A Prayer in Departing

For Friends and Family in the US,

God, I thank you for these individuals and communities that have been instrumental in the shaping of the journey thus far.  I cherish the life shared; the times of fear and times of hope; the times of laughter and the times of pain; the times of serious contemplation and the times of not-so-serious conversation; and of course, all the profound times of seemingly nothingness.  It pains me to leave.  But God, I look forward to seeing how you will continue to be present in their lives.  Grant that each every person be increasingly aware of your presence each day and drawn to your nearness in every moment.  God, bring courage in great temptation, peace in overwhelming circumstances, joy in the mundane process, and hope for the glory that is and is to come.  Let them to respond to you daily in wholehearted surrender, together living into the greater narrative of hope and redemption.   

For the SERVANTS Team that I Join, 

Lord, thank you for this team that goes well ahead of me.  Thank you for their wisdom, their guidance and prayers, and their diligence in living with people and in places forgotten.  God, guide them in the decisions that they make daily.  Give them grace in communicating with one another, as well as strength and rest in loving their communities well.  Sustain them Lord, in you.       

For Cambodia, 

Lord, you know Cambodia's history well.  You know the unthinkable horrors of the civil war, and its effects on the country today.  But somehow, the consequences in the aftermath of the Pol Pot Regime, can not even stand against your story of hope and redemption.  Continue to guide Cambodia, Lord, in it's dire political, economic, and environmental condition.  Be near to the Cambodians living in poverty, slavery, and sickness.       

And finally, for My Transition into the Next 6 Months, 

God, I confess that I am afraid of what I do not know, and what I can not control.  I cling desperately to the assurance that you go before me and you are always with me.  You know my every fear as well as my every hope.  God, seemingly now more than ever, I need you to show me how to hold things loosely.  And I need you to remind me again and again and again in the immediate transition.  Would heat, mosquitoes, and a language barrier be secondary to awareness and gratitude of your presence with me.  In every temptation for me to think only of my own discomfort, Lord, I ask that you would show me how to worship.  And that you would give me an ever-increasing love for the people and communities around me.  Open my eyes, God, to know your story in the days ahead in Cambodia

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;

Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art

Thou my best Thought, by day or by night,

Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.  

Love, 

Hanna   

Worth the Fight

The other day, I take the initiative to follow my grandma into the backyard.  The backyard is a rare venture for me.  It is engraved in my mind as the dog-poop "minefield" where my golden retriever used to do his business.  Back then, my mom liked to joke that if Fuzzy's poop and fur were made of gold, we would have it made.  This made cleaning after him a more pleasant experience for all of us.  Though it has been a year almost to the date since he passed, I still walk across the grass conscientious of hidden treasure, simply out of habit.

Curiosity is the motivating factor for following my A Ma into the backyard this time.  Through middle and high school, my parents often talked excitedly about this-or-that tree they had planted.  Sometimes, I wondered if they were overly ambitious in their endeavors.  I am not sure whether the concept of apple-pear trees or orange-lemon trees is common knowledge, but joining one kind of branch to another to create hybrid fruits is still news to me.  Nonetheless, any initial excitement I shared with my parents for their new-found interest was lost as my middle-school self lost patience in the process.  The fruit was slow in coming, and the ones that formed were first snatched by birds.  Unfortunately, our family did not stick around long enough in New Jersey to see our apple-pear endeavor to fruition anyways.  Two or three years after our young fruit trees were planted, we left them in rainy New Jersey for hot and humid Texas in Summer 2006.  I still remember hoping that the next owner would appreciate the special fruit trees we left them.

                   ---

Passion Fruit vine

"So.... A Ma... what is this?"
I ask my grandma.


"That is Passion fruit," A Ma responds. 

 

Pause.

I am confused.  I stare at the passion fruit-looking substance.  This could not possibly exist in my backyard.  In my mind, this childhood favorite of mine only exists in the street markets of Taiwan or in the occasional grocery store for expensive prices, in which case it does not exist at all, in my world of learned frugality.  Where did this come from?  Somewhere along my seven years in Texas, I missed something.  I wanted to believe that the fruit tree one day came to existence in my backyard, that it was bought just like that not too long ago.   I needed to justify not knowing that this vine existed in the backyard.  But the vines tangled intricately around the sedentary poles showed me a different reality.

Passion Fruit flower

My A Ma's mysterious disappearances into the backyard for extended periods of time each day were beginning to stick out in my mind.   Standing next to me, she points out the passion fruit flower, one of her favorites.  It is different from any flower that I have ever seen, and it is simply magnificent.

I look over at my grandma, so small in her 4' 10" stature, yet so towering in spirit.  I make my way around the 30 sq.ft. yard with her, attentive as she tends to each plant, specifically and carefully.  She examines the leaves of each plant, stalk, and area around it.  It is obvious that she knows the garden well, telling me about each plant by name alongside their characteristics, taking me to their places in the garden.  My A Ma distinguishes one plant from another with ease.  Meanwhile, I struggle to differentiate whether I am looking at a bush or a tree.

"Haa-naa, look.  These weeds have grown quickly around these tomatoes again.  I pulled them all out  just two weeks ago," A Ma says, shaking her head in disapproval.  I look at the weeds that have grown surrounding the plants and covering the floor.  I also can not believe that they grew so quickly.  A Ma immediately stoops down and begins to pull at them.  Wanting to be of some use and of good company, I bend down with her and start tugging at the weeds. Within five minutes, I feel the need to stand up and shake out my legs.  Meanwhile, A Ma continues to pull at the weeds, clearing the ground of the unwanted soil dwellers.  I am astounded at my 74-year-old grandma, who can not only outdo a college student in fervor for life-long learning, but can also out-endure a college student at weed-pulling.  Or... maybe just me.

Sweet Pea vine

"A Ma, you care for these plants everyday?" I ask, already aware of the answer.    

 "Yes, to make sure that they get enough water, and to see how they are growing," my A Ma answers, glancing at me for a second.  

"But A Ma, how do you stand the heat in the summer?" I ask, well aware of my strong inclination towards air-conditioning.  I remind you that Texas weather is easily upwards of 95 degrees in the dead of summer.

                 
  "That's why I must get out in the early mornings or in the evenings, sometimes with Grandpa, when it is a lot cooler,"  my A Ma tells me.

I know that I should not be surprised by A Ma's undertaking.  My grandma has somehow cultivated a way of life in which she puts her whole being into everything that she does.  Whether A Ma is making food, creating fantastic-crocheting masterpieces, or learning something new, A Ma demonstrates wholeheartedness.  With people also,  A Ma is fully there.  I observe as she talks to fellow Chinese-speakers at church, in the supermarket, or at a restaurant.  They, in her presence, are priorities to her in that moment.  There is no trivial agenda that is more important than being present with the people she is with.

Perhaps, speaking louder than anything, is my grandma's wholeheartedness toward those she lives with.  As we know all too well, family can be one of the most difficult communities to live alongside.  I will be the first to admit my pigheadedness, my choosing of battles that are not worth fighting, my over-reacting in defense of a high-maintenance ego.  Selfless well-meaning acts collide with my relentless individualism, ahem, everyday.  My grandma lives an extraordinary life of continual patience and forgiveness, of laying down her life through her way of service and hospitality through every circumstance.  Though I am often blind to her love in my narcissistic ways, I praise God for moments when I can see past myself to appreciate those acts of grace and peace extended in the sharing of food and other things.  Undoubtedly, the wholeheartedness in life that A Ma demonstrates does not just happen.  I know that it comes from a lifetime of intentional care for one's soul, a cultivation of giving up of self and letting go of control, every single day.

Pomegranate (Fruit)

The magnificent garden that exists in my backyard is the outcome of hard work over great amounts of time.  It started with my parents when we moved to Texas in 2006.  After they moved to Taiwan in 2010 , my grandparents piggy-backed off their hard work and added-to the garden when they moved to Texas.  Somehow, I missed much of the process, though some of that may be due to that reality that I have spent the last three years across the country enduring stubborn winters.  Now that I am more aware of what is going on in my backyard, I like to know how A Ma takes care of the garden.  I am inspired by her diligence in stepping outside everyday, her mindfulness in recycling water into a white bucket everyday for the plants, her careful attention to the smallest details in the garden    

Grapevine

Grapes

Figs

Lemons

Rose

A Ma's steadfastness at attending to her own soul and to all things around her reminds  me that wholeness does not happen by itself.  Everything from diligence to sincerity to compassion is cultivated from daily decisions made over a lifetime.  The fight, I am finding, is in refusing to simply push aside our immaturity in fear of confronting ourselves, or trying to have our issues "fixed" immediately.  I am reminded, rather, that sustainable growth and requires steadfast attention, over time.

But somewhere along the process first, one has to decide what is worth fighting for.  In the garden, someone had to decide that passion fruit, grapes, pomegranate, figs, lemon, pear, guava, grapefruit, kumquat not to mention the dozens of vegetables -were worth the fight everyday.    Someone had to decide that the plants were worth the commitment to water daily, to guard from weeds regularly, to get beyond one's self to endure uncomfortable conditions everyday.  


Sometimes, we fight battles that aren't worth fighting.  Lets see, there is the fight for the insatiable self: the piffy arguments, comparisons and competitions that quickly consume our life. Perhaps, if we could just see past ourselves, we would find the fight for joy and peace a more worthy battle.  And then there is the inexhaustible fight for control:  the redundant clinging to hollow psuedogods we believe will somehow sustain us.  Perhaps, the fight for a single-minded love of a worthy God is a better use of our lives.  

The next time we marvel at a breath-taking jump shot, or a spine-tingling musical performance, or are in the company of lives of great diligence or profound sincerity and compassion, perhaps we will remember the discipline that has come along with it, the daily grind in the most mundane of moments, the habits of diligence and excellence established over time.    

Whatever harvest we choose to invest in, we and the people around us get to experience.  I, for one, am quite stoked that my A Ma chose passion fruit and pomegranate :)

The Caretaker resting after a day's hard work

                                                                 
                                                             - - - - -


Note: My recent introduction to gardening is thanks to a brilliant sustainable-farming project for prison inmates at the Louisiana State Penitiary (Angola Prison).  The sweet caretaker who graciously gifted me the plant told me that I could not kill this "Wandering Jew" plant.  Skeptical of my ability to keep a plant alive, I nonetheless spent the next two months attempting to care for it, making sure it got indirect sunlight and water regularly.  I even re-potted it and pruned it before I handed it off to my dear friend Mary to love and care for it when I left for Texas.  I must say that the plant's persistent determination to grow has simply been a testament of God every day!  Haha, in the process, I have gotten attached to the plant, as its determination to grow a powerful reminder of the redemption and life happening within Angola Prison.        

Angola Plant (middle)

An Insightful Article on the Program in Angola:

"Food, Farming, and Freedom : Promoting a Sustainable Model of Food Justice in America's
Prisons, 2012"
http://digitalwindow.vassar.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1073&context=senior_capstone

In Places Most Familiar

Making Baozi 

The other day,  I learn that my grandma (A Ma) is going to make baozi.  Generally intrigued at creating things -  and particularly the edible - I ask, "A Ma, can I join you to learn how to make baozi? (in Mandarin-Chinese).  A Ma looks and me, and nods her head in approval.  I think that she is grateful to have me along, but I wonder how much I will slow down the process this time, true of many of my attempts to learn new things.  Admittedly though, that has rarely kept me from trying in recent times.  Baozi, by the way of Wikipedia, is "a steamed, filled bun in Chinese cuisine," for those who are wondering.

My grandma grinds up the ingredients - pork, garlic, and Chinese cabbage - in a blender in the morning and puts it in the refrigerator for later.  She makes the dough, combining flour with sesame seeds, yeast and water.  She leaves it to rise for the next couple hours.

Baozi ingredients - pork, ginger,
Chinese cabbage

In the afternoon, we lay out the materials. The process, I liken, is similar to dumpling-making.  After flattening a handful of dough and rolling out the edges in a circle, we place the meat and vegetable in the center.  We pull up the edges of the wrapper to to enclose the bun, ensuring that the top is fully secure.

Baozi wrapper with meat and vegetables

I am, of course, determined to make a "good" first baozi.  

"Make sure the edges of the baozi wrapper are thinner than the middle, so that when we eat it, the top of the bun is not too doughy" my grandma says.  "Also, make sure that there is not too much meat and vegetable in the baozi because it won't close well." I do my best.

The process in very much trial and error, and I am grateful for room for mistakes in our relaxed setting.  We are focused but not overly-consumed by our task.  With things like this, A Ma has learned to laugh over mistakes, while somehow always managing to correct them.  Wrapping the baozi is the most difficult part.  I proceed the way that I remember my grandma had taught me to make dumplings in the past, finish, and wait for the critique. My grandma looks over and says, "Haa-naa (how my name sounds in Chinese).  That looks really good."  I feel like a rock-star.

In process...

My grandma and grandpa (mom's side) have been a part of my life for as long as I know.  I remember the times back in New Jersey, when I as a kid would climb into my grandpa (A Gong)'s rocking chair to play with his heated-back-massage-remote-controlled-thing, and wait for the inevitable moment when he would obtrusively kick me off to take his chair back.  Haha, I think that most people might think his brash mannerisms rude.  I just think that that's Grandpa.

My grandparents, in my mind, are enclaves of life wisdom, with spiritual discipline from years and years of habitual obedience and service to the Kingdom.  Their devotion is perhaps due to a tireless journey with beginnings from a war-torn poverty-ridden Taiwan after WWII to controversial and demanding conversions to Christ which have driven their major life decisions.  As grandchildren, we enjoy the fruits of their labor, though admittedly without much recognition of what it took to get here.  I resent how it only takes one generation, if even that much, to forget a hard-pressed past.

We always wrestle in our communication.  Our conversations exist almost entirely in mandarin-Chinese, despite the few words of English thrown in, or statements in Taiwanese when A Ma forgets that I do not speak Taiwanese.  More than just the language barrier, however, I feel that much of our energy is spend addressing mis-communications based out of assumptions from different generational and cultural backgrounds.  Growing up, I didn't know that that was actually a thing.  I simply did not understand my grandparents always telling me what was right and wrong.  "Haa-naa, don't put your hair in front of your face," my grandma once said, pulling out the braid I had spent unprecedented amounts of time perfecting back in middle-school.  This was when putting a braid in front of your face with a butterfly clip was the thing to do.  I remember being infuriated.  How could my grandparents constantly command me around and tell me that the way I am living is wrong?  While I like to think that we have progressed a lot since then, many of our spats today are of a similar nature, me feeling irritated by uninvited suggestions, and them doing so because it is the only way they have ever known to love.  More commonly these days, however, communication is lost also to a lack of hearing.  Nonetheless, in the daily disputes over simple-nothings, I am inspired by my grandparents. (Though in moments of frustration, I have to remind myself).  A Ma, with only a fifth-grade education, has a persistence to live and learn well that could take on a college student any day.  I must add that like me, that does not always mean that she remembers what she learns!

Baozi plate ready to be steamed 

Grandma (A ma) placing a Baozi on our plate

A Ma and me

Overall, I thought it would be appropriate to begin this blog at home, where the familiar can be so unfamiliar.  The background is fittingly my A Ma's hands in our process of creating Baozi.   


Note: A Ma looks over my shoulder at these pictures and straight-up laughs because she thinks the pictures make us look "professional" in our baozi-making.  She says our baozi look like they belong in a restaurant, hahah. In reality, the baozi wrap we make is too thick for most people's preference.  And the latter half of the baozi-making process grants that each bun is much larger than we intended, the ever-present ingredients and flour of our baozi messing up our concentration.  Despite our lackluster baozi-making, the process of making stuff together and consuming it together? So worth it.

The Rationale for This Blog-Thing

The notion of keeping a blog has literally been a topic of debate in my mind for the last couple of weeks.  I questioned the idea of having a public space in my life in which anyone can engage.  I questioned the purpose of the blog, the upkeep of the blog, and the role of the blog for my soul's well-being. Obviously, having the blog won over.  My rationale for this line of thought is that I think a blog demonstrates well the conviction that I would like my life always to be community-centered.  In that I would like my fears, struggles and victories to be shared, I would also like my learning to be shared.  Let's be honest.  Most of my learning comes from life with you guys anyway, haha.  Next, I recognize a intrinsic desire for me to always seek out the best in people.  More than feeling excited when the beauty of something is discovered, however, I am exhilarated when people with me find beauty in what is discovered.  Further, I think a blog would be a worthwhile place to share the next six-month period on a more regular basis.  While the time involved in keeping a blog well is perhaps not sustainable for longer periods, I think that the upcoming experience in Cambodia grants that I communicate as best I can.   

For my own soul's sake, I have in the midst of this, set up some boundaries for precautionary measures.

1. This blog is always to be others-centered.

2. The blog must not inhibit me from being present with my immediate community.  Instead of taking away from my community, I should bring others into it a process that adds to the solidarity of the community.  

3. I recognize that I am a necessary and important part to this blog's existence.  That said, the blog must authentically depict both my weaknesses as well as my strengths, to the healthiest extent.  

4. Recognizing also that online space in virtually no space for real connections and relationships, this blog should never substitute for being intentional in my relationships. 

5. I must, as in all things, hold writing loosely.  If for any reason, I begin losing sleep in my mullings - which I admit I am apt to do - I will give this baby a rest to care for my soul.