Ma-Lai (Part 1)

My uncle, on my mother’s side, was a handsome man in Vietnam. So handsome it caused him to be narcissistic and didn’t find any of the women in his village attractive. No matter how beautiful the girl was, he didn’t feel the chemistry – none what so ever. He would wander the village and lived a life of mediocrity because he didn’t feel that life had any value or any pleasure because he was alone without that significant other to share his life with. Months after months, he got more depressed and wanted a miracle, a stranger to walk into the village, but that never happened. One day, after a year of being unhappy, my uncle went to the family and told them that he was leaving. He wanted to travel to see what the world can offer. He wanted to see if the gods had a wife for him because the women at his village weren’t suited for him.

On the night of the full moon, he packed his belongings and took all the cash he had, gave my mother a hug and said his good-byes to everyone. My mother cried, her mother cried and the rest of the sisters cried. He truly was handsome. He was taller than most of the men in the village. His hair was black and not dark brown and his eyes were big. He had a strong jaw line and was built like Tarzan from working in the fields. He wasn’t just a fieldworker; he had a brain, he had imagination and ambition. He came up with a method to collect all the rainwater into big jars for drinking and bathing. Owning a refrigerator in Vietnam was expensive because electricity was hard to come by. The kind of refrigerator they had was a box made of metal and you would have to go to the market to buy a huge cube of ice to put into the box. Then you can store the food you wanted to keep cold. Fish would make things smell bad, so they would never put the fish in the ice box. He came up with the idea of preserving the fish so that the family wouldn’t have to throw away the rotted fish. Uncle told the family that you could make fish jerky. He also knew how to bargain with the locals for goods without paying the usually price that everyone else had to pay. “Yes, your uncle was a catch all right,” my mother would say.

My mom is a good storyteller - probably where I got my gift. I like to tell stories. I just need to hear it once and I’ll remember it to recite it, like I am reciting to you now. Are you ready? You really should crawl into your bed and get comfortable because I am going to explain what happened to my uncle – his life before the Communist came in and took over Vietnam.

My uncle traveled from one village to the next for 6 months. He would stay for only a couple of months in each of the village until he came to this one particular village that was different from the others. It was gloomy like his mood. He didn’t ask questions. They didn’t ask questions. They all kept to themselves and never talked about they lives. They didn’t care who you were, what you wanted or what you liked. They were just people who were there because they were just there. My uncle liked this. He was able to be and did not have to try hard to prove himself. No one spoke to my uncle unless he asked him or her a question. After two months of solitude, my uncle got restless. He started noticing a particular girl in this village. She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t plain looking; she was more ugly than anything. Her body was different from most Vietnamese people. He didn’t quite know what it was, but there was something different. She had two arms, two legs and a proportionate body, two hands with 10 fingers and two feet with10 toes. What was it that was different about her? He wasn’t sure. Because Uncle liked to solve problems, his curiosity drove him to speak to her. Her eyes! Yes, her eyes were haunting. They were a little darker than usual with a white cloud in the center. Was that it? Or maybe it was the way she looked at him, the intense stare, as if her eyes were weaving a spell over his mind, his heart, his soul.

A month later, they were married. His new bride wanted to leave the village and start a new life. Her name was Ngoc, which means Pearl in Vietnamese. They moved to the next village where my uncle taught the villagers how to harness the rainwater and preserve their food for the rationing. They lived a very good life there in the village because everyone valued my uncle’s knowledge. He was in good spirit because he finally had a wife and was an important person to the village.

After a year of living at the village, a plague hit the village. People were dying in the village, but it would always be the day after the full moon. No one would understand why this plague would strike randomly without a sign of illness at all. One day, the person would be alive and healthy, then the next morning, that person is die. As the French would say, “Fini!” Ka-put, Dead, Gone, No More.

One day, my uncle was walking by a tall rice field and over heard two elder women talking. “I tell you, this never happened until that young man, Quan, moved in with his wife.” Said one lady as she was cutting the rice grass.

“You right, that young man is good, but the wife if bad. You see her neck? You see how many lines she has on her neck?” Asked the woman who was gathering the grass into bundles.

“You are correct! She has one too many lines on her neck. One too many.”

“We must tell the head monk and ask for help.”

Uncle didn’t want to hear anymore and left without being noticed. He wondered what the monk would say, because my uncle could not understand what they were talking about: One too many lines on her neck? What does that matter? How many lines are you suppose to have? Crazy old women! Forget this, we’re leaving as soon as I get paid for my work.

That month, before the next full moon, my uncle and his wife moved to another village. They started they lives over, built a new home, showed the villagers how to ration their goods and how to preserve the rainwater. Things were good again. The villagers liked my uncle; they respected him and valued his input.

After five months of the good life, my uncle decided they should start a family. He thought it would be romantic to make love to his wife under the full moon that night. He was full of ideas and went into the jungle to scout a good spot for their romance. As he was walking he thought of all the little children and wanted to bring them home to his family in Vung Tau. My uncle couldn’t contain himself anymore and ran to his house.

“Wife, wife, it’s almost dark, come with me.” But his wife wasn’t anywhere to be found. He went through the village asking for his wife, but no one saw her. That night, he slept alone until past midnight. His wife came back and crawled into bed with him. She was full of energy and full of life. She wanted her husband and they made love that night in bed.

The next morning, his wife looked satiated, as if she had eaten her fill for the week. A knock at the door. Both husband and wife look at each other curiously. No one has knocked on their door at 8am before. My uncle opened the door to see one of the elders of the village. “Good morning, brother. Are you well?”

“Yes, but there is news in the village. Mr. Tam died this morning.” Announced the elder.

“Oh no! Are you sure? Mr. Tam is a healthy young man. He’s only 33, right? How can he die? He doesn’t even smoke!”

“His wife tried to get him out of bed this morning to go to work. That was when she realized he felt cold and hard. Poor woman, a widow at 23 with three young kids!”

“Thank you for letting us know! We’ll come over and give our respect. What time will the villagers be there?”

“I think 3pm. Good, good. I will see you then.” The elder answered quickly. He needed to announce the news to the rest of the village.

Bethel's Writer's Offering Prayer

To my writer friends, this is for you. I was at Bethel's Writer's Conference this last week and we prayed this prayer aloud to God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit.
Take this prayer with you and pray for God's blessings over your writing.

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Lord, as we offer our writing gift to You, we are believing You for:

Ideas and better ideas
Royalties and remuneration
Sales and best selling lists
Favor with publishers and agents
Awesome style and organization
Originality in metaphor creation
Clarity in communication
Grammar, usage and punctuation
Brilliance in word choice
Grace to finish
Writer's block dispelled
Procrastination diminished

Thank You, Lord, for being the Author and the Finisher of my writing
projects so I may tell of Your greatness and publish with the voice of thanksgiving that all may know You are good!

Hallelujah!!!!!
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Dream on

Last night, I dreamt of a world colored in grayish brown. There were no other colors, no life. Everyone seemed content with mediocrity. Their situation, relations among each other had no subsistence. The sky was tinted tan and the walls, people, clothes, cars, buildings- all bland.

There was a gathering of the minds and spirits- the one event that matters. People congregated to study and discuss theology. A girl in the driver seat escorted a new comer to the gathering. She felt nothing throughout the whole drive. Her life was just there, nothing to look forward to. Life equals the transitory of time. The new comer, whom she was with, never said a word. She parked her car and they both walked into a room full of lethargic people- all prepared for the pretentious intellectual debate. Everyone had his or her pristine façade on- everyone, but you.

You walked in. Your face is different- more serious, full of gloom. You stopped to look at the girl. The girl looked at you. She looked away trying to hold back the tears, the urge to hold you, to tell you that she is sorry.

I woke up with tears in my eyes and heaviness on my heart.

As the sun will always set, Jesus will heal all wounds. It was just a dream. I am happy again.

Hearing God

These past few weeks, my heart has been aching to know more of God, to sense Him and to hear Him. There are four keys to hearing God: 1. Be still and quiet your mind, 2. Look for a vision, 3. Allow spontaneous thoughts that uplifts you, 4. Write it down as God speaks to you.

I have a hard time sitting still and allowing the Presence of God to guide me sometimes, but tonight, I read a profound poem by Helen Mallicoat. It helps me to sense God in a tangible way.

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I was regretting the past
And fearing the future.
Suddenly, my Lord was speaking:

"My name is I Am." He paused.
I waited. He continued,
"When you live in the past,
With its mistakes and regrets,
It is hard. I am not there.
My name is not I Was.

"When you live in the future,
With its problems and fears,
It is hard. I am not there.
My name is not I Will Be.

"When you live in this moment,
It is not hard. I am here.
My name is I Am."

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Take a moment and drink it in. I am.

Jim Caviezel

Last Sunday morning, the Cathedral of Faith in San Jose, had a special guest speaker, Jim Caviezel. Jim is the actor who played Jesus in The Passion. He brought up the profound message that we all need to pray from our heart and not from our head or soul. “Be honest with God. Tell Him that you are hurting, that you are struggling, that you can’t do it on your own.”

These past two weeks I have been struggling and Satan is the great deceiver. He has been tempting me to keep my schedule busy. Underneath every temptation is a lie. The hard part is discerning the lies when pain and confusion have already invaded your soul. “Underneath every temptation is a lie. Underneath every temptation is a lie.” I tell myself this trying to have that truth soak into my blood, the memory of my cells.

My struggle is trying to stay still and know that He is God, trusting that He wants only the best for me. It is so hard for me to be like Mary. I have always been more like Martha. I can never sit still. I have to be on the go, go, go; do, do, do. I have small group, night class, workout at the gym three times a week, go out on three dates in one week, hang out all day at the de Young, usher at church; plus read the Bible every night. My week flies by as if my days perpetually go black.

At first, for Lent I was thinking of giving up eating out for 40 days, but God brought back to my attention that I was being Martha again, trying to serve and sacrifice my time and energy. Yes, it is good to be Martha, but Mary chose the better part. She chose to sit at Jesus’ feet and soaked in His presence. God said to me, “Come back to Me. Be at my feet. Bathe in My Grace and My Glory.”

After a few more conversations with God, for Lent, I am to soak in worship music, pray and read the Word for two hours each night. I have done this three nights in a row already. And you know what I have discovered? It is still not enough time with Him! When you love someone, you want to be with him always. I want to have God with me 24/7. He is the best EVER!

Singles Awareness Day

For Valentine’s Day, the day of love, a group of us went to the Tenderloin in San Francisco and imparted God’s love and grace over homeless women. The group started early that morning by ironing the sheets and decorating the inside of SF Rescue Mission. Stations for foot massages, manicures, massage chairs and full facials were set up to offer free services to these women on Valentine’s Day.

I gave full facials to some of these women who, for a transitory moment, felt strangely familiar to me –a momentary connection between two strangers who have never met before until that very second. God is so good how He brings certain people into our lives. Though these women’s skins were not at their best, I was not too repulsed when I touched them. There was something peaceful about serving God through these women. Serving the homeless unleashed a flood of adoration for Jesus and His children. I even dove in and extracted some deep old blackheads! “Now, if that ain’t love, I don’t know what is!” There were a few times when my stomach churned as I watched the dried-up zit crawling out of the skin as if a worm is eating its way out of an apple. Ugghh… BUT OH! How much more beautiful they looked without the big blackheads screaming for attention. Each woman received a blessing from me while I massaged their heads, hands and feet. I prayed for God to clear their minds, allow their hands to make a living and their feet to run to Jesus.

At the end of each session, the women were so grateful; you could see Jesus’ love invade their souls. As much as I would have loved to help sheltered them, I would not be able add to their lives. At least, I was able to help give them a sense of beauty for 30 minutes and a sense of love when they were in my hands.

Later that evening, I found out that some, if not most, of the women were prostitutes. We served prostitutes! How amazing to know that these women who have been battered and used were actually being served and nurtured. God is so good. There is no other God like my God. No other God who deserves total adoration and commitment. My favorite passage from the Bible (and the wedding vow God gave me) is from the book of Ruth.

Ruth 1:16-17
“Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me.”

Lord, I declare that I will go where You go. Your people are my people. I will serve them well as long as You are at my side. Remove everything and every person who will try and tempt me into leaving You. Amen.

Nadia

“She is not like an average four-year-old,” said the neighbor’s 12-year-old daughter when her mother asked if Nadia would like a Barbie doll for her birthday.

Nadia, my niece who looks just like me when I was little. Her mother is Argentine and her father, Vietnamese. Nadia –I love saying her name – has always been very mature for her age. She has to deal with the lack of love between her parents, watch her father walk off with another woman in his arms. She speaks Spanish, Vietnamese and English. Nadia watches Indy Foreign Movies with her mother, acts out funny characters from the movies, was taught by her mother to call her father “dork”.

Nadia, I love that little girl. I especially adore her. Not because she is the prettiest little thing, but more because her future will be so tough, because she has a father who cares more about his urges than about his four-year-old girl. Her face is of a sweet round innocent shape, but her eyes, they are so dark you can see the end of the world through them.

Nadia laughs and jokes like a little girl, but there are times when she speaks like an old woman. My poor, poor Nadia. So beautiful, yet destine to see ugliness around her. She sees me and she is happy. She sees her other cousins, aunts and uncles and she gets excited. She talks non-stop and plays games with her cousins. She gets lots of hugs and kisses from me – her auntie who tries to pour love in order to drown out the thought of her own father not loving her, to drown out the neediness of the assurance from a father’s love. She is beautiful how she radiates every time she smiles. She is beautiful how strands of her hair covers her face. She is beautiful how she is so small and thin that hugging her makes you want to hold her forever. “Nadia”, everyone loves calling her name.