CHOICE: Humility

Ah… the topic of enormous variety!  Which one do I pick?  While I have plenty to share about this topic (including my own depression), I wanted to stick to something that is more recent.

Almost everyone seems to think that rocket science is all that.  To me, it really isn’t.  You see, the only thing I did right when I was in college was by studying as if it was worship to God, to glorify Him by giving all that I have, and at the time, as a student.  I believe it is because of that I did well.But even with good grades, I knew that this job of rocket science wasn’t going to be all that easy.

For instance, last week was one that I perhaps may not care as much of.  Why?  For every (Shuttle) flight, I have to post-process the flight data.  This recent past flight, however, was not my average flight.  The data collecting system on the starboard side (right) didn’t initialize properly for some time.  So the automatic data processing now had to be done manually.Well, in the team of four (incl. my manager), no one really seemed to remember how to go about it manually.With time crunching in, I had struggled for days trying to figure out the scripts and programs to see where and what I had to change to make this work.In the end, it seemed like God was in control because I would always get that piece of data at the last minute unexpectedly from people and my own search, which reminded me that I am not the one in control.

Only with God’s grace did I finish that data processing, and not a moment too soon!Last week was indeed one of humility.  I’m only here because God allowed me to be.  I could become unemployed or be forced to change profession if God saw it fit.  All I can do now is to be a God-obeying rocket scientist.

CHOICE: Compassion

I thought I’d write this week about each of the CHOICE elements throughout the week as I pray on each topic each day (as Pastor Shawn suggested that we do) but write about something that hits home for me.

Well, in compassion, the first thing that came up in my head is my first year in England.  I was 12 then.  The only preparation I had prior to going to England was learning a few vocabulary words.  In other words, I didn’t know any.  With my father’s decision to attend seminary in England, we followed.  But for a 12 year old, nothing could prepare me for what I was about to face.

Back in ’85, there were no more than 2000 Koreans in England altogether.  Needless to say, I felt alienated.  Being thrown into a school system of unfamiliarity of both place and people, if I were shy before (and I was), I was now hidden.  My more outgoing younger brother had adjusted better than I had.  I just shriveled up and made minimal contact with those around me.  It wasn’t like other kids were trying to make an extra effort to the newcomer either.

Being forced to wear a uniform and this prison-like garment called a necktie, I had no idea of what others asked of me, from me, or about me.  Thus entered my guessing game for the first year.  I call it “Yes no game”.  It is basically taking any question that was thrown at me and I just did a simple guessing at the question and answering either yes or no.  I just watched the lips move.  In fact, my own theory on my personality having developed to the current state is that it was my own adaptation method to be able to deal with the situation.  That’s another story for another time. 

So what does this have to do with the compassion?  Plenty.  It still lingers strongly in my head what it felt like those first two years.  They were painstakingly rough and difficult.  For those of you that had grown up in the English-speaking country since infant years, this will not be a picture you can paint inside your mind very well, if at all.  Having gone through this painful process myself was in fact a God-given gift, to be able to share compassion with those that are new to this culture and this language. 

You see, I have realized that, over the years, compassion can’t really be had towards the people you do not understand what they are going through.  We all have had our different shares of tough times and difficulties.  But instead of trying to forget about it and shun it, I want to embrace it (yeah, I sound cheesy!) and allow it to help those around me to better embrace the new change that they themselves have to go through.  I pray that we all will.

PDA sponsored mission trip to New Orleans

I wanted to get this up before I forget the details…

So at 1:30 am Wednesday morning, I met up with Pastor Shawn and drove to Luling, Lousiana, a town nearby New Orleans.  With some breaks inbetween, we arrived at our destination at about 8 am.  I got total of 2 hours of sleep during the drive.  But I was still somewhat together and by the time we got there, we were already running late so we got back on to 90, onto I-310, and then onto I-10 towards into New Orleans.  Then off I-610, we took the exit for St. Bernard Blvd.  As soon as we made the left turn into the road, the damage and the impact of Katrina were obvious.  And severe.  Roads were more or less empty and the area was rather barren.  People were scarce.

When we found the house that we were to work on, the house had already been half way through gutting process.  We picked up where the team left off, and continued to hack through the walls.  Dry wall crumbled as we hammered it with hammers, pickets, and crowbars and shovels.  The task itself wasn’t too fancy nor was it very hard.  What made it difficult was the condition.

Since mold was everywhere from three weeks of being submerged in dirty water, mask was a definite must.  And with debris and moldy dust flying everywhere, goggles were also necessary.  Now, when you have all these safety equipment on, along with long sleeves and long pants to protect ourselves from the fiberglass insulation, we were sweating.  Every second!  I sweated so much that sometimes, I felt like drowning in my own sweat!    Not to mention that the breathing made the goggles fog up!  Esther wanted to call these “foggles” for keep foggin up!! 

Needless to say, repeated hacking, lifitng and moving eventually ate away at our conditions.  First two or three hours wasn’t so bad.  But after hacking and moving and carrying in the heat with all the gears and clothing, we began to slow down.  We would take frequent (and much needed) water breaks.  Lunch time was rather a painful time.  We would be so hungry that there was no energy left to work.  My arms felt like falling off!  Barely managing to eat, some nasty things had to be done as well.  One of the worst was taking out the rusted washer.  It wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that there was still water in it!  With laundry inside!!    It was nasty to the captial N!  And then we had to de-nail all the house!  There must’ve been at least several hundred nails if not more!  In fact, the girls think that there were at least 1000+ nails!

That was my first day.  When we returned to the camp site, our bodies were itching beyond bareable from the fiberglass.  We took shower twice and still itched.  Then came the chore duties for our team as PDA hosted several other teams from different churches and different areas.  Some of us cooked, took out trash from the site, cleaned the porta-potties, cleaned the shower rooms, did the dishes.  By the time all was done, it was well past 9 pm.  At this point, I was about to pass out, being sleep deprived and tired.

Still, the team gathered together to share QT and prayer requests.  The four sisters (Sung Eun, Joy, Joanna, and Esther) were holding up very well (though they were tired as well).  I had just missed Nick and Evelyn who had returned on Tuesday night.  After praying, I passed out at 10 pm!  If you know me, I normally go to sleep between 1 and 2 am! 

Fresh up and running at 5 am the next day, we ate breakfast, packed our own lunch, and headed out to our next house.  It was another run down house but full of things inside.  Only the windows were opened.  The house next to it (they were both off Crescent Ave) had grass and weeds growing several inches tall!  So while the girls were taking the rusted and trashed things out, P. Shawn and I began to mow the lawn.  The fact that these areas were submerged underwater for 3 weeks must have done something to the grass… ’cause the dirt and the grass were all messed up!  I then took up the challenge to enter this second house to find out that the windows were all locked up!!    This means that no one had opened this place up for past year!  The stench even with the mask on, was way too horrible, and beyond description!  I frantically used the crowbar to try to crack the windows open… but many were jammed very severely!  After P. Shawn and I managed to open some windows, we began clearning out the previous house.

Then something more personal happened.  A Caucasian gentleman of age around 50 or so stopped by.  He was the owner’s son.  He told us the story behind the house, and the street.  It turned out that this street was full of widows.  So it was full of grandmas living alone.  His mother had lived in it where he himself grew up since the age of 7 or so when the parents purchased the house.  The house next door that we just cracked the windows open also had a grandma who swam to the house next door to it but found herself trapped inside the attic (with the flooded water) and when help came three days later, it was too late for her…    Such story was just way too common.

I had noticed this early to mid ’90’s model purple Lincoln Continental that kept passing us by.  Since we didn’t know what to expect, I just kept keeping my eye out.  The next day (Friday), I found out.  We were eating lunch when he came by again.  He started to go through the trash that we had piled up.  P. Shawn suggested that we go say ‘hi’ so I took a bottle of water with me to give him and went to speak to him.  His name was Kenny, an African-American gentleman of age in his 40’s or so.  As I handed him a bottle of water and suggesting perhaps to use a pair of work gloves we have around to go through the pile, Kenny told me his own story as well.  He was from the east New Orleans and he had lost his home and his two cars to Katrina.  He threw out his back before Katrina and since the surgery, he couldn’t really work.  But he was good at repairing things, so he started to go around the neighborhoods and started to pick through the trash for things he could repair and restore and sell.  He did say, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure”.    How true indeed.

Later that day, the grandma of the house we worked on dropped by with her son.  She was a very gentle looking lady.  She also told us of her story on the house.  When we suggested that she used a mask if she wanted to go inside, she said in a very definite voice that she didn’t want to go inside, that she wanted to remember the house the way it was.  She wanted to preserve her fond memories of this house.  I can’t blame her either.  But when Katrina came and her son stopped by to talk her into leaving, she told us the one lesson she learned:  that we can’t take everything with us.

With three real people and their stories to impact me, the work went on.  After loads of work on the house, the walls and the ceiling eventually crumbled down.  As tough as it was, I couldn’t help but think of these houses as our old sinful selves: the houses that needed to be torn down so that God could rebuild us fresh and new and beautiful, losing the spiritual mold and those darn cockroaches!  Despite the tough environment and hot weather, and despite my arms wanting to fall off my body, and my legs not wanting to move anymore, remembering this analogy gave me the urge to keep on going.  I just didn’t want to leave this moldy house standing.  The moldy walls and fiber glass had to be removed.  So we hacked away at it until our time was up.

We didn’t get to finish that house as our time there ran out.  But I was glad that we hadn’t given up and stopped.  I was glad to have been given the opportunity to go and help our brethrens nearby at the city of New Orleans.  Rita could’ve easily hit us, but Houston was spared.  Why?  I believe that it was so that we could help other cities in need.  I hope to be able to do whatever I can to continue to help.  Our turn for help may be just around the corner after all.

Pics will be coming as soon as Esther makes them available… my eyes and body were all swollen and puffed up.  I’m still itching from fiber glass.  But all is well and I thank God for such humbling time.  If you can, set apart a time and go and help our neighbors of New Orleans (and others).

Today’s entry from “My Utmost for His Highest”

Today’s entry really spoke to me so I wanted to share it… the highlighted portions were the hit points for me… be blessed…  another reminder of how far I have to go…
 July 14th.
    

 

THE ACCOUNT WITH PERSECUTION
 
 
But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” Matthew 5:39, etc 

These verses reveal the humiliation of being a Christian. Naturally, if a man does not hit back, it is because he is a coward; but spiritually if a man does not hit back, it is a manifestation of the Son of God in him. When you are insulted, you must not only not resent it, but make it an occasion to exhibit the Son of God. You cannot imitate the disposition of Jesus; it is either there or it is not. To the saint personal insult becomes the occasion of revealing the incredible sweetness of the Lord Jesus.

The teaching of the Sermon on the Mount is not – Do your duty, but – Do what is not your duty. It is not your duty to go the second mile, to turn the other cheek, but Jesus says if we are His disciples we shall always do these things. There will be no spirit of – “Oh, well, I cannot do any more, I have been so misrepresented and misunderstood.” Every time I insist upon my rights, I hurt the Son of God; whereas I can prevent Jesus from being hurt if I take the blow myself. That is the meaning of filling up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ. The disciple realizes that it is his Lord’s honour that is at stake in his life, not his own honour.

Never look for right in the other man, but never cease to be right yourself. We are always looking for justice; the teaching of the Sermon on the Mount is – Never look for justice, but never cease to give it.

Have you forgiven… lately?

In the line of old Ford commercials, have you forgiven someone lately?It is something we must do regularly … just as God forgives us on a constant and consistent basis.  And to end the hatred that persists in our wicked minds, this act of forgiveness must be carried out on a regular basis.  To me, it’s a “spiritual exercise” that we must do regularly if we understand even a tiny bit of God’s grace and mercy.

Oh, His Mercy endures forever!  Amen…

 

Have a peaceful Memorial weekend…  to those that fought.

Grandmas and Wrestling

I miss my grandma.  Shucks.  We lived close to her in my childhood from when I was 9 till 12.  This is the same grandma that passed away to be with God earlier this year in January… 

What prompted this?  Well, my mother-in-law, Anna and JJ’s grandmother, has been staying with us for past 3 weeks now.  And there’s one thing she LOVES!  WWE wrestling!!    How weird is that?!  She knows of the what’s going ons more than I do!  Just this past Friday or so, she got to watch one and she felt soooo good after that one as the bad guy was smacked with a chair!!  Ha ha ha…  she said that she could sleep well that night!  What is up with Korean grandmas??!!

My belated grandmother also loved wrestling… swearing left and right, throwing in her own gestures of sorts… I miss her.    I hope she gets to see some good re-runs up in Heaven!    Here’s to you grandma!  You rock!

In the spirit of “End the Hatred”

I recently watched another thought-provoking movie, and it’s called Joyeux Noël, a movie about World War I in the year of 1914.  The significance of this is that it was a first of its kind:  trench warfare.  It did an unimaginable mental damage to the soldiers, more than anyone ever thought to know.  Constant ear deafening bombing raids from the shells, and just raising your head above the trenches guaranteed  a headshot.

Enter the three countries: Scotland, France, and the Germans.  In the heat of the battle, and amidst series of God-given situations, the three come to a temporary truce on the eve of Christmas.  How symbolic.  They begin sharing more than just that, as they share food and drink, songs and music.  The three squadron leaders of each country develop a bond that surpasses the horrors of the war.  Though it comes to a sad and abrupt ending, I left with a warm feeling that hatred can be defeated… just as these soldiers did on the Eve of Christ’s birth.  I was very moved to find that the three countries’ soldiers didn’t let a war divide them and let hatred overflow in them.  Rather, they embraced the differences.

I can only pray that we could do the very same.  End the Hatred!  Stop it now.  In me.  In you.  In those around us, both near and far.