It's the last day of 2014, and my blog has reached its 60th post.
I guess I could say that's one of my "accomplishments" over the past year, if rambling on and on about my life over the internet counts as an "accomplishment" :) But seriously, though, given that it's New Year's Eve, I'd like to wrap up the year with some thoughts.
Weighing most heavily on my mind is the fact that, for many, the Holiday Season is a time of great stress and even depression. I, for one, have always cherished Thanksgiving over Christmas because it just seems simpler: food and family/friends, with no pressure of presents or parties! Christmas in the past was often hard because, as I received Season's Greetings (in the form of family photos or newsletters) from friends and acquaintances, it became easy to compare my "accomplishments" (or lack thereof) with theirs. So I felt like a bit of a hypocrite this year when I sent out my own newsletter to a few friends. Does telling my friends about what I've been up to come close to bragging? Or are they happy to hear about my new experiences? I tried to be brief, and to also be as honest as possible in sharing both blessings and challenges from the past year.
Each year brings its own set of struggles, and some years are just harder than others. Would I even have the energy to write this blog post if my 2014 were as rough as some previous years? Probably not. The reason I write tonight is because I'm doing well, and because I'm enjoying a quiet and restful night at home.
What I'd like to say tonight is that, as much as the approach of a New Year is supposed to bring new hope, joy, and expectations, I think it's ok to grieve a little on the last night of the old year. Perhaps this past year was disappointing, and perhaps there was some form of loss. I happened to have a very good year, but that doesn't mean that 2015 won't have some kind of disappointment or even devastation. This isn't me being morbid; it's an acknowledgement of what Life is.
If only the Holidays allowed us to be sad in the midst of festivity, and to mourn a little as we look over the year. And for those of us who have had a good year, with lots of things to celebrate, may we be sensitive to others around us and not overwhelm them with tidings of good cheer. Let's let New Year's Eve and New Year's Day be what they are--just two other days in the cycle of Life. Cheers to that!
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Going Home, for Real
My neighbor Jim went home 3 days ago, in a hospital bed surrounded by his family.
As long as I can remember, Jim has always been there, next door, with his wife Jan. I was 2 when my parents moved to our Arcadia home, in a neighborhood that was still predominantly white. (Things have changed drastically since; just google the name of the city and you'll understand why). Jim extended friendship and kindness to us, and my brother and I grew up with the security of knowing that there lived next door to us people who cared about and loved us. That means a lot to an immigrant family that doesn't have relatives nearby.
Almost every Christmas, we'd visit, either in their living room or ours. Most of the time, we'd walk over to their house, bringing our instruments for some Christmas music. They'd serve cookies and egg nogg, and after we finished playing we'd chat pleasantly with them in between bites. That was always the highlight of my holiday season.
But it wasn't just over the holidays that we interacted with our neighbors. Jim always knocked on our front door whenever there was some kind of fire warning for the mountains nearby. He gave Felix odd jobs to do around his house, and last year he invited me to volunteer with him once a month on Saturdays. One year, when Dad was away for work and Mom and I were the only ones at home (Felix lived and worked about 2 hours away), he took our trash cans in and out for each week's trash pickups, telling us "this is a man's job" and that we were not to worry about it.
Jim was a well-educated man, not snobby, but the epitome of uprightness and decency. He spoke kindly and honestly, and though always a bit reserved in manner, he always looked out for us with genuine warmth. Whenever we bumped into him in our front yards, he would ask us questions about our life and remember to follow up on things we had told him about previously. I have fond memories of going out to dinner or dessert with him and his wife, because anytime he knew I was staying at home alone, he'd take the time to treat me to a meal. He was the best neighbor we could have ever asked for, and he knew us in a way that even our family and close friends did not.
Over the last 18 months, as Jim courageously staved off cancer, I got to play music for him on several occasions. I even met members of his family as they came to visit. I played for him one last time this Christmas season, just 24 hours before he passed. Before the hospital visit concluded, he gave each member of my family a parting hug and a kiss. Even in his final stretch of life, he reached out to bless us with his kindness.
Jim's death was sobering, and I will probably grieve for a good while. But it was also a profound and strangely comforting event. It is an honor to be with someone at the end of their life and have the opportunity to have enough quality time to say goodbye. Jim lived a good life, and he also had a good death. My family was so privileged to be a small part of both, and I will always strive to carry out his legacy of kindness, wherever I go.
As long as I can remember, Jim has always been there, next door, with his wife Jan. I was 2 when my parents moved to our Arcadia home, in a neighborhood that was still predominantly white. (Things have changed drastically since; just google the name of the city and you'll understand why). Jim extended friendship and kindness to us, and my brother and I grew up with the security of knowing that there lived next door to us people who cared about and loved us. That means a lot to an immigrant family that doesn't have relatives nearby.
Almost every Christmas, we'd visit, either in their living room or ours. Most of the time, we'd walk over to their house, bringing our instruments for some Christmas music. They'd serve cookies and egg nogg, and after we finished playing we'd chat pleasantly with them in between bites. That was always the highlight of my holiday season.
But it wasn't just over the holidays that we interacted with our neighbors. Jim always knocked on our front door whenever there was some kind of fire warning for the mountains nearby. He gave Felix odd jobs to do around his house, and last year he invited me to volunteer with him once a month on Saturdays. One year, when Dad was away for work and Mom and I were the only ones at home (Felix lived and worked about 2 hours away), he took our trash cans in and out for each week's trash pickups, telling us "this is a man's job" and that we were not to worry about it.
Jim was a well-educated man, not snobby, but the epitome of uprightness and decency. He spoke kindly and honestly, and though always a bit reserved in manner, he always looked out for us with genuine warmth. Whenever we bumped into him in our front yards, he would ask us questions about our life and remember to follow up on things we had told him about previously. I have fond memories of going out to dinner or dessert with him and his wife, because anytime he knew I was staying at home alone, he'd take the time to treat me to a meal. He was the best neighbor we could have ever asked for, and he knew us in a way that even our family and close friends did not.
Over the last 18 months, as Jim courageously staved off cancer, I got to play music for him on several occasions. I even met members of his family as they came to visit. I played for him one last time this Christmas season, just 24 hours before he passed. Before the hospital visit concluded, he gave each member of my family a parting hug and a kiss. Even in his final stretch of life, he reached out to bless us with his kindness.
Jim's death was sobering, and I will probably grieve for a good while. But it was also a profound and strangely comforting event. It is an honor to be with someone at the end of their life and have the opportunity to have enough quality time to say goodbye. Jim lived a good life, and he also had a good death. My family was so privileged to be a small part of both, and I will always strive to carry out his legacy of kindness, wherever I go.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Going Home
In 2 days, I'll be flying home to California. Sunshine awaits!
When I left Los Angeles in August, I knew that subsequent trips back home would present challenges. Yale Divinity School was going to solidify opinions that had lay below the surface, and I was going to become more vocal about things. I hope my LA friends know that just because I never objected to some of their opinions didn't mean that I agreed.
Most of my young adult life, my friends have roughly been divided into two categories: conservative Christians (the definition of "conservative" covers many different things, which I won't get into here) and liberal individuals who (regardless of whether they had been raised in any faith) were not religious. I got along fine with both groups because I resonated with values from each "side" and saw truth in statements made from both sides; but I was able to keep my social lives separate from one another.
I knew that, coming to YDS, I would encounter lots of "liberal" Christians, and that was part of the appeal. (I'm just glad I didn't say that to the tons of people who instilled "warnings" in me when I informed them I'd be studying religion at an Ivy League.) I'd already been "trained by the best" conservatives*; I had long since strayed from the polemical nature of social activism and had instead immersed myself in the helping profession, where individual lives needed compassion and practical assistance, regardless of political or religious beliefs; now, as I headed back to school, it was time to engage with and openly listen to other voices. So here I am, and here I thrive, by the grace of God and the warmth and support of friends I've made. My first semester hasn't been easy, but it's been exactly what I've needed and craved.
As for Going Home? Well, first I have to finish a paper and turn it in. And once I get home, I've got to start another paper and turn that in. And then we'll see how I navigate conversations with familiar faces.
I've been reflecting a lot lately: Back in college, I'd post more "conservative" articles and opinions on Facebook, and all my liberal friends would chime in with objections. These days, I've been getting a lot of feedback regarding my "Black Lives Matter" (and related) pictures and posts. Seems that no matter which side I'm on, I'll have friends who disagree with me, because my friends are not limited to one side, and that's the beauty--and the challenge--of life.
*As proof (now I'm sounding like Paul, when he claims to be the Jew's Jew in legitimizing his conversion to Christianity, ain't I?): I was homeschooled for 8 years; attended camps on Christian apologetics and conservative political ideas; was very active in a political club in college; wrote letters to the editor for the school newspaper; and had parents who were sporadically politically active regarding Conservative issues--they've since then become more moderate.
When I left Los Angeles in August, I knew that subsequent trips back home would present challenges. Yale Divinity School was going to solidify opinions that had lay below the surface, and I was going to become more vocal about things. I hope my LA friends know that just because I never objected to some of their opinions didn't mean that I agreed.
Most of my young adult life, my friends have roughly been divided into two categories: conservative Christians (the definition of "conservative" covers many different things, which I won't get into here) and liberal individuals who (regardless of whether they had been raised in any faith) were not religious. I got along fine with both groups because I resonated with values from each "side" and saw truth in statements made from both sides; but I was able to keep my social lives separate from one another.
I knew that, coming to YDS, I would encounter lots of "liberal" Christians, and that was part of the appeal. (I'm just glad I didn't say that to the tons of people who instilled "warnings" in me when I informed them I'd be studying religion at an Ivy League.) I'd already been "trained by the best" conservatives*; I had long since strayed from the polemical nature of social activism and had instead immersed myself in the helping profession, where individual lives needed compassion and practical assistance, regardless of political or religious beliefs; now, as I headed back to school, it was time to engage with and openly listen to other voices. So here I am, and here I thrive, by the grace of God and the warmth and support of friends I've made. My first semester hasn't been easy, but it's been exactly what I've needed and craved.
As for Going Home? Well, first I have to finish a paper and turn it in. And once I get home, I've got to start another paper and turn that in. And then we'll see how I navigate conversations with familiar faces.
I've been reflecting a lot lately: Back in college, I'd post more "conservative" articles and opinions on Facebook, and all my liberal friends would chime in with objections. These days, I've been getting a lot of feedback regarding my "Black Lives Matter" (and related) pictures and posts. Seems that no matter which side I'm on, I'll have friends who disagree with me, because my friends are not limited to one side, and that's the beauty--and the challenge--of life.
*As proof (now I'm sounding like Paul, when he claims to be the Jew's Jew in legitimizing his conversion to Christianity, ain't I?): I was homeschooled for 8 years; attended camps on Christian apologetics and conservative political ideas; was very active in a political club in college; wrote letters to the editor for the school newspaper; and had parents who were sporadically politically active regarding Conservative issues--they've since then become more moderate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)