Advent season

Basketball Jones

Thanksgiving break has afforded me the opportunity to watch some of the Chicago Bulls films from the championship years. What made those six championships to memorable was not simply Michael Jordan, but also cohesive the entire team was. Take the two stars, Scottie and Michael, for example. I can't recall a time where the two publicly feuded (at least to the extent that we see players today do so). This isn't necessarily meant to be a dig on Kobe and Shaq but I can't recall another modern basketball dynasty that involved two star players who were on the same page (though I was a big fan of the David Robinson/Tim Duncan duo for those couple years). Plus, I can't recall such a memorable set of role players. Take Dennis Rodman. Yeah, he had the colorful hair and tattoos and even kicked a cameraman in the groin but, dude, who else can say that they've crushed Bob Costas!



As for this season, when I haven't been gushing over Derrick Rose, I've been admiring the team effort of the San Antonio Spurs. I was able to watch a couple of their games when Ginobili and Parker were out and, though it was pretty vanilla in terms of offense, the team game was solid. Plus, they have managed to find another potential stud in guard George Hill (and Roger Mason) who could really be something special. Props to Coach Popovich for assembling what normally would seem to be a bunch of no-name players to surround the trio of stars. I've always been a fan of the Spurs brand of play, boring as it may seem to fans.

Some memorable Bulls moments:

Sharing the spotlight with the short, white, role-player. I was at a church retreat and there was a bunch of us huddled around the radio (since we had no TV) listening to this game.



The flu game 1997 Finals. Unforgettable image: Jordan collapsing into Pippen's arms after hitting a three-pointer to seal the Jazz's fate...serious brotherhood. This NBA 2k9 rendition is pretty much spot on.



The Last Shot/Shove/Game Winner

Whatever you want to call it, everything about this was pure art. Even the graceful shove of Bryan Russell (poor guy never had a chance!) simply becomes part of the final image along with Jordan holding and posing for the follow through. As far as I'm concerned, Jordan's career ends here and his stint with the Wizards never happened.



And who could forget this gem!

Following the news

They say that M1 year leaves little in terms of having a life, but I find that there is still time to do plenty of other things as well, even at the expense of studying. One of things that I find myself doing more than I ever did in undergrad is following the news. Ever since the election, pretty much every headline story concerns the economic situation both domestically and abroad. There's so much talk of people that are looking simply to survive, to make ends meet financially (and I would suppose emotionally as well too). It reminds me that most of humanity would be content to have a job and make a living doing it--and that's commendable. Whatever discussion of finding the "right" career seems to be secondary to the overriding need to have food to eat and a place to sleep. The hyper-practicality for which ABCs chide their parents bears some of this wisdom.

Having the opportunity to do what one wants is a privilege and the ability to make ends meet is a blessing. Furthermore, having the chance to safely wallow in uncertainty is just as much a gift that not everyone can enjoy.

The wonders of graduate school

I think of the best parts of medical school so far has been being able to see how so many things a related to each other. No longer are the days where one could view school as an assortment of individual, unrelated classes. For example, today in Immunology/Microbiology, the professor played this song to help us remember the sugar-loving nature of lectins (or sugar binding molecules/receptors) on cells.

The class before, we had just talked about glycolysis in Biochemistry, which also involves sugars. Later, as I was reviewing over the lecture from Biochem, this song came to mind:

Not to be outdone, our Histology professor tried to turn the auditorium into a dance floor by turning off the lights, demanding that the class come down to the front of the room while using the sound system to blare the following:

"There is only one salvation for you: take yourself up, and make yourself responsible for all the sins of men. For indeed it is so, my friend, and the moment you make yourself sincerely responsible for everything and everyone, you will see at once that it is really so, that it is you who are guilty on behalf of all and for all. Whereas by shifting your own laziness and powerlessness onto others, you will end by sharing in Satan's pride and murmuring against God." -- Zosima from The Brothers Karamazov

In school, if certain people were "jerks," you had the option of not being around them. You could just as easily spend your time with more preferable and edifying company. One thing that has struck me in medical school is that you realize that if such people do exist in your class (and most certainly there are people of questionable character in every setting!), there's a possibility that so and so may end up being a physician to someone you do care about, and God forbid that anything horrible come out of that predicament. So in ignoring a jerk, it is quite possible to harm a loved one.

Happy Birthday

to two friends who have enriched my life
to two men who I am privileged to call brothers.

And we're off (part 2)...

During this first week of school, I have caught myself surveying the lecture hall and noticing the different groups in which people have settled. Because I sit in the middle row in the middle seat with a fellow classmate. I have an ideal perch from which to look over my fellow classmates. People, for the most part, are friendly here, though I have noticed that we've gotten to the point where if we pass a fellow M1 in the hallway who we do not yet know, we are quite comfortably able to avert the eyes and shuffle past one another.

As for me, I have found that though I may have sat in the same spot this week with the same friend, my thoughts have been constantly on the different groups around me. I see different parts of myself scattered in the different circles; I want to be good friends with people who are parts of circles that may never intersect.

As I continue to try find consistency in my interactions, I think one of two things is happening: I am either losing myself in an attempt to change who I am or I am finding myself anew in becoming part of new social network.

And then I wonder to myself if there is a third possibility: in achieving the latter, am I also accomplishing the former?

More classroom tidbits

Today, the TAs for the different classes came in to talk about what to expect from classes and how to interact wiht professors/TAs.

The TA from Medical Statistics admitted that his class was the one that receives the least attention, concisely calling the course "not a ball-breaker." Upon uttering this last phrase, he paused to think about what he wanted to say next, and, as the snickers and outright laughter permeated the lecture hall, turned to the dean heading up the Q&A session and said, "does this need to be censored?"

One of the biochemistry TAs, an enthusiastic Indian chap clearly from overseas, was prompted by the dean, "I have all these stupid questions that need answers. Where can I get help? Who can I go to?" Almost immediately the student began his response with "You can still ask them..."

Free lunches are nice, but, Lord willing, I think I'm going to boycott pizza for the rest of the semester.

And we're off.

The following conversation took place between two of my classmates concerning going in to see the cadavers when another group mate was assigned dissection duties for the week

A: I mean I wouldn't want to get in the way.
B: Yeah, but you can just go and ask if they could show you a few structures.
A: Ok. So we can just make friends.
B: Yeah, cliques are forming already. I hate this shit. You gotta get on it.

There you have it, M1 is officially underway. Registration says 21 credits. The deans say it's the equivalent to 35 undergrad credits. I'll see for myself soon what kind of workload this entails.

"Cooking" v.1.0

Tonight I cooked my first meal in the dorm kitchen down here. If any of you know me, you can probably guess what went in it. I also recently got a new camera, to replace the one that died two years ago. I claim neither to be a good photographer nor a culinary god. Still, everyone likes visuals so here you go:
















I don't even know if the ingredients I put in really go together (ginger, garlic, and honey were fine...but white pepper?). It's been a while since I've cooked for myself like this. As a result, the extra water I added to dilute the soy sauce and the excessive amount of onions thwarted any attempts to pan-fry the chicken breasts. I was also too lazy to flatten them out or cut them into smaller pieces so I ended up over-cooking them (in an addition to the green onions) in an attempt to makes sure the insides were cooked. I suppose the only criteria for a dish like this is: am I okay eating this for the next few days?

Urbana! Champaign!

It's been four days since I set foot on the campus to which, if you had asked me freshman year at WashU, I might have considered transferring. As it is, I will get my chance to experience a DI college-town, and having begun to explore the campus on a run this afternoon, I'm beginning to see how such a large campus can also manage to be endearing.

I checked out a couple of the workout facilities here. Three words: Rock. Climbing. Wall.
I like the set up of the campus. The layout is well-organized, sitting a grid of east-west, north-south streets. Many of the buildings have a healthy patch of lawn, and the quads, all three of them, are bigger (and nicer) than what I used to have in St. Louis.

I'm expecting the food to disappoint. Still, Korean BBQ stir fry isn't too shabby for a first meal. I suppose the caveat is that this is considered the best that the dorm food has to offer. I believe I will start eating more tofu in an attempt to reduce the time spent in the kitchen.

I met one of my neighbors the other day. Amanda Heredia, a woman most likely in her 50s, who is doing her masters in bilingual education. She wants to go back to Chicago, where she's lived since immigrating from Colombia many years ago, to help the schools down there. We need more people like her.

My classmates? I believe the best i can do is make some general observations. People seem to form their little groups quickly, and it's easy to see who hasn't found their group yet. I seem to be hesitant to stay with any one particular group of people. Besides, classes haven't started yet, and I'm sure that's when core groups will start to form more aggressively. That's not necessarily a bad thing either.

I realize that the last four years have made me more acutely aware of certain groups around me. Whether it's the cooks at the cafeteria, the cleaning people in my dorm, or even the student clerks behind the desk, I try not let myself to obliviously pass them by. Sometimes, I enjoy these interactions more than the ones with my classmates. It hasn't been since freshman year that I've asked so many people the questions: "Where are you from," "Where do you live," and "What's your name again?"

I appreciate very much old friends who are down here for various schooling, jobs. I think the word "family" is fitting.

I also wonder if at such a big school, the urgency to find your "group" becomes even more important. I think that if I had come here for undergrad, issues such as "Asianness" wouldn't have been as big of a deal to me. I wonder if I will have time to have such thoughts once school starts.

Open and Closure

Today, I had to go to the hospital in order to get a liver biopsy. The nurses at the hosptial made the time much more enjoyable. They were warm, friendly, and humorously sarcastic. The doctors did their job adequately, and given the quick nature of the procedure (we're going to stick you with a needle into your liver 3 times), I suppose I shouldn't expect much more. Whenever possible, I like watching the needle, whether for a shot, IV or something else, as it's stuck into me. Perhaps it's a personal challenge to increase my pain tolerance. The actual procedure did hurt a bit. I suppose when they take samples of your liver it'll do that. In terms of intensity, the pain wasn't as sharp as when I got my in-grown toenail ripped out by the podiatrist but, it still hurt enough to warrant attention.

I also got to see an old friend in the supply department where I volunteered in high school. Back then, I had purposely chosen the supply department because I wasn't interested in getting "medical exposure" just for the sake of college applications but still "needed" (as my mom put it) volunteer experience. I was able to get pretty close to two of the workers there, Leo and Luke. I saw Leo today, and I wrote this about Luke. Reflections on time, growing up, friendship are all applicable here (Concerning these things, I don't mean to be trite but I'd rather not go into too much more detail about such themes).. One thing that Leo said struck me. He made a comment about how volunteers they get now aren't like they used to be in the past. It made me wonder if this wasn't a reflection of the self-serving nature of volunteering these days.

I wasn't able to see Luke today. He passed away a couple years ago, found dead in his apartment (complications of his diabetes?). If you refer back to that entry I wrote about Luke on my Xanga, you'll know why he meant so much to me. Praise God he is in a better place now. Till we meet again, my friend.


In case the link doesn't work, I've included the entry that I wrote on Luke below

Back in high school, I remember one of the last things that my mom "made" me do. Like everything else that I found myself coerced in (and what a blessing they were), I came away with much more than hours to record on college resume. My junior and senior years of high school I volunteered at Hinsdale Hospital in the SPD (supply department). The SPD was in the basement of the hospital and, really, wasn't exactly the most happening place. Back then, I didn't worry about having "engaging" experiences or complained about doing menial tasks. I was there to deliver supplies to the different floors--everything from long tubes to IV pumps. Sometimes I took the elevator, and other times, when I was bored and anxious, I would sprint up the stairs and time myself. Back in those days, things seemed much more carefree. My biggest anxiety was inviting my supervisors to a praise night at my church even though one was Catholic and the other was also a believer. The two supervisors I worked under were Leo and Luke. Tonight, I reflect on Luke. Luke Guralski was a middle-aged man of medium build. He liked to bike, which resulted in him getting into a pretty bad wreck, but he was, nonetheless, a rather robust and yet he struck me as a simple man. He was usually quite clean shaven and yet you knew, should he allow it, he could grow a pasture of a beard. He had a fiancee who suffered from bi-polar depression. There seemed to be an endless number of futile consults and medications in her history but to no avail. Luke himself had mental disorders of the type which would cause him to suddenly forget recent issues. He never completely described his full-fledged condition but I know that whatever it was, it caused neurological abnormalities and deep depression in a life that, for all intensive purposes, really didn't need any more. Because of his girlfriend's medical condition, marriage never materialized and even Luke realized the futility of the situation. Still, he wanted to stay committed to her even though she would try to push him away, and no doubt this took its toll emotionally on Luke even when he let go. The last time I talked with Luke was after my freshman year. I called his house and shared with him that I was going to China and that I wanted to give him a support letter. I remember talking that night and catching up on the how the last year had brought such new and unexpected things in our lives. That was the last time I talked with him. When I tried to call again, his number had been disconnected. Yet one thing that made Luke such an encouraging man was his faith in Christ. I saw his care and concern for those around him in the hospital. He was one who voiced his opinions and yet refrained from gossip. He spoke openly about truth and its importance in life, and though at the time, I might have considered his perspective rather naive, I look back at it an see it as refreshing. The last contact I had with him was a letter he sent to me with support for my trip to China. I knew that he did not make that much and yet he gave cheerfully. Yet his words in the letter, though I cannot recount them specifically, spoke even louder of God's faithfulness through his life to me. I came to the hospital to "do" community service, but I left it with an experience and glimpse of the divine work of which, as I sit here contemplating the future, I want nothing more than to be a part. There is always a part of me that would like to know where Luke is now, a part of me that wants to recapture the past for the sake of delaying the present and future. And yet, I suppose that I, too, must learn to let go.

Dark Knight

(Warning, possible spoilers below)

Okay. I admit it. I was sort of suckered in by the 94 percent rating that the movie had on Rottentomatoes. This was, in part, due to the fact that I was rather satisfied with the last movie I saw, The Visitor, that was rated a 93 on the same site. Additionally, almost everyone who I had talked to about the movie could only gush and rave about it ("Yeah, it's long, but you don't even notice").

I think many of my thoughts are stated already by this observant critic from the New Yorker.

To reiterate, the movie didn't really build after Joker is put in jail the first time--it just kept going (kind of like the Departed, plus about two endings), Christian Bale made Batman's voice kind of funny in a sad sort of way (I know Batman has issues but it's not like he's sick with strep throat), and the movie could have done just as much with less (less endings, less privacy-invasive sonar devices, etc.).

And finally, I was disappointed that Harvey Dent's death had to be covered up the way it was in order for the people of Gotham to have their hero preserved. Then there was that line about the people needing something more than truth (which, in the case, is a lie). I think this part is just as disturbing as the Joker's nihilistic tendencies. Let the people live their lives believing in something that doesn't exist (because we simply can't handle the truth that human nature is twisted). Still, I liked how Batman sacrifices his hero status for the sake of the city, becoming both protector and scapegoat.

Overall, the movie was entertaining but I know that's because I've been a Batman fan since childhood. I probably won't go see it again or even buy it. I'd almost prefer the first one over this one. Hopefully, the next movies will learn from past mistakes and try to weave together a story that is both compelling and, of course, entertaining.

More Working Stories

Today, I hung out after work at a co-worker's place with a couple of fellow employees. I forget how foreign I am to these types of "parties." KC cooked up some pretty good food, and, of course, there was plenty of alcohol (margaritas and beer). I don't/can't drink very much, and I certainly don't enjoy feeling drunk. I did try a margarita, all the while remembering how I have very little tolerance for the taste of alcohol, even if the drink is pretty fruity. Still, I had no problem hanging out with the guys until the fun started gravitating towards viewing each other's pictures of girls that they had met at clubs. All of us are single so it wasn't that surprising but there's a certain objectification of women that happens when guys get together to salivate over a woman's cute ass.

The experience reminded me of high school and even college when I would find myself at these parties when, due to the nature of the festivities, I felt out of place. I don't necessarily feel compelled to be at these types of functions, but I also realize that, sadly, this is how many people have fun. It reminds of how hollow this type of partying is but also gives me the opportunity to learn more about people, even if they aren't altogether with it.

I ended up leaving early. I hope to spend more time with these guys and hopefully, we won't always be doing the same thing.

Working

This past Monday, I started my summer job. What do I do? I download computer software onto computers...lots of computers, and then I repeat this over and over again while my brain goes on standby until my next procedural slip-up. Despite their brain-deadening moments of boredom, jobs like these introduce me to so many people, and, since most of these people are older than me, they generally have life stories worth telling. Take Shawn, one of the several well-built black dudes at work. He grew up on the Southside of Chicago and spent his post-high school years (seven of them to be exact) in the military (four in the Marines and three in the Army). Shawn, however, is one of the most relaxed and chill military guys I've ever met. He credits his personality to spending his years in the Marines in a post with officers who were even more laid back than he was, who called each other by their first names, and, for better or for worse, told a then intense and tense Shawn to lighten up a bit. Shawn is an entrepreneur at heart; he has always wanted to run his own business. He's hoping that this job will give him the income to continue pursuing his dream. Then there's Lynn. She had to quit college because she had kids, four of them to be exact. She grew up in Lisle, which is where I live now, but currently lives in Westmont, which is roughly where I grew up. Her husband is a minister of a small church that meets at Benedictine University, which is practically in my backyard, because they don't have a building. Her kids are separated by roughly two years, the eldest being seven years of age. As you can tell, the only thing that has kept me sane through the first couple days have been meeting these people, and trying to at least reflect on what is so easily can be a thoughtless job. Perhaps by the end of this summer, there will be more to say about this.

Grandpa

After two years of Chinese in college, I have tried, since I've been home, to use it as much as possible. Tonight, during dinner I was able to do so with my parents. And tonight, I thought I'd share a story about my mom's dad, which I found, for many reasons, quite powerful.

My grandpa was in Japan during his college years studying, working, and supporting his relatives back home. His family was hardly a wealthy bunch. The more he worked, the more he money he earned to send back home. But, he also had to support himself during school but working to support relatives took away money and time that would have helped and supported him in school. In the end, his studies yielded a failing business that drove him to the brink of suicide.

It was at this time that my grandpa remembered as a child living off the shores of Taiwan, a preacher coming to their village and staying with them. This preacher taught my grandpa the Bible and shared the gospel message with him, but, at the time, my grandpa's mom was vehemently opposed to any stranger coming in to convert them. So, my grandpa, as a small child, never went to church.

My grandpa, recalling this, decided to go to the Salvation Army post in Japan. Back then, the Salvation Army could legally share the message of Christ to the people it served, and so, it was here, that my grandpa was reintroduced to the Scriptures. He quickly read through the Bible, soaking everything in, but, in the end, came up with the following conclusion: "I believe everything that the Bible says is true except that I cannot believe that miracles such as those performed in the Scriptures really happened."

Now my grandpa was a TB sufferer; he many times ate ice in a futile attempt to soothe the pain. It was during this time that he said to God, "If you make it so that I do not have to eat ice again, then the money I used for the ice, I will give to you." Some time later, my grandpa was sitting on a train when a mother and her children came on. As he was offering them his seat, he saw a figure at the end of the train declare to him boldly, "Your sins have been forgiven." From that point on, my grandpa was cured of his disease.

My grandpa, now a believer, would return to Taiwan and meet my grandmother, who was not a Christian at the time. They would marry anyway (in part because her family had money--it was the trend back then), and my grandma would eventually accept Christ. Then, they had my mom, and the rest of the story continues today.

I never met my grandpa; the only memory I had of him was having my parents call my school to tell me when I was in the third grade. And yet, it's family stories like these that really help me understand, in part, why my parents believe what they do. It helps me realize what drives them to be the type of people they are. Its stories like these, the very same testimonies that I might here over and over again and not think anything of it, that help me realize that to follow Christ is about living a life that is transformed and that serves as a testament to his glory.

A story

Somewhere in the Chicagoland suburbs, a student was "pumping iron" at a gym on a hot muggy afternoon and was about to begin his final exercise. Before starting, he glanced at the weight on the machine, and, muttering to himself, said "That's too much; I won't be able to do that" and proceeded to replace the weights with smaller ones. Halfway into his routine, he found himself unable to finish the second set. Slightly annoyed, he stopped, a bit embarrassed by his overestimation of his own strength and, by the same token, the underestimation of his weakness.

After brief contemplation, he decided to further reduce the weight, but went when he went to do so, he realized that the original weight that he had originally perceived to be too much had actually been what he had been lifting all along. He had mistakingly taken the rack to be part of the lifting apparatus (and vice versa), and so he had mistakenly placed the smaller weights on the racks while placing the heavier ones on the machine itself. The student sat there momentarily reflecting on his mechanical incompetency, and, upon further evaluation, decided to finish up the last 1.5 sets without making any further changes, taking his time as needed.

home = church browsing

One of the things that I have dreaded about coming home over the last four years is that I would have to decide where to go to church on Sunday. I won't go into all the details but due to moving about twenty minutes further west since high school and the fact that my home church from high school split since I had last attended regularly, I have lacked a church to call home.

So what did I do this past Sunday? I checked out the smallest church I could find because churches here in Yuppie-town Suburbia are gigantic (two to three services minimum, which often include traditional, contemporary or a funky blend of both services) and big churches, though not necessarily all bad, are not exactly my cup of tea.

The church I attended quite possibly had the ugliest building I had ever worshiped in. The entire building was brick, which wasn't necessarily a problem until I went into the sanctuary. The entire interior of this room was brick with small slivers of windows along the sides, and the floors consisted of this dark red tile with concrete fillings. There was not a single Christian symbol to be found. I am not an interior design guru, but as I stared ahead at the bare brick wall behind the pastor, I kept thinking to myself, "So drab..." The service itself was rather slow and grave. I'll leave it at that.

To be fair, the church is undergoing a change in leadership. It switched pastors last fall, and, having been a part of church that has done the same, I know that the process is often difficult and not without its consequences. Still, I have to admit, sitting through the service made me feel old. And, as much as I look forward to being older and wiser, this is not quite what I had in mind.

On a more positive note, the people were pretty friendly. One of the elders personally made it his goal to accompany me and introduce me to everyone he could think of. He had the demeanor of the gregarious and gentle grandfatherly figure and he certainly made me feel welcome. The church was having their monthly fellowship meal and so I joined them. Lunch was quite enjoyable; there's something about sharing a meal that imparts a deeper significance to typical conversation.

Before I took off, I remember this elder telling me that he was glad that I came and that I should come back to visit. As he put it, "You're among friends here." It was this last comment of his that resonated with me. I may have intended to come just for Sunday, but he had reminded me that, in the body of believers, I am always welcome.

the difficulty in leaving

"It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour's glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner--no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ _vere latitat_--the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden."

Something that comes to mind in these last few days in St. Louis

A friend once told me that a friend is, loosely speaking,"not someone you love but someone who loves you" and that, furthermore, a friendship is "a covenanted relationship that binds people together as surrogate family."

Thank God for friends, praise God for family.

Elementary Lessons after Undergraduate Graduation

I remember hosting a summer Bible Study one week at my house during high school. My youth group, needless to say, did not do a very good job of keeping things clean. In addition, most of my relationships in youth group were not very substantial. Many of the people I had grown up with had been replaced by a completely different group by my junior and senior years in high school. I had very few if any deep connections. Taking into consideration these two things, I became extremely agitated and upset at them. Furthermore, I became frustrated at the fact that something seemingly so simple as letting people come over to my house had become such a burden. Why was it this difficult? Why did I have to be so meticulous and uptight? I remember expressing these sentiments and many more to my youth pastor afterwards, and, in the midst of the conversation he asked me, "But do you love them?" to which I replied "I want to...if I don't now, I really want to be able to say that I do."

These last few days, it's been nice having people crash our place on their way in and out of St. Louis; there's a sense of home and hearth that the dorms will never replicate. At this same time, this has reminded me of my own reluctance to give up my own comforts. This includes everything from offering food that my mother has brought from home to needing to be quiet when people decide to sleep early. Whether I get anxious over the increasingly cluttered nature of the apartment or simply wishing that I could have friends over for dinner without feeling the need to cook for an additional 3-4 people that I don't know as well, I am learning that to be hospitable is not simply doing what I already want to do (like hosting people I would already enjoy hosting) or giving up something that I'm already accustomed to giving, but it is intentionally and willingly offering up that which I value so that Christ can be honored more.

I have been blessed to have so many friends that are generous with their money, time, and possessions, and I hope and pray that I will continue to learn to do the same.

Current Status

Setting: Arts and Sciences Computer Lab Printing Pick-up Counter

Student Clerk: So does anyone have a job that they're waiting on?
Me: Yeah, I do. I printed from the one-sided printing station. It should 11 pages.
Student Clerk: Okay, let me see...is it the one called Russian...Death?
Me: (after slight pause) Yeah, that's it...and I know you're just dying to read it.

Student Clerk smirks

Two exams and one paper to go.

Thoughts on John (part 1)

So this year, my small group co-leaders and I decided to go through the book of John. Though we weren't sure at the time if going through a single book would be a good idea (since we didn't know who would be showing up consistently), I think it's safe to say that God blessed our time going through it. And, having wrapped up the final chapter about a week ago, I figured that it would be appropriate to have a few inevitably incomplete reflections or two about what I learned. And besides, it's finals time, which for me means it's paper time, and I'm willing to concede that this is a paper of some sort. And that's just how it is.

So without further ado, here goes.

John 1 opens up with the reality that "in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God" (v.1-2). And then we are told that through the word "all things were made" and in the word "was life" and that this "life was the light of men" (v. 3-4). And if that wasn't enough, we're told that "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it" (v. 5)

Of course, Jesus's words and fulfillment of Scripture (the word of God) throughout the gospel are powerful. It is with words that Jesus summons his disciples. "Come and you will see," as he tell them to follow him (John 1). It is his words that command the wedding servants to fill the jars with water so that he can turn them into wine, the sick man at the pool in Bethesda to get up, Lazarus to "come out" (John 2, 5, 11). With words of anger does Jesus cleanse the temple and fulfills the psalmist's words: "Zeal for your house will consume me" (John 2). It is his words that reveal him to the Samaritan woman and his word given to the official to believe so that his son might be healed (John 4). Most assuredly, it is his words, repeated to Peter, that reaffirm his disciple not only of forgiveness but his status as a child of God (John 21).

Jesus also calls himself "the light of the world" (John 8). He is a light that reveals and condemns the hypocrisy of the Pharisees (John 8), exposes the fragile (but not necessarily disingenuous) faith of the thousands that try to follow him (John 6), a light that shows his disciples how they "also are to love one another" (John 13). He is the light of all men, drawing all people to himself, among which are Samaritans, Greeks, and skeptical teachers of the law. Where else do we hear of light. A city on a hill. A light to the nations (Matthew 5). While the Pharisees, afraid of losing their light, refrain from defiling themselves in the heathen Pilate's presence, Jesus is unafraid to associate with the unclean, to let doubt touch him and believe (Thomas). Jesus goes so far as to eat meals with and wash the feet of his betrayer (Judas), of his denier (Peter). Jesus is the light that shines in the darkness. It is in the dark of night that he meets with Nicodemus to share the good news of the kingdom of God (John 3). He is the light that prays for his children on the night before he is to be crucified.

The Word is light. Summoning, cleansing, revealing, reaffirming, giving, healing, exposing, condemning, associating, meeting, and praying (and most assuredly, in the process, doing many other things as well).

why i need to get a camera phone

I friend of mine at church took this picture of me during church a week ago.

go here to see it

My thoughts?

1. I think I'll give a little drool next time for an added effect.

2. I still remembered the sermon.

3. Who doesn't sleep when they're at home?

Less than a month until graduation.

Goodness.

Ward No. 6

In Chekhov's short story, Ward No. 6, a conversation between the doctor Andrei Yefimych and the mad psychiatric patient Ivan Dmitrich takes place. Andrei is insisting that a person's environment has little to do with his security and peace of mind. Therefore, there's no need to be surprised at anything or get overwhelmed by the troubles of life. He says, "There's no difference between a warm, cozy study and this ward...A man's peace and content are not outside but within him."

Having already denounced the Stoics in their previous conversation, Ivan Dmitrich responds:

"To scorn suffering, to be always content and surprised at nothing you must reach that condition"--and Ivan Dmitrich pointed to the obese, fat swollen peasant--"or else harden yourself with suffering to such a degree that you lose all sensitivity to it, that is, in other words, stop living."

"A convenient philosophy: no need to do anything, and your conscience is clear, and you feel yourself a wise man...No, sir, that's not philosophy, not thinking, not breadth of vision, it's laziness, fakirism, a dreamy stupor..."

and most poignantly

"Christ responded to reality by weeping, smiling, grieving, being wrathful, even anguished; he didn't go to meet suffering with a smile, nor did he scorn death, but he prayed in the garden of Gethsemane for this cup to pass from him."

So I actually read Chekhov's story last summer as I was applying for medical school, ironically enough. As I re-read the story for my Russian Lit. paper, I am struck by how much often blunt insight that Chekhov and yet there's a constant tension between allowing his words to wholly resonate within me and guarding against a perceived excessiveness of cynicism that often comes out in his works (or at least in the ones about physicians). One thing remains. Sensitivity to other people's pain is paramount in our ability to love another. The ability to experience the peaks and valleys of life is what makes us human. And as I find these undergraduate years quickly coming to a close, I pray to God that I do not allow maturity to become infected with stoicism or wisdom to be equivocated with insensitivity to the stark realities around me.

Or, as Bum put it, "emotional retardation"

What Happens in a Pontiac Vibe

In 2003, my parents bought this Pontiac Vibe.
In 2004, I began my university days in St. Louis.
In 2006, I was given this car to use in St. Louis.
Two years later, I'm driving with Dennis on our way to Trader Joe's. He wants pita bread and a specific type of cheese. Ray wants raspberry and strawberry jam. I'm like an giddy kid going to the toy store; I'll grab whatever looks cool.

It's a gorgeous sixty-plus degrees in St. Louis. It has been raining miserably all week. It's supposed to rain tomorrow on Good Friday. Good riddance.

We're driving south on Big Bend about to turn onto Clayton. I realize that something has gotten loose in my window causing it to go all the way down. A bit perplexed I try to bring the window up and it gets stuck half way with the window obviously out of its regular frame. I cautiously tug on the window to see if it will pull up when **KSHHHH **(tinkle tinkle) the window utterly shatters. Small bits of glass everywhere; most of it on me.
I decide not to turn onto Clayton and keep going south.
Dennis and I pause in bewilderment.
The question "What just happened?" is clearly not worth asking at this point.
The window just shattered. Duh.

After about fifteen seconds of sobering silence, Dennis bursts out laughing. I ask him what's so funny, but that's another question with an answer I already know. The peculiarity of the situation is ridiculous. To hell with asking questions that already have answers.
What the heck just happened?

I remember that there's an auto dealership repair shop at Big Bend and Manchester. I continue driving. The three minutes it takes to get there can't pass by fast enough. I miss the first turn before Manchester. I take the next one and circle around. I'm still a bit bewildered. I believe the way I deal with unfortunate events is the exact opposite of hysteria. Sobriety. Bordering on dead wonder.

Eventually, I pick my way out of the car. The guy helping us out (his name is Josh) gives me a rough estimate and tells us that there's a waiting room in the back. Oh, and there's popcorn and soda back there too, hot chocolate and coffee if you want it.

Popcorn and Soda??

The situation is getting more humorous.

Dennis is helping himself to the amenities. First the hot cocoa, then the popcorn. He's making the most of the situation. Apparently he hasn't eaten all day. I call my parents, and that's when the phone games begin. It's back and forth between dealerships and my parents. Looks like the car might be under warranty still. Need to find the nearest dealer. My mom calls me back. Here's the number for the GM driver's assistance. I ask Dennis if he has a pen. "I have my mind," he responds smugly.

I find out the nearest dealer. They close at six. It's 5:45 and my drivers seat is still full of glass. They don't know if they'll cover it. But it's broken because something in the window was loose, I say. Well, they don't have an appointment until Monday. Sigh.

Ray and Joyce have gotten here. Ray's wearing a cutoff and short shorts. I haven't had the chance to say hello. I'm still on the phone.

I try another dealer, they're scheduling for Monday too. Can I get you down for Monday? I'll call you back, I say. I call my mom to explain that even if I did take the car there, it wouldn't be secure in the lot because of the busted window. Isn't that the same as this dealership? Yes. Sigh.

Sometime during this conversation, Ray comes up to me. I ask Ray if he has plans for tonight. He just wants to know what's going on. They're going to have had to wait a little longer than they thought. I'm too busy on the phone to give him a thorough response. It's way past six at this point. Now I can't even talk to the service department at the GM dealerships anymore; they're closed. I call the Driver's Assistance and start to talk to lady. I explain and she arranges for a towing service. I have further questions, but my phone battery is dying. I give her the phone number to the auto center that I'm at but realize that it won't work if it's an automated menu. My phone dies. I need to go find Dennis or Joyce to use their phone. Ray doesn't have his. I find Dennis and Joyce and ask them to use their phone so I can ask my parents what the number is again. Dennis blurts out, "Why don't you just ask me. I have a memory of a monster."

What?

It's the 1-800 #, I say. He dials the rest of the number into his phone and hands it to me.

Lord.

I sit down and talk to another rep. Yeah, she says. We have everything taken care of, they say. The towing company will hold onto the car until tomorrow and then deliver it to the dealership. Okay. Thanks.
I drop off the car key with the guy at the front desk to give to the towing company when they arrive. Dennis wants to go to Riddles. He must go. Or he'll be sad, says Joyce. We climb into Ray's car.

15 minutes later we arrive. It hasn't been 24 hours since last night when I went there with Dennis and Ray to see Ptah Williams and eat homemade ice cream. Fabulous jazz pianist. I find out that Ray's attire is due to his anticipation that he would pick me up right away and go running as soon as returned to campus. No worries, the high school next store to the dealer had a track. He got in a good 15 laps. Imagine that.

Dinner is good. Elias and Lily join us. Dennis dominates the conversation. He might has well. I have no complaints. I remember praying for the food. Thank you for everyone here. I pause.

Thanks.

There's so much to soak in. There are so many blessings to be found in this afternoon that they are no longer disguised. Good weather, a car under warranty, a friend with a freakish memory, with an even freakier sense of humor, a track so that a friend can get in his daily exercise, helpful people at the auto shop, no injuries to report, friends and family on whom I can depend without giving a second thought.

Ray drops me off after dinner. Thanks dude. Let me know when you need to get your car. Handshake that turns into embrace. They should have chest-bumped, I hear Dennis say from the backseat.

Even now, I sit here. A bit overwhelmed. Somber. But for an entirely different reason.
I revisit fall of junior year when my ceiling collapsed. I remember sitting in my room with my head burrowed in my knees thinking about how dreadful the semester had been until then, feeling quite alone. At the end of that semester, I remember finding a care package of fruit from my parents on my front porch after bombing two consecutive finals in the same day and breaking down into tears because I felt so undeserving.

But before I get too lost in thought I remember my family here in St. Louis. And what a family it is. I remember my God, and what a God he is.

Tomorrow is Good Friday. Sunday is resurrection. Today, is grace. Grace revealed, manifested, embodied in bits and pieces of glass. Broken for me so that I might remember the God that I serve, that I might remember my Savior who was broken so that I might be made whole.

Thank you.

Girard on Dostoevsky

Finishing up my paper on Crime and Punishment. After four years in college, I can't believe that quotes like this one strike me profoundly:

"Dostoevsky does not claim to escape from the underground. To the contrary, he plunges into it so profoundly that his light comes to him from the other side. 'It is not as a child that I believe in Christ and confess him. It is through the crucible of doubt that my Hosanna has passed.'"

But I've come to realize that this is why Dostoevsky resonates with me.

Christ in all things: in certainty and in doubt.

Dual personality and week-end reflections

I'm still jumping between Xanga and Blogger. Most of the people that I might write for still live in Xanga-land. Comparatively, the blogger world seems to be a vast expanse of unknown people. Someday, I'll have to make a decision.

Had a little more time this week than usual (or perhaps I made a little more time this week). Caught up with friends here and there and, in the process, remember God's goodness to me over the past few years. Next year is still in limbo and, at this point, even when med-schools come back in March or April, I know things won't be any less straightforward.

In the meantime, it's time spent with people. It's hard not to think about the past whenever I spend time with people in the present. It's been like watching a movie where every scene is supersaturated with flashbacks. Whether it's sitting in a brother's room reading for class or heating up Trader Joe's Mandarin Chicken and steaming some zucchini while chatting with another friend or playing Scrabble with a cousin who just happens to be a school friend as well (heck, I even got to play outdated video games with a buddy too), all these moments remind me that this phase in life is ending quickly and that schoolwork, career choices, and everything else that comes with growing up are all fine and good, but not terribly important at this point in time.

In John 14, Jesus's disciples ask him three things.

"Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" (v.5)
"Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us." (v. 8)
"Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself to us, and not the world?" (v. 22)

How does Jesus comfort them?
He tells them that he is the way, the truth, and the life; he tells them that whoever has seen him has seen the Father; and he tells them that the Holy Spirit will teach them all things help them remember everything that Jesus has told them. It's the Trinity at work. And the work is good.

The disciples are worried about the future because they are uncertain as to how God will provide for them. Jesus tells them that his departure to the cross, to the grave, and to his Father are the means by which their future will be secured. Rejoice because "peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid" (v. 27). Does that mean the disciples know where they will go tomorrow or what they will be doing ten years from now? Of course not. But, what Jesus does tell them is that they will not be alone as they strive to obey his commandment to love one another as Christ has loved them. As Christ reminds them in chapter 16, he says these things so that they "may have peace" because he has "overcome the world."

This past week also reminded me that I have still have time left for the school year so I'll try to make the most of it. I'll take things as they come. I'll trust God with the decision-making process.

But as these past few years have taught with regards to maturing in my faith, it'll take time.

Remind me

Remind me of the day when I first woke up,
A little dazed, a little clumsy, but happy to be alive.

Remind me that though the destination is not the road itself,
the road is part of the destination.

Remind me that for every slip up, 'fess up, hiccup I make,
life through death,
resurrection through sacrifice
shall daily, more and more, suffice.

Remind me in the gathering around the table,
communal, ceremonial, and celebratory,
is a frame in the film,
and the film itself is glorious.

And the filmmaker, well,
he's been beaming since day one.

thoughts from today

1. I don't like excessive psychoanalysis of literary characters who really don't deserve such mutilation of their character.

2. Shuttles are great when it's cold outside. Public libraries are even better.

3. Food that I don't have to cook is good, especially when you can eat it with other people.

4. The only solution to lots of reading is lots of reading.

5. Trying to reconcile my past with the present, as with my understanding of the Christian life, is often undesirably tiresome and repetitious in nature.

6. Chopin's Scherzo No. 1 will be a nice senior year piece.

A Thought During Chinese Class

One of new vocab words for Chinese today was "tian-zhen" or innocence. We spent a good 20 minutes discussing if children were really innocent.

What I wonder is, in the strictest sense, there really a difference between innocence and ignorance?

Blogs and Classes and Cold

blogs can be like a special letter to an close friend.
And that close friend is, quite simply, everyone.

Classes so far this semester seem to be shaping up:

Science of Sleep
Chinese III (Yeah, interchangeable section times)
Issues in the History of American Medicine
19th century Russian Novel (Writing Intensive and, imho, Reading intensive)
Problems in Philosophy (eww...sacrifices must be made)

Currently: on the butt end of St. Louis schizophrenic weather