Where I’m Supposed to Be

photo-1431660370894-11a187f8cf92I started a couple dozen posts about ending our 7 years in Las Vegas and entering into this new season back in California. Phrases and sentences were jotted down, but the words fell short of the enormity of my feelings. I stayed silent, grieved, cried a million tears, and barely wrote a thing while we transitioned.

But now we’re here, and I was finally able to match the words to my feelings in this post I wrote for The Mudroom.

Coming home usually fosters feelings of comfort, peace, ease, but instead a stifling pressure rises in my chest. What am I doing here? Why did we move back? Like a wild horse being bridled, I’m frantic inside. Everything in me wants to run away till my lungs hurt and the tears fall freely…

Click here to read more. 

Cooking + Feeding of Our Souls

photo-1441122365457-1ae2aba6235cA couple of weeks ago I stepped down as an associate pastor at our church to prepare for our move out of state. It’s the first time being a full-time stay-at-home mom with no meetings to attend, no sermons to prep, no ministry or work obligations whatsoever. So how do I fill up this new space in my life? I cook. Instead of prepping for Sunday services, I plan for meals. Instead of having coffee dates with people, I shop for groceries with the intent of filling my family’s bellies and our fridge to bursting. I am becoming my mother, and I can’t help it…

Join me over at The Mudroom to read the rest, and if you’re curious about how to start creating community through the art of feeding one another, email me to hear about how supper club did that for me!

Always a Foreigner, Never Home

13324282_10154288765190159_1900862299_oMy face is the filter through which people see me. It can’t be helped. When people look at me, they see an Asian girl. To some, it’s the face of familiarity, but to most it’s the face of a foreigner. It creates distance, division, and tension. It brings up questions of heritage and place and home. It stirs mixed feelings of embarrassment, being respected, kindredness, shame. I wish I could be seen without the filter of my face, without the filter of what my face represents, but it’s not that simple. I understand why I’m asked where I’m from- no, where I’m really from- because sometimes even I forget who I am. At work, at Christian conferences, at gatherings, I’m often the token Asian among mostly white people. When I look at myself in the mirror during a bathroom break, I’m shocked at the face looking back at me. I look so… Asian. So un-white. So foreign. Why is my face so round and flat? Why are my eyes so small?? God! You could’ve at least given me double eyelids! I’m ashamed of what I see because what I really want is to look just like everyone else…

This month at The Mudroom, they’ve invited only women of color to submit their stories on race, culture, and identity. It’s not an easy topic to write on or to read, but they’ve created a safe space to listen with openness and respond with love, and I’m so grateful I get to share in that space today. Go to The Mudroom blog to read the rest!