Language is so much more than the words we utter. Along with verbiage, our communication is expressed through tone, body language, and cultural implications. Living in the cross section of American and Chinese culture, the missed layers of communication I observe between members of the respective cultures is at best humorous, and at worst, cause for broken relationships.
Take, for example, the usage of the phrase "I love you." I have heard Americans say those three words to people they've barely met. I slowly learned not to squirm uncomfortably when I hear these words of affection thrown around like a greeting or more often a closing quip as companies depart. My American friend recently admitted to me sometimes she feels those words are cheapened by how freely and frequently they are tossed around in her family. Being Chinese I've had to learn this cultural phenomenon and I've observed the following three situations in the way Americans say "I love you":
1. A semi-to total functional family who genuinely respect and support one another may express I love you frequently as a sign of authentic love for each other. They see the importance of leaving no room to doubt for their children or spouse to truly receive the heart behind the verbally spoken words.
2. I love you becomes an acquiescence to societal norms in an effort to cover up what's really not-so-functional underneath. Imagine a parent who is never around and drops the L-bomb at the end of a phone conversation in order to soothe their guilt. Or a marriage whose passion has grown cold but continue the ritualistic "I love you-s" each morning as they go off to work in order to keep up the appearance of a healthy bond.
3. Sadly there are truly broken, perhaps even abusive, homes where family members have never been loved nor been told they are loved.
The problem arises when Americans encounter Chinese families who have never uttered those precious three words, "wo ai ni". I'm afraid the American easily jumps to the conclusion the Chinese must therefore be a number 3 family. I'm even more afraid when Christian Americans make it their mission to demonstrate true love to Chinese families with the assumption they must not know how to love if they don't say it. This is simply a false assumption! Chinese families know how to love fiercely. They do it through immense generosity, unwavering loyalty, and a lot of food. We love differently, not better, not worse, but definitely different.
This is not to say I don't think there's value in verbal expressions of love. Some non-traditional Chinese families are starting to freely say I love you to each other and I believe that can be a healthy development. But I do believe the community should decide for themselves when or how they want to exhibit the love without being judged for being unloving unless they express themselves a certain way.
I'd be interested to hear what my American or Chinese readers think about this subject. Do you say "I love you" to your families and friends?
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Just Enough
When I logged in to write this new blog entry, blogger pulled up the stats of my blog. The numbers of page views, comments, impressions. When we see young children exhibit creativity or ingenuity, we quip, "that kid's going to grow up and change the world." We are inspired by heroes in our culture and aspire to impact others as we have been impacted. We derive meaning and purpose from what sort of mark we hope to leave in this lifetime. We strive to make impressions. As many and as deeply as we can with the resources we've been given.
As Christians we have co-opted this drive to be influential. We couch the intentions with religious language and say, "we are working unto the Lord" and with evangelistic fervor we urgently "reach" as many as we can. We may argue our motivations are more pure than the worldly drive for success because we do it in God's Name and for His Glory, but the underlying ethos is no different. Let's build the grandest sanctuaries, lead worship with professional musicians, host quality Sunday School programs, so we can further God's Kingdom as effectively and efficiently given our resources.
We value visionary leaders and the go-getters. We encourage each other to dream big, to live radically for God. We see the broken world around us and our passions drive us to do more, to help more, to make a difference, to impress God's love upon our world.
We celebrate biblical teachings like how God can turn a mustard seed of faith into a big tree. We trust that if we just give our five loaves and two fish God can feed thousands.
My name is Cindy and I suffer from a messianic complex. I see a problem and think I am the only solution. Truly this is why I break the stereotype of ageless Asian women by spouting grey hairs prematurely. My personality feeds right into our industrial hype for efficiency. I work with the language of excel worksheets and bullet points. I believe armed with the right tools I can impact the world dynamically for Christ and His Kingdom.
It wasn't pretty the day I found out I couldn't, indeed, change the world. Those rosy colored lenses hovering my vision dissipated as I reflected on the fact that even the most powerful man in the world, the president of the States, remains quite limited in his capability to solve just one of our many global problems. I discovered the movers and shakers of society are really mostly jiggling within their rather confined spaces, effecting only a minute segment of the world population.
If even the most charismatic successful people of the world are not really as influential as I thought they were, what the heck do I think I'm going to accomplish? Perhaps this is the time to start considering a theology of enough. I am starting to embrace mediocrity because I am remembering how upside down the Gospel really is in relation to our prevailing cultural values.
Instead of praising the high achievers, we bless those who mourn. The ones who are racked by grief, whose hearts are torn and their faith hanging on by a thread.
Instead of applauding the dynamic communicators, we seek out those who don't speak. The ones who have completely stopped trying to speak because their voices have been drowned out for too long.
Instead of being inspired by the spiritual giants, we stumble along with those who are falling. The ones who are so messed up inside they can't find their way out of the tangle.
Because isn't it true sometimes we offer up our bread and our fish and all it feeds is a few people? Sometimes our faith is just enough to make it through the day, or even half a day, or just the next moment. I think I'm ready to celebrate impacting the world "just enough".
As Christians we have co-opted this drive to be influential. We couch the intentions with religious language and say, "we are working unto the Lord" and with evangelistic fervor we urgently "reach" as many as we can. We may argue our motivations are more pure than the worldly drive for success because we do it in God's Name and for His Glory, but the underlying ethos is no different. Let's build the grandest sanctuaries, lead worship with professional musicians, host quality Sunday School programs, so we can further God's Kingdom as effectively and efficiently given our resources.
We value visionary leaders and the go-getters. We encourage each other to dream big, to live radically for God. We see the broken world around us and our passions drive us to do more, to help more, to make a difference, to impress God's love upon our world.
We celebrate biblical teachings like how God can turn a mustard seed of faith into a big tree. We trust that if we just give our five loaves and two fish God can feed thousands.
My name is Cindy and I suffer from a messianic complex. I see a problem and think I am the only solution. Truly this is why I break the stereotype of ageless Asian women by spouting grey hairs prematurely. My personality feeds right into our industrial hype for efficiency. I work with the language of excel worksheets and bullet points. I believe armed with the right tools I can impact the world dynamically for Christ and His Kingdom.
It wasn't pretty the day I found out I couldn't, indeed, change the world. Those rosy colored lenses hovering my vision dissipated as I reflected on the fact that even the most powerful man in the world, the president of the States, remains quite limited in his capability to solve just one of our many global problems. I discovered the movers and shakers of society are really mostly jiggling within their rather confined spaces, effecting only a minute segment of the world population.
If even the most charismatic successful people of the world are not really as influential as I thought they were, what the heck do I think I'm going to accomplish? Perhaps this is the time to start considering a theology of enough. I am starting to embrace mediocrity because I am remembering how upside down the Gospel really is in relation to our prevailing cultural values.
Instead of praising the high achievers, we bless those who mourn. The ones who are racked by grief, whose hearts are torn and their faith hanging on by a thread.
Instead of applauding the dynamic communicators, we seek out those who don't speak. The ones who have completely stopped trying to speak because their voices have been drowned out for too long.
Instead of being inspired by the spiritual giants, we stumble along with those who are falling. The ones who are so messed up inside they can't find their way out of the tangle.
Because isn't it true sometimes we offer up our bread and our fish and all it feeds is a few people? Sometimes our faith is just enough to make it through the day, or even half a day, or just the next moment. I think I'm ready to celebrate impacting the world "just enough".
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
in which I got called poo
It's been a while since I've written a blog post. I'm reading plenty of them and they're all so much better than mine that I'm feeling somewhat defeatist. However, just the other day I got called poo and one simply cannot let perfectly good substance as getting called poo go to waste without blogging over it. It would be a travesty.
So here's the story. I was called last minute to sub for the fifth graders. The sub plans called for me to get them working on an assignment on the computers in the library. Now if you were fifth grade boys and you had access to gmail during class with a substitute teacher, wouldn't YOU write emails to your buddies and call the sub teacher poo? Of course. However, being raised in a school environment which encourages Christian character, one of the boys came clean to me, a moment in which I was made aware of the opinion of myself as fecal matter. I promptly accused,
"Who sent the email? Show me the email? What did it say exactly?"
Then I remembered I was an adult and ceased the investigation. I gently but firmly gripped the shoulders of the suspect boys, who were weakly offering feeble excuses like "we were just kidding...", and prompted them to respond with repentance.
"What do you have to say to me?"
All at once their faces filled with part mischief, part remorse, and part fear of punishment. They muttered their sorrys and moved on with their fifth grade lives. And I moved on to monitoring the rest of the class. There was no need to say anything else at that point but this is what I was saying in my heart:
"Boys, you are so loved. You will make a bad choice again. One day you will make choices far more terrible than calling your sub poo. And then you will still be loved. You will be corrected, chided, and made to apologize over and over again and yet, you are still loved. You might grow up to regret the mean things you did and said to hurt others, or you might not. Either way, guess what? You are loved. But you know, all the other children around you are also loved, and when you call them poo, they might not feel so good. Some of them probably don't feel strong enough to ask you to apologize. When you grow up, you be the one who stands up for those who don't speak for themselves. Let's agree on this, okay?"
So here's the story. I was called last minute to sub for the fifth graders. The sub plans called for me to get them working on an assignment on the computers in the library. Now if you were fifth grade boys and you had access to gmail during class with a substitute teacher, wouldn't YOU write emails to your buddies and call the sub teacher poo? Of course. However, being raised in a school environment which encourages Christian character, one of the boys came clean to me, a moment in which I was made aware of the opinion of myself as fecal matter. I promptly accused,
"Who sent the email? Show me the email? What did it say exactly?"
Then I remembered I was an adult and ceased the investigation. I gently but firmly gripped the shoulders of the suspect boys, who were weakly offering feeble excuses like "we were just kidding...", and prompted them to respond with repentance.
"What do you have to say to me?"
All at once their faces filled with part mischief, part remorse, and part fear of punishment. They muttered their sorrys and moved on with their fifth grade lives. And I moved on to monitoring the rest of the class. There was no need to say anything else at that point but this is what I was saying in my heart:
"Boys, you are so loved. You will make a bad choice again. One day you will make choices far more terrible than calling your sub poo. And then you will still be loved. You will be corrected, chided, and made to apologize over and over again and yet, you are still loved. You might grow up to regret the mean things you did and said to hurt others, or you might not. Either way, guess what? You are loved. But you know, all the other children around you are also loved, and when you call them poo, they might not feel so good. Some of them probably don't feel strong enough to ask you to apologize. When you grow up, you be the one who stands up for those who don't speak for themselves. Let's agree on this, okay?"
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
What on earth is One Day's Wages and why am I always talking about it?
I'm a pretty sensible person most of the time. I'm not a genius but I have fairly sound judgment and got a good head on my shoulders. But there have been a few moments in my life when I've done things that if I were to leave my body momentarily and look at myself, I would've called that person crazy. I blame Jesus. Ever since He entered my life at the tender age of 12-13ish, I've been compelled to do some crazy things. Like giving up my acceptance to prestigious American universities I had actually heard of from my life in Taiwan, to attend a small Christian college in the midwest where the 95% white population asked me what it was like growing up in Thailand (*roll eyes*) and mistook me for Wendy, the other Asian girl on campus, ALL THE TIME. Crazy. Like meeting with maximum security juvenile inmates to play ping pong every week for three years. Crazy. Like marrying a dude whose cultural background is NOTHING like mine but thinking it was still a good idea because we both believe in Jesus. Crazy. Like pushing out a baby girl and taking off to live in China before she learned to walk. Crazy.
Our story with One Days Wages began sort of like these crazy moments. You know how people tell stories of when they travel to a third world country and the poverty they witness changes them? If you haven't heard of any, read this one, it's beautiful. I got to do this when I was in high school. I went to one of the poorest countries in the world and witnessed poverty first hand. I went through all the common human emotions - compassion, heartbreak, sympathy. However my most vivid memory of what went through my mind was this phrase: "Why them? Why not me?" Why did I get to sleep in a comfortable bed and have hot showers and get an amazing education, and not them? Why do I get to see a doctor when I get sick, and not them? I never received a satisfactory answer but I figured out I needed to spend my life asking the question.
I learned the pain stabbing at my heart in the presence of dignity-stripping poverty was actually the heart of God. I realized in the blueprint of His glorious Plan to restore the world through Jesus Christ was a design for rescuing the poor, the oppressed, and the marginalized. Each day, children starve, mothers and fathers' hearts break, women are raped and tortured, because of the root cause of grinding extreme poverty. I believe in a Jesus who says I have come to bring light into the darkness. I have to believe Jesus matters.
But what can we do? The problem of poverty is so deep and complex, how can we show the world Jesus matters? Is it possible? Is it worth trying? We didn't know the answers, again, but we started asking questions (I'm starting to see a pattern). We started dreaming, what if there was an organization who found people, the quiet ones no one hears about, who faithfully serves the poor and we help them do their job? We tell their stories and we invite others to join their work. I emailed my friend Sara, who is one of those quiet heroes working in the trenches where no one else wants to be and simply shared my dream. She wrote back and said, I know someone who is doing the very thing you're talking about, his name is Eugene Cho, let me connect you. Eugene is a pastor in Seattle whom I had honestly never heard of before (sorry Eugene, I know you now and you're great!). We connected and indeed found his vision for his organization exactly what I hope to do. We decided to set aside a portion of our finances and contribute to the seed fund to launch One Days Wages. Yes, we gave money to someone we had never met before to try to accomplish the impossible. Crazy.
But it's one of the most beautiful things we've ever done. Through the work of One Days Wages we've witnessed generosity that has left me wrecked by tears of gratitude. We've seen pictures that spoke hope and life straight into our souls like this one:
This is a picture of a girl in Cambodia who has been given the gift of clean water
We can confidently proclaim that Jesus matters in the life of this one girl in Cambodia, or that one boy in Nepal, and that one woman in Congo. Amazing what one person's one days wages can do.
Will you join us? There are so many ways to be involved in One Days Wages for each person who has made it this far in my humble ramblings. You can start by "liking" One Days Wages on Facebook and sharing the beautiful redemptive stories. You can consider giving your "one days' wage". You can start a birthday campaign. Or do some crazy amazing things others have done like shave their heads, or bike 6000 miles, or crochet hats, or sing songs, or dance! I've done a few of these crazy things, like help host a coffeehouse fundraiser, and it was SO MUCH FUN!! Really!
So come along for the wild ride that is One Days Wages. Join the crazy.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Texting is Not Like the Real Thing
Friends, I'm thankful for such a full life, but I am feeling a little frantic lately because of a minor though chronic condition of overcommitment. February is busy because it contains the birthday of my firstborn, who is turning nine, and we must sound the trumpets and celebrate with style because she is worth it. Along with this, and traveling, and commitments at church, charity, and family, my cup overfloweth. I should and could come up with a list of things to do, proceed to run around like a chicken with its head cut off, and feel exhausted and drained without accomplishing much. Or, I could sit down, take a deep breath, and write. Hopefully the effect will be a calmer mind, more clarity, and a deeper appreciation of the purpose of these commitments. Yes, that sounds good. This I will do.
This past weekend I was out of town. I don't normally post how hot my husband is (I do think this) or loudly proclaim my love for him on social media because I don't want to annoy single people who resent hearing about my amazing married life. Not that all single people resent hearing about this. Nor should they. But I know sometimes it is hard so I prefer not doing that. But no judgment towards those who do flaunt their love life because it is something good and should be celebrated. Also, note to single people, our married lives are more than twitter and Facebook statuses, we also fight and that never gets posted. You should know that. End lengthy disclaimer.
The truth is, I do enjoy a very close relationship with my husband. We've been married for almost 11 years so let's face it we're past the honeymoon stage but definitely entered the deep intimate life sharing phase. When I was away, I texted him each night (truthfully to make sure my kids are clean and fed) and shared some short snippets from our day. We are thankful for the new iMessage which allows us to text each other for free as long as we both have internet access to our iPhones. After texting, I'd settle down on my hotel bed and drift off to sleep. I am able to sleep peacefully because I am content knowing my loved ones are safe, and having connected via a few texted words, sense my emotional and relational needs being met. There's a peace knowing my world is fine and I can wake up the next morning carrying on with the tasks of the next day. My marriage has taught me so much about the nature of our human-ness which requires a depth of connection which we find in marriage, friendship, family, communities, and beyond.
You know that bit in the Bible about how we, the followers of Jesus Christ, are metaphorically analogous to the Bride? This need for connection with my husband, this urge to text before bedtime, that's comparable to our longing to connect with our God. And Jesus, He is our iMessenger (wow, cheesy), giving us an avenue to directly relate to our Father. And He brings us peace to go to sleep at night. Peace knowing we are safe in His arms, safe to love others, safe to get up in the morning and carry on with the tasks of the next day.
But after three days of being gone, I came home. And I (after I told him to haul my luggage upstairs) gave him a hug. We settled into bed together and talked face to face. He told me stories of the kids antics and I shared about my trip.
And it was different. It was better. We were together again.
We are not there yet, the Church. We have a lot. We have Jesus, we have each other, we have glimpses of what is to come. It is enough for now. iMessage is sufficient. For now. But one day, we will be together, the Bride and the Groom, and it will be different. It will be better.
This past weekend I was out of town. I don't normally post how hot my husband is (I do think this) or loudly proclaim my love for him on social media because I don't want to annoy single people who resent hearing about my amazing married life. Not that all single people resent hearing about this. Nor should they. But I know sometimes it is hard so I prefer not doing that. But no judgment towards those who do flaunt their love life because it is something good and should be celebrated. Also, note to single people, our married lives are more than twitter and Facebook statuses, we also fight and that never gets posted. You should know that. End lengthy disclaimer.
The truth is, I do enjoy a very close relationship with my husband. We've been married for almost 11 years so let's face it we're past the honeymoon stage but definitely entered the deep intimate life sharing phase. When I was away, I texted him each night (truthfully to make sure my kids are clean and fed) and shared some short snippets from our day. We are thankful for the new iMessage which allows us to text each other for free as long as we both have internet access to our iPhones. After texting, I'd settle down on my hotel bed and drift off to sleep. I am able to sleep peacefully because I am content knowing my loved ones are safe, and having connected via a few texted words, sense my emotional and relational needs being met. There's a peace knowing my world is fine and I can wake up the next morning carrying on with the tasks of the next day. My marriage has taught me so much about the nature of our human-ness which requires a depth of connection which we find in marriage, friendship, family, communities, and beyond.
You know that bit in the Bible about how we, the followers of Jesus Christ, are metaphorically analogous to the Bride? This need for connection with my husband, this urge to text before bedtime, that's comparable to our longing to connect with our God. And Jesus, He is our iMessenger (wow, cheesy), giving us an avenue to directly relate to our Father. And He brings us peace to go to sleep at night. Peace knowing we are safe in His arms, safe to love others, safe to get up in the morning and carry on with the tasks of the next day.
But after three days of being gone, I came home. And I (after I told him to haul my luggage upstairs) gave him a hug. We settled into bed together and talked face to face. He told me stories of the kids antics and I shared about my trip.
And it was different. It was better. We were together again.
We are not there yet, the Church. We have a lot. We have Jesus, we have each other, we have glimpses of what is to come. It is enough for now. iMessage is sufficient. For now. But one day, we will be together, the Bride and the Groom, and it will be different. It will be better.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Mole Excision Surgery
It was time to get rid of the mole to the right of my nose. I've always had this mole but it has grown substantially in the last few years and it's time for it to go.
Despite having labored to deliver two babies, my pain tolerance is still incredulously low. The thought of a needle in my face petrified me to no end. But I'm determined. The mole's gotta go. For a few days I asked around for mole removal dr recommendations, researched the internet, and talked to people about it. From everything that I read, it's a simple outpatient procedure.
Still, I'm nervous. The more I thought the more I panicked. The intensifying fear required relief. It's time to just get it over with. Thursday morning, I skip Bible Study and go to a pretty well known dermatology clinic near my house. I go in and they said it's full, I gotta wait until after CNY. "After CNY? I can't make it." That's the fear speaking. I left the clinic and decided to go to the nearby hospital. The dermatologist looked at my mole and said for sure I need surgery because it is raised and large and transferred me to the plastic surgery department. So I'm at the plastic surgery department, not knowing any of these doctors, and my nerves continue to grow. The whole time I'm texting Jason and my brother Aidan, keeping them posted, growing increasingly scared. Doctor finally calls me in and says you need surgery but you'll have to wait until after CNY. I panic again and plead, please could I have it done this morning, I have free time right now, I need to just get it over with. A scrubbed surgeon walks by and the nurses ask if he could do it. He looks at me, squeezes my face around, and says ok, he'll do it.
Again, I expected a simple outpatient procedure. Yet next thing I know, I"m being prepped for a full on surgery. They had me sign a consent form and I gulped after glossing over words like BLOOD and DEATH. They had me change into gowns, take off all my jewelry, put one of those green scrubby shower caps on and lead me into an operating room. The room is freezing (apparently that's how they have to keep ORs) with surgical equipment strewn all around. I lay down on the surgical bed and stare up into those big surgical lamps with like 6 rounded bulbs. I am freaking out. They cover me with blankets and I ask for more (it's cold in there!). Then they cover my face up exposing just my mole area. The dr. marks my face up of where he's going to cut. I almost jumped at the sensation of the pen on my face because I expected a shot. The doctor and nurses are not telling me ANYTHING about what's going on, which serves to further heighten my nerves. So I take charge and ask, "please can you tell me when you're going to give me the shot?" knowing that was the main thing that was going to hurt. They say yes they will. More prepping, rubbing my face with disinfectant, more marking and squeezing of my face. The moment came, "here comes the shot, it's going to hurt, it's really going to hurt!" The nurses yell. NOT HELPFUL. Expecting one shot, I received 4-5 various shots all around my mole. As always, the anticipation was MUCH worse than the actual needle, the pain was fairly minimal. The right side of my face goes numb. I am paranoid the anesthesia won't work during the procedure so I remain tense. I can feel a LOT of tugging and pulling of my face. Halfway into the procedure, I hear the doctor call the nurses for "電燒“， which literally means, "electric burn". A surge of new panic comes on, why are they going to use electric burn on me? I use the little medical knowledge I possess to surmise they need to cauterize the wound. He "electric burns" my wound, I hear a loud hissing sound, feel immense pressure on my cheek, then SMELL burning flesh. Breathing, breathing, telling myself to stay calm, I persevere. The burning lasts what feels like forever, he repeatedly cauterizes this area, I'm about to pass out wanting it to be over. Finally he puts the electric burn away, and presumably starts stitching. More tugging, more pressure. At long last it's over. They take off my covers and I am shivering uncontrollably, probably from the build up of my nerves. The nurses ask if I wanted to see my mole. I saw the huge ball of flesh on a surgical tray and nearly pass out again. Shaking, I get dressed, pay a whopping 350NT for the whole procedure and walk out the door.
At home, I change my dressing to discover I have a huge gash stitched up with 7 stitches and still shudder when I look at it.
Mole is gone, but in its place I may have a scar. Time will tell whether it was worth it.
Despite having labored to deliver two babies, my pain tolerance is still incredulously low. The thought of a needle in my face petrified me to no end. But I'm determined. The mole's gotta go. For a few days I asked around for mole removal dr recommendations, researched the internet, and talked to people about it. From everything that I read, it's a simple outpatient procedure.
Still, I'm nervous. The more I thought the more I panicked. The intensifying fear required relief. It's time to just get it over with. Thursday morning, I skip Bible Study and go to a pretty well known dermatology clinic near my house. I go in and they said it's full, I gotta wait until after CNY. "After CNY? I can't make it." That's the fear speaking. I left the clinic and decided to go to the nearby hospital. The dermatologist looked at my mole and said for sure I need surgery because it is raised and large and transferred me to the plastic surgery department. So I'm at the plastic surgery department, not knowing any of these doctors, and my nerves continue to grow. The whole time I'm texting Jason and my brother Aidan, keeping them posted, growing increasingly scared. Doctor finally calls me in and says you need surgery but you'll have to wait until after CNY. I panic again and plead, please could I have it done this morning, I have free time right now, I need to just get it over with. A scrubbed surgeon walks by and the nurses ask if he could do it. He looks at me, squeezes my face around, and says ok, he'll do it.
Again, I expected a simple outpatient procedure. Yet next thing I know, I"m being prepped for a full on surgery. They had me sign a consent form and I gulped after glossing over words like BLOOD and DEATH. They had me change into gowns, take off all my jewelry, put one of those green scrubby shower caps on and lead me into an operating room. The room is freezing (apparently that's how they have to keep ORs) with surgical equipment strewn all around. I lay down on the surgical bed and stare up into those big surgical lamps with like 6 rounded bulbs. I am freaking out. They cover me with blankets and I ask for more (it's cold in there!). Then they cover my face up exposing just my mole area. The dr. marks my face up of where he's going to cut. I almost jumped at the sensation of the pen on my face because I expected a shot. The doctor and nurses are not telling me ANYTHING about what's going on, which serves to further heighten my nerves. So I take charge and ask, "please can you tell me when you're going to give me the shot?" knowing that was the main thing that was going to hurt. They say yes they will. More prepping, rubbing my face with disinfectant, more marking and squeezing of my face. The moment came, "here comes the shot, it's going to hurt, it's really going to hurt!" The nurses yell. NOT HELPFUL. Expecting one shot, I received 4-5 various shots all around my mole. As always, the anticipation was MUCH worse than the actual needle, the pain was fairly minimal. The right side of my face goes numb. I am paranoid the anesthesia won't work during the procedure so I remain tense. I can feel a LOT of tugging and pulling of my face. Halfway into the procedure, I hear the doctor call the nurses for "電燒“， which literally means, "electric burn". A surge of new panic comes on, why are they going to use electric burn on me? I use the little medical knowledge I possess to surmise they need to cauterize the wound. He "electric burns" my wound, I hear a loud hissing sound, feel immense pressure on my cheek, then SMELL burning flesh. Breathing, breathing, telling myself to stay calm, I persevere. The burning lasts what feels like forever, he repeatedly cauterizes this area, I'm about to pass out wanting it to be over. Finally he puts the electric burn away, and presumably starts stitching. More tugging, more pressure. At long last it's over. They take off my covers and I am shivering uncontrollably, probably from the build up of my nerves. The nurses ask if I wanted to see my mole. I saw the huge ball of flesh on a surgical tray and nearly pass out again. Shaking, I get dressed, pay a whopping 350NT for the whole procedure and walk out the door.
At home, I change my dressing to discover I have a huge gash stitched up with 7 stitches and still shudder when I look at it.
Mole is gone, but in its place I may have a scar. Time will tell whether it was worth it.
Friday, January 6, 2012
2012 Resolutions
New Year resolutions. Or goals. (Somebody explain the difference again?) We’ve all seen them run through our social media newsfeed. Eat better. Be present. Love more. Blah, blah, blah, it’s as standard as beauty pageant contestants promoting “world peace.” I have yet to come across more creative inspirational resolutions. Some people give up making them for fear of failure (gulp, guilty), others tentatively put it out there in public realm in hopes of accountability. The most obnoxious ones flaunt their accomplishments disguised in the form of resolutions inducing shame on those of us who are, what one might deem, lower profile. No, I do not plan on publishing a book in 2012, but hope to crank out a few blog entries for my audience of two to three, thank you very much.
And now, my turn to add my teensy voice into the cacophony of online NY announcements: in 2012, I propose to eat better, be present, and love more. Hey, I think there needs to be more creativity in resolutions but I got nothing.
Eat Better. We are not bad eaters. So the boys like snacking and Lizzy and I don’t drink enough water. Besides those minor faults, we generally maintain a healthy family diet, and none of us need to lose any weight. (Except me. But only on my tummy. And a little under my arms. That’s all. Don’t hurt me.) This past year Jason has decided, for environmental reasons, to stop eating beef. I didn’t plan on following suit but naturally stopped serving beef at family dinners. As it turns out, we feel better, spend less on meat, and do our small part withdrawing from an industry that devastates our earth. This year, I hope to eat even less meat and try cooking more vegetarian dishes. Fortunately I’ve found some fantastic vegetarian restaurants in our city and look forward to frequenting those this year.
Be present. This one is a bit vague. I interpret it to mean less time online and more time face to face. I don’t have super high hopes of maintaining this resolution, and will hereby briefly gloss over it and move on to the next.
Love more. Yes! In 2012, may I grow even more in love with my husband and children, taking every opportunity to express love in ways that resonates deeply within their souls. I hope to delve deeper into the precious friendships in my community. I ask God to do His five loaves two fish thing and multiply the space in my heart to include strangers and those in pain. I want to speak words of blessing and hope into a world of darkness. I want to quietly listen to beautiful stories of redemption. I want to shout loudly in advocacy for those silenced by marginalization. I will demand grace when I fall and extend that same grace without reservation. It will hurt me to love more, but when 2013 rolls around, I’ll look back and remember the pain was good pain, the sort that leads to a life worth living, and a story worth telling.
So there you have it, my New Years resolutions. Yours?
And now, my turn to add my teensy voice into the cacophony of online NY announcements: in 2012, I propose to eat better, be present, and love more. Hey, I think there needs to be more creativity in resolutions but I got nothing.
Eat Better. We are not bad eaters. So the boys like snacking and Lizzy and I don’t drink enough water. Besides those minor faults, we generally maintain a healthy family diet, and none of us need to lose any weight. (Except me. But only on my tummy. And a little under my arms. That’s all. Don’t hurt me.) This past year Jason has decided, for environmental reasons, to stop eating beef. I didn’t plan on following suit but naturally stopped serving beef at family dinners. As it turns out, we feel better, spend less on meat, and do our small part withdrawing from an industry that devastates our earth. This year, I hope to eat even less meat and try cooking more vegetarian dishes. Fortunately I’ve found some fantastic vegetarian restaurants in our city and look forward to frequenting those this year.
Be present. This one is a bit vague. I interpret it to mean less time online and more time face to face. I don’t have super high hopes of maintaining this resolution, and will hereby briefly gloss over it and move on to the next.
Love more. Yes! In 2012, may I grow even more in love with my husband and children, taking every opportunity to express love in ways that resonates deeply within their souls. I hope to delve deeper into the precious friendships in my community. I ask God to do His five loaves two fish thing and multiply the space in my heart to include strangers and those in pain. I want to speak words of blessing and hope into a world of darkness. I want to quietly listen to beautiful stories of redemption. I want to shout loudly in advocacy for those silenced by marginalization. I will demand grace when I fall and extend that same grace without reservation. It will hurt me to love more, but when 2013 rolls around, I’ll look back and remember the pain was good pain, the sort that leads to a life worth living, and a story worth telling.
So there you have it, my New Years resolutions. Yours?
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