for a little while

Grease talk

2012-01-12T18:51:00.000-08:00

I recently cooked a beef potato casserole that turned out a lot richer/greasier than I expected. It tastes okay, but after eating it my stomach just always feel a little gross.

That's how my soul feels after glutting myself on gossip. Each word is a greasy morsel that goes down smoothly enough, but when the conversation is done, I just feel gross.

Bleh.

Letter to Ms. Wang

2012-01-08T22:55:00.000-08:00

I ask my students to write three letters to me, one at the beginning of the year to introduce themselves, one at the semester break, and one at the end of the year to reflect and set new goals. I love reading these letters. There's something about calling it a "letter" that makes them feel like they are writing for a real audience in a way that "essay" doesn't, even though in both cases, I am the one reading the writing, and I assure you, I am very much real. Shrug.

Today I received a letter that I didn't expect. A letter from prison. I haven't posted about this student before because honestly, I don't know him very well. He was in my class only first semester last year, and despite my efforts to be kind to him, he was still quite closed off and defiant. Then he dropped out due to lack of credits. Sometime in April, he was arrested for armed robbery and he is now facing a potential sentencing of 20 years.

Anyway, I wrote him a Christmas card and contacted the prison chaplain ministry to go visit him. And to my surprise, he actually wrote back! (Now, last year, I wrote 2 letters to D and a Christmas card, and he never wrote back to me). It also means a lot because writing letters from prison actually cost money and inmates have a very limited amount and many things they can spend it on (phone calls, snacks, etc).

He wrote: "It was a privilege to be in your class even though at times I was a troublemaker. I wish I woulda paid more attention because now I don't have my high school diploma...But I'm hoping when I get out to get all my credits cause that's what makes me feel smart. But I really like one of the books that was given to me by a friend of yours [*he means the chaplain] it speaks about science and god so I don't forget what I learned. I hope your able to send more books maybe novels if it's not too much because I like to read a lot at night."

The irony is heartbreaking, isn't it? I wish they wouldn't have to learn to cherish and value education and knowledge at such a high cost. It reminds me of a line from the movie, "The Great Debaters," when Henry Lowe tells Professor Tolson that the reason why he decided to come back to school was because "school is the only place you can read all day... except prison."

The Value of Life

2011-12-31T23:29:00.000-08:00

This is turning out to be the quietest New Year's Eve I've had for a while. I turned on the TV earlier this evening to try to catch some of the festivities, but my mom told me that my family has canceled all TV programming, even the local stations. So, I just ended up grading essays, haha. This recent batch of essays that I've been grading are quite interesting. My seniors had to answer the question, "What is the value of life?" or "How should society assign value to life?" based on a selection of texts that we read and discussed. Here are some of the best quotes that came out of their papers. (Keep in mind that this is not an AP class, and most of my seniors are not exactly those who you would identify as intellectuals or philosophers).

"First of all, what is life? Life is essentially anything that is different from inorganic matter. It has the ability to grow and reproduce and more importantly, to die. Death is a natural part of life, and it is something only living things are able to experience." - Luis

"What makes life valuable, in the end, is your life." - Ricky

"As one is born, they are no brought to this world with a dollar value. Naturally they are brought to this world to live it, enjoy it, and to one day die." - Marysol

"When someone gets a car, they treat it as if their life depended on it. They treat it with the ultimate care and would not dare let anyone drive it, but why do we not treat our lives like that?" - Maya

"One does not have to be dying in order to see the sun every day." - Ely

"Some people may time life one day at a time, hour by hour, week by week, or year by year. Yet nobody really sits down and thinks about life, how far they have become, what they have overcome, people they've lost. Life will never have a price tag, nor will a person have monetary value." - Alexandra

"Life is nothing more but a world in which we know very well; fear is the only thing that separates us all from being alive and being dead. In other words, the actuality of life is that we are all cowards for avoiding what we do not know, death is the most common stranger who we are all familiar with, and it is because of that reason that we cannot completely answer the purpose of life." - Yojanes

"The value of life is living for something that's worth dying for. Rather than dying for something that isn't important, such as dying for drastic situations, we must live and die for meaningful possessions, such as our futures and families." - Jonathan

"Individuals should not be valued based on class or circumstances, but society should value everybody equally, by understanding the individual's background, how they deal with obstacles, and compensating families equally when a family member passes away." - Stephanie

"People go from job to job, city to city, and person to person in search for the happiness they need to live a peaceful life without knowing that their reason of living can easily be right in front of them. All one needs is to figure out what they want, go for it, and then live for it so that when death reaches them, they have the pleasure of looking back on their life and realizing that what they lived for is worth dying for." - Daniela

"Think of life like a piñata. Shake it and beat it and don't stop until you get all your candy, so when you're tired of beating, you can eat your candy." - Maya

"To sum it up simply, we all must live our lives in the way we believe is most important to us. To do otherwise would be to waste your life living someone else's, and that would have no value at all." - Alejandro

They've asked me in class my answer to the question. Of course, being the teacher, all I did was smile mysteriously and tell them that I can't tell them.

So what is my answer?

I think Solomon puts it best in Ecclesiastes:

"There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God, for apart from him who can eat or who can have enjoyment? For to the one who pleases him God has given wisdom and knowledge and joy, but to the sinner he has given the business of gathering and collecting, only to give to one who pleases God. This also is vanity and a striving after wind." (2:24-26)

and then...

""He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man." (3:11-13)

In other words, because life IS a vapor, a mere breath, apart from God (and on this side of the cross, I can say-- apart from Christ), the pursuits that we consider most valuable are ultimately meaningless; but in Christ, even the most mundane and quotidian--indeed, our little fleeting, flickering, fading lives-- are rendered beautiful and delightful, awaiting the eternal weight of glory.

Can you understand this??

2011-12-12T21:59:00.001-08:00

I'm looking through old UCLA 1-2 page responses for models of synthesis writing to show my students. The weekly 1-2 response is a staple of social science & humanities classes at the college level. For those of you not familiar with it, they usually ask for some sort of analysis of the week's readings. They can be tricky because they are not a full essay nor are they a random collection of thoughts. Anyways, as I was poking through my responses, I discovered this one from the "Troy Stories" class. Wow, I can't believe I used to write like this, that I used words like "bifurcate" and "digressive sub-narratives." Haha, reading this kind of makes me wish I went to grad school for English and became a super-nerd.

Week 6 Response- The Reunion of Odysseus and Telemachus (Book 15)

The larger narrative structure of the reunion of Odysseus and Telemachus begins at the end of Book 13, when Odysseus and Athene together “consulted and went their ways” (13.439). Until this point, the narrative structure of The Odyssey has been focused on only one hero at a time. The first four books details the rise of Odysseus’s son, Telemachus, while the next ten focuses on the wanderings of Odysseus. However, from Book 13 on, the narrative bifurcates into two homecoming journeys, finally converging at the beginning of Book 16. Through this bifurcated narrative, Homer builds anticipation for the actual moment of reunion, using a pattern of diversions and parallel characters to develop the themes of wandering and homecoming.

In terms of macro-structure, Homer progressively condenses the alternating accounts of Odysseus and Telemachus, quickening the narrative speed toward the moment of reunion. Odysseus’s encounter with Eumaios spans all 533 lines of Book 14, the return of Telemachus 300 lines, Odysseus and Eumaios 200 lines, Telemachus on the shore 150 lines, and again, 10 more lines in the shelter of Eumaios until Telemachus finally enters the room.

Although the narrative structure increasingly hastens their reunion, digressive sub-narratives and a lot of feasting stall this progression. These sub-narratives amplify the sufferings of the wanderer while anticipating the resolution of Odysseus’s sufferings. The parallels between all the interwoven narratives are numerous. Eumaios and Telemachus both receive two supplicating vagrants, affirming their uprightness in their demonstration of hospitality to strangers. Therefore, when Eumaios introduces Odysseus to Telemachus as another wandering suppliant, Telemachus receives him as he did Theoklymenos, not realizing that this “suppliant” is really the answer to all his divine supplications (16.67). Theoklymenos also represents what could very well happen to Telemachus upon returning to Ithaka, that he too might be made into a fugitive and vagrant. Meanwhile, Eumaios tells Odysseus his life story, another tale of forced removal from home, this time due to the treachery of a woman. These stories of banishment are juxtaposed against optimistic prophecies, heightening the tension as the narrative moves towards its climax.

A Professional

2011-11-23T22:48:00.000-08:00

Today I had a humbling realization. I'm becoming a professional teacher. Now, I would normally say such a statement with gladness, even pride. It is good to understand and navigate the world of schooling, to know how and when to refer students, to design interventions, to implement routines. to set professional development goals and actually believe that it is feasible to meet them. It's great to not feel like your faking a role anymore, haha. Overall, second year teaching is a dandy place to be in. I'm becoming a professional teacher.

But with that, I realized that I'm becoming a professional stand-at-the-door-and-greeter, a professional ask-me-your-questions-quickly-because-I-have-a-meeting-to-go-to-er, a professional I-remembered-to-ask-you-about-your-essay-but-not-your-day-er. And if someone asked me if I cared about my students, I would declare without hesitation, "Of course I care!"... just like the rest of my professional teacher colleagues would. But there's a difference between caring and caring. A professional teacher would "care" about a student who was often absent by asking him or her what is going on and then (regardless of the student's response) reminding the student of the importance of regular attendance to academic success, maybe even calling home or talking to the administration. All commendable actions, sure.

Last year, I had a frequently absent student who gave me the "Sometimes I just don't want to come to school" response, and when he said that, I felt really sad for him. I also felt helpless. I didn't really know how to help this student (since my professional tool kit wasn't as well assembled yet), so I told him, "You know what, J, every day I see you from now on, I am going to tell you how happy I am to see you." And every day for the rest of the year, the first time I see him in that day, my eyes would widen, my jaw drop into a huge grin, and I would loudly exclaim, "J, it is so good to see your face!!! Have I told you lately how happy I am to see you?!" And he would get all sheepish and embarrassed and chuckle slightly and say, "Hi, Ms. Wang." Only a few weeks into doing this, he came up to me and said, "Miss! This week I came to school every day! I can't remember the last time I did that. Aren't you proud of me?"

That was caring.

And it probably wasn't very professional. (Especially considering that it involved yelling obnoxiously down the hallway).

I realized today that so much authentic caring has been sapped out of my day-to-day interactions with my students. I realized this because I had my 9th graders write Thanksgiving notes to an adult in their life (teacher, family member, etc) who they would like to thank, and they wrote the most beautiful, sweet notes to this first year teacher at my school. I'm not going to lie. I felt a twinge of jealousy, thinking, "I wish they would recognize how much I care about them." But then it hit me--how could they recognize something that I haven't displayed? Even more, how can they recognize something that isn't really... true?

The truth is, I don't care about my students the way I did last year. I don't take them home with me the way I did (figuratively speaking, that is). Their words and their laughter and their struggles no longer seep into my mind and color my emotions as I cook, eat, hang out with friends, plan, grade, and then lie in bed at night. In other words, I'm not as obsessed. I have restored a much better work-life balance. (That's because last year, work WAS life). I am less tired and I am overall, I think, a physically, emotionally, and spiritually healthier person than I was last year. And that's a good thing. I'm becoming a professional teacher.

But I don't want to be a professional human being; I don't want to be a professional follower of Christ. I don't want love to be a professional development goal on a rubric.

Sometimes when I drive to work in the morning and the sunlight pours from behind trees and buildings and floods into my car, I wish I could take a piece of that sun, tuck it into my heart, and then let it burst forth into my students' lives.

On Parenting

2011-11-19T20:12:00.000-08:00

Today I went to a parent workshop at my school (because I organize the workshops), and then later in the day, a baby shower. A lot of parenting advice in one day.

Even though I am not a parent, I couldn't help but reflect on what I heard. In the morning workshop, the speaker was lecturing on how to have control over your kids. Doesn't seem to be the most poignant of subjects, but it really was quite moving at times. Throughout the presentation, sandwiched between tips on how to make rules and why knowing how to pin your teenager to the ground is an effective skill, were constant reminders of "because you love them." Remember how much you love them, the speaker said. You have the power to make and enforce rules, no matter how much they fight, manipulate, complain, curse, and lie to resist. You are the only ones who can do this. Not the school, not the teachers. You are the only one who loves them enough.

Addressing the common concern that this type of "I'm going to supervise you until you comply" parenting is not letting kids "grow up," she made another interesting comment: they are not "grown up" until they know how to follow rules. When she said that, I thought to myself, wow, that's it. That is really the essence of maturity-- knowing how to follow rules. Now, I know that sounds terribly oppressive and backwards in a social justice worldview, but biblically, it's right on target. God is a God of order, He made rules for our good, and He establishes authority to enforce those rules and thus maintain order. Knowing how to follow rules means that you know how to be a productive member of society--make honest money, pay your taxes, and not be a threat to anyone else's security. The speaker also said to the parents, "If you don't enforce your rules, you are teaching them that they can get away with whatever they want. You are setting them up to end up in jail." I thought about the people who end up in jail time and time again (D being an example-- he was released in August...and arrested again in October). Simply put, they never learned to grow up.

I've written in the past about how I'm not good at "tough love," but I need to be. I know that I can never take the place of a parent, but for those few brief hours each week in my classroom, I have stewardship of that child. Proverbs 19:18 says, "Discipline your son, for there is hope; do not set your heart on putting him to death." The contrast cannot be sharper. On one end is discipline and hope. On the other hand, death. To not discipline is not simply a passive omission; it is being equated to premeditated murder.

As the moms in the baby shower reminded, time is short. They talked about how quickly your child grows up and the importance of treasuring every moment. My time with my "kids" is even shorter. Half of the year is almost over. They will be entrusted to my care for only a few more months. I have only a few more months to love them as hard as I can, and I must, for there is hope.

Hello, long lost blog!

2011-10-03T20:14:00.000-07:00

It's been a while. I'm 8 weeks into year 2 of teaching, 2 weeks into year 7 of Grace on Campus, still quite busy and full of stories to tell but not enough time to write them all out. Hopefully I won't neglect this blog completely, but I am planning on sending more life prayer updates this year, especially as some prayer requests regarding particular students is probably not best for something as public as the internet. If you would like to be added to my life prayer update email list, please let me know!

Meanwhile, here's a couple pics from outings that I've had with former students. I think this is one of the best part of teaching seniors. You can actually hang out with them once they graduate!

At Yogurtland. I love these guys, but they were a handful in the classroom!

At kbbq in Ktown to send off one girl who was moving to Italy. (The reason why we're having korean food is because she loves everything Korean, but has never been to Ktown or had Kbbq!)

It's been a while, but really, it's all "for a little while", no?

the toughness of love

2011-03-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

I'm not good at tough love.

I was reading this column from the LA times about a police officer in Skid Row, and it asks some interesting questions regarding what is justice and what is true "caring". And it aptly captured the tensions I feel while teaching, particularly today.

About the police officer, the article said: "Joseph isn't trying to win a popularity contest. But he is the face of community policing on skid row, forced to balance the perpetual tension between tough love and tyranny."

I have to admit I do like the popularity, and the selfish, vain side of me wants to hold on to my students' approval at all costs.

But then there are days like today when I make decisions that jeopardize that popularity, like reporting students to the admin because of a suspicious and nauseating smell. It nauseates me because my mind was reeling, all jumbled with competing thoughts: "Am I going to ruin their lives? No, a suspension won't ruin their life. But what if this leads to something else? Whatever, they are making decisions that are ruining their own lives. But what about our relationship? Will they feel like I sold them out? Look, I'm not their homegirl, and they shouldn't expect me to have their back in this way. Besides, this is the true meaning of "having their back"--holding them accountable for their decisions." And then a part of me thinks about the irony that while they are researching issues of juvenile justice and the school-to-prison pipeline, here I am, possibly just contributing to their push out... but I did the RIGHT thing, the responsible thing...right?

So then, if I'm all about enforcing the law, what do I do about the kid who tells me of his graffiti exploits on the same day that I report his "homegirl" to admin for smelling like weed? Granted, he said this was all behind him, but maybe I should have told him, "By the way, hon, as much as I care about you and your life, if I ever saw you tagging up a freeway, I would call the police on you." But would I? Where do my responsibility to the law end and where does it begin? And how do I think about D, who I hold so closely in my heart, yet increasingly I hear about how he was caught up in a lot more shady stuff than I realized and is supposedly rather adept at manipulating his way out of consequences?

And how do I view all this through the lens of the cross? I know the cross is where love and justice meet, but how do I move that belief from theology to practice?

(oh, but on a practical note, pray for these 2 students that I busted today, especially the one who is the recipient of the note in my last entry!)

Letter for D

2011-02-16T23:41:00.000-08:00

Pray for D. His court date is tomorrow.

Here's the letter I sent him a couple of weeks ago:

February 8, 2011
Dear D--,

It’s Ms. Wang here. I hope this letter finds you well. I’m sure there is nothing particularly pleasant about your circumstance, but I am praying that you are safe and healthy, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. I heard from Joe the chaplain that he spoke to you on Monday. It made me happy to know that someone was able to speak to you face to face and that you are okay. I cannot imagine what life is like for you within these prison walls, and I know that anything I write to encourage you may run the risk of sounding hollow.

Actually, a lot of well-intentioned things that people say can be rather hollow. I want to share with you what I’ve been learning from my current Bible reading in Jeremiah. I thought about your situation the other day and how most people would probably quote something like Jeremiah 29:11 to comfort you— “ ‘For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” You’ve probably heard that verse before. The irony, though, is that if you read that verse in its context, the passage may actually have a very different application for you.

The theme of Jeremiah is that Israel has sinned against God over and over, and even though God has been warning them of severe judgment for many years, they are still in denial over their sin and the consequences. Back in the days of Moses, God made a covenant with Israel, that he will give them the Promised Land, and they will prosper there, if they serve Him and obey his commandments. But he told them, “If you do not obey the Lord your God, to observe to do all His commandments…The Lord shall cause you to be defeated before your enemies…your carcasses will be food to all the birds of the sky...” and other similarly gruesome things (Deuteronomy 28:15, 25-26). The end result is exile from the Promised Land.

Well, after tolerating their sins for hundreds of years and withholding judgment, God was finally going to bring about what he promised. But He wanted to give his people one more chance at repentance, so He sent out the prophet Jeremiah to warn them that Babylon was going to attack them and they would lose. However, the people refused to believe Jeremiah, and instead put him into prison. False prophets then told the people that God was on their side, and they would defeat the Babylonians. After all, didn’t God promise to give them the Promised Land?

Reading Jeremiah is like watching a movie where you know something bad is going to happen, but the characters in the movie don’t and instead they do the very thing that will lead to their destruction, and the whole time, you want to yell at them, “Noooooo… don’t do it!!!!” But if you think about it, our situation is not that different from the time of Jeremiah. There are many people out there who just want to preach a “positive” message, telling people that God has promised them health and wealth and prosperity. But God makes no such promises, especially not to those who live in sin and rebellion against him. To the unrepentant, the only thing that He has promised is that “the wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23).

So then, how does Jeremiah 29:11 ever fit into such a depressing picture? Well, Jeremiah 29:11 is in the context of a letter that God told Jeremiah to send to the exiles. These are the people who are now experiencing the consequences of their sin. Unlike the Israelites who are still in Jerusalem, still refusing to believe that God is going to deliver them into the hands of the Babylonians, this group thinks that their future is doomed for sure. They are kicked out of the Promised Land, so they are pretty sure that God has completely abandoned them. It is at this point, when they have accepted the consequences for their sin, that God tells them, “I know the plans that I have for you…plans to give you a hope and a future.” Even better, in the next two verses, He tells them, “Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart” (Jeremiah 29:12-13). In fact, He promises them that He is going to make a new covenant with them, even though they broke His covenant with Moses. Instead of writing His law on tablets of stone, He says, “I will put My law within them and on their heart I will write it” (31:33). This is the best part—“‘they will all know Me, from the least of them to the greatest of them,’ declares the Lord, ‘for I will forgive their iniquities, and their sin I will remember no more’” (31:34)

Even though Jeremiah wrote those words to the Israelites, we know that this new covenant only came about through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I don’t want to be like the false prophets of Jeremiah’s day, who “healed the brokenness of My people superficially, saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ but there is no peace” (6:14; 8:11). Until someone turns from his sins and trusts in Jesus as his only Savior and Lord of his life, the Bible says that he is an enemy of God and thus, there is no peace (Romans 6:10). However, if he cries out like the tax collector in Jesus’ parable, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner!” he is justified, and “having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 5:1).

So to wrap it up, here are my final thoughts: Don’t be like the rebellious and hard-hearted Israelites who trusted in promises that God never made (prosperity for the wicked); fear the promise that God has made (judgment); and trust in the promises that He has made through Christ (forgiveness and true peace). In the New Testament, Peter writes, “The Lord is not slow about His promise [of judgment], as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). He continues, “Therefore, beloved, since you look for these things, be diligent to be found by Him in peace, spotless and blameless, and regard the patience of the Lord as salvation” (2 Peter 3:14).

D--, I hope you see how much God loves you. Hebrews 12:6 says that “whom the Lord loves, He disciplines.” If you lived your life however you pleased, pursuing only your own pleasure and self-interest, and everything went your way, then I would be concerned. After all, the Lord does not discipline those who are not His. Even though I don’t know exactly where you are in your relationship with God, but it gives me hope to remember what Hebrews says, that God only disciplines those who are his children. “He disciplines us for our good, so that we may share in His holiness. All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness” (Hebrews 12:9-10). Know that you are in my prayers (almost every day!). Take care of yourself and don’t give up.

Best regards,
Ms. Wang

My students are too cute

2011-02-12T00:49:00.000-08:00

They were genuinely upset that I didn't tell them yesterday (Thurs) that it was my birthday. That was probably more fun for me to watch than if I had told them ahead of time about my birthday. I have to admit, I do like being popular with my students. Yikes, I'm in such dangerous spiritual territory... I have to keep reminding myself--focus on the principles, not the outcome (i.e. popularity)!

Dumpling Chat

2011-02-01T23:06:00.000-08:00

The successful Chinese New Year dumpling dinner tonight at my apartment reminded me of this gchat convo I had with my mom last year, regarding another dumpling dinner. It's one of the lengthiest, and in my opinion, most humorous gchat conversations I've ever had with my mom. Check it:

Jianhua: I am online now. just say hi to you. our evangelistic meeting went well. there are five people accepted Jesus as their personal saver. there are about 120 non believers came to this event during the two days.

me: wow, awesome

I will pray for the people who accepted christ

and for the others

my dumpling party was a success too

I had too much "xian-er" left over

so I made more dumplings today

and froze them

the only thing is that my "xian-er" still wasn't salty enough

oh yeah, and I added too much water this time

the cabbage "chu shui" also

Jianhua: At lest, you made some progress. how about your dampling wrap (skin)?

me: pretty good

saturdays was a little too soft

and todays' a little too ahrd

*hard

but both worked okay

the store-bought skin is very different

very hard

it needs water to close

Jianhua: you are right. i normally put a little dish plate with water in it. put one side of skin into water, at lest half area with water for close. that is why i don't like to buy skin in store. it is very easy for me to make it.

me: michael had a hard time making dumplings close

his "xian-er" kept getting squeezed out

so we just fried all of the ones he made

Ha ha

Jianhua: that because you made xian-er too soft. Michael must loss his confidence to wrap damplings from now on. i will prepare some xian-er and skin for Michael to practice and get his confidence back. every one can make it with my preparation.

me: haha okay

sounds like a plan

by the way, it is spelled, "dumplings"

Jianhua: haha, i hope i didn't kill your confidence with my plan. what are you doing right now. i am writing my witness right now. i have been attending a personal evangelistic training this quarter every Monday evening in church. this is a big commitment. tomorrow we are discuss our personal witness. by the way, two person out of five who accepted Christ are from our visiting group. we visited this couples two weeks ago.

me: oh cool

this means that you guys can continue to follow-up on them

"follow-up" is what we call reaching out to the "mu dao you"

also, we usually say "testimony" instead of "witness"

I am writing an assignment for my class tomorrow

this is a pretty big assigment

we observed a class

and had to analyze and write an essay about our observations

it's kind of like doing field research

Jianhua: we are better stop chat, so two of us can concentrate our mind into our work. bye!

me: good night!

me: Linda says "ni hao!"

Jianhua: tell linda i saw her family photos in facebook. she has a loving family. she is lucky with brother and sister.

me: okay

Critical Response

2011-01-24T19:16:00.000-08:00

So, the 500-word Critical Response Paper that I was supposed to write for my UCLA grad school class this week became a 1700-word...well, I don't even know what it became... half narrative, a quarter reflection, and a quarter academic analysis. I typed away for 3 hours, from 9:30pm to 12:30am, even though I knew I had to wake up at 6am this morning. But if felt good to finally get one of my most significant teaching stories this year on paper. Here it is:

Critical Response #1: Race and Racism

“A Black boy born in 2001 has a 1 in 3 chance of going to prison in his lifetime” (Davis, p. 92)

More than any other quote, this projected statistic hit me the hardest. I was reading Davis while sitting in the school office on my SSR monitoring duties, and this quote almost made me violate that first S of SSR as I fought back a reflexive gasp. Instead, I pressed my palm to my chest and let out a deep sigh. This quote did not merely disrupt my own sheltered understanding of the world or upset my social justice sensibility; this quote hurt because only a week earlier, I found out that D was in prison.

D came walked into my senior English class three weeks into the school year. At the time, I thought he was returning from an extended family vacation where his original flight back got canceled or something (after all, that’s another late-comer student’s story). Only later, I found out that he came late because he had been in a juvenile corrections camp. I first learned about his run in with the law through his reflective essay, the first main writing assignment of the year. He wrote a compelling narrative of that fateful day in court, serving his sentence at the camp, and concluding that he never again wanted his future to be in the hands of a judge. He did not say what the crime was, and I did not ask. When I told him that he was a good writer, he seemed genuinely surprised and pleased.

At first, I had trouble with keeping D focused and on task, just as other teachers and his IEP already warned me. Yet D was so good-natured and respectful, that every time I corrected him, every time I moved his seat back up front (as he would invariably try to sit in the back), he would grin sheepishly and say “sorry,” all the while trying unsuccessfully to suppress a chuckle at his own antics. (And half of the time, I was just as unsuccessful in keeping a straight face.) While other students moaned and groaned as we read Beowulf, D’s energy saved the class. I don’t know how we would have gotten through Seamus Heaney’s dense translation without D’s entertaining, yet surprisingly apt, commentary on every point I made. For example, when I pointed out how strange it was that the bard sang about Creation in the mead hall, D chimed in, “Yeah, that’s like eating in church, which I’ve done…” and proceeded to recount the times when he ate chicken while the pastor was preaching.

When his mother could not attend his IEP meeting, I emailed her my feedback because I wanted her to know how proud I was of her son. I wrote:

I have been very pleased with D---’s attitude and performance in my class these last couple of weeks. D--- is usually attentive to instruction and an active participant in class discussions. Since we are reading some very difficult pieces of literature where students can become easily discouraged and frustrated, D---’s energy level maintains a positive atmosphere for the whole class… Overall, I really appreciate his positive attitude and willingness to engage with classroom material. He has been a definite asset to the class and the learning environment!

Three days later I was disappointed that D was absent on the day of our Odyssey and Beowulf Socratic Seminar, since I was looking forward to him leading a lively discussion. When I logged into the school system to enter attendance, I was surprised to see next to his name: “Suspended.”

I will summarize the rest of the story briefly. Before school one morning, D and another student were seen buying swisher sweets at a nearby 7-Eleven. When administration detained them, D refused to be searched and fled the campus instead. The school contacted his probation officer who then issued an arrest warrant. D did not want to turn himself in, so his mother kicked him out of the house. D stopped coming to school, for fear that the school would call the police, even though I told him that the principal told me that we have no legal obligation to turn him in. When D finally told me that he wanted to come back, I checked with my principal and she told me that he was one day too late—the school had a policy that students would be automatically dropped from enrollment after ten consecutive absences.

D spent the next two months staying with relatives, hanging out at the donut shop next to school in the mornings and afternoon, waiting for his friends and his girlfriend. He knew that he had to turn himself in if he wanted to avoid more consequences, but he just didn’t want to. When I spoke with him, he told me how much he coveted his freedom, and that’s when I found out why he came into the school year late, that exactly two months ago, he had been discharged from the juvenile camp. “I’ll turn myself in,” he said, “but I’m going to wait until after November 22nd.” I shot him a quizzical look, to which he replied, still unsuccessful in suppressing a grin, “and if you're wondering why the 22nd, it's because Harry Potter comes out on the 19th, and I really want to see it!"

Finally, last week, when I asked his girlfriend for an update, she told me that D is in jail—county. Someone broke into the nearby coffee shop and since they knew of him and his situation (his church also meets at that coffee shop), they suspected him and took him into custody. At this time, she’s not clear on whether or not he has had a trial yet or what his sentence would be.

I’ve taken a long time to explain the story about D, not only because I think his story deserves to be told, but also because it illustrates so vividly and so tragically some of these very issues that Davis and Tatum discuss. If D had been a white, middle-class teenager, his white, middle-class parents would never even imagine that getting suspended for being suspected of smoking weed off campus could land their child in the county prison. Many a lawyers would have intervened from the moment that child made a rash decision to flee the campus. Their child would never spend two months loitering in front of the school, practically homeless, knowing that the only legally and morally “right” choice left available to him is voluntary imprisonment. And if he, as an 18-year-old “adult,” does not make this “right decision,” there will only be two other options left for him: getting arrested later on for something worse, or ending up dead. Yet this is the reality that D lives in, because he is not the white, middle-class teenage son of white, middle-class parents. He is adopted, raised by a single mom, with whom he has always had a shaky relationship; his older brother has been involved in criminal activities that he has tried his best to avoid; and when he was 17, he made a stupid decision to use a credit card that he and his friends found, which resulted in 6 months of juvenile camp and a probation condition of no suspensions. And now, he is one more Black boy in prison.

D’s current situation isn’t necessarily “unfair” in the absolute sense—he broke the law, and he is now facing the consequences of his bad decisions—but it is terribly unfair in a relative sense, a social sense. Social justice does not argue that people should not be held accountable for their actions, but it questions why some people and some groups are disproportionately “held accountable” compared to other groups. I noticed that Davis cited the Children’s Defense Fund for that statistic, so I looked up the Children’s Defense Fund to see what else they have published. In a report published two weeks ago, “A Portrait of Inequality 2011,” the Children’s Defense Fund reported that in 2008, while Blacks were 17% of the youth population, they constituted 31% of all juvenile arrests and 58% of all juveniles sent to adult prisons (p. 6). The report also pointed out that “White, Black and Hispanic teens are equally likely to use drugs, but Black teens are almost twice as likely as White teens to be arrested for drug offenses and more than five times as likely to be in secure residential placements for these offenses” (p. 6).

So much more could be said in regards to D and his schooling experience—his special education designation, his discipline record, his grades, and how as a charter school, we were able to devote more individual attention to him, and yet also drop him at the necessity (or convenience?) of our policies. As a classroom teacher, it is easy to feel powerless before these systemic issues, and yet, I think this is where Tatum’s suggestions for creating “inclusive learning environments” do have their merits (p. 21). I spent so much of this narrative detailing my interactions with D as a student because I think that is perhaps the most valuable part of his story, not the “just another statistic” conclusion. Even though I was not the most purposeful or explicit in “affirming identity,” “building community,” or “cultivating leadership” as Tatum describes (I do have my justifications for teaching texts such as Beowulf), I did affirm D’s role as a learner, an important member, and a leader of our classroom community (p. 21). As a result, in less than two months, D and I developed a solid relationship, which has allowed me to reach out to him and advocate for him. I don’t know what the future holds for him, but I plan to continue advocating for him. D’s situation may have aligned with this particular statistic, but it isn’t a validation of it. It is still merely a projected statistic, and it does not have to be our reality.

Adventure

2010-12-17T23:40:00.000-08:00

Watched "Voyage of the Dawn Treader" tonight and thought about how all of life should be an adventure. Let's fight the good fight!

2010-12-15T19:56:00.000-08:00

Teaching is a profession where you bring your students' heartaches home with you.

Back to Miami

2010-11-21T20:55:00.001-08:00

I've been waiting for this day for months. When I first heard last year that the National Council of Teachers of English conference was going to be in Orlando, FL, I thought to myself, "I'm going to Miami." After having said goodbye to Miami two and a half years ago, I was blessed with the resources to come back, even though only for 24 hours. I spent all of Saturday in Orlando at this English teacher conference, and this morning, I flew into Miami. Almost all of the teachers I knew from Breakthrough are no longer here. Only a handful of my kids got back to me. I actually missed my initial flight and had to buy a new ticket, so I wasn't able to go to one student's church. And I had more people cancel on me today than meet up with me... but it's all good. Because God gave me a precious precious afternoon with the two kids carved deepest into my heart from that summer.

For those of you who followed my xanga from 2008, you remember the adventures of A and W (pics here). When I first left Breakthrough, I thought about them almost every day. I prayed for them almost every day, and then every week. Yet as much as I cared about them, as time went by, the intensity of emotions lessened. Once I began student teaching and then teaching full-time, I had a steady stream of new students who were always at the forefront of my mind (I have so much I can update about just from the last 3 months...maybe another time). Even in this last week leading up to my Florida trip, part of me didn't want to go because I didn't want to leave my students for 2 days to a sub. I found myself thinking, what am I going to do in Miami with these high school kids who I haven't seen for 2 and a half years? What will we have to talk about? Has the bond dissolved too much? Is this trip too late?

I have to admit, at first it was a little awkward. A lot of small talk about school and whatnot. There were also awkward moments like when I just straight up asked a student if he was gang-banging, and they started laughing and were like, "are you for real?? you can't just ask that!" (I couldn't think of any other way to ask it!) At a couple points, it felt like we had nothing to do and we were just sitting around and the conversation was dying. But the more time we spent together, the more comfortable we were getting with each other again, and the better the conversations became. And that was the best part. Now that they are older and more thoughtful and not "my students" anymore, we were able to talk more honestly and deeply than ever in the program. We talked about whether environment determines what you're like, about the realities of racism and oppression and self-defeating/conformist/transformative resistance (TEP would be so proud of me). We talked about faith and no, it's not about just going to church and yes, hypocrisy is bad, and no, God most certainly does not promise you material wealth and health (W: So you sayin they just lyin on TBN? Me: Um...yes. Well, maybe they're not lying on purpose, but still, they're wrong.) And we also just reminisced about the good times we had at Breakthrough.

There were a bunch of other sweet, heartbreaking, funny moments, more than I can capture here. I got out of the car to hug A, he said to me, "I'm not going to become Christian, Nancy...I...don't have love in my heart." I gave him a "c'mon" look, and then replied, "well, let's pray that God will put it there." (So when you get a chance, please pray for W and A.)

As I shared to my Breakthrough students the e.e. cummings poem that summer, it is still true--

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

Paint my heart a solid hue...

2010-10-20T22:20:00.000-07:00

...the shade of You.

One of my favorite lyrics in contemporary Christian music. Brilliant, huh?

Full lyrics here.

Waiting for Superman

2010-10-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

Update-- 7 weeks in! I'm surviving...haha. But let's just say 1st year teaching is B-R-U-T-A-L. I have nothing to say about 1st year teaching that hasn't been said before-- the endless grading, the (lack of) lesson planning, the poor classroom management, the dark circles under my eyes, frequently being the last car in the staff parking lot...yup. The whole shebang.

I'm blessed to be learning to teach where I'm at. I have a pretty good bunch of kids and a very supportive staff. I understand now what my former math teacher said when I told him that I only wanted to teach inner city; he reminded me that there is need everywhere, even in Thousand Oaks. While Venice is quite different than South LA, I still have some of the craziness-- a couple of students who are fathers, several who've experienced handcuffs and probation officers, a few who are quite familiar with the local gangs. (Speaking of gangs, someone tagged a gang name in the back of my cardboard bathroom pass...it was so ridiculous that I couldn't resist making fun of it. I told my class how I considered just ignoring it but then I got worried that a week later, I would find it crossed out, and before you know it, there would be a full-blown territorial battle going on in the back of my bathroom pass.)

Anyway, I recently watched the new education documentary, "Waiting for Superman". The main message is that there is no Superman who is going to come and save education. You have to take action yourself (but the filmmaker didn't exactly explain how...besides sending the text 'POSSIBLE' to a mysterious number...) Anyway, the film begins with an education reformer talking about his childhood devastation when he found out that Superman wasn't real. "There was no one coming," he said. "There was no one coming who had the power to save us."

And I thought to myself, boy, am I glad that there is Someone coming. And it's easy to lose sight of His return and the things that matter eternally when my time becomes consumed with the perishable. That's probably my main prayer request now, to rest in Christ, depend on Him, and yes, wait for Him, day by day.

First week of school

2010-08-28T22:49:00.000-07:00

7 classes, 3 preps + advisory, 180+ students... yeah, I am not in student-teaching-land anymore. As crazy as I thought the past 6 months were, this is like, crazy times three. No exaggeration.

Yet, by the grace of God, I'm surviving!

Week one began pretty rough. I got sick the weekend before school started, and thus began the first day of teaching with a somewhat stuffy nose and hoarse voice. What's funny is that some of my students still have yet to hear my normal voice.

However, by the grace of God, I think losing my voice actually worked to my advantage. Since I couldn't raise my voice, I really had to work that silent-and-serious classroom management style. You know, where the teacher stays quiet, grimaces a little, stares at the chatterers, and finally, when the room get completely silent, says quietly, "Now that I have your attention..."

The other thing that caught me by surprise was my 12th grade classes on Day One. People say that Day One is the only day that teachers can count on students being attentive and well-behaved, since they are just watching to see what you are like. Then, Day Two is when the pushback will begin, where students will start to test their teachers, to try to push buttons and see what they can get away with.

Yeah, that didn't happen. Within 5 minutes, I could feel their pushback. I was the new teacher at a small school, and they are the seniors that know everyone. I quickly realized that as far as the students were concerned, I was playing on their turf. Within 10 min of the first 12th grade class, I got the inevitable question, "Is this your first year teaching?" Then I had a student try to get me to call him by a nickname that obviously he just made up on the spot. Let's just say they are a sassy bunch.

So far, I think I'm passing their test. By the end of week one, I've heard that word on the street is that I'm a "chill" teacher...but the word "chill" is a double-edged sword. I hope students think of me as "chill" in the sense of a teacher who is not unreasonably strict and has a sense of humor. I hope they don't think of "chill" as in "pushover" or "easy A".

That said, to be honest, I know I'm not as consistent as I should be. In fact, I have already amended a few policies to make them more lenient...and it's only week one!

Anyway, there is a lot more I could update about in regards to my first week. I could write about conversing with the one Chinese student in Mandarin, or all that I'm learning about working with students in special education, including a student with cerebral palsy. I could write about how bright and ridiculously eager to learn some of the freshmen are, or my experiences getting to know the rest of the staff.

But hopefully this peek of what went on gave you some sense of my teaching life. I will try to update more on my blog as I realized that it is more time efficient than sending out individual updates (so if I ever link you to my blog instead of typing you a long email, please do not be offended. It's just more time efficient!)

For now (and probably for the rest of this year), please pray for me to figure out how to not overwork myself, to have a greater love for the Lord and for others in my life, and in regards to teaching, to have the "wisdom from above", which according to James, is "first pure, then peaceable, gentle, reasonable, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without hypocrisy."

Buried Onions and Goodbyes

2010-08-06T12:18:00.000-07:00

I just spent the last hour or so finishing a young adult fiction book, Buried Onions. As much as I enjoy reading, I'm terrible at motivating myself to read for fun, so it helps that I can use the "I'm going to be an English teacher so I need to be better read!" train of thought as an excuse to delve back into the world of outside reading, which I've all but ignored for the last 8 years.

Anyway, Buried Onions is a pretty depressing, though gripping, tale about life in the rougher barrios of Fresno. The main character, Eddie, imagines that there must be onions buried underground, or why else would there always be so much sorrow and tears among the people above?

As I read, I couldn't help but think of my last 10 months of teaching in South LA. In two days, I will say goodbye to the hallways and students who roam them, even though a good amount of those students have already disappeared from view without a goodbye. The ones who I've spoken with, when they hear that I got a full-time job awaiting me at another school, ask me hesitantly, just to make sure, "So you won't be here in the fall?" I shake my head. They smile and congratulate me. "It'll be good," one of my AP students said. "You'll get to meet new people. More diversity." "Yeah, instead of just hanging out with this bunch of...hooligans" another student chimed in, and we all laughed knowingly. I was surprised that even the summer school students, who I've only known for 4 weeks, seemed a little sad when they heard that I would stop teaching this coming Tuesday. "You're going to another school?" They ask, and I'm not sure if I'm just imagining the hint of betrayal in their voices. "The district isn't hiring," I explain. "Well, you should come back here when they do."

I want to say, "Yes, of course I'll come back," but I'm not about to make promises that I probably can't keep. Because I am leaving for what is, in many ways, the ideal teaching job. I am leaving for another school community, where I'll have a whole other set of students to fall in love with. I don't even know how many years I will be in teaching, for who knows what God's plans are for my future.

Maybe that's what making saying goodbye so hard, that I can leave. And they are reminded yet again how different our lives are, that I have the social mobility to come and go as I choose. But they live in the land of buried onions.

I called my student Carlos yesterday to ask if he was coming back to summer school. After we spent 10 minutes discussing how to get him caught up on the work, since he had missed over a week between going to court and getting sick, I had to call him back and tell him that unbeknownst to me, the main teacher had dropped him from the class that morning. I must have sounded really apologetic because he kept trying to reassure me over the phone, with his hoarse throat and broken English, "Don't worry, Miss. It's okay."

Reading about Eddie reminded me of my students because things always seem to go wrong for them. It's not just mala suerte or an oppressive social system, but thick webs of sin upon sin, enmeshing desperate parents, desperate teachers, desperate administrators, desperate kids, where everyone feels victimized and no one wants a share in the blame.

Desperate comes from the same latin root as the Spanish word desesperar, which means to despair, to lose all hope. Admittedly, many of their life situations are bleak. But even as my heart feels sorer with every goodbye, I have reason to hope. And as I pray for grace upon grace, I remind myself:

⁸The LORD is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
⁹The LORD is good to all,
and his mercy is over all that he has made.

¹⁷The LORD is righteous in all his ways
and kind in all his works.
¹⁸The LORD is near to all who call on him,
to all who call on him in truth.

-Psalm 145

Summer update

2010-07-11T21:30:00.000-07:00

Quick updates on life:

- Finished student teaching at Crenshaw. Here are a few pics of my lovely students!

With 3 of my ESL girls at the Getty Villa

My ESL guys... they can be a crazy bunch, but I heart them very much

The whole group at the amphitheater (I had about 4 students who didn't go on the field trip... overall it was a very small class)

This girl from my AP English class always calls me "Lady N-Wang", haha.

Two of my AP students playing twister during a multicultural fair day they had near the end of the semester.

I also guest blogged about lessons learned from teaching for my friend's education blog. Check it out.

- Began working at Crenshaw's summer school as a teacher's aide.

- Still looking for jobs.

Resolved, Yosemite, and Brightup wedding pics coming soon!

Quiz: Joel Osteen or Fortune Cookie

2010-06-06T18:49:00.001-07:00

Take this interactive quiz at Tim Challis' blog.

Clarity

2010-05-14T23:28:00.000-07:00

God is so good. At the end of such a crazy day, when I was tired and confused and only dragged my body to Bible study out of habit than anything else, He hits me with one of those knife-in-heart-cutting-out-the-sin-exactly-where-it-is sermons, you know, the ones where you are sitting in your seat, cringing at how ridiculously precisely God's word applies to your life.

Long story short, the situation that precipitated my previous post ("It's just one of those days") was basically this:

A few weeks ago, I received a new student in one of my classes. I noticed that in his notebook, he was doodling the name of a notoriously violent gang. Since then, I've been thinking and praying about how to address this.

Today, I went into my classroom to pick up some teaching material, and I saw him there, even though that wasn't his class during that period. Instead of insisting that he go back to his class, I decided to just let it slide, figuring that this was a good opportunity to talk to him. Our conversation confirmed a lot of my suspicions, but there wasn't very much I could do or say to help him at that point. All I could do was ask him to think about what he wants for his future, and which actions now would help him get there... blah blah blah. Still, I felt like he was being pretty transparent with me and well, trusted me, probably to the best that a kid in his situation could trust a random teacher.

After we talked, I went to the Dean to ask if the school had any information about why he transferred or anything else on his official record. When the Dean saw my student's attendance record, though, he was like, "Ok, we need to talk to him right now and do an intervention." He proceeded to check his schedule and he said, "He should be in Biology now so let's go get him." As you can imagine, I was just standing there in a state of semi-panic. I felt dishonest letting the Dean try to track him down when I knew exactly where he was, but I also felt like I would be betraying my student's trust by telling the Dean that I knew exactly where he was because we just talked. Also, selfishly, I didn't want to get myself in trouble by admitting that I had just essentially condoned a student in breaking school rules.

Sigh, that was just the beginning of the mess. I told the Dean that I would go get the student myself, thinking that this way, I could bring him down without getting him in more trouble than necessary. But when I went back to get the student, he refused to come with me!!! He was like, "No, miss, I don't want to go. Let them come and get me." I was flabbergasted. He kept saying things like, "They're going to kick me out," "I'm not going to go, I don't care," and "just tell them that I'm not here." The worst part for me was hearing the anger and accusation in his voice when he said, "Miss, you went and talked to the Dean about me??"

Since he would not come with me, I had to go down to the Dean's office again. The Dean wasn't there, but when his secretary heard that the student was in another class, she was like, "What?? We have to radio security to go get him!!" My mind was screaming, "WHAT? Are you crazy? This is the least of our worries now!" But it was too late. She was already marching down the hall to get security. Inside I was like, "NOOOOOO it's over. This kid will never ever talk to me or any teacher ever again."

I was completely flustered and kicking myself for getting in this mess. I walked up and down the hallways, checking the room and then the Dean's office, just waiting to see the situation blow up in my face. But (praise God!) the security for whatever reason did not go get him. Even though the worst was over, I was still bummed about losing my student's trust so quickly after gaining it. All day, I kept playing over the events of the morning in my mind, thinking about how I could have worded things differently here or not done something there to avert the drama.

But tonight, while listening to the sermon, it hit me. The problem wasn't with the circumstances, but with me. As much as I might want to appeal to my "good intentions", I can pinpoint this whole mess back to one small breakdown in my integrity. This might sound silly, but really, what I should have done was enforced school policy and asked the student to go back to his class. I know, not very revolutionary, right? But think about it. That was really the cause of my dilemma when I stood before the Dean. I knew where the student was, and it wasn't where he should have been. That's when I realized that no matter what I did, I would have to break faith with someone, either the administration or the student. I tried my best to walk the line, but in the end, I was not completely honest with either. My student had every right to be mad with me. By talking to him then, I implicitly conveyed that I was okay with the fact that he was out of class. Then when I came back and said, "oh, the Dean wants to talk to you about ditching class", how could it not seem like I set him up to get in trouble?

I am so ashamed just thinking about how I could say to my student, "No, I won't lie to the administration for you", when my actions had already conveyed such hypocrisy and inconsistency of character. There I was, condemning law-breaking, while breaking rules myself. I am even more disgusted thinking about how I had told the student I was a Christian, only moments later to completely disgrace the name of Christ.

Later that afternoon, I read Psalm 51, and I was struck by verse 13, "Then I will teach transgressors Your ways, and sinners will return to You." I thought, "Yes, Lord! That is exactly what I desire, for those who have rejected You, who are rebellious towards You, to repent and return!" But what precedes this verse? What are the conditions for this to happen? Is it not David's plea to "create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me"? Is that not the only way one wretched transgressor can bring hope to another?

The sermon tonight drove this conviction home. The speaker's 3 points of application, drawn from Daniel 6 (the story of Daniel and the lion's den) were these:

In the midst of trying circumstances...

1) living a life of integrity gives confidence.

2) living a life of integrity gives comfort.

3) living a life of integrity gives clarity.

All day, I was unsure, troubled, and confused about all the circumstances around me. But the cause was really a lack of integrity within me. Having realized that now, and repented and enjoyed His grace, I feel so much more grounded and at peace. I am still praying for my student. I have no idea what will happen next week. I don't know if he will trust me again, but that's okay. My main goal is no longer for him to trust me, but for myself to simply be trustworthy.

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.

It's just one of those days.

2010-05-14T16:34:00.000-07:00

So many "what if"s and "if only"s and "why didn't I"s and "should I have"s running through my mind... none of which are helpful to dwell on. Lord, do I need wisdom from above!

Student blog

2010-05-04T23:41:00.001-07:00

For those who haven't visited my class blog for my AP class yet, check it out!

http://rewritingamerica.wordpress.com/

Dialogue journals- Slam poem

2010-05-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

One of my student's slam poem (original, unedited version):

this is a true history about a latino who

wants a better life, so he found

people who promess him to bringht to

the usa, but that will cost a lot

of money, two weeks later he returns

to the person who promess him a better

life, that latino gets the money so

they were crossing the desert in the night

the only light is the moon in the sky

but something happen, la migra found

the mans the latino run from la

migra but he never return, he loss

in the night desert. this is for all

latinos who wants a better life

this is a dream, an American

dream.

Dialoguing with students...in Denver

2010-04-30T22:35:00.001-07:00

I am in Denver now for an education conference until Monday evening. Since this is all weekend, I do need to get a lot of teaching stuff done...including responding to dialogue journals! I actually really really love reading these dialogue journals that I keep with my ESL students. It is incredibly time consuming to respond to each one, so this is definitely not something sustainable if I ever end up teaching like 150 kids...but now, with one class of 12 students, it definitely is one of my teaching highlights.

In these journals, my students write the most funny, profound, normal, extraordinary, inspiring, heartbreaking things. (Everyone keeps telling me what I do with my students reminds them of "Freedom Writers", but I've never seen the movie, so I have no idea).

For example, one girl, writing about her Spring Break, told me about how she spent a few days working with her dad in construction. She wrote:

“Yeah my dad paid me like $200 dollars. I was like in shock because I never had a lot of mony with me. I spent my money buying some pants and shirt, but too I decided to send a little of mony to my grandmother in El Salvador, she needed it some medicine so I decided send it to her…”

I also learned from her journal that her grandmother basically raised her, since her dad has lived in America for about 20 years and her mom lives in NY. In one of her earliest entries to me, she wrote:

“I don’t talk with my mom because I don’t like her she is a strange to me because she don’t love me.”

I will post more from their journals in the days to come...

FB chat w/ former Miami student

2010-04-09T16:55:00.000-07:00

Student

Yeap nancy u dont play any sports

4:49pmNancy

sadly no

4:50pmStudent

but engilsh is ur sport

4:50pmNancy

hahahahaha that's right

a poem is my court

and a piece of blank paper is my field

4:51pmStudent

and a pen

4:53pmNancy

is my ball

4:53pmStudent

wow

4:54pmNancy

haha

btw, that was an example of metaphor

4:54pmStudent

i knw

4:54pmNancy

just sayin

see how relevant English is to real life?

haha

4:55pmStudent

yeah

Wanted: Words (Part 2)

2010-04-03T14:57:00.000-07:00

For English class, senior year:

dear john grady,

(who burns as the desert

you breathe in such

taciturn intensity)

i wondered today if

i might meet you,

and what you would think

of me.

i realize i'm not pale and

striking

with blue eyes,

and i've never melted into

the rhythmic gait

de los caballos bonitos,

(in fact, i might be more like

your mother, estranged,

loving an artificial light

rather than the sun)

but i think, it would give me great

pleasure

just to watch you with the horses

(with the same steady seriousness

you savored her),

and maybe understand,

in your soft, sandy whispers

lost in wild manes,

tu corazón,

where sturdy oaks of honor

an oasis of humanity

and fire

(that loves and rages and sometime

bleeds)

all somehow coexist

under your rough exterior

of earth and pain and

the smell of horses.

if you would like to meet,

i will be at the edge

of dawn,

the world to come,

waiting for you to ride through

the dark night.

i hope you can make it.

with sincerity,

tu amiga desconocida

(September 2004)

------------------

Hahahahaha... TOTALLY forgot that I wrote this... (written after a sermon on dating)

Waiting to Waltz

Dear Man,

I think I've lost
too much of the night in
foolishness,
received a pen one
too many times,
and dreamt and giggled and gave
away your favorite smile
to them.
It's confusing,
walking around this ball,
and dancing with all those
masked figures
without knowing who you are.
Were you the clown with wise eyes,
or the obscured gentleman
who gave me a rose?
Wait under my balcony with
quivering words;
I'll recognize your voice
and I'll tremble.
Till then, I'll sit by the punch,
sip some living water,
and look for those lost
pieces of my heart.

Your flesh,
Woman

(January 2005)

so emo.

------------------------

Another random poem written senior year:

Ode to Poet-tree

I thought of a line.

"Southern California snows _______ come winter."

Every other day,

in muddy hallways or coffee shops, ask

"What is that tree?"

Silence, eyebrows, perhaps a bemused giggle--

"What is that tree?"

the ones that burst into white

blaze after December rains

and burn along the sides

of damp streets and gray skies

And purify the retina of a poet's eye...

"What is that tree?"

...that weeps come February

and by the north wind

scatters like ghost currency,

memoirs of white-robed mourners

already forgetting.

Winter's past

and Spring green seizes

the desolate branches

(I sigh.

There goes my line.)

February rains thrash

relentlessly

across defeated ground,

where lies pieces of white,

fallen ashes of the nameless tree.

Wanted: Words

2010-04-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

I think I might have lost 2 years of poetry. Sigh. I had all my stuff from high school on this one external hard drive, that now doesn't seem to be working... Here goes almost everything from CSSSA, all my soph year Free Verse stuff, and a junior/senior year collection of angsty teenage infatuation poems titled "Poems in c minor". Ha.

Luckily, I was vain enough to post some stuff on Xanga, so now I'm furiously searching for the last shreds of my teenage poetry years that I can find. Oh, and I am going to repost them here in case anything happens to my computer again.

Here is one from the "Poems in c minor" collection:

You are poetry

a metaphor of yourself

lines--fair, simple

structure--

unconventional

no rhyme,

but a certain quirky rhythm,

concise and complex

all love and wrath and beauty

shaped in one glance

or the freckle on your bottom lip,

Alluding to some ancient time

of philosopher princes and Renaissance minds

too intellectual for the masses

and abstract for all lacking the artistic eye--

Against your words

I am proven a fraud,

that I,

the self-proclaimed lover of poetry,

am too

foolish, too

ignorant
to read you.

(from April 2004)

From Sophomore year, when poetic form, for me, meant imitating the ancients:

O Distance, how I mock thy vanity,
Thy power far less than thou would believe,
Thou thinkst that thou can steal my sanity
But we stay nearer though across thy sea.
O Time, thou jest, for thou shall not prevail,
Think not these bonds thy weary years could break,
Imprisoned now, but we'll escape thy jail,
Though thou steal all, our mem'ries thou shan't take.
O Love, I dare not hide beneath thy wings
Yet dreams compel my heart to refuge seek
Thy power makes true the most unlikely things
But silly whims hailed love profane thee weak.
Though not by Love does Time and Distance fade,
'Tis won by Him through whom all things were made.

(December 2002)

A little vignette from China, summer before senior year:

Under red and blue plaid

gray hairs hide

from the pearls

that make willows

weep

and splash summer

into jade.

(July 2004)

more to come...

Remembering Chile

2010-02-28T16:10:00.000-08:00

In light of recent events, I thought I would post a poem I wrote for Chile about a year or so ago:

My dear Chile,

lanky and faded you come to me

in Facebooked words and screensaver photos

of snow-capped volcanoes and lone, radiant dandelions.

Wild, it grew within me

at first unnoticed amidst lush lawns of

laughing friends and Paradise Lost,

watered in a 10-week cycle of this and that,

ah, but then it bloomed

insidious and lovely,

dear unruly memory.

I have no time for hide-and-seek

when reading and teaching and reaching for

something command

my utmost diligence and propriety;

I will close my eyes and count your streets

and search for you where Amapolas meets Bilbao,

in los micros of the Big Blue Bus,

wishing for just one song.

Te busco en el campus lagrimoso

underneath the watchful eyes of Che

in smoky discotecas till

2, 3, 4…in the morning here I come

even toward the ever-frozen cordilleras

that point me east.

Allí estás, between the cordilleras and the sea

just behind the fountains of Plaza Engaña

en el crepúsculo,

you glow gently and firmly,

Amar con toda la fuerza

dijiste, cheek to cheek,

and before slipping away, whispered,

nos vemos por ahí.

I can't blame students for finding it hard to care about school...

2010-02-03T15:31:00.000-08:00

I stood looming over a group of 3 off-task students, who were more interested in chatting about whatever was going on in their lives than doing the assigned reading of a science fiction short story. I began explaining yet again what they needed to do. As I swung my hand up to point in the direction of the white board, one of the boys (the youngest and cutest) cried out, "Wah!", flinching and throwing his hands up in self-defense. "No, I'm pointing to the board!" I said. We all laughed. "Te pegan tanto en la casa, eh?" said one of the boys, chuckling ("They hit you that much at home, eh?").

I started to interrupt, but what was I supposed to say? Their regular ESL teacher just told me yesterday that this student had complained to another teacher that his step-mom gave him a bruise, and the teacher, as mandated by law, reported it. His ESL teacher told me that he has a history of lying about assignments, truancies, etc, using his stepmom as a cover-up. She was pretty sure this was no different. But whether or not it was his stepmom, that's not the point. His words have already been said, and the wheels of the machine have begun churning.

Before I could think about what to say, he was already replying to his friend in Spanish. That's why I have a social worker now, he said. They might take me away and put me in foster care. Will you change schools? his friend asked. No, but I'm going to be separated from my siblings.

I just stood there listening to their exchange, trying to understand as much of it as I could in my degenerated Spanish skills. Finally I asked him if it was a final decision, or if they are still investigating. He said that they haven't investigated yet.

Hm. I said. A silence. "Okay, well, let's keep reading the story. What do you think is going to happen..."

Retreat Recap

2009-12-30T20:53:00.000-08:00

I just returned from my 10th CCCTO youth group winter retreat. You start to feel old(er) when you can start using the word "decade". (ex. "You know, a decade ago in youth group..." "Wow, I'm a decade older than you." "After a decade's worth of...")

This will probably be one of my more memorable winter retreat experiences. I don't think I've ever prayed as hard for a retreat small group as I have for mine this retreat. There is a heart-soreness that lingers from such intensity, even if for a short duration, almost like after Hopi, Breakthrough Miami, and Belarus.

I was humbled yet again in the realization that I can't change anyone. I realize that my compassion and concern can quickly degenerate into restless anxiety, even obsession, when poisoned by pride. This pride says, "I am necessary in this person's salvation"; "I am the only person that can reach someone when all others have failed"; "Look at my self-sacrifice"; "The more I fret over something/someone, the more power I have to change the situation/person". Ah, such lies! Is the heart not deceitful above all things, that even its attempts to love can mask the insidious scheming of a self-centered glory thief?

Chasing Stories, pt. 4 (the end)

2009-12-16T23:11:00.000-08:00

At one point in my life, I vowed that I would tape record every adventure and heartbreak that my grandparents experienced in twentieth century China. I imagined myself meticulously researching my notes as a diligent historian-ethnographer and then weaving their stories into the memoirs they would never write for themselves.

Even now as I type, trying to remember their memories, the stories come to me missing characters and settings and plots and resolutions, confused and fading as dreams upon the first moments of wakefulness.

She was born and left to die, rescued by a neighbor and returned to her mother. Did shame choke her mother the way the smoke would six years later when the Japanese came? Was the house set on fire, or did a bomb explode upon everything they knew? Yet somehow, my grandmother, a six-year-old girl, escaped the fire, the hunger, the dark nights of gunshots and despair.

One year, the Americans bombed the train he rode, so the students got off, walked a ridiculous number of kilometers, and carried on their vacation plans as usual. In school, he learned Japanese, the language of the conquerors, and Russian, the language of the first revolutionaries, and years later forgot them all. When he left for high school, his oldest brother pulled out of his pockets three yuan and said, “Take this, it’s all I have.” I showed him a picture of the son of this brother, sitting in the courtyard of his house in rural China, with his sons and wives and their children, and me, the reluctant diplomat. Here’s his son, grandpa, I say, pointing to my computer screen. He tells me the story of his send-off. All he had was three dollars, and he gave them to me, he says, weeping.

Somewhere between the Five Year Plans, the rallies and the parades, they experienced labor camps and having kids, communal kitchens and heart attacks, over half a life spent building a New China that never quite trusted their book learning.

I recorded a couple hours of my grandmother talking about her family and her early childhood. Then she had to lie down and rest. I stayed at her hospital bedside for those few weeks, and then boarded a plane. She died while I was flying over the Pacific. My grandfather satisfies himself these days with reading his books and taking walks around our suburban neighborhood. Writing tires me out too quickly, he says. When I am home, I rarely stop to listen. Clothed in the sidetracked ramblings and oft-repeated admonitions of the aged, my grandfather’s words often fall upon unhearing ears and preoccupied minds. I wonder how much I’m forgetting even as I’m remembering, and whether histories, once lost, can ever again be found.

Chasing Stories, pt. 3

2009-12-15T10:42:00.000-08:00

We drive along San Pedro until we get to the Rescue Mission parking lot. We park, divide the burgers, and pray.

“Remember, the worst case scenario is that you die,” says Kai, his Chinese accent still noticeable despite years of American schooling. “And then, well, you’re with Christ.”

We hop out of the back of the truck and exchange nods with the Rescue Mission workers at the front door. They don’t seem surprised to see our group of four guys and two girls, all Asian and arguably nerdy looking, walking out into the night. Two steps outside, we see another church group, looking just as out of place as we do. My white UCLA sweater sticks out like a neon sign. But no one gawks at us. The residents of Skid Row know that their home is considered a place for the crazies, and certainly, no one is crazier than a group of awkward college students, walking around after midnight to hand out burgers and talk to people about Jesus.

Oh, and the people sure love to talk about Jesus. One man who calls himself Payback tells us that he is a strict Seventh Day Adventist who will crack the head of anyone who dare to mess with him. He says that he just lost all his money gambling, but he actually has a million dollar home in Baldwin Hills. After getting his fist within inches of one guy’s face, he suddenly calms down and asks us to pray for him. To thank us, he bellows into the crisp night air a slightly off-key rendition of “His Eye is on the Sparrow”.

But this isn’t the only story I find. Surrounded by the stench of urine and loneliness, I find the story that I already knew, the one that I came to tell, that a holy God came into and died for a Skid Row world and homeless hearts.

Chasing Stories, pt. 2

2009-12-13T15:23:00.001-08:00

In fourth grade, my friends Didi, Heather, and I were endlessly enchanted by the idea of mystery. Didi and I lived in the same apartment complex, an array of wooden buildings strewn across a hillside, connected by a maze of stairs and concrete walkways, separated by walls of brick and evergreens. Heather lived in a large house across town, but I suspect that despite the plethora of available toys and video games, she found our apartment adventures much more enticing.

Every walkway became a path to some potentially undiscovered destination. The shrubbery marked out secret passages, unbeknownst to the rest of the population who shuffled along the well-trod concrete. On top of the pebble-covered parking garage, we stumbled across a sticky black substance. Clinging to our hands like some enchanted potion, our excitement turned to horror as we wondered whether we could ever rid ourselves of this rare plague. (As it turned out, a little alcohol and vigorous rubbing eventually took the tar off). Most exciting to us was our “hideout”, a patch of earth at the corner between two walls and a rock, which separated it from the rest of the world. We wrote our initials on the walls of our hideout with a half-empty tube of superglue that we found lying on the ground. Convinced that no one would discover the secret society behind the 3-foot tall rock, we convened regularly to discuss any new mysterious findings. We were detectives on the hunt for something indefinite and inexplicable, for other worlds that quietly coexisted alongside our simple, suburban lives.

Chasing Stories, pt. 1

2009-12-08T20:46:00.000-08:00

(For the next few days, I will be posting parts from a mini-autobiography I had to write for my English methods class. Each segment came from a separate prompt. Enjoy!)

I stepped into my kindergarten class only knowing one sentence of English, “Where is the bathroom?” We moved to downtown Oklahoma City into a one-bedroom apartment, which seemed as luxurious as a castle in comparison to our one-room apartment in China. Although my parents came to America with little material means, they had what many other struggling immigrants working long hours in restaurants did not—a college education. After a few months, they traded dishrags for lab gloves.

My story becomes rather ordinary after this point, compared to the sweeping histories my grandparents and parents lived through. In many ways, it is an unremarkable story, warm as chicken soup, bland as suburbia. I say this not as a complaint—my life has been bathed in torrents of grace—but as a simple statement of reality. For example, almost every kid has a story about The Bully. We remember The Bully in flashes of horrid, toothy grins, a mass of frizzy or stringy hair, an indescribably terrifying odor, or maybe, just a set of knuckles. They conquered on the playground, in the bathroom stall, or along the dreary stretches of sidewalk gray. And the spoil: sometimes a lunchbox, sometimes a few dollars—always your dignity.

My story about The Bully begins no differently. I led a peaceful playground existence upon the chalked blacktop of my sleepy Oklahoman elementary school. I boldly navigated the sandbox dunes and jungle gyms, unaware of possible threats from the lumbering giants who shared the school grounds. Then one day in third grade, while waiting in line for the school bus with my friend Jennifer, one of these big people came near. Towering above us, she opened her mouth and out poured all sorts of insults and taunts. We kept silent. Day after day, the assaults continued in the school bus line.

One day, our bus line conversation drifted to the topic of Barbies. The Bully sauntered over, eager for gain.

“Give me your Barbies!” she howled.

Though afraid, I tried to resist her demand through a tactic of compromise.

“You can have any of my Barbies, but you can’t have Cowgirl Barbie or my Princess Barbie. Those are my favorites.” Jennifer followed my vain attempt to salvage our favorite Barbies.

The Bully’s eyes gleamed in triumph. “No, I don’t want the others. I want those!”

On the bus ride back, Jennifer and I debated what to do. We were trapped.

“We have to give her our Barbies,” Jennifer concluded. “I don’t want to get her mad!”

Refusing to resign, I finally suggested the unthinkable. “Let’s tell our parents.”

“No way,” Jennifer cried. “Then she’ll get really mad!”

I entered our empty apartment, heavy-hearted, waiting for my parents to get off work. When they came home, I confessed the entire shameful ordeal. My parents reprimanded my foolishness for not telling them earlier about The Bully.

“Give her this note,” my dad said. “If she doesn’t leave you alone, we’ll tell the principal.”

My eyes widened at this request. “She’ll kill me!”

“She’s a fifth-grader.”

I couldn’t understand their nonchalance. They would not hear any more of my pleas.

The next day, The Bully approached us, Jennifer tightly gripping her Barbies, me gripping my note. We handed over the goods in our hands. And I don’t remember ever seeing her again.

Hello long lost blog!

2009-11-29T22:12:00.000-08:00

Sorry to have abandoned you, but I must do so for a bit longer. I thought I would have time to post this Thanksgiving, but it's hard to post after not having done so for months. And now I'm at the end of the weekend and I still haven't done my readings for tomorrow...yikes. So much has happened that it's hard to just pick one thing to write about. Should I write about Crenshaw High? My love-hate relationship with my teacher ed program? Critical pedagogy vs. biblical worldview? Dating? Sanctification? (hint: those two are related, haha) Leading SG? Random musings?

For now, I will leave you with some good links to read, until next time. :)

A collaborative blog by many of the youths from my home church. One of my favorite recent posts is about a rather anti-climatic reading of Genesis.

A recent post from Grace Mark's journal (She writes so well. God has certainly gifted her with words so that as the content points to God's beauty, the style puts it in HD).

Here's an excerpt:

This may sound strange to some of you that the highlight of my trip was speaking to audiences of cancer and losing my beloved. But it wasn't just that. It was about Andrew - and I love talking about Andrew - and it was about Jesus and His faithfulness, and His forgiveness, and His kindness, and His mercy, and that in the end, this will have all made sense.

gems

2009-09-16T11:06:00.000-07:00

There are some passages in Scripture that are truly literary gems. For example, this morning, while reading Ezra, I came across this passage, describing the scene when the temple foundations were built after the exiles returned from their 70 year captivity in Babylon. Few pieces of literature can capture such poignancy and depth of emotion in such a simple narrative style:

"Now when the builders had laid the foundation of the temple of the LORD...they sang, praising and giving thanks to the LORD, saying, 'For He is good, for His lovingkindness is upon Israel forever.' And all the people shouted with a great shout when they praised the LORD because the foundation of the house of the LORD was laid.

Yet many of the priests and Levites and heads of fathers' households, the old men who had seen the first temple, wept with a loud voice when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, while many shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the shout of joy from the sound of the weeping of the people, for the people shouted with a loud shout, and the sound was heard far away." (Ezra 3:10-13)

My dad in action!

2009-09-01T20:26:00.000-07:00

This pic is a little blurry, and I can't say much about it for security reasons... but isn't it exciting to see my dad and the Book in action? Anyway, this pic came with one of his more recent updates. He'll be overseas for just a couple more weeks! Keep him in your prayers!

Hey there, Delilah

2009-08-26T21:21:00.000-07:00

And another one:

Kung fu awesomeness

2009-08-17T19:25:00.000-07:00

I saw "Kung Fu Panda" today, after hearing on multiple occasions while in China about how great of a movie it is. I was perplexed. From what I remembered, the reviews in the US were generally positive...but not amazing. In fact, I remember people saying that it was a stereotypical and reductionist portrayal of Chinese culture... so then, why does everyone in China love it? And furthermore, several people told me that they wondered whether or not Americans would "get it."

Now I know what they mean. "Kung Fu Panda" is just a cute little animated movie with a cliche plotline... unless if you too can say with Po, the Panda, "I looooove Kung Fuuuuu!!!" The movie isn't a cartoon rip-off of "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon"... it's an almost perfect mock recreation of the entire genre of Wuxia. One reviewer complained that the movie lacks wit. That's because most of it's wit lies in its parody of a genre that isn't very well understood by most Americans.

So many of the visuals and little moments were straight out of the typical Kung-Fu epic drama:

- The opening dream sequence of the WuXia hero beating up a bunch of villains in a village restaurant? Classic.

- Chopstick fighting over a dumpling? Fyi, chopsticks often kill in the Kung-fu epic.

- Freezing your opponent by hitting the right pressure points? Happens all the time.

- Gaining a ridiculous amount of power and skill just from reading a scroll? The only way wuxia heroes ever reach that epic level.

I can't wait for the sequel.

(btw, Stephen, the panda still kinda reminds me of you.)

Get those red pens out...

2009-08-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

Back from China!

I will share more about my trip later, but for now, for your amusement...

(You would think that in a country full of people who can speak and write English quite well, someone would have been able to do a final edit on these signs... especially the ones that were displayed in the middle of the Olympic Square!)

Off to the Motherland!

2009-07-22T23:28:00.000-07:00

I'll be leaving for China tomorrow, and I'll be there for 3 weeks. This means lots of traveling on planes/buses/trains, smiling politely, eating yummy foods, sweltering in 100+ degrees weather... and no Facebook or blogspot! I may be able to access it through the UCLA proxy, but we'll see... Until later!

Dance Dance Revolution!

2009-07-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my update email, those Belarusian kids are trendy. They were so much cooler than we were, even the village kids who would chop firewood and pick berries in the forest as chores.

So these two guys were really really into something called "Tecktoniks". At first, we thought it was just a Russian way of saying techno, but as it turns it, it's actually the hottest music/dance trend in Europe, that started in the streets of Paris. Go figure.

Here's a video of some tecktonik dancers:

Here's a video of our boys:

Back in the States!

2009-07-18T23:12:00.000-07:00

If you did not get my super-long trip update email and would like one, please let me know and I'll send it to you. As I wrote in the end of my email,

"In sum, my main lessons on this trip are that 1) ministry is always messy, 2) G-d is always in control, 3) to simply do His work and trust in Him with the results is my great joy and highest privilege."

You can view pictures of the trip here.

And videos from the trip here.

Прывітанне! (Hello!)

2009-07-06T15:26:00.000-07:00

We are leaving for Belarus in less than 16 hrs! Here are some general prayer requests, but if you want specifics, please comment and I'll send you an email. Since this is a public blog, it would probably not be the wisest thing to post about the details here...

Please pray for health and safety during travel, and that we will be well-rested during our first night in Minsk.
Pray for the team, that in small group discussions, we will accurately handle the word of truth and communicate the good news in our words and actions.
We will also be leading games, organizing crafts, and presenting seminars on Asian and American foods and American life, so pray that we will do all 1 Cor 10:31 style.
We're not exactly sure what the conditions will be like. Showering may or may not happen, haha. But I guess we'll find out soon! Pray that we will not complain about conditions, but be grateful for all that God provides in shelter, food, and other resources.
Pray that we will be flexible when unforeseen things come up, and not be distracted or distraught. Remember that flexibility = a LOT of last minute planning, so pray for wisdom whenever we need to change things around.
Pray for open hearts and changed lives!

We won't have internet, so I won't be updating this blog for the next couple of weeks.

Thanks for your prayers!

My Miami kids!

2009-07-05T00:02:00.000-07:00

My friend Janessa took this picture just for me. For those of you who remember my xanga entries from last summer, this is A on the left and W on the right. They are in the high school program now (only incoming freshmen, but look how tall they are!), so Janessa, who's back to teach middle school, only sees them during the bus pick up and drop off times.

Just wanted to show off my boys, haha. :-)

Welcome to my new blog!

2009-06-29T23:27:00.000-07:00

I finally decided to say goodbye to Xanga and begin anew in documenting my post-graduation adventures.

Here's a collection of some things in my life in these past 2 weeks since graduation:

1) PAPER. I spent most of my first 2 weeks of post-commencement making sure I could actually graduate by cranking out a 22-paged, 3-pages-of-bibliography, 96-footnoted beast of a paper. It was actually one of the more enjoyable paper writing experiences though, not taking consideration into the fact that all my friends were free to play. Anyway, if you ever want to know more about developments in education in the 17th and 18th century, especially how they intersected with Puritan-influenced theology, let me know.

2) Bridal showers. I went to my first bridal shower ever a week ago, and went to my second

bridal shower ever the week after, haha. What is especially wonderful in celebrating with both of these brides-to-be is that I grew up in church/thousand oaks with them AND went to the same college fellowship/church at UCLA with them. :) What a joy to see how God has w orked in their lives over the years!

3) UP. Maybe it's all this celebrating of marriage going through my mind or something, but I cried so much. And I don't think I'm *that* weepy of a female movie-watcher. Anyway, I really liked the message that it's the "boring" parts of life that are most wonderful.

4) Hanging with the fam. I've started reading the Bible with my grandpa again. This way, I get to practice my Chinese and encourage him with the Word at the same time!

Next post... what's going on in the upcoming weeks...