so much.  Asians are the ones casting vision; they’re the ones spreading the word like wildfire and inspiring other believers to get involved. It’s not because my family is full of somebodies or because we were good at networking and promoting (in fact, my family didn’t know a single Vietnamese soul until 9 months ago when my mom and I touched down in Saigon last August); it’s all because of that promise in II Chronicles 7 that says

“if my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven…”

Note, God didn’t specify skin color or background in there. His people are a nationality all their own, set apart, without racial, socioeconomic, or even denominational lines (as human beings, we draw those, unfortunately).

It’s ironic how overwhelmed, uncomfortable, and totally happy a person can be all at once. There’s so much I don’t understand about the cultures I’m surrounded by and I feel like a blundering idiot most of the time but I enjoy being with the people. There’s so much love in the attempt to understand each other on both sides that the attempt is all that matters. Who cares about the differences in race, background, or language? It’s humbling. Especially in moments like this evening when an 11-year old Vietnamese girl named Christyna just held me and cried as she said, “I want to grow up to be just like you” or when a 21 year old guy named Luong told my dad he believed our family was “God’s gift to the Vietnamese people.”

If your life is iCentered, I hope you’ll consider how small a life that is.  Your world becomes so much more full and exciting when your time, resources, gifts, and plans are given away just for the privilege of serving.

I’ll keep you posted from L.A. in a few days! Hope you have an amazing week.

She was chasing her dream on a ship in the Atlantic.  The sun was beating down on metal and flesh and reflecting off the crystal waves.  Jo wanted to push the sweat-drenched strands of hair from her eyes but fought the urge for the twentieth time as she stood perfectly erect, hands stiff at her side, on the wide, sun-drenched deck.  Every muscle in her body pulsed in time with the rhythm of her heartbeat, the pain of each throb a mere tickle of what she would soon face.  All of it seemed minimal compared to the overwhelming sense of honor she felt in having secured her place to serve.

The echo of remembered words of wisdom came to her again, “to do what is just and right is more acceptable to God than sacrifice,” her favorite author had said. It wasn’t arrogance or anger but innocent hope that prompted the aspirations she pursued. “How about accomplishing all three in one lifetime?” she used to whisper to herself.

Now the weight of the words came screaming clear as she stared at the first obstacle she would have to overcome.  He was enormous, menacing, and looked as if he could crush her with his bare hands.

Her entire life had come down to this moment, this precursor to a bright or dismal future.  Like David in the shadow of the giant, she was a child standing in a strength beyond her, fighting only because somewhere in her heart she knew it was right.  In a few passing seconds, she watched childhood memories and the faces of family and friends pass before her eyes, each picture a poignant reminder of why she was here; her love for them was stronger than she was.  This was all the more evident in the slight tremble of her limbs.

The brooding titan was deliberate in his step as he passed five of her comrades lined up on her left.  Each man stood like a stone statue staring ahead, hard and unmoved, a tribute to American strength.  As his foot fell in front of her, he stopped abruptly and turned until she could see the cold fire in his eyes.

She unconsciously caught her breath but stood erect, head held high as his breath hit her face like a puff of arid sulfur that made her skin crawl.  He glared down at her, daring her to look him in the eye as she rigidly fixed her gaze ahead at the flag rippling red, white, and blue on the port bow.  Metal met metal in the ensuing seconds; it was a silent struggle of intimidation and will as he towered over her for what seemed an eternity.  Terrified deep down but unflinching in stance, she bent her attention on everything she was standing for and all she held dear until at last, he relented.

“Glad to have you aboard, Private,” he shouted.

She could not hold back a slight grin that escaped her lips as she rigidly raised her hand to her head in salute.

“Sir!  Thank you, sir!” she shouted in response.

______________________________________

For the sacrifices they’ve made, thank you to the military men and women who faithfully serve the United States of America.  May it be mutual as we honor with our lives the freedom you’ve secured for us.  We could never repay what we owe.

________________________________________

My challenge to you this week: give up for at least 7 days something you know men and women in uniform don’t have while they’re on duty… something that would be a sacrifice for you (aka. something you’re not already living without most days).  If you can’t easily think of something, find a service man or woman; ask them what they don’t have access to while they’re serving.  It may even be a kind of food you love (it’s gotta be hard to find a burger in Kazakhstan).  Whatever you choose to give up, tell a friend and have them keep you accountable.  A taste of faithful sacrifice for a week will bless your life.  It’ll be hard but I’ll be giving up TV and movies until next week.  Please hold me to it!

In honor of their sacrifice and service…

_______________________________

“No, I insist on paying you for it. I will not sacrifice to the Lord my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing.” – 2 Samuel 24:24

Recital’s tonight and I’m somewhere else.  I cleaned my black dress, picked out the perfect jewelry, and went to rehearse at the hall where the recital is going to be held.  I’ve gone through all the motions and emotions necessary to prepare for this event but my head is who-knows-where.  And that isn’t all that’s gone AWOL; while I was trying to rehearse yesterday I found that my leg took on a life of it’s own.  It was bouncing against the sustain pedal as if it belonged to someone else and was only just attached to me.

My leg: “yeah… I don’t really know her… I’m just, you know, bored… hanging out.”

One could say it’s nerves but then I sing in front of thousands of people!  I used to comfortably play the familiar grand piano on the stage of the campus chapel to thousands of college students with my band just a few years ago.  There’s no logical reason for the disconnect today.

Maybe it has to do with the kind of music.  I love classical music and some of the moody, dramatic performance pieces I get to play but the energy isn’t the same. There’s no place to put all the force of your feelings except into your fingertips. If only there was a way to combine the old composers and heavy metal on the piano.  Without a band, I don’t think that’ll fly but I can dream.

I made a discovery. This girl embodies the musical attitude I love. Her name is Orianthi.  If any 24 year old could even deign to touch the hem of Santana’s poncho, she would.  Her guitar solo in this video gives me chills.

I will always appreciate the piano for its strong, stable foundation but alas, I may always be in-love with a less predictable, more overpowering instrument.

You never know what a day holds, even if it seems perfectly normal. Usually, one will think about a million thoughts while going through the dailies; some of those thoughts pertain to the mundane, others pertain to future hopes and dreams, and still others are about the people you know or once knew.  It’s in the moments when a person comes to mind that you just pray for them – at least that’s what I was told by my mom when I was little. I like to take my mom’s advice if I can.

So I did that again today when a person came to mind that I hadn’t seen or spoken with in a very long time. I’ve not been a part of his life for over a year so the thought was truly bizarre and out of the blue.  It also happened today, as it sometimes does, I felt like I needed to give him a call or write him an email just to let him know I was praying (mind you, I like to do this with girlfriends more often; I’m usually really careful with guys – they like to read into things, you know?).  Several times in recent years it’s happened that I’ve accidentally called or written someone at a crucial time.  My friends call it “heavy-duty intuition” or “ESP” because I’ve known things I shouldn’t. Today, however, I was wishing my timing was NOT so good.  It left me in tears.

My friend’s mom died of cancer a couple days ago and the funeral was yesterday. There was no way I could’ve known. He’s only 20 and has three younger siblings; his dad has been a pastor but I don’t know what their family is going to do next.  I offered whatever encouragement I could and later went on a hunt around the house for my mom to give her a hug and tell her how thankful I am for her.

Blogging is usually not a deeply personal pastime for me but I’m deviating for once. Today is one time I was not happy about this strike-without-warning-inside-track gift. I can be extremely grateful, however, for the reminder I received about love, loss, and family.  Every day with the ones we love is a gift. Families tend to be a dysfunctional, disconnected, ornery mess but I hope after you’ve read this you’ll find one of your parents and give them a hug.  You never know what it’s like to lose a family member until they’re gone.

Like it or not, you were different from day one.  You got your dad’s eyes and your mom’s nose and we won’t even ask about the rest.  We all think that’s no big deal; it’s just who you are.  However, like any other obvious characteristic you were born with (or without), you have to either choose to embrace it or try to change it.  There are no other options.

Every day I see people who have decided they don’t like what they were born with.  Whether it’s a wanna-be blonde with brunette roots or a porcelain doll with a bottled tan, we try so hard to be something we’re not because we think it’s better than what we are.

Last year, I was talking to a friend about his experiences in life. His parents were in ministry, he’d smuggled Bibles into Tibet with his dad, and he loved praise and worship music like he loved breathing. His life looked like a clean, beautiful expression of love for the Lord.  One day he sent me a picture. The Hebrew symbols he’d sketched were really cool looking but when he told me they were for a tattoo, I was surprised.  In some ways, it seemed perfectly consistent with the person I knew him to be but, in another way, it seemed like he was trying to be something he wasn’t.

My friend, like anyone I’ve talked to who has or wants a tattoo, felt a passionate, artistic urge to make a meaningful statement for the world to see. The concept seems sound and even praiseworthy.  I understand making a statement or even a few of them; I do it every day physically and verbally (and, from what he told me, my friend did the same).  So why would anyone who is already making a statement with their words and actions feel so strongly about making a statement with a tattoo? This isn’t a question of generational ethics and perceptions (as some people believe it to be), it’s just a question of logic.  Scripture doesn’t explicitly state that this is wrong, unless you consider it self-mutilation. But, aside from that, in our personal drive for artistic expression, do we even question if we’re scribbling over God’s artwork? What about the statement HE’s already made with our bodies? Our lives, what we choose to say and do every day, are our canvas. Our bodies and all of nature is God’s.

That’s a new thought, isn’t it? Your body belongs to you but it’s a gift.  It’s like Leonardo DaVinci himself gave you the Mona Lisa.  You are the owner of the only copy in existence, a priceless artifact handed to you by the artist himself.  Most of us don’t think of ourselves this way, of course. There are millions of other priceless paintings walking around. You’d think this would decrease the value (or maybe we just wish it would) but then why do we feel like we’re being pulled and pushed around all the time? It’s like a freakin tug-o-war and all we want to do is silence the voices trying to tell us who we are, who we’re not, and what we’re supposed to be.

Heaven and hell are still fighting over what we have, Heaven to redeem the value and hell to destroy it. If you think this is ridiculous, just look at how much stuff you’re encouraged to do to your body. Every advertisement wants you to fill it to obesity, starve it, stick it, cut it, pull it, hang it, hump it, pump it with drugs, drown it with chemicals, and the list goes on.  And we think there’s no war?  I’d argue that the greatest wars in this world aren’t fought with weapons and they have nothing to do with the possession of property or monetary wealth. Propaganda is powerful. It’s a battle for your mind because the only person who can truly devalue your work of art is you. So often we’re weak-willed; we’ll believe just about anything if we hear it enough.

So, what do we do? We bury ourselves in the truth so we won’t believe a lie.

I plead with you to give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice—the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him. Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.