Finding Spiritual Growth When the Sun Shines

Even as I continue to plug through my transition, I realize that the concept of some of the greatest blessings coming about during hardship is not unique or new. I fact, I can say fully tongue-in-cheek that Christian songwriters have made millions of royalties on talking about the redemptive nature of brokenness. These are the songs that speak to us powerfully in the midst of our sadness, despair, trials and pain.

I recently met up with a good friend who had a gone through a exponentially greater life change than the one I'm going through right now, which included leaving the United States and becoming a missionary with his wife in a "closed" Middle Eastern country. As he graciously sympathized with the feeling of leaving a life of family and friends behind, I asked him how he processed some of his most difficult "What have I done, and what am I doing here?" moments. His answer included meditating upon some Scripture and rolling up in the fetal position while listening to certain songs over and over while weeping.

I can totally relate with that. He offered up Ginny Owens' "If You Want Me To", with lyrics such as:

So when the whole world turns against me
And I'm all by myself
And I can't hear you answer my cries for help
I'll remember the suffering that your love put you through
And I will walk through the darkness if you want me to

In the past week, God has not coincidentally placed into my path two songs which are similar in that message: Natalie Grant's "Held" and Laura Story's "Blessings", which muses:

What if my greatest disappointments
Or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy
And what if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are Your mercies in disguise

But if you ask me, the song which is on the pantheon of the "pain is spiritually redemptive Hall of Fame" and also importantly gives reminds us that our faithful response is to praise and bless God's name is "Blessed be Your Name" by Matt Redman, with the lyrics of:

Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name... 

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name

Now here's the thing that I find interesting. As mentioned in my earlier posts, I can look back at the hardest times of my life, and those also correspond with my times of greatest growth - the times that I've felt closest to the Lord.  If we assume that closeness with Christ is paramount, should I actually embrace, even pursue trial? Of course that sounds ridiculous, but I think part of the overall equation needs to includes how God is glorified in how He brings grace and blessing to His people. I think part of it is my own spiritual discipline in terms of drawing close to God (as opposed to complacent) during the good times. Note that in that same Matt Redman song the following lyrics:

Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where Your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be Your name 

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name

The point being that it doesn't need to be pain and difficulty which draw us closer. Notwithstanding C.S. Lewis' brilliant and completely accurate, "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world," I need to be better at hearing God as He whispers and speaks in the midst of plenty and happiness. Otherwise, I risk missing out on far too many lessons and experiences which also emphasize His goodness and faithfulness.

In the Whirlwind

It's been quite a two weeks, and much of what I wrote previously about jumping into the whirlwind has come to fruition. This isn't a good thing or bad thing, per se, but insomuch I had anticipated challenges associated with a major life change, I can safely say that they've been as advertised. The "unknown" can be scary and trying at times, but I still maintain that its within this crucible that there's incredible spiritual growth.

To me, one of the most difficult feelings to have is feeling alone. Now feeling alone is not the same as being alone physically. For example, I've always found it interesting that in New York City, it was actually really easy to feel alone and isolated in a city of eight million people. Why? Because ultimately, loneliness is an emotional state based on interpersonal connection, not on the number of people physically in close proximity to you. In fact, being surrounded by people who you have no relational connection with actually exacerbates feelings of loneliness.

Probably the hardest moment in the first two weeks was coming back from day one into a dark and empty apartment which hadn't yet been furnished. I had finished day one of my jam-packed executive orientation which left my head spinning and was at Wal-Mart (people have their issues with Wal-Mart, but I have to say that there's great convenience in a single store where you can buy a hair-dryer, silverware, an air mattress and groceries) picking up crates of items to make my unfurnished apartment habitable. I was a stranger in a new land and on my own, away from the comfort of family, extended family and friends - and also apart from the security and familiarity of a job and company which I knew like the back of my hand. And it was hard not to think, "What have I done?"

But while that general feeling and struggle continues to wax and wane, I do what Christians do in times of hardship - I clung to Jesus. A recent devotional from "Our Daily Bread" written by David Roper illustrated this very well:

After all these years, I still don’t fully understand prayer. It’s something of a mystery to me. But one thing I know: When we’re in desperate need, prayer springs naturally from our lips and from the deepest level of our hearts. 

When we’re frightened out of our wits, when we’re pushed beyond our limits, when we’re pulled out of our comfort zones, when our well-being is challenged and endangered, we reflexively and involuntarily resort to prayer. “Help, Lord!” is our natural cry.
Author Eugene Peterson wrote: “The language of prayer is forged in the crucible of trouble. When we can’t help ourselves and call for help, when we don’t like where we are and want out, when we don’t like who we are and want a change, we use primal language, and this language becomes the root language of prayer.” 

Prayer begins in trouble, and it continues because we’re always in trouble at some level. It requires no special preparation, no precise vocabulary, no appropriate posture. It springs from us in the face of necessity and, in time, becomes our habitual response to every issue—good and bad—we face in this life (Phil. 4:6).

This is pretty much what I was and am still currently experiencing, and while it somewhat hurts, it hurts good, sort of like the way an athlete feels after a hard workout or a match where they've left it all out on the court. Like I alluded to in my previous post before I began the journey, surrender has driven me to my knees and to pray unceasingly, over the phone with my wife, in the car on my way to and from work and sitting down in the gate area waiting for my planes.


But God is good - having an opportunity to fly back "home" (though it's getting harder to define what this actually is, but I'll define 'home' as the location of my wife and kids) and spend time with my loved ones was tremendously rejuvenating. I think what I'm going through has softened and sanded some edges in terms of not sweating the small stuff, and appreciating basic things like health and the company of the people I love. I've also realized that this period has given me renewed respect and appreciation for people who have undergone similar life changes but at a much more difficult level.

For example, it dawned upon me how difficult it must be for the brave men and women in our armed forces. Here are people who separate from family and depart to places halfway around the world, not merely halfway across the country. They go to new unfamiliar environs without the benefit of regular phone calls and emails and if their cost of "washing out" are far more dire than mine. If I this new job "ends badly", I get some inconvenience, professional pride wounded and a chunk of severance to figure out what to do next in my life and my next job. If armed forces individual in their new job "ends badly", they come home in casket.

I also have renewed respect for my parents and all immigrants who spent their life savings on a one-way ticket to the United States, moving to a land where they barely spoke the language with a hope to build a better life for their family. Let's just say that I'm very aware that my father didn't have the luxury of generous cash and stock sign-on bonuses, temporary housing and travel allowances when he left Taiwan for Canada with a single suitcase to study microbiology. He didn't have e-mail, Skype or unlimited mobile minutes.

I cite these not to trivialize what I'm going through, only to give due respect to those whose transitions are far more challenging than mine. My angst, stress and homesickness (for lack of a better word) is real, but God is here. And I am reminded that He's all that I need.

The Blessings of Seasons of Surrender

As I prepare for this next chapter of my life, there's sort of this lingering feeling of being out of control, sort of like a man who is falling out of an airplane hoping desperately that (1) he remembered to pack his parachute that morning and (2) that parachute actually works. Fear isn't quite the the word that I would use, but there's has been more than one occasion during the past couple of weeks that I've paused and wondered, "Am I crazy? What am I doing? Maybe I'll wake up and revert to the same (relatively) predictable routine and trajectory of my life. Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll hit Control-Z and things will go back to normal and all the stress and anxiety associated with the unknown will fade away."

Of course, there's a couple of false assumptions there. First of all, it presupposes that my former routine would be maintained without major bumps or twists and that the trajectory of life would be largely predictable and mostly blissful and easy. Also, it assumes that the stress and anxiety is warranted - or put another way, I have good reason to be fraught with stress and anxiety because my vocational, spiritual and relational life is going to be a miserable crucible.

It also fails to recognize the fact that a life out of one's own control and in God's hands instead is a really good thing.

As I look back at the times of greatest transition in my life, it's impossible for me not to see that these periods - while difficult - have also been time where I've clung to the Lord most fervently, and thus these also double as the periods where I have arguably spiritually grown the most. These can be coined "seasons of surrender", when I've realized - like that man airborne - that I'm totally in God's hands of love and mercy.

One of these seasons was right after I graduated from college and moved to suburban New Jersey to start my new job at a management consulting firm. I remember feeling pretty alone, missing friendships from my college fellowship and trying hard to cultivate friends at my new church. The pace and culture of my new job was a bit of a culture shock, and between overaggressive partners and fellow analysts whose social lives consisted of getting drunk and getting laid, I questioned whether I fit in. But over time I found my niche at work and at church and more importantly, my relationship with God was strengthened by a period where God had shown Himself faithful and gracious. I had written something in a journal back then which has always been something that I've shared with Christians in college who are about the enter the "real" working world, and it's something along the lines of this: "When you leave the safe confines of your Christian fellowship at college and are thrown into a new environment where you no longer have support structures such as daily devotional events and prayer partners down the hall of your dorm, you'll quickly find out how much you leaned upon Christian fellowship as opposed to leaning upon Christ. They're not the same thing."

I think seasons of surrender allow us to see things as they really are. For example, even though I might have been under the impression that life was "easy" over the past three years, I'm likely to falsely interpret this as my own mastery over my life, as opposed to God's grace. Or put another way, the routine in my life made me prone to being arrogant and prideful about how smart, capable and self-sufficient I was. Of course, my "self-sufficiency" was just an illusion. Like a toddler who is flown through the air in his father's arms, the toddler is not actively flying any more I have been deftly navigating through my own life.

So here comes another one. I commit myself and my family to God's glory and perfect plan. It's going to be exciting in a scary sort of way. It's going to scary in an exciting sort of way. It'll be an adventure, and I'll look forward to the the pains, joys, and closeness with Jesus that comes along with it.

The Stars at Night Are Big and Bright...

People who blog regularly tend to go dark for a handful of reasons, but almost all generally have to do with a major life circumstance which causes them to stop posting because they have neither the time nor inclination to write. Part of this might be motivated by a need for confidentiality, and part might be motivated by desire to process a major life event privately. My mini-sabbatical was driven by both factors.

So I'll just get to the point: My family and I will be moving from New Jersey to Houston, Texas. No, this is not a premature repeat of an April Fool's post, but rather a big-time life change which still currently stands before my family like a mountain to be scaled. And believe me, the path to even make this decision was fraught with spiritual and emotional turbulence, one which continually brings me to my knees in prayer - and I must remind myself that this is a good thing.

My work at my soon-to-be-former employer was going well enough. While broader career opportunities and challenges were lacking, I was well-respected and despite a continual cycle of contractions and downsizing within our company, I was deemed "safe" and worthy to receive lateral opportunities, including a recent move which provided me a role in the Corporate Strategy team. When I received a phone call from my future employer, I make it clear that I wasn't looking to move, but I would be "willing to have a conversation" with the recruiter (which is the common refrain of many headhunter candidates).

Before soon, a phone conversation led to "we'd like the hiring manager to interview you over the phone" which led to "we'd like to fly you down to Houston for a series of interviews" which led to "now, you do realize this job is in Houston; what do you and your wife think about relocating?" which led to the increasing realization that I was really close to getting this job.

And it wasn't as if I had let this process progress simply to stroke my ego and accumulate some free frequent flier and hotel points. I was legitimately interested in the opportunity and the company, but there was suddenly still this sense of "Wow, this is real - we really might move to Texas, and away from my parents, my brother, my friends, my church and a comfortable network within my current employer." And it became all the more real when they flew my wife and I down to Houston for a long "excursion" (sell) weekend and my wife could hardly contain her enthusiasm. The people we encountered with unfailingly kind and welcoming, the neighborhoods we visited were pristine and affordable, and the church that we visited were full of people who were bursting with grace and warmth. These were people, by the way, who before they even met us, spent hours on the phone with Sarah and me giving us advice and tips around neighborhoods and schools in the area. To my wife, she saw opportunity and an exciting new chapter.

Being the rationale and cautious one, I pointed out potential pitfalls. I was quick to acknowledge that "different" doesn't always mean "better". There's a lot about our current life that was enjoyable and good. Good church community? Check. Relatively comfortable job? Check. Family close by? Check. Could aspects of our life be better? Sure, it could, but to me, making a change was sort of like hitting on 14 in blackjack - maybe you could do better, but you could also bust. 

Probably the hardest part of the decision for me - and you can chalk my Taiwanese-American filial piety complex on this one - was the thought of moving away from my parents, both of whom are over 70. I couldn't shake the thought that the general Asian plan in life is to move closer to your parents as they get older and require more assistance, and here I was, trading a 20 minute drive for a four-hour flight. What sort of irreverent and ungrateful son was I? 

And I was also plagued with fear of failure. What if I completely washed out? What if every decision I made in my new senior position proved disastrous? What if I flubbed the cultural component in the new organization so poorly that I managed to alienate my boss, my peers and my subordinates within the first six months? What if my new employer completely missed the mark and overestimated my abilities? And I woke up one day and I realized that I traded a comfortable job which paid me well for a better pay, an impressive title and a job which made my absolutely miserable to the point that my angst seeped in my family life?

By the time we returned to New Jersey, I was a wreck. The only thing that I was reasonably sure about was (1) I was going to get an offer and (2) Sarah and the kids were ready to go if I was willing to pull the trigger. The decision weighed on my like a sack of bricks. The good news is that there was plenty of time to process. The bad news was that the extended time would lead to analysis paralysis and mental gymnastic marathons which would emotionally exhaust me without bringing me any closer to a decision.

In God's providence, this was also the year that I was to attend the Urbana missions conference as an exhibitor for Synergy.Ministries, a non-profit "business as missions" organization on which I sit on the board. The last time that I had attended Urbana was three years earlier in 2009, when interestingly, I was also at a potential career crossroads. At that time, I was in the process of trying to work out a secondment in the United Kingdom while simultaneously selling our house. In a nutshell, what ended up happening the secondment to the UK fell apart, but God provided us another house in NJ and my career continued on quite well after that. 

I had committed myself use the five days at Urbana to seek's God's will specifically in terms of this potential move, and I prayed constantly that God would reveal Himself through the talks, conversations and interactions I had during the course of the conference. Interestingly, as I took my place at the Synergy exhibitor's booth just hours after landing in St. Louis, the first extended conversation I had was with a young man from MIT who was going to be joining a Big Four accounting firm in the fall. We exchanged some talk about our organization and then I asked him, "So where are you from?" to which he answered, "Houston... actually I grew up in Sugar Land (which happens to be the suburban area which my wife and I are focusing on)". Of course, the rest of the conversation was comprised of me peppering him with questions about the Clements High School he attended and how he enjoyed growing up there (he enjoyed it a great deal).

Later on that evening, the 20,000 or so Urbana attendees were herded like cattle to eat dinner, leading us to sit at tables with a random collection of students, exhibitors and staff. I led introductions around the table, and what do you know? Across the table were three young ladies from UT-Austin and the third girl shared that she was from Houston... specifically from Sugar Land where she lived in the Greatwood section. 

Some people might call that just random. But given the global geographical diversity of the 20,000 or so Urbana attendees, to have two interactions with Sugar Land residents within the first three hours of the conference, I'm inclined to believe that God revealed something there.

Urbana always has terrific speakers and great worship, and 2012 was no different. David Platt delivered a great talk that essentially mirrored his book "Radical", which for me reminded me that the Christian life is not intended, and has never been intended, to be comfortable. This talk, along with many other conversations and prayers with people and old friends at the conference drove me to the conclusion that two of my biggest idols are comfort and self-sufficiency. Furthermore, during times where I received prayer (and I received prayer at the exhibitor's prayer room every day I was at Urbana in these spiritually draining but really good intercession sessions), this is basically what I felt the Lord was telling me:

• "Don't be afraid."
• "You should stay in New Jersey if I'm calling you to stay in New Jersey. That's a good reason to stay. You should not stay in New Jersey because you're afraid. That's not a good reason to stay."
• "I don't promise you success. I don't promise you comfort. I promise to be with you and to draw you close, and that is all you and your family needs."
• "Go. I am with you." 

So even with all of this, I returned to New Jersey with a much clearer sense of calling, but not without it's share of angst still remaining. The biggest remaining domino fell when I called my mother shortly after I got back. My beloved mom, who was probably the most vocal in her discouragement and sadness in regards to her youngest son, daughter-in-law and three grandchildren moving 1600 miles away said this: "Michael, I think maybe this is a good opportunity for you. You should go if this is the right thing for you." At the risk of appearing unmanly, I fully admit that I didn't want my mom to hear me choking up over the phone when I thanked her for being so supportive.

So there it is. We're Houston-bound. My colleagues at my soon-to-be-former company have been tremendously affirming and encouraging. Our friends in the area, including folks from our two recent church homes, have been abundant in their love and support  offering prayers, advice and help along the way as we begin this journey. 

Thanks for your prayers. More on this (or far less weighty stuff) to come.

Considering Christmas

Christmas and I have had a funny relationship. In my childhood, my view on Christmas was pretty much summed up by one word: loot. The classic movie "A Christmas Story" summed it up well: "Lovely, glorious, beautiful, Christmas, around which the entire kid-year revolved." Why? Well, it's pretty simple, actually. Without any sort of spending power, this was the one time of the year where a young Asian kid who wanted a Nerf football, model rocketry kit, slot car racing set, Transformers, G.I. Joe vehicles, or radio-controlled vehicles could pretty much stand up and demand that his wishes were satisfied. I was a kid who had run the diligently run the gauntlet of Asian tiger parenting and it was the day for me to collect.

As I grew older and started to become financially independent, the receiving of gifts became less important, as I had mentioned in a previous blog. Anything that I materially wanted I could purchase for myself whenever I wanted to, so there was an increased component of Christmas being "about giving", the overwhelming portion of it well-intentioned, but some of it surely tainted by a desire to prove my generosity and flaunt my new-found wealth, as well as a tinge of wanting to influence people or have people think well of me.

As an adult, Christmas now has largely been specialized as being "about the children". My wife and I try to make the holiday enjoyable for our children by keeping some of the basic traditions and providing them some gifts to demonstrate the love of Christ, though I suspect that the theological weightiness of the holiday is often lost on them as they rip through wrapping paper to get to their ant farms, dresses, games and toys. This too is well-intentioned - we love our children and want them to experience great happiness and joy in the holiday, as a glimpse and shadow of the Gift that the Father has given us through Jesus Christ.

But if I'm honest with myself, I sense that Christmas for me has evolved into this holiday of "giving", which is just fine if you check this against most things you'll find on the Hallmark Channel or greeting cards. The thing is, it's really not. What I mean is that Christmas isn't about this generic sense of "giving" and a warm and fuzzy "let's be giving and kind to each other!" - even though this in itself is a good thing. It's about the Incarnation, about Christ coming as a human child as a requisite part of the redemptive plan to save sinners in need of a Savior. The Incarnation itself is mind-blowing: the Divine becoming flesh. Without the incarnation, there is no ministry on earth to teach, comfort and guide us. Without the incarnation, there is no crucifixion, resurrection or redemption. It may sound pious to poo-poo the meaning of Christmas in comparison to holidays such as Good Friday or Easter, but it's also misdirected.

A pastor said in a recent sermon I heard, part of the Christmas theme is "God makes room." What I take from that is God actively and mightily intervenes in this world, in love and justice. And the Incarnation, more so than any ways He intercedes in my life, work, family and relationships is the greatest manifestation of this intervention. The coming of Christ isn't a footnote in redemptive history, it's a cornerstone.

My intention here is not to be a Scrooge about this or be the least bit legalistic (e.g. "Let's all burn the gifts and toys and spend the day in fasting, meditation and prayer!") It's more of a challenge to myself that Christmas doesn't have to be just for kids. There's plenty here to celebrate in joy and wonder, if I would just be better about making room in my own heart and mind to do so.

Relationally Impaired

"We live in a society of social networks, with Twitter pages and Facebook, and that’s fine, but we have contact with our work associates, our family, our friends, and it seems like half the time we are more preoccupied with our phone and other things going on instead of the actual relationships that we have right in front of us."

This insightful and thoughtful comment didn't come out of the mouth of Oprah Winfrey, Dr. Phil or President Obama. It wasn't from Rick Warren, the Dalai Lama or Bono. It was from a journeyman (less gracious football fans would say "washout") quarterback Brady Quinn of the Kansas City Chiefs, who spoke emotionally after a game played in the shadow of the tragic murder-suicide of teammate Jovan Belcher, who killed himself in front of a coach and member of the front office.

It's a remarkably insightful and timely observation from an athlete who wondered aloud whether he could have done something differently. "When you ask someone how they are doing," Quinn shared, "Do you really mean it? When you answer someone back how you are doing, are you really telling the truth?"

We've become a people who are increasingly relationally impaired. We find conversations uncomfortable because hate the real-time nature of listening and response and can't get over the "inefficiency" of talking to one person at a time. The bottom line is that we've become galactically lazy. It takes time and effort to give someone your undivided attention and have a conversation with someone. It's much more time efficient to post your status on Twitter and Facebook and read about others' in the same way. But this "efficiency" comes at a price - how much love and compassion can you really feel when there's no cost or investment involved?

Yes, I get the irony that this a blog post, one which has been syndicated on a Twitter feed and Facebook. And I take the prophetic warning that there is a real danger when our preoccupations with communication through our phones and gadgets outweigh the value that we place in the relationships we supposedly treasure.

Real World Devotionals

Every night, my wife or I read a devotional to my daughter from a book called "My ABC Bible Verses: Hiding God's Word in Little Hearts". It's a decent devotional book which is age appropriate for my five-year old, which provides faith lessons by providing a glimpse into the life of Bill and Missy, two Christian youngsters who are just trying to find their way like the rest of us. There's a passage or verse of Scripture which provides the core of the lesson, and there are even a few debrief questions to boot.

The thing is, we've read through this book around five times over, so sometimes when I'm tired and little bored in the evening, I decide to spice things up a little and take some liberties with the original text. Here's the original:

Missy and her friend Janet were playing with Missy's dolls. Janet said, "Let's put the dolls in the bathtub."
Missy said, "Oh no, Mom told me never to put these dolls in the water."
Janet became angry. "Missy," she said, "I'm going home if you won't give the dolls a bath! I'm not going to be your friend anymore!"
Before Missy learned Proverbs 15:1, she would have said, "Well, you just go home. I don't want to be your friend either." But Missy remembered "A soft answer turns away wrath." Then she said to Janet, "I'm sorry. I want you to be my friend, but I can't disobey my mom."
Janet was angrily stomping out the door, but when she heard Missy speak so sweetly, she turned around and smiled. "Oh Missy, I'm sorry. You're my best friend. It was wrong for me to ask you to disobey your mom."

Here's my version:

Missy and her friend Janet were playing with Missy's dolls. Janet said, "Let's put the dolls in the bathtub."
Missy said, "No."
Janet became angry. "Missy," she said, "Don't be such a poopy-head. If you don't put your doll in the water right now, I'm going to punch you in the face."

 (Sophia usually interjects, "That's not what it says.")

... and then since Missy forgot Proverbs 15:1, she said, "Go ahead and leave, Janet. Your breath smells and I know taekwondo so I'll just beat you up. And your dolls are ugly, just like you."

  (Sophia now usually really starts getting irritated, "Daddy, read it the right way!")

Then Janet ran out crying and Missy laughed. And then Missy's mom ran in and spanked her because she was so mean to Janet.

   (Sophia screaming, "Daddy, stop it!")

All right, it's probably not ideal for me to take so many liberties with these devotionals. In my defense, I always tie it up at the end and provide some sort of biblical redemptive lesson at the end of it. The way that I see it, life is not always simple and every scenario my kids are going to encounter is not always going to fit like a glove into the 26 stories that are in the book, so there's probably some benefit of providing some variations to keep the bases covered. Real life is messy that way.

And it make our bedtime stories a little more interesting. Well, at least for me.