Lesson: communication prevents frustration.

Trust not in man

3AM questions
Your playlist runs out of tunes to escape to
And there's not enough peace to put you to sleep
You sit and twiddle, looking out the window
at the naked trees we have no shame
except it's not 3AM
it's 25 o clock

As I read my facebook newsfeed the only thing that goes through my mind: "shut the hell up, shut the hell up, shut the hell up."

Christmas Idea

Go around town and find good deeds to perform. Don't forget the Santa Hats and the smiles.

It's Teaching, Not Soccer

I am working at a non-traditional high school. How is it non-traditional exactly? My classroom holds 14 student at capacity--something that never has been acheived in the month that I've been here. The class averages an attendance of 8. I also work under a master teacher and alongside an instructional aide -- that's a great ratio, ain't it?

One might wonder: is there a catch? This sounds too good to be true! There most certainly is. In order to be admitted into our school, a student must be kicked out of their previous one. Yup, that's right. It's a school for the expelled.

There are a myriad of issues in the classroom. There is, however, one issue that sticks out at the moment. I've observed that the primary threat and means of discipline is getting kiced out of the classroom. There are seldom any warnings besides the go-to phrase, "you're doin' too much." When the inappropriate behavior crescendoes beyond the "too much" realm, the teacher kicks him or her out. Most times it's next door to a guy who isn't afraid to "beat up students" as the kids described (a totally different issue) or it's getting sent home.

Now I wonder. If these students are here because they got kicked out of their previous school, and nearly all of them have been kicked out of this one. What message are we sending to them? The only potential you have is to get kicked out? If something is too hard, just be a big enough nuisance to kick yourself out? Am I showing these kids that I love them or care about them?


It is easy to kick a student out. I've already kicked out two in the past two weeks. This has got to change. I must reposition myself in this conviction: don't take the easy route. Therefore, my goal is to not kick out another student from my class.

Reconciliation is as sweet as the person you are being reconciled to.

This is the second best feeling in my entire life.

Praise God.

Black Friday dominates Thanksgiving, just as gifts consume Christmas.

As I was studying at Starbucks the other day, a woman in her 50s was ordering coffee. She spoke through her slightly wrinkled lips, and cigarette stained teeth, "I want my coffee with soy milk, no foam, at a 120 degrees, and with a straw". It was funnier listening to the Barista repeat her order as it finished. What a mouthful. Personally, I take my coffee black.

What about me? When I'm at my go-to breakfast place, Jim's, they offer me a myriad of options. I know exactly what I want: Western Omelette with egg whites (no yolks for me), hash browns (not home fries, or fruit), wheat toast (it has more fiber than sourdough, white, or rye, right? Oh, and I like it without butter, please), and with a glass of water (no caffeine, no carbonation, just water, thank you very much). Seriously, I sound like a picky old woman.

Is there something wrong here? Absolutely not. Have your coffee the way you want it. Have your eggs over-medium, hard-boiled, or scrambled. Who cares?

Can I personalize my morality like I personalize my breakfast, or the woman her coffee?

The answer for now: certainly not.

My explanation will come after church.

Inspiration: Be nice, work hard

Rafe Esquith

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T77NzAcBijQ

Sarah Brown Wessling, National Teacher of the Year (2010)

Wessling works as hard as her students, instilling hope in those who had given up on education by being available far outside a fifty minute lecture and giving far more than a few notes at the end of a paper, by engaging them with alternative assignments that can make the words of a philosopher, dead for two millennia, relevant to their lives now and by celebrating any small moment of progress, from one student showing up five days in a row like never before to a grade-obsessed student risking a B to pursue an idea.

Zigzagged through traffic

Middle fingered a half dozen cars

Honked at one

High beamed the rest

Swerved into a parking spot

Picked up a six-pack
Plopped on the couch

I close my eyes to forget their faces

Too late

They're branded, seared, burned into the inside of my forehead

I want to forget it after 2PM
I can't

I walk through the halls to pray

Is it useless?

I'm new

It will get better

I'll get used to it

I don't want to get used to it

Shock is a reaction of the innocent

If I lose the former, I lose the latter
A cheap price?

I train harder now

with more purpose

I eat more

a lot more

I'm not trying to get pretty
I'm trying to get ugly

I end each hour with a pile of regrets

I keep them at my breast pocket

They weigh like lead

I want my fists to be like lead

I hate it

but I can't get enough

It riles up a destructive force

I want to break the bad bones
I want to grind the evil into powder

I want to sew up the malicious lips

I can't do it with lead hands
I'll need something better

Give me wisdom

Give me ability
Give me backbone

I don't have love for these unlovable bastards

Please, give me that too

I'll never do nothing again.

A North Korean Poet Wrote It

Exhausted, in the midst of the market she stood

"For 100 won, my daughter I sell"

Heavy medallion of sorrow

A cardboard around her neck she had hung

Next to her young daughter

Exhausted, in the midst of the market she stood

A deaf-mute the mother

She gazed down at the ground, just ignoring

The curses the people all threw

As they glared

At the mother who sold

Her motherhood, her own flesh and blood

Her tears dried up

Though her daughter, upon learning

Her mother would perish of a deadly disease

Had buried her face in the mother’s long skirt

And bellowed, and cried

But the mother stood still

And her lips only quivered

Unable she was to give thanks to the soldier

Who slipped a hundred won into her hand

As he uttered

"It is your motherhood,

And not the daughter I'm buying

She took the money, and ran

A mother she was,

And the 100 won she had taken

She spent on a loaf of wheat bread

Toward her daughter she ran

As fast as she could

And pressed the bread on the child's lips

"Forgive me, my child"

In the midst of the market she stood

And she wailed.

And then it hit me five years later:
I can do anything I want within the confines of the Bible.

When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold.
I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.

Now I am old my teachers are the young.
What can't be molded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I go to school to youth to learn the future.

What Fifty Said by Robert Frost

tRuth

My everyday question to the Lord:
"Why have I found favor in your eyes, that you should take notice of me, since I am a foreigner?"

mortal combat

Is there a way to fend off thoughts?
Can one make a choice to dwell on a noun or not?
I wonder if I just let my mind free, free to rest wherever it pleased. On pleasant things or prickly. I wonder how I would be if my mind was left undisciplined. Would it only rest where it's easy, comfortable, close, and immediately gratifying?

These thoughts launch me into what I need to hear.
I need to exercise mental discipline. I need to set my focus on imagining good things--not unhelpful things.

I don't want to over think possibilities and negativities. I don't want to be satisfied with planting my thoughts at the foot of difficulty, but to advance to the crest where help resides.

Help my thoughts, O God. Don't let them hurt me.

How liberating mental freedom is. How sweet is the liberation of the mind.

Don't let me hold on to anger. It will only burn my hands.

A Prayer for Japan by Pastor John Piper

Father in heaven, you are the absolute Sovereign over the shaking of the earth, the rising of the sea, and the raging of the waves. We tremble at your power and bow before your unsearchable judgments and inscrutable ways. We cover our faces and kiss your omnipotent hand. We fall helpless to the floor in prayer and feel how fragile the very ground is beneath our knees.

O God, we humble ourselves under your holy majesty and repent. In a moment—in the twinkling of an eye—we too could be swept away. We are not more deserving of firm ground than our fellowmen in Japan. We too are flesh. We have bodies and homes and cars and family and precious places. We know that if we were treated according to our sins, who could stand? All of it would be gone in a moment. So in this dark hour we turn against our sins, not against you.

And we cry for mercy for Japan. Mercy, Father. Not for what they or we deserve. But mercy.

Have you not encouraged us in this? Have we not heard a hundred times in your Word the riches of your kindness, forbearance, and patience? Do you not a thousand times withhold your judgments, leading your rebellious world toward repentance? Yes, Lord. For your ways are not our ways, and your thoughts are not our thoughts.

Grant, O God, that the wicked will forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts. Grant us, your sinful creatures, to return to you, that you may have compassion. For surely you will abundantly pardon. Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord Jesus, your beloved Son, will be saved.

May every heart-breaking loss—millions upon millions of losses—be healed by the wounded hands of the risen Christ. You are not unacquainted with your creatures' pain. You did not spare your own Son, but gave him up for us all.

In Jesus you tasted loss. In Jesus you shared the overwhelming flood of our sorrows and suffering. In Jesus you are a sympathetic Priest in the midst of our pain.

Deal tenderly now, Father, with this fragile people. Woo them. Win them. Save them.

And may the floods they so much dread make blessings break upon their head.

O let them not judge you with feeble sense, but trust you for your grace. And so behind this providence, soon find a smiling face.

In Jesus’ merciful name, Amen.

Anticlimactic

This is my hundredth post.

Right now we're in New York. Brooklyn to be exact. Yo this place is mad crazy. HAH.

We just screened at a Law school. It was cool. They asked a lot of questions. They were technical, but none that we couldn't handle.

I had the most amazing time at Stuyvesant high school today. Maybe cuz there were so many high school kids. Or because the response was so high. It was just an overall great day of screenings. We had maybe 7 screenings with around 500 students present. It was pretty much phenomenal. Such ambitious, heart-felt kids. I swear I witnessed the social phenomena of word of mouth. It was just one teacher first, and a few students.. it turned into us selling out of shirt styles, and just.. madness.

Anyway, we're here at a contact's house just chillin. Waiting for Fordham tomorrow. I am legitimately excited to see my friend, Cindy Cho. I think it's been 4 years or so since I've seen her. Pretty crazy. Strange how we were able to stay in touch for so long. It's really quite lovely. Is that the right word? Whatever--I'm sleepy.

Also I feel pretty nervous to be speaking in front of people I actually know. I'm glad I got a lot of practice in Ohio where I didn't give a damn what people thought.

Alright. I'm going to blog a lot more now. This season will not slip through my fingers. It's getting recorded one way or another.

Holler.

"Self-expression and telling your story is so healing, even if you're just skywriting to no one in particular." -S. Zhu

For some, there is no depth. Not an ounce of character or a drop of dignity. There is only a pretty voice with pretty clothes hung on a pretty frame. It is sweet for a man to look at--heck, I think we're naturally geared towards pretty sights like pretty lights. But a man cannot warm himself or sustain himself from pretty lights. A man needs fire for warmth and the sun for growth. Pretty lights are cute for a season, but it is distasteful to leave pretty lights up for long. After a long winter season, the soul longs for July. After a long day of work, a man rests his eyes, hangs up his boots, and props his feet near the hearth. The eyes will soon dim to pretty lights, and the soul will crave for character, and beauty unseen.

A woman of noble character, who can find? She is far more precious than pretty things.

Cold calling:

I feel like a bee in someone's ear.

I'll travel to see the sun rise;

You'll see it set on fire again

The difference in place will hurt,

but the reunion will outweigh the absence

J.D. Salinger

"Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."

Excerpts from "I've been to the Mountaintop":

It's all right to talk about "long white robes over yonder," in all of its symbolism. But ultimately people want some suits and dresses and shoes to wear down here! It's all right to talk about "streets flowing with milk and honey," but God has commanded us to be concerned about the slums down here, and his children who can't eat three square meals a day. It's all right to talk about the new Jerusalem, but one day, God's preacher must talk about the new New York, the new Atlanta, the new Philadelphia, the new Los Angeles, the new Memphis, Tennessee. This is what we have to do.

Let us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness.

You remember that a Levite and a priest passed by on the other side. They didn't stop to help him. And finally a man of another race came by. He got down from his beast, decided not to be compassionate by proxy. But he got down with him, administered first aid, and helped the man in need. Jesus ended up saying, this was the good man, this was the great man, because he had the capacity to project the "I" into the "thou," and to be concerned about his brother.

And so the first question that the priest asked -- the first question that the Levite asked was, "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?"

The question is not, "If I stop to help this man in need, what will happen to me?" The question is, "If I do not stop to help North Koreans, what will happen to them?" That's the question.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will.

So, I've been diving into my box of sentiments for the past hour.

Just a collection of cards, photos, some dating back to age 14.

A lot of stuff in there made me laugh. The way we used to talk.

The baby dreams I had, and where I am now.

Some were really touching, "non stop emo" as someone put it.

It is good to be emotionally refreshed, to remember what was done,

to remember the people who love and support me.

Anyway..

Most of it ended up in the trash.

If our body is cut, the natural reaction is to mend it quickly, even if that means we do so by our own ill-trained hands. We will commit acts of stupidity, that will surprise even ourselves, to quell the pain. We would rather fill our wounds with gravel than to leave it alone. Such idiocy we do daily.

We must remember we our on a team, and our Captain wears many hats. His hands are steady. He can heal. Leave your wound alone. Don't fill it with the filth that is in arm's reach. Only keep clean until he comes to operate. He is never late. He will heal, even if its outside of the realm of time. If he amputates now, it is only because it is necessary to be indestructible when you come to die.

Hold on to hope, not to debris.

Questions

How are Christians supposed to wade through depression?

How do we balance between pouring out grace and keeping our standards?

Be still and know

Heart,

Be steadied by his Hand

Shake and shiver no more

The wind may push

The rain may pelt

However, there is nothing that

Eternity cannot remedy

Thus fix your eyes There

not Here

Then Jesus told his disciples,

"If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. or whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. or what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with his angels in the glory of His Father, and then he will repay each person according to what he has done. Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom."

If you want to follow Jesus, the route is self-denial. The path is suffering. To attain the eternal, we must sacrifice the immediate. We do this not because we're ascetic masochists. We do this because we believe the Psalmist that Jesus is better than life (Psalm 63:3). Can you taste it? In the morning, in the noon time, in the evening, is the divine taste of Christ on our tongue? Do we open our mouths before our Bibles to collect sustenance? Truly the promises drip from the ends of verses like honey from the comb. It is a sweetness that does not produce decay, only depth. It teaches us of a delight this world does not know how to satisfy. It only faintly remembers the sweetness that once alighted its soil and sand, somewhere between Tigris and Golgotha. Will we believe the echoes from Perfection once planted? Will we listen to the chorus that beckons from the stars after each sun-down? Will we be drawn to repent as the sun blazes to make visible beauty beyond what our closed-eyes can imagine? This is always our choice. Will we become increasingly sensitive to our sin, inching towards God by hanging on to the hem of Jesus' robe; Or will we deny our need, scorn the shame of need, and forget being dragged through the dirt? Will we choose pleasant pastures of grass fields to energetically eat and store? We are not destined to be cows. Don't settle to be one.

--

Jesus will come clothed in electric white dipped in blood woven in the skies, no longer adorning the mocking majestic purple supplied by Rome. Emanating beauty and splendor from his pores, it will be like seeing a man made of diamonds, except it will produce terror, not want. He will come as the blessing, the gift, the sight-for-sore-eyes, the treasure, the Savior to some; but to most, he will be their greatest nightmare, their doubts-realized, the preacher's-lies-turned-true, the one who appoints to Hell. He will spit the majority out with disgust.

Keep me, Lord.

---

Father,

Would you strengthen my grip on eternity with you? Would you pry my hands from pleasure in this life? Wash me with your forgiving blood this morning. Remind me of the cost of this breath, and breath eternal. As I sink my heels into the depths of your sovereign, unending majesty, let it prove to be a spring board into radical Christ-like love and grace: a dying to self until I live with you. This life is vapor; life with you is the Pacific.

Lead me in the way everlasting.

Your son,

Sanghyo