The years go by....and still I find...

This past weekend was my last weekend with two churches; one which I've worked at for two years, the other a church that I've attended since I first came to Boston in 1999 my freshman year at Boston College.

First, Watertown Evangelical. While many of you probably don't know much about my time there, I'd have to say that I was very quietly and consistently blessed by this group of people. I've never been in a church that was small in number in this way, and yet I've never been so taken aback by the amount of giving and praying they do for others on a regular basis. It really was an amazing experience, with friends I hope to keep throughout my years in Boston.

The latter, NCPC, really takes me back.

I can't even begin to tell of the countless things that have happened in 11 years since I arrived in Boston. The friends I've made, the lessons I've learned...even the food I've eaten.

It's hard to even write at all in this moment; I see before me such a swirl of events and things that have happened. Moments of deep and extreme sadness, and moments where I saw Heaven open and hope return. I cannot even begin to describe it.

I hoped to have some insight here...something I could share which would encapsulate that which I would impart to someone else if I were only given the briefest of times to impart that which I've been given..but it's just difficult. But a few very incomplete highlights...which probably don't encapsulate even a fraction of what mattered....

I remember...

- Arriving at Boston College in 1999. The sweltering heat in unconditioned dorms.

- My naive (but not ill-placed!) commitment to the faith of my youth...and the crushing of it through doubt and questions

- Experiencing deep relational pain and reconciliation...some of it taking years. Learning that, indeed, it sometimes takes years.

- Attending NCPC....learning what it means to be with family. To quote someone: "I don't like you, and you don't like me, but we're going to suck it up and learn to love each other." Oh how precious that commitment. I have friendships I will keep for life, and now have the ability to form new friendships that I never would have before.

- My Perspectives class at BC; when I saw school and faith intersect in a way unprecedented, and when I began to think philosophy as being less than "useless."

- Knowing without a doubt, for the first time in my life, that there was indeed an Other whose presence I could not shake at all despite my best efforts. And that I was loved.

- Forget The Girl. Walk Around In Your Head.

- Classes: Philosophy of Tolkien, Does God Exist, Two Existentialisms, The Heidegger Project, The Non-Fiction of C.S. Lewis...the classes that grounded me into better understanding my self, my existence, and the Light. The end of my doubts regarding Eastern religion. The vision of the Throne.

- Being called to the ministry...then being called to InterVarsity.

- Working for InterVarsity...years packed with so much learned, and yet also with grief and suffering unprecedented...even while much of it was self-inflicted. Time spent in counseling, in blind grasping, fraught with mistakes and foolish decisions. But emerging with the knowledge of my deepest weaknesses, and having grasped the precious treasure of being able to accept that I am not the standard or the "happy middle ground"...and being able to actually listen to others who can see my blind spots. I also gained ministry experience I will carry forever.

- Realizing what real friends are.

- Learning from my biological family more each of these years what it means to be family. Our love for each other has only grown. Except for that one year I was being a dummy.

- Joining a group bet to try and get a six-pack in six weeks....and while failing, discovering Stronglifts, the value of squatting and consistent strength training, and the reinvigoration and restoration of my body, health, and confidence. I don't take this one lightly; it seems even my soul has been affected by this one.

- Being called to the seminary...then to China. Meeting my wife.

- Getting engaged to my wife. Getting married in the company of family and friends, and even in the company of the new family in Russia.

- Realizing seminary was just too expensive if I was going to be a responsible man. Discerning God's call, and by chance meeting Jan Vezikov at a birthday party, giving way to my joining City on a Hill church.

To everyone who's been a part of these past 11 years (and that would be most of you, since Facebook's only been around that long), thanks. Looking forward to the next decade.

What will my child call me?

I was having this conversation with Tanya the other day...

Perhaps it's because I'm about a month away from the marriage ceremony, or because the possibility of children at some point...but I realized that I'll have a decision to make.

Will my child call me "Dad"?

Or while my child address me with the korean "아빠" (Appa)?


Perhaps most will find this insignificant. Or they'd say that my korean stinks enough that I should probably just stink with "dad".

But here's why it's significant, at least to me.

I don't have a "dad". Or a "father".

I have an 아빠. Or an 아버지 (Ah-buh-gee).


Illustration? I asked Tanya how she'd feel if our kid called her "엄마" (Umma), the equvalent of Mom in Korean. She said it would be weird...

And why? Because she called her mom "Mama", which is how Russian children address their moms...and so to receive an unfamiliar address would be strange.


Now, for me, I wouldn't find being called "dad" as foreign as she would being called Umma, because I grew up speaking English natively, but it's still pretty similar.

My earliest memories and thoughts were formed around calling my dad by the Korean title. Which essentially hits home harder.

Saying "I'm a dad" to myself doesn't quite have the effect as the thought "I'm an 아빠 now."

Even as I type it the difference in emotional effect is striking. The weight is apparent.

This by the way, is why 2nd generation Korean Americans, or really, any immigrant children growing up in a dual-lingual context may feel disconnected when they go to church and hear "God is our Father". They never had a "father". They had an 아빠. Or "Papa" (the Russian "dad"). Or whatever.

The lack of sincerity in the public sphere.

(previously unpublished, just thought I'd throw it out there for the heck of it...this is a unpolished and incomplete thought-stream type of entry).

I've given in, yes. Facebook updates and twitter have literally relegated us to quick posts about things which are overall inconsequential. Even our responses have been reduced to a quick "click" of "Like".

Occasionally there's that thread of comments on facebook, but it's so rare nowadays.

More than ever I notice the creeping in of insincerity into everyday relationships, and our complacency with it.

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The problem with me is, I've grown tired of attempting to foster such intimacy with people; indeed, such that I've sometimes scoffed at others' attempts to foster it, because I believe that their efforts will either end in futility or in an enclave of over-sensitivity.

Is this really the way it should be?

To elaborate more, I've come to realize that there are varying degrees to which people find themselves able to emote and relay inward thoughts and emotions to other people. Some of this has to do with extrovertedness and introvertedness.

Historically, I often found it exasperating attempting to access the inward thoughts and emotions of others who were not oriented as I was; I shared feelings and contemplations readily, and loved to bounce things out in the open sphere. Yet I became aware that this is often difficult or even impossible for people of a more introverted disposition and nature; hence a tension created on both ends in the form of perceived needs vs being considerate of the disposition of the other.

Here is the rub though; I would think that the best way to resolve these tension would be through discussion, but introverts usually prefer not to have discussion! I have to thereby resolve this new tension by reasoning to myself that often these kinds of tensions can be resolved by subtle hints and unspoken conflict resolution. But wow is that difficult.

Most people live dejectedly in worldly sorrow and joy; they are the ones who sit along the wall and do not join in the dance. The knights of infinity are dancers and possess elevation. They make the movements upward, and fall down again; and this too is no mean pastime, nor ungraceful to behold. But whenever they fall down they are not able at once to assume the posture, they vacillate an instant, and this vacillation shows that after all they are strangers in the world. This is more or less strikingly evident in proportion to the art they possess, but even the most artistic knights cannot altogether conceal this vacillation. One need not look at them when they are up in the air, but only the instant they touch or have touched the ground–then one recognizes them. But to be able to fall down in such a way that the same second it looks as if one were standing and walking, to transform the leap of life into a walk, absolutely to express the sublime in the pedestrian–that only the knight of faith can do–and this is the one and only prodigy. - Kierkegaard