psalm

Lord, I cry out to you, I cry out from the depths of my heart;
Father, I yearn for your face, I am anxious for the sound of your voice!
I stand here and pound my fists against the door,
I beg, O God, for your wisdom and truth.
Show yourself to me! Hide not your awesome glory!
I fear and tremble at your truth, I am afraid of the power of what you will reveal,
But, though my heart be afraid, my soul longs for your revelation
- as deep cries out to deep.
Speak to me, in the tongue of men or angels,
Heed the groans that your Counselor lifts up on my behalf
For the Spirit expresses what I have no words for.
How long must I pay the penance of your silence?
For how much time will you hide me under your hands?
Did you not promise, O Lord, that if I sought, I would find?
My mind is clouded with the wisdom of men
Make plain to me the foolishness of the Lord!
For even your foolishness is greater than all man's wisdom.
I fall down before you, my eyes are cast to the ground
I am prostrate at your feet, the feet of my King
For your are always faithful, and your love is unending.
You hear my whispered cries and will dry my tears
You will strip away my soiled garments and clothe me again in your righteousness.
You will speak, and I will listen to you,
Abba, Father.

On Rebuilding Writing-Muscles

By jones, how these muscles have shrunk!

It is incredible, and frustrating, how much a mind can atrophy in the course of time. How long has it been since last I wrote regularly in any capacity? Already, four different topics have I tried and failed to write about for today's post. The words simply do not flow - I am trapped in a morass of half-formed ideas that skulk in the swampy foment of my mind. Even now, I write and delete, write and delete. Somehow, the ideas are not linking together properly, the notes are on the staff but they do not form a melody. I feel perhaps like a man in a familiar place but stripped of his sight. 

Too many metaphors? I am a man slapping splashes of colour on the walls of a cowshed in the hopes of making it look like a mansion. Look, I did it again! 

And so here I am, stuck halfway between writing stream-of-consciousness and trying, if desperately and unsuccessfully, to create structure. 

But if one's metaphysical muscles can atrophy just as one's bodily muscles, can they be rebuilt in the same way? Or, having abandoned them for so long that they have become like the one talent buried by the foolish servant? 

I am tempted to erase all of this. It seems an awful lot like self-serving whinging and doesn't seem to be leading towards any sort of productive or uplifting end. This is not quality content.

...

Or maybe I'm just being lazy. 

Alright, that does it. Enough of my lounging about, pretending to be writing. I shall make up for this dismal post with a much better one by wednesday. :p

Belated Monday Musing: Leadership

Today's post is awfully disjointed. I will do better next time. haha.

Leadership.

It is that rare quality that imbues a person with the ability to inspire others, to take charge, and to achieve an objective. Leadership is not a position. It is not something that can be wrought with power alone. Nor is it merely another word for charisma.

Charisma is that quality which draws people in, attracts them to its source. Charisma can definitely be a component characteristic of a good leader, but it is not leadership. That is because charisma, in and of itself, lacks direction and purpose. When properly utilized, it can become an important tool for a leader, but used badly, it is only a false front - a mockery of true leadership. Charisma can be faked. Leadership cannot.

Leadership requires, naturally, that a person leads - that he or she has a direction, an objective, a method of getting there, and an ability to overcome obstacles in the way. But leadership is nothing without those who follow, without a team. If a leader is unable to inspire and take control of those he is in charge of, what good is he?

I'm not really sure why it is that I have recently been so enamored by the idea and understanding of leadership. Perhaps it is a reaction to events in the world, or perhaps not. 

Maybe it's just all of the FullMetal Alchemist: Brotherhood of Steel that I've been watching. 

(Yes, I'm a nerd and I'm proud of it)

I think one of my favorite things about FMA is the prominence of good leaders, men and women who give all they have for the right reasons. Both Colonel Mustang and General Armstrong display a commitment to their visions and a willingness to give their all in order to achieve this. But of particular note is the devotion which they inspire in their troops - a devotion that reflects the trust that they have earned, as leaders. This is because their vision - the objective towards which they are leading their teams - is so clear and strong and good. It is a vision which they bring their troops to understand and embrace. It is not motivated from mere personal desire for power and fame, but in order to achieve a greater good, to change the world.

I have also recently been re-reading Terry Pratchett's Ankh-Morpork books and therein we see the incredible leadership of Carrot Ironfounderson and Sam Vimes. Their styles of leadership are so different, but both are wholly dedicated to their cause - protecting their city and those that they love. They work with what they are given and utilize their strengths and the strengths of those beneath them to the fullest. And always, at the forefront of their minds, are the values and beliefs for which they struggle. They are never aimless in doing their work; they do it because they believe in it. 

Finaly, however, there are the real life examples of true and heroic leadership. For example, Major General William Dean of the US Army was awarded a Medal of Honor for his actions and leadership during the opening campaign of the Korean War. Placed in command of an untested inexperienced army, he organized them into an effective defense in spite of overwhelming odds. When asked to hold onto the city of Taejon longer than expected with his virtually decimated army, he took to the field himself, to inspire and lead his men. Taking up a rocket-team, this man, despite being fifty years old, personally attacked enemy tank formations - in one case, he personally destroyed a take single-handedly using only the hand-grenades he had on his person. When defeat was imminent, he remained with the rearguard and personally assisted in evacuating the wounded. He was captured during this stand. He would spend most of the remainder of the war as a prisoner, but never did he divulge any information. 

There is also General Ray Davis who, while a Marine Lt. Colonel in Korea, led his troops to rescue two trapped regiments and was awarded the Medal of Honor for his leadership and courage. He personally led assault charges and fought the enemy hand-to-hand, in spite of injuries from a hand-grenade explosion and being shot twice. When his men were low on morale, he had them rest while he personally reconnoitered the surroundings. When they finally rescued the two trapped regiments, he carried wounded men to safety and his unit did not leave a single man behind.

And with both men, it was not simply personal bravery that set them apart, but an excellence in every aspect. In both cases, these leaders faced overwhelming odds, but through brilliant tactical decisions, they achieved almost impossible objectives. Their organizational understanding of their troops allowed them to utilize each to their greatest ability. Their men trusted them and followed them to the gates of hell and back. That, then, is true leadership. 

This has all been awfully rambling and long winded. I apologize for that. But it makes one stop and think, I hope, about how we might be, or are, leaders. Or perhaps about the leaders in our lives. 

Ciao for now!

Monday Musing.... will be a Tuesday... Tumbling?

Ah, this is not good. 

The very first Monday Musing is going to be delayed until tomorrow. 

I was really hoping to finish it by tonight, but I'm a touch tired. *sigh*

I really have started writing, I'm just not able to finish yet. But, tomorrow, I promise!

To Live is Christ

In the wake of recent adversity I find myself stripped bare and broken.

But from these shattered fragments, the Potter will mold a new and better creation.

In this past year, after graduating from NYU, I have had my world shaken, my foundations pulled out from under me. Unemployed and undetermined, I have spent a year in limbo. The trials which I faced during this period have revealed to me just how unstable I truly am. I found myself utterly lost. I felt purposeless and filled with self-loathing, disappointment, and despair. All this because I had lost my understanding of who I am, my identity.
Throughout this year, whenever I was asked who I was or what I did, I would reply that I was “just a bum.” In all honesty, that is what I believed. I could no longer say that I was an officer in such-and-such a club. I could not claim that I was a hard-working college student nor a prospective law student. I had no affiliations upon which I “belonged” to. I could not say with any certainty what I was going to be doing with my life. I had graduated from college but I was jobless, no longer involved in the many activities with which I had filled my days, failing at the endeavors which I had tasked myself. I was not a teacher. I was not a Marine. I was not a law student. I was no longer a leader nor part of a team.

I was nothing.

But this too is the good and loving will of a gracious God.
If I had never fallen so far, never been broken, I would never have realized how greatly in error I was. I had crafted for myself a confidence based on my personal achievements, my involvement, my leadership, my environment. It was a confidence and an identity built on a foundation of straw. Rather than rooting myself deeply in the Rock of my Salvation, I had placed myself on the shifting sands of my own self. Because of this, at the end of my time at college, I was left with nothing upon which to rest my identity.

To Live is Christ.
Paul was not simply being artful when he made that claim. Those four words defined his life and his death. His entire identity, his understanding of who he was and what he had to do in his life originated and ended in Christ. It was built on the strong foundation, protected by the Mighty Fortress that is our God. It was because of this foundation that Paul could endure anything and everything; he always knew exactly where he was and where was going.
To many people, this looks like someone who “has it together.” Togetherness is a quality that we look for in people. A stability and a self-confidence that allows a person to take action and make progress. But we get so wrapped up in appearing “together” that our insides are falling apart. When we are stripped of this cloak, this outer garment of togetherness that is sown together from our paltry and patchwork achievements – our position in life, our notoriety, the praises of others – our frail and naked falseness is revealed. Not so with a person who is knit together by the love of God, from the inside out. Though our outsides might be wasting away – our worldly successes being taken from us, our false self-confidence cut down – inwardly we will be renewed every day.
I desire to claim that to live is Christ, myself. But what does that mean when it is applied to my life? It means that I can find my feet again, and start walking forward – because God is not hampered by the things I am weighed down by. God does not care that I will not be a Harvard law student. If I am travelling with Him and faithful to His will, it does not matter that I failed to become a Marine officer. If my identity is found in being a child of God, I do not have to be affiliated with a specific organization. If I am willing to do whatever pleases God, it does not matter that I am not now a leader. Titles and positions hold no meaning compared to the awesome power of my Lord.
Basing my identity and purpose in God also means understanding what I am going through now as a part of His plan, not merely the consequences of my personal failures. Rather than languishing in disappointment at myself, I can look at it as both part of His sovereign will and as an opportunity to learn now, for the future. God has used these times to reveal to me His greater works that I would otherwise miss in my self-busyness: the ministries of Restore, Nomi, NYC Urban Project, volunteering at Basileia, becoming engaged with the Newman club, getting involved with the NYPD. He has also used this to show me my shortcoming, how I can work to fix them, and how His grace is sufficient and his power made perfect in my weaknesses.
What does this mean for my future? It means that I will work hard, whether at Fordham or NYU or elsewhere. It means that I will strive to be the best – not for self-confidence but in order to be more fully equipped to carry out the will of God. I will dedicate myself to the issues that are dear to me, not to draw identity from them but in order to see the kingdom of Heaven reflected on earth. That means working hard to fight sex-trafficking, improve education, inspire students, understand and engage the wounds within God’s People, and to protect and provide for those I love.
When I am asked who I am and what I am doing, I hope and pray that I will be able to answer confidently that I am my Father’s son and that I am doing His will.
So, then, why do I write all this? Is it to boast of my revelation? Is it some sort of desperate flag-waving in the hopes of gaining the acknowledgement and praise of others? No. It is so that, having declared my allegiance to God publicly, I can be held accountable to it. It is so that when I am weary and despairing, I can be reminded of it; when I am proud and erring, I can be humbled with it. It is a public contract between me and God: that I will find my identity wholly in Him. It is an ongoing process, but I trust that He is faithful and will complete the good work which He has begun in me, for He has plans to prosper me.

-Al

A Fresh Start

Hello World!

Well, wouldja look at that. Six months without a single post. Tch tch. Granted, much and more has happened between then and now, but that's no real excuse.

In any case, I'm back and I'm determined to make the most of this thing. In order to do so, I'm going to commit to posting at least every Monday - a Monday Musing, if you will. If I am successful in that, I will expand to Friday Findings.

It has been far too long since I've written anything. My writing-muscles ache from the exertion of just writing this. I miss the passion with which once I wrote, willfully whiling away the hours, whittling my whims onto paper (or screen).

Anyhoo, today, I leave you with a Wednesday Writing.

Yes, I realize how terribly corny I am. :)

Quickbit

Hush
don't cry
shut up
you can't let them hear you like this
stop
don't whine
sit down
and just take it like a man

Just shake it off
just put it away
roll with the punches
never let them see you say
anything that
isn't a smile
anything that
darkens the sky for even a while

Cause it's not true
you're not the same
you're losing even though life is not a game
but that's ok
it's alright
as long as you help them see the light

Because everything that
you need to do
is just help them make it through
and everything else
yeah, everything else
you can carry alone, just you

Why can't they see me standing here
don't they hear me crying in my fear
but they don't know, I wish they'd go
So that I could wipe my tears

Cause it's not true
you're not the same
you're losing even though life is not a game
but that's ok
it's alright
as long as you help them see the light

Because everything that
you need to do
is just help them make it through
and everything else
yeah, everything else
you can carry alone, just you


------
Just jotted this down. It's a song, kinda, in my head. intro, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus. Don't really feel like pounding my head for more verses right now.

On Grandfather's Passing

My grandfather, Kwangsoon Suh, was laid to rest on Friday. As I helped prepare for his memorial and funeral services and organized the countless photos, I learned a little about the grandfather I never knew. His older friends and relatives would tell me stories about him that I had never heard before.

My grandfather began developing Alzheimer's and dementia when I was just entering middle-school. I never really got to know what an astounding man he was and how wide his life truly was.

My grandfather was born into one of the richest families in all of Korea. He was a child of privilege. Yet he did not, by any accounts, ever hold this privilege over others or flaunt it. When he was a child going to school, he would hide his shoes and nice things in the bushes before he reached the school grounds. In his later years, he devoted much time and effort to philanthropic pursuits, especially with the Dallas Korean Association.

He was especially dedicated to education. While in Korea, he was the director of one of Korea's first ever private schools. It is there that he met my grandmother who was training to be a teacher. Later, he would briefly teach at Sookmyung Women's University in Korea.
Once he moved himself and his family to Texas, he would go on to serve as the 2nd director of the Dallas Korean School and even crafted its enduring motto, loosely translated as: "Learn properly, live properly." (바르게 배워 바르게 쓰자).

In high-school, my grandfather was a kendo athlete, traveling to Japan for competitions. The thin, frail-looking grandfather I had known was once a broad-shouldered young man with confidence written across his face.
For some time my grandfather served as a police captain or police chief during and directly after the liberation of Korea. We found photos of him with his riding boots - a symbol of his office - and posing with American soldiers. Some of my relatives say he was present when General MacArthur visited Korea during the inter-war years.
He had always considered order as a prime principle in living a good life. He was proud of his eldest son for his service in the Korean Army and later the American Army. My cousin, Robert, made my grandfather extraordinarily proud when he entered and graduated from the Naval Academy. Just days before he passed away, though he was unable to really recognize anyone or communicate, he clapped and laughed and saluted when he saw Robert's uniform and officer's cap.

I had always known my grandfather was a lover of nature and all that was beautiful. I did not know that he would take his violin and travel to KeumGang mountain for days at a time to quiet his heart whenever he was troubled. There, amongst the trees and streams, surrounded by the rocks and valleys, he would pull his bow along the strings - he would close his eyes tight and sway with the melody as he played.
That's how he always played, when he played with or for his grandchildren. He would coach us along in our musical pursuits.
There are hundreds upon hundreds of his carefully hand-developed photos. He would spend hours carefully arranging flowers and developing them in his dark-room. Everywhere he went, he would always be looking for something beautiful; something to be awed by.
He was a great traveler. He was always in search of something new. In Korea he hiked the mountains. He loved Keumgangsan. I imagine he climbed BaekDuSan as well - the very symbol of Korea's natural beauty. He'd gone to Colorado to see the Rockies, to Canada, to California, to the desserts and canyons of the great American West.
In his deteriorating years, he still looked everywhere for beauty. What were to us simple and mundane views of the Dallas we had always known, were to him a beautiful picture.
To him, everything was wonderful, beautiful.

There are so many things I never got to know about my grandfather. I never learned his past, how deep a man he was, what visions he had held. Too often I thought him a burden as I was growing up. I am filled with such regret and sorrow. Little do we know what we are missing until it is already gone.

Still, there is hope.
Through prayer alone, God sustained my grandfather for days beyond what he was expected to live. God made certain he was there when my father came to visit, one last time. And through God, my grandfather's ears and heart were opened for just a moment, late Saturday night when a minister came to visit. When asked by the minister, "Do you believe that Christ is the son of God and in the salvation found in him," my grandfather, with shaking hands, scrawled on a small slip of paper, "Amen."

I will never really know what kind of man my grandfather was. He is only alive in stories now. But, one day I'll meet him again and I will ask, and I will sit, and I will listen.

On Life-Saving.

Early this morning, around 4:30 am, a young man committed suicide in NYU's Bobst library. Several years ago, a string of suicides occurred there, prompting the introduction of safety panels, sealed windows, and campus counseling services.

It is hard to experience the death of a loved one, harder still when it is caused by someone else, but it is terrifyingly painful to know that someone you loved and cared about took his own life - that he found his situation so desperate and that you were so helpless to save him.

Too often, people think that suicide is a coward's choice, that a suicidal person can be "fixed" if you fix their problems. Most official suicide-prevention rely on the victim to call for help. I have heard that this works, but I also know that when I was struggling with depression and suicide, I did not once even consider calling a hotline on my own.

The only way that I know of, the only life-line that I grasped, was the honest caring of my friends. Depression and suicide don't often happen suddenly. It takes time and the sinking in of utter desperation, to be bereft of any kind of hope. It's hard to see, sometimes; often, it's the person with the biggest smile and the loudest laugh who hides the greatest pain. Other times, it is a long and openly black wound - the victim may cry out desperately and often or do things like change screen names and profiles, looking for someone to notice. But there are always signs: the victim seems distant or closes off any inquiry into his personal life; he gives things away, prized possessions and such; he tries to have things "arranged," like taking all of his belongings home or sorting out all of his business; he suddenly tells his friends how much he appreciated them, preparing to say bood-bye. These are all, in their own way, quiet cries for help.

When I was suicidal, I must have prepared for it a dozen times. I had written my will and several farewell letters to friends, to tell them things I never had the courage to in life. But each time I was saved from the brink by small but true acts of caring. That, I believe, is the only way to save and heal someone: truly caring. The day that I planned to die, I would get a phonecall from a friend, asking me if I were ok, if I wanted to come hang out the next day. I would wave it off, but it was just enough to make me reconsider. I would be contemplating suicde, preparing myself mentally, when a friend would come up to me in the hallway and tell me that they were praying for me, that I looked kinda down. That would be enough to break the downward spiral.

Yet, such small acts of kindness can only hold back the flood for so long. Helping someone get through depression takes effort, dedication, and sacrifice. There is no quick fix. If you really want to help someone, you have to be by their side, willing to go the extra distance with them. When they cry out in their quiet ways, we have to be willing to sit with them and listen, to be with them and put up with mood-swings and tantrums. If someone who is in trouble calls on me when I'm with friends or at work, I need to be willing to make sacrifices for them.
The only way to save a life is to be willing to pay for it.

Anything that is worth having is worth paying for.