July 19th, 2010
We decided to check out how fast we could run the mile again, six years out of high school. And you know what? It was a lot better than I remembered it. I wonder what Mr. Battaglia would think of me now…
July 19th, 2010
Summertime fruit at the Ferry Building Farmer’s Market.
July 11th, 2010
Over the dinner table the other day, my parents and I were talking about my grandpa, and how he’s pretty much the jolliest guy you’d ever meet.
He wasn’t always that way. When my dad was young, my grandpa was still in the Taiwanese military and found himself away for nearly a year at a time. My dad recalled that when his dad came home, he had a temper and wasn’t pleasant to be around at all.
But things changed. My grandpa found Jesus. Time passed; there are stories in between the years that I have not been privy to.
I’d remember visiting him in Taiwan and seeing how he’d light up the room with his perpetual smile and a chuckle that was reserved just for you and him. He’s gone with his church to China, himself the oldest member of the group by a long shot. My mom and dad chuckle about how he’s been featured in a church newsletter–again–for being such a happy character. I could see him dazzling folks with his stories, a kind word, a wise word.
It’s been about six years since my grandma passed. She was his anchor, a kind-hearted woman with prayer and a soft smile always on her lips. When she passed, I feared for my grandpa, for I didn’t know if he could go on much longer. Yet he has, with a visible strength and an obvious joy. And I think he has years of life left in him to live with vigor, compassion, and joy.
May I know that sort of joy–the Joy of the Gospel treasure–that allows us to see the hope of Christ in the midst of difficult times. The joy that allows us to love freely and demonstrate grace. The joy that has been passed down, generation by generation, to me, to be known and to be lived.
June 28th, 2010
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.
Sarah had always made light of the fact that I’m like a robot. After all, I work in code all day at my job. And I’m stable, familiar, and predictable. And I could always be counted on to “do the right thing.” And often I have, how shall we say, limited emotional capabilities.
When Sarah and I recently decided to break up after two and a half years together, we both felt strongly that it was for the best. Things had progressed to the point where we didn’t feel it was right to move on. She didn’t feel understood, I didn’t feel accepted. We didn’t have the self-awareness to pinpoint a growing uncertainty within. We had been through good times and bad, we were different. But at one point, we had piled up more distance and unresolved conflict than we could afford to handle.
I’ve spent the better part of the month trying to get inside my own head and put the words to what’s really going on in me. It’s been difficult to know where to start. The first day I was hurt and angry. The second, I was overwhelmed with sadness. The third, I was numb, and so on, in various little permutations. There are days filled with the humdrum of work, the supportive words of a good friend (perhaps you!) and tremendous freedom. And there are days where I’m honestly pretty miserable, mourning the loss of shared dreams and a companionship dear to my heart.
I’ve read it somewhere that men are often unfairly portrayed as emotionless; they simply don’t know how to express what they feel. True; sometimes I feel that having a precise vocabulary and incredible emotional self-awareness will be the tools I need to heal. But if I let this go on too long, I’ll never write. Of course, I say this with some embarrassment that what’s coming out is completely overdramatic. But I won’t apologize for that… yet.
And in some strange, kinda sick way, it’s kind of nice to feel the pain and know that I’m not a robot. I’m skin and bones, joyously fragile, with little to boast about but the Father who loves me.
June 22nd, 2010
I’m a bit worried I can’t articulate this.
April 29th, 2010

I am in a period of searching for significance through my work. May I remember that it is worth nothing to build my name in something other than Jesus.
April 3rd, 2010
We held our breaths as you let go of your last: It is finished.
March 26th, 2010
I am learning that there is a responsibility to being known by another. Sarah and I can’t expect to read each other perfectly right off the bat. Nor can we coast off the years we’ve been together.
I am only starting to learn about myself. Really. There is work to be done that I’ve simply ignored for years. And it’s kind of exciting! What motivates me? What makes me mad and why? Why am I the person I am? It’s so freaking easy to do the daily routine thing: go to work and come back, fill your life with activities and people and events and commuting that you don’t have time to stop and think and just listen.
They say communication is a two-way street, and I’m only figuring out that there is much more to plumb from the depths. And it’s good for the two of us. If I can explain myself and my feelings and motivations better, then Sarah has more than assumptions to go off on.
And at the same time I realize that this journey of self-realization can be twisted into an exercise in navel-gazing. May I know myself not to make myself more than I really am (a twisted shell of the Original design), but to communicate with ever-more honesty.
March 16th, 2010

I’ve started to take breaks more often in the afternoons. I’ll walk down Howard and up 1st to a little courtyard that I’ve found and just journal and think and watch traffic pass on by.
These days with the weather getting warmer, a walk out in the city is just what I need to recenter and relax. And get some good time in with Jesus too.