Asianifications

Most days, I feel very different from most people here and stick out like a sore thumb. I'm very aware of my "American"-ness, my "other"-ness, my tallness, my left-handedness (new writing teacher drew attention to it yet again today), my ginger-ness, whatever you'd like to call it. But sometimes I laugh when I notice ways in which I've become more "Asianified" since I've been here (going on a year now...crazy)!

1. I like hot water.
You say, "Yeah, I like hot water too...it's great for showers, and boiling spaghetti." No, I mean I like drinking hot water. I really don't mind when they give it to me at restaurants and massage places. Not when it's hot outside, no, that's torture. But in the winter? YES PLEASE. And in the summer, room temperature without ice is just fine!

I teased another American lady this past winter when she said she loved sitting with a big mug of hot water in her hands and sipping it to warm up...and then 2 days later I found myself doing the same thing. Sometimes you just don't want any more caffeine for the day, or you realize you're cold AND dehydrated...so drinking hot water is the perfect solution!

2. My squatting proficiency is growing.
Don't worry, there's nothing gross about what I'm about to say. I have notoriously short Achilles tendons, even for an American. I remember when my growth spurt happened and my heels started hurting because my tendons hadn't stretched as fast as I had grown, and I had to do these special stretches everyday. I would have never had that problem if I'd grown up over here! I've noticed that little by little, my heels are able to get closer to the floor, making it much easier to balance on a squatty potty. Will they ever touch the floor, like so many people's effortlessly do? Possibly not, but I'm making progress!

3. I have actually used a parasol a couple of times.
Not too often, but some! Not because I care too much about keeping my skin "bai bai de" (trust me, that takes absolutely no effort), but because sometimes when that sun is beating down, a parasol just makes sense! (Note: my "parasol" is actually my umbrella...but it does the trick).

4. I drive like a local.
I don't honk as much as some, that's true. But I have noticed my electric bike driving is pretty assertive, and also that I pretty much never use my rear view mirrors. You say, "Becky, that's dangerous!" Over here, not really. Actually, it's safer to constantly keep your eye in front of you and to the sides and trust people behind you to adjust accordingly. People here pretty much just look in front of them, and you are expected to watch what's in front of you and honk if you're about to crash in to somebody who's in your way. They then are expected to listen to your honk and move, and if they don't move then you keep honking, and that's the way it goes. Unfortunately, this even goes for cars backing out of spaces. They often don't look behind them and just expect the oncoming electric bike traffic to stop. And stop we do, because we know somebody has to be looking.

5. I am constantly discovering new uses for chopsticks.
Seriously, who knew they could be so useful? With chopsticks, you don't need spatulas, tongs, stirring spoons, real locks on public bathroom doors, or even real plumbing equipment (kind of a joke on that last one, although friends have told me that plumbers have literally fixed their toilets with chopsticks before. And I have most definitely seen a chopstick stuck through a public toilet lock). I use chopsticks to whip my scrambled eggs, stir my coffee, flip my bacon...The uses are limitless!

6. I like tea more than coffee.
Hahahaaaaa, just kidding! I really had you there for a second, didn't I?

Although I do love both.

Probably too much.

Really enjoying that imported Starbucks Autumn Blend right now.

7. I don't accept compliments.
I was never that good at accepting compliments in the States, and people would often get on to me for it...but luckily that means I fit in well here! Here, it's more polite to disagree if someone compliments you than to say "Thank you." So if someone gives me a compliment, I usually wave my hand dismissively and say, "Oh no, I'm not good" or something along those lines.

Now, if I ever have a child and raise her over here, I will NEVER culturally adjust to saying, "Oh no, my daughter's so ugly!" or "Oh no, she's actually very stupid!" ...but that's another thing entirely. :-D

8. I make weird comments.
A couple months ago, some American friends visited and ordered dog at a restaurant so they could experience some special "local cuisine."

When I heard about this, my objection was not to the fact that they were eating dog (and donkey, by the way). Here's what I actually said:

"They're eating dog? But it's summer!"

(Note: only people who have been to this area will get that one. Dog meat is supposed to warm you up and therefore is traditionally eaten in the winter. My objection was the same one a local person would make!)

9. I most definitely had my first dream in Chinese a couple nights ago.
Although, during the whole dream I felt like I was struggling to make people understand me, and I kept having to repeat myself. Still, that counts, right?! :-D

Interestingly, this is not the first time I've noticed myself making cultural adjustments. After moving to Texas, I still remember when my "I" sound started to come out more like "ah", the moment I started liking Dr. Pepper, hearing "like white on rice" for the first time, the first time I ate brisket (and dove, and quail, and other delicious things), and the moment I began to like Mexican food other than quesadillas. I guess it's kinda true what they say about Texas being a whole other country. :) So maybe this wonderful place over here isn't so different after all!

The Gospel according to Esther

I've wanted to write so many "The Gospel according to..." posts and haven't gotten around to it. For instance, "The Gospel according to Exodus" is still in my drafts, and I never actually posted it. As I've been reading through the Bible chronologically, I've been seeing the gospel so much more clearly in each book. This past week, I read Esther.

Esther has been one of my favorite books for a long time. In my elementary school days, I loved that it was about an ordinary girl who becomes a queen. In high school, the phrase "Who knows but that you have been put where you are for just such a time as this?" kept ringing in my ears (adapted from Esther 4:14). As an English major in college, it appealed to my sense of a good story, and I still think it's one of the most well-written stories in the Bible.

But it wasn't until this most recent read-through that I caught a glimpse of Jesus in it.

Though it's been one of my favorite stories for so long, I had always read it as a standalone book and never placed it within the greater narrative of Israel's captivity and return. I definitely hadn't thought about it in the context of the gospel or any of the New Testament. I guess that's one of the great things about reading the Bible chronologically - it begins to all mesh together as one great big story, rather than a bunch of little ones stitched together.

I was struck by Mordecai's incredible integrity. He clearly is a man of God if there ever was one. He takes in the orphan Hadassah (Esther), not treating her as the cousin she is but treating her "as his own daughter" according to chapter 2. He saves the life of the (Persian by the way, not Jewish) king by getting a message to him about an assassination plot. Finally, and most importantly, he refuses to bow to any mere man, especially a corrupt royal official. And this is what gets him in trouble.

That royal official, Haman, does everything in his earthly power to ensure the annihilation of Mordecai and everyone he loves by getting the king to issue a decree that the Jews be killed on a certain day. But little does he know the kingdom's new queen is one of the very people he's trying to kill. Yahweh had ordained what was going to happen and had all the pieces in place ahead of time, ready to display His glory.

So after prayer and fasting, Queen Esther risks her life by going in to the king without being called. Thankfully, he is delighted with her and grants her request of holding a couple of banquets for him and Haman. Esther lulls Haman into a false sense of security with these banquets, as he thinks he is being oh-so-honored, but then Esther outs his whole plot in front of the king. The king then has Haman hanged on the gallows he had built for Mordecai...but not before forcing Haman to parade Mordecai, purple-robed and on a horse, through the streets saying, "This is the one the king delights to honor!"

Mordecai is elevated to a high position, the queen is trusted more than ever, and the Jews not only are saved but also enjoy a period of privilege under this foreign king.

As I thought about how Mordecai was plotted against for refusing to bow to any but God, how one of the most righteous men in the kingdom was targeted by a jealous and prideful official, I thought of Another who did nothing wrong and yet was condemned to death by those in power. I thought about how Mordecai never forsook God even when he probably felt forsaken, that his people had been forsaken. I thought about his commitment, his faith, even while his enemy Haman was being elevated, was succeeding in his evil plan, was indestructible...or so it seemed.

You see, just when Haman thought he'd won, he was destroyed. Just when the enemy seemed to have triumphed, the righteous one was about to gain the true victory.

Mordecai was saved from death, while Jesus actually suffered physical death...but the results were the same. Mordecai was honored above all in the kingdom, given authority second only to the king himself. In that dark moment as Jesus gasped his last words, satan thought he'd won, the teachers of the law thought they'd won. Little did they know that the seemingly defeated one on the cross was conquering not just their very own sin, but also Death itself. Little did they know that after he ascended, he would be placed at the right hand of the Father, given the seat of honor, crowned for all eternity. Little did they know that this one who quietly submitted to the judgment of the religious leaders and Pontius Pilate would judge everyone who has ever lived.

Hadassah, the orphan, one of the lowliest of people, was adopted by an uncle who loved her dearly and raised her as his own daughter. Not only an orphan, but a Jew in the Persian Empire, the odds for success were certainly not stacked in her favor. But because God bestowed grace on her, she found favor with everyone she met and was elevated higher than she could have ever imagined. She was obedient and brave when it counted most, demonstrating her dependence on God and not herself by fasting and praying before she went in to the king. When admonished by Mordecai, she listened, and she became willing to die if it meant God's will would be accomplished. She realized that the favor she had obtained was not due to her charm or beauty, though she possessed these things, but because the Lord Almighty had blessed her. And through his blessing, she was able to release an entire people from captivity and bring them from death to life.

To this day, like Esther, we are always the recipients of grace, and anything heroic or wonderful we do is by His power alone. We can never claim anything as our own, but we hold empty hands up to the Father in worship and praise, and He holds them in turn when we're in distress, pressing his scars closely into our unscarred palms, always filling them with good things. And these good things we can joyfully give to others, speaking life instead of death and truth instead of lies, bringing hope to the hopeless and proclaiming freedom for the prisoners...because we know His goodness never runs dry, and He will be faithful to give even as we feel like we can't give anymore.

The One with the scarred hands...He is not only the one the King delights to honor, as Mordecai was; He is the King. And we are Esther, adopted as sons and daughters, cherished, loved, admonished and corrected that we may grow into heavenly creatures, orphans-turned-heirs, made fit to possess the kingdom prepared for us since before the creation of the world.

Facedown in an Omelet

First week at UT, and there I was, facedown in an omelet.

Well, not in the omelet...I just said that because it's a much more humorous picture. Actually, my face was on the table, exactly eye-level with the ham-and-cheddar omelet, at 3 am in Kerbey Lane as I contemplated life at the beginning of freshman year with a friend I would rarely see again (what UT student hasn't had a moment like this?).

I had recently left a party, was very tired, and THAT WAS THE BEST OMELET I'D EVER TASTED!!11! I ate some pancakes too. The waiter came by and told me to get my head off the table at one point because they'd had too many students pass out in the restaurant recently.

I had just come back from a party with people I barely knew, and was now eating with people I barely knew. Everyone was someone I barely knew, including myself. I mean, a few months ago I could identify myself as a scholarship recipient, cheerleader, leader in the youth group, and Valedictorian, among other things. I'd had an identity and a history. Maybe not one I always liked, but I had one nonetheless.

And here, I was the girl who was being told to not pass out on the table.

I had recently attended Camp Texas, this magical place where everyone seemed to be smart, athletic, good-looking and confident all at once. I'd been completely overwhelmed. Most people already seemed to have a plan - a major, a country in which to study abroad, and even which sorority they would join. My first week at UT confirmed that I was constantly surrounded by smart, driven students. While I loved the new environment in which I found myself, I also let it threaten who I knew myself to be. Jesus couldn't be the same here as he was in my one-stoplight town in West Texas, could he?

I was at a crossroads. I could live for myself in college, or I could live for the God who redeemed me at the age of 13. This was a test. Was he real? Was I serious about this?

All through freshman year, I don't think I was quite sure. I had one foot in the world and one foot in the Kingdom. This was not the first or last time my life would be like this. We all have moments when we have one foot in the world and one foot in the Kingdom, one hand holding God's and the other holding money/power/people. I wanted to have everything. Jesus was not my only Pearl.

Then, I ended my first semester with a 3.4 GPA. Even though I'd been Valedictorian in one of the tiniest schools ever, I still had delusions of the unshakable awesomeness of my brain. That even at UT, I could do everything and still make the grades I wanted to make. That wasn't the case.

Don't get me wrong, a 3.4 is not awful. Having a 3.4 instead of a 4.0 is definitely a "first world" problem (as many girls don't even get to go to school), but at the time, being the product of the first-world system and the middle-class family that I was, I felt like my world was shattering. My identity was gone. I wasn't the best. I wasn't even close. I was one of 50,000 students who had all been at least the top 10% in their high schools, and I was competing against them. Sure, I was in an honors program, but so were many others...some who had already started their own nonprofits that cured AIDS and written a Tony award-winning play about it (maybe slightly exaggerating there).

And then my idolatry smacked me in the face. In high school, I had grown to love Jesus. But I still wanted to love the things of this world. I wanted to be the Christian girl, the beloved girl, the smart girl, the successful girl, and the creative girl. The blow to my pride in the form of a 3.4 GPA was almost more than I could take, as pathetic as that sounds. The kind of girl I wanted to be was not the kind of girl who had a 3.4. She was the girl who had a 4.0, yet somehow managed to still be the lead in a play, a leader in a Christian organization, an intramural sports player, obtain a coveted internship, learn a foreign language, and study abroad...perhaps even obtain a perfect boyfriend while doing so.

When all this did not just magically happen, I needed to reevaluate who I was. Who I wanted to be. In a one-stoplight town, there are seemingly only so many choices, but in a big, diverse city like Austin, you can be whoever you want. The possibilities are endless, and you can always find people to agree with you. You have to throw the sand away and choose your pearl.

If this were your typical "success" story, I would say it was all an uphill trajectory from there. That I chose to be a follower of Christ and stuck with it. That I got my head in the game, as Zac Efron would say in High School Musical 3, and never got out of it. By God's grace, my GPA got much better, it's true; I whittled down the things that were good and focused on things that were best; Father blessed me with brothers and sisters who walked beside me through good and bad.

But the truth is, even now at any moment I know I am just a change, a mood swing and a bad choice away from being facedown in an omelet. There were still awkward moments after that, over omelets or pancakes or other late-night fare. There were entire months when I genuinely believed God didn't want me to be happy or care about me. There were times when I got angry at people who had been nothing but good to me, when I had thoughts that I'd be ashamed to tell even the devil, when I let my joy succumb to worry. When I found out I would officially be going overseas for 2 years, my first reaction after the momentary rejoicing was to cry my eyes out. Fear gripped my heart, I'm ashamed to say, more strongly than the love and faithfulness of my Savior.

And so often, it still does. I constantly struggle to love the people I should love easily. I'm faced with the prospect of yet more dear friends leaving our city, after saying goodbye to so many local friends going off to college. I'm faced with the prospect of nothing being the same when I get back home in a year, the uncertainty of where I will live and who will be there for me. That all-too-familiar demon of loneliness always hovers close at hand, never quite vanquished and always ready to pounce. That fear of being alone for the rest of my life, of never having permanent community, of always bouncing around without clear direction or purpose or guidance. There's that too.

My point in saying all this is: I haven't arrived. You haven't either. I know that every day I'm growing more and more, growing in freedom and love and peace. But we've never arrived until we cross over that river and possess the kingdom prepared for us since the creation of the world. As long as we are here, we are sojourners. There is no destination here, only the journey. Here, we travel, we grow, we struggle, we sin, we love, we forgive, we taste and experience the kingdom we have not yet fully known or possessed, and sometimes we pass out in omelets. And the minute we think we have sufficiently distanced ourselves from that omelet is the minute we slip on a giant one that just happens to be frying on the sidewalk. And we think we've made a big fat gooey mess of our lives.

Thankfully, Jesus has an even bigger spatula.