Good? Friday.

"Your joking about calling it Good Friday, right? I told you the part about the nails?" -Jesus

This is a tweet from a comedian that I follow on Twitter. And it got me thinking.

When you read the story of "Good" Friday, there doesn't seem to be much Good about it at all. So on a surface level, there is a bit of truth in that tweet. "You're joking, right? Good? What could possibly be qualified as good??"

After all, it is a story of betrayal, denial, injustice, violence, pain, suffering, mocking, scoffing, death.

A man is arrested after one of his closest friends turns him in. Another close friend, after swearing loyalty, denies that he ever knew the accused. Upon being taken to the highest authorities, the man is condemned though he has not done anything outwardly wrong. A confused judge hands him over to a mob. He is mocked, spit upon, and beaten within an inch of his life while scads of onlookers deem him worthless. He is stripped down, and what is left of his unrecognizable body is hoisted onto wooden posts, attached with nails, and displayed for all to see. And then, in the most vulnerable position anyone could ever be in, suffering the worst kind of execution the human race has ever thought of, he is mocked still, until he takes his last breath.

It is a heart-wrenching, pit-in-the-stomach, tears-burning kind of a story. Everything goes from bad to worse, so where is the Good?

The Good is in the purpose. The Good is in the implications. The Good is that it didn't end there.

The Good is in realizing that it should have been us, but it wasn't.

Every year, I remember, meditate on, and wrestle with the story of Good Friday, knowing that without it the end wouldn't be the end. And I would not be able to repeat with confidence, "it is finished".

Singapore-shaped hole

This post was written in mid-October for my Aunt Marilyn's blog. I thought in only right to share it here in case you missed it. 

Fall has historically been my favorite season. And this week, the DC metro area is experiencing the most gorgeous fall weather a girl could ask for. The trees are starting to change colors and there is a crisp breeze causing all the leaves to rustle joyously. But what really gets me is the smell; the smell of changing seasons is indescribable and intoxicating.

I find that there is a stirring in my heart; a nostalgic joy that has been long lost is awakening in my soul. It is brought on by crunchy leaves, bright orange pumpkins, delicious apples, and that familiar and comfortable atmosphere of Fall that I know so well.

But every crunch of a leaf, flash of orange from a pumpkin, and juicy bite of an apple reminds me of the season I have left behind.

The last two years of my life were spent on the tiny island of Singapore. This island is a bustling city nestled in Southeast Asia between Malaysia and Indonesia; rich in jungle atmosphere, cultural diversity, and the best food known to man. Though 6 weeks have already passed since I moved back to America, a piece of my heart still dwells with that little island. I long for the sticky, hot air and the smell of jungle and city, combined with a hint of durian.

I wonder when I will again feel that tropical atmosphere, eat chicken rice at the local hawker stall, or be the only white face crammed into a train car packed with Asian faces.

As I am experiencing the joy I have always found in changing seasons, my heart is being torn in two as I grieve what I have left behind. Some mornings when I wake up, the Singapore-shaped hole in my heart is almost too much to bear. I tell myself that I would trade the gorgeous Fall weather any day to be back on that tiny island.

But the grief will inevitably fade, and the joy of Fall will once again take over. And I will move forward into my new season, as we are all forced to do at times, but I do so having left a piece of my heart in Singapore and treasuring the piece of Singapore left in my heart.

Food.

I think I decided that my favorite part of traveling is the food. Everyone's gotta eat, right? Whether you're American, Asian, African, European, whatever, we all have one thing in common: food. But every culture has its own interpretation based on available resources, history, and styles. That's what makes it so beautiful: the diversity within the commonality.

Today, I enjoyed my first Korean Barbeque experience in Chinatown in Singapore with one of my best friends who just happens to be from Indonesia. Talk about a cultural experience.

I was just so excited and overwhelmed by the choices of meat and vegetables and the grill in the middle of our table and the tasty chili sauces, that I'm pretty sure the only words out of my mouth in the first ten minutes were "This is SO COOL."

That's when I realized that food is my favorite part of traveling. We started talking about it, and about different food experiences we've had. I tried to articulate what constitutes "American" food, settling with a general description and then ending by saying, "but every household is different..." Then we started talking about Senegalese food, and all of a sudden I was flooded with this intense nostalgia for Senegal. Just thinking about the meals that I ate there, brought me back and I could close my eyes and imagine myself there again.

So many of my memories of traveling revolve around food, because it is such a central part to just about every culture. Nasi Goreng in Bali, green curry in Thailand, ceebujen in Senegal, bread and cheese in France, char kway teo in Singapore, jambalaya in Louisiana, philly cheese steaks on the East Coast, and I could go on and on and on.

As I sit here with my belly full of delicious Korean food (and seriously considering falling into a food coma), I can't help but appreciate food and how it brings people together to educate, entertain, and enjoy.

On Weddings

Within the last 24 hours, I missed out on the weddings of two wonderful couples. And my heart aches. It's knowing that I'm missing the transition into a new (and significant!) season in my friends' lives. Of course I want to be there for the oohing and awwing over the beautiful brides, for the dancing, for the food, for the overall celebration...but the real reason I want to be there is to show my love and support for the couples. For them to know that I'm excited for them, that I can't wait to see them grow together and start a new life together.

One of the weddings was that of one of my adopted brothers. I have known him for almost 15 years (holey buckets that's a long time!)...He has been a constant presence in my home life for more than half my life. I have countless memories of him randomly showing up at my house, doing crazy things with my brother, and teasing me like I was his sister (which I may as well be). The first time he brought his (now) wife over to my house, it was as though she was meeting an extension of his family--another set of parents and siblings. The amazing thing is that she fit in perfectly :) So even though I've only known her for a year (most of which I have spent in Singapore), I consider her to be a part of my family too.

The other wedding was that of a dear, dear friend of mine. We met in Singapore and spent a most wonderful year growing our relationship, sharing pineapple cheese prata and butter chicken, hanging out with high schoolers, and playing ultimate frisbee together (well, she did most of the playing and I did most of the watching...). We've been through ups and downs together, and my heart broke when she moved back to the U.S. Then she started dating this boy. And every time I skyped with her she was even more filled with joy than the time before. Though it was from afar, I got to watch her relationship grow deeper until the point when she got engaged. And let me tell you, I had a box of tissues in hand when she told me the proposal story. The joy didn't stop there, it continued to grow as I heard about wedding plans--to the point at which my heart was bursting with joy on her behalf! I miss her terribly, and cried tears of joy just thinking about her wedding yesterday. The first photos on Facebook sparked even more tears seeing how absolutely radiant she was in her dress with the love of her life by her side.


And so I want to say to these two couples, I love you and it is hard for me to not be able to take part in your celebrations. Celebrations indeed! But know that I am so excited to see what the Lord has planned for you as you venture into this new season of life together. And I miss you. Loads.

Photo-a-Day: The Experience.

On January 1, 2011, I started a project. I called it a Photo-a-Day. I vowed to take at least one photo every day in the year 2011.

And now, on January 6, 2012, I am proud to say that I did it.

365 straight days of taking photos. Phew! It's been a long time since I've felt such a feeling of accomplishment.

You see, it all started as a challenge to myself. I wondered if I would be able to do it. And then it turned into more than that. I had friends and family all over the world following it, encouraging me, and wanting to be featured in a "photo-of-the-day".

As I now look back over all 12 months worth of photos, I get a little nostalgic. I remember where I was for each of them, and what I was thinking at that moment. I remember being disappointed in the April photos, and absolutely falling in love with May. I pushed myself harder that I expected that I would have, and I am so proud of what I did.

It is now more than just a portfolio, it is a journal...It tells the story of 2011. There are highlights (weddings, birthdays, vacations, etc) and lowlights (being sick for an entire week and taking photos in my room...), but that's the beauty of the whole project--I documented EVERYTHING.

I learned to think outside the box and to see the world from the perspective of my lens. A photo captures one moment--a split second of life. A moment that will probably never exist again, whether it's a facial expression in an engagement shoot or the position of a dragonfly in the grass. The angle at which you catch that moment can drastically affect the perception of it.

By forcing myself to take photos every day, I was forcing myself to look for subjects that wouldn't necessarily capture the attention of a camera normally. I needed to take my camera every where, all the time, just so I wouldn't miss anything.

It was an absolute joy.

Now that it's over, I definitely miss it. A few times this week, I've freaked myself out at the end of the day thinking, "Oh my gosh! I didn't take a photo today!!" Something that has been a part of my life for a year, is no longer.

But now it's time to move on to the next challenge...who knows what it'll be!

Until then, I would encourage all of you to challenge yourselves. Push yourself outside the box, do something you love, take the time to get better at it, and watch yourself grow.

Here's to a new year!

From my hands to yours

I love snail mail.

Sending it. Receiving it. Stamps. Envelopes. The whole ordeal.

Obviously, we live in a world where there are much more efficient ways of communication (says the girl who's writing a blog post...). Email, blogs, text messages, and social networking have streamlined communication in ways that no one a hundred years ago could have anticipated. And don't get me wrong, I am all about internet-centered communication.

But there is something special about letters. Real letters. The ones that come in an envelope with a stamp and magically appear in your mailbox. Your real mailbox, that is.

It's that it is coming from my hands to yours. The paper was held by me, written on by me, carried around by me. There's an element of physical touch, that by definition, cannot be experienced in e-communication.

Every other minute there's some new communication technology at our doorstep. And it is inevitably skinnier, faster, awesomer than the one before it. I, myself, just got a new phone for Christmas. It is pink and has a keyboard and lets me communicate faster and better than my last one.

But I will never be able to give up snail-mail. Old-fashioned, maybe, but totally worth it.

On Birthdays

Last week, Monkey celebrated his 7th birthday. It was a big deal. Days and days of anticipation, the purchasing of gifts, the making of a cake, culminating in birthday crowns, candles, and a good old-fashioned party.

I remember so many years of that youthful anticipation and excitement. Birthdays used to be a month long endeavor, filled with so many "I just can't wait!!"s that it felt like I would die before the day would ever come. And now I wonder, when did that end?

This year, my birthday fell amidst returning home, a wedding, and a lot of random busy things. There was a special Skype call with friends across the ocean. There were family and friends and ice cream. There were cards and a gift (that definitely fell on the "need" list, as opposed to the "want" list). There was a surprise breakfast with old friends. But it just sort of slipped passed. No big hurrah. I wonder when it was that I became okay with that.

I don't care about the excitement anymore, which I suppose is an inevitable landmark of "adulthood". I'm a little nostalgic for the days when I cared, but I'm also not terribly torn up that they have passed.

Which is precisely why it is so great to be around kids, who feel the excitement, who induce anticipation, and let it spill over until you can't help but be excited with them. So instead of pining for the excitement of birthdays past, or feeling the pressure of fabricating excitement for future birthdays, I am content reveling in the pure joy shared by the young ones.