A Tale of Two Romances

THE DIFFERENCES couldn’t have been more pronounced. The night before, I had watched Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of Romeo + Juliet (you know, the one with Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes). It started off kinda weird, what with its fusion of modern day culture and original Shakespearean dialogue, but I grew to enjoy this dichotomy as it progressed. Sometimes you forget how beautiful the language is until you hear it recited to you; before I knew it I was quietly rehearsing those very lines as though I were the star-crossed lover. I went to bed thinking how crazy it is to love someone with such intensity that it would cause you to scheme a plot to fake death–and when that fails, to go as far as to induce death–all in the name of love. Mind you, this is one of the most celebrated (albeit tragic) love stories of all time.

The morning after, I came across another piece about love. It was a short video entitled The Story of Ian & Larissa. For nine minutes, I watched and listened as a lovely young lady told her story about tragedy and triumph. Her boyfriend at the time had suffered a traumatic injury that left him incapacitated. But she committed to him, and they eventually got married. “I think what helped us in making this commitment to each other, at least for me, is knowing that Ian wouldn’t have left me if the roles were reversed,” said Larissa. “And that we love each other and we know God will be faithful to our marriage.” It was one of the most beautiful testimonies I’ve ever heard.

Romeo + Juliet. Ian & Larissa. Both of them were bold declarations of love. Yet each one said something entirely different about what it looks like and what it truly means. One speaks of a romance ignited by coquettish gesturing and physical attraction, the other of a selfless commitment to give, serve and choose to love for “better or worse.” We often dream of our own Juliets–or ladies, your Romeos–but what I think we really want deep down inside is an Ian & Larissa story. I’m sure they have their share of hardships and struggles–those common to all relationships as well as those unique to their own–and there might even be days of doubt. But theirs is a romance built on certain truths that will help them weather the storms when they come, in and out of seasons, whether they are feeling the butterflies or not.

I am a neophyte when it comes to this kind of love. I live in a society that tells me it’s about finding someone that fulfills my greatest desires and needs. It tells me that beauty only lies skin deep, that I need to take as much as I can get and only give to her as much as she is willing to give to me. An exchange of goods, bartering type of system, if you will. This is a love no deeper than mere economics.

My subtle belief in this approach towards relationships requires correction. It’s something that invites God’s rebuke in my life, quiet but firm. So God gives me stories like these to awaken a greater part of me. It is a challenge to rise above the dregs of our soul-numbing consumerist mentality. It is a call to await the strokes of grace that will paint this next phase of my life, whenever that will be.

In the mean time, I am to make the most of my singleness. To love, serve, give, sacrifice and put others above myself. Funny how those terms are applied in marriage as well. If I want to be a good husband, guess I better start now.

27: Thanks

Most of us live out our days in between states of perpetual want and grief. When already given much, we still look for more. Or when stricken with hardship, we often question why difficulty should befall us. It seems natural, as Shakespeare put it, to “beweep our outcast state.”

Yet rare it is for a man to pour out his blessings to measure, and rarer still for him to do so in the face of suffering.

This year has not been easy. Through the thicket of personal and mental travails, some seeming to persist with no end, I had lost all hope and direction. Days when I didn’t know how much more I had to give. Feeling abandoned. Shipwrecked. Times when I felt and acted like a spiritual orphan. It was in these moments that I was challenged to give thanks still, and look up to remember the Father who has numbered and marked all my days in love.

It’s just nights like these when God seems to make my task easy.

This year I didn’t want a big deal. I just wanted to lay low for once. But love wouldn’t let me play the part. The many friends and family whom I’ve been blessed with did not let this day go in a whimper. From the co-worker who baked cupcakes (thanks Awu, resident birthday baker!) to the other co-workers who came bearing gifts (Bho and Davey–gentlemen, you are), and from the friends who planned an impromptu after-dinner celebration (and the friends who were willing to actually make it out) to my ever-supportive Mom and Dad with their fabulous dinner treat–it was a resounding declaration that God is lavish. He’s making it rain. Like mad. And if wealth is measured in love, I am truly one of the richest to ever walk this earth.

In spite of the few trials I have faced this year and in years past, I can truly say that my life is wonderful. To all the giants and heroes in my life–I am genuinely thankful for each and every one of you.

Some days I wonder who I am or what I have done to merit such divine favor. But more and more I’m learning that it’s pure and unabashed grace. And grace, much like gifts on birthdays, is something that you get simply for being you.

Thank you all deeply from the bottom of my heart,

MY

it’s not me…

it’s you.

it’s the fact that you will never be pretty enough. even if you are a model. because i will always find someone with a nicer smile or better skin or more defined cheekbones.

or smart enough. there she is with more knowledge, more understanding, more student loans. she can take the conversation to new depths while your feet are still planted on the shore.

and i like the way this other girl tosses her hair and does her makeup and laughs at my jokes. you don’t always laugh at my jokes. by the way, she happens to bake better snicker doodles, too. (the trick is to add more butter.)

i will come across someone who’s more patient, more kind, more understanding. who knows, maybe we would even have better chemistry. and babies.

all these other girls get me. they get me. why can’t you?

because it’s not like i ever get awkward or lose my train of thought or fumble around for clever lines. i never lose my temper or get out of line or think inappropriate things whether you are or aren’t in the room.

i don’t try to mask my insecurities with nice clothes or smart remarks. i never worry about my money or how i’m going to provide for a family or where i’ll end up in three years. i always obey the bible perfectly and follow through on my every word and never talk bad about others.

no, it’s not me, really. i’m perfect. isn’t it obvious?

Like Horse & Carriage

I made a trip up to Central and Northern California this past weekend to observe two marriages. One actually becoming official “before God and these witnesses” at a small chapel in Fresno; the other fresh and exciting after a couple weeks spent honeymooning in Europe. Both reminded me of the beauty found in marriage.

Ricky and Jessie came together in a simple yet meaningful ceremony. Pastor Jon officiated the wedding and delivered a memorable sermon. Nothing too long or heavy, but it was full of honest and practical wisdom. I remember one quote in particular in which he said (paraphrased): “In marriage, one half plus one half does not equal one. In this equation, rarely does each person ever give their full share of the fifty. Sometimes you might feel you are giving more, sometimes less. But if you are putting the other person’s cares above your own and you are running toward the other person to meet their needs, then rest assured you two are bound to meet each other somewhere in the middle.” It reminded me of the whole concept of giving, not taking, in marriage. Knowing the kind of man that Ricky is, I have full confidence that he will cherish, protect and provide for her with every ounce of God-enabled strength.

After the reception, Jeremy and I headed on the road to Oakland. The next day, we met up with my dear friend Deborah. We were introduced to her husband Jerry. We spent the entire afternoon and early evening together, going from church service to brunch to J-town to the piers over at Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a lot of activity, running into fobs at J-town and dodging fat birds, but through it all I got to see how Jerry served and loved his wife. They had that sort of chemistry that spoke of deep trust and understanding. I recount how at one Japanese novelty store, Jerry asked the cashier if they had a Domo ear-set to complete her full-body Domo costume. They didn’t have it, but Jerry was obviously looking out for her best interests. (Sarcasm intended.) I became a big fan of Jerry and I am glad that she is well taken care of. (It also doesn’t hurt that his hair reminds me of a cross between Beatles Paul McCartney and Super Saiyan 3 Goku.)

As I reflect on these two stories, I begin to see how they tie together. I think about the Bible and all its talk about marriage being a symbol of Christ and His church. How Christ in all his glory came not to be served, but to serve and make lovely His bride. How even when we fail or falter, Jesus is pursuing us with a passionate and furious love. He is fully committed. And He will not rest until He has us, wholly and completely devoted to Him.

This is what makes marriage special. This is what makes it divine. The world looks in to see what we have. It discovers, as a matter of fact, that it is a love triangle. Indeed, Christians are the most scandalous lovers of all.

Rebirth of the Cool

In 1957, Miles Davis released an album entitled Birth of the Cool. I’ve always been a fan of jazz and Miles Davis. It wasn’t always just the music, as good and soulful as it is. But when you were around jazz it was like you felt this sort of sophistication, a touch of class. You’d always see Miles in those pictures with his sweatshirt or blazer, big cheeks blowing the heck out of that trumpet. You’d think it was cool.

But is that all there is to being cool?

As I thought about it, I realized I could not quite wrap my head around it. This concept called “cool.” What does it mean? What’s the formula? Who determines this thing? Shrug. The only thing I knew was that being cool had some significance and meaning to society. As Donald Miller wrote in Blue Like Jazz, if you knew how to make something cool you’d be able sell it to anybody and make it big.

I used to think cool was somewhat like that Rebel Without a Cause bad boy who rides his motorcycle in his leather jacket, hair tossed back and eyes hidden behind aviators as he cruises against the wind. He runs into trouble with the law, smokes Marlboros till his lungs burn out, and knows all the ladies by touch. Is that what cool is? A call to remake ourselves into a new sort of James Dean?

For a long time I thought it was. But as I’m getting older, I’m starting to see the futility in that sort of thinking. What clothes I wear, what car I drive, what music I listen to, what house I live in–nobody will care about any of that 50 years from now. But how will they remember me?

It seems as life progresses, it gradually becomes more classical music and less like jazz. Don’t get me wrong. It still has its moments, with its funky improvisations and what have you. But with age comes responsibility, and with responsibility comes bills, debt, mortgages, husbands, wives, kids and calendars. All that requires good orchestration, balanced measures and rhythms. It becomes less cruising down PCH and more “I need to trade in my bike for the big red minivan.”

That idea used to scare me. Until I saw the beauty in this sort of cool, which involves sacrifice, commitment and love for others. Cool started to look like that man who is working 50 hour week shifts, slaving to ensure hot meals for his family of four and a solid roof over their heads. Cool is the single mother with low income who spends her free time–whatever left of it–helping her son with his science fair project. Cool is the young single who devotes his Saturday nights to serving at the homeless shelter when all his other buddies are out having a drink.

Isn’t that the stuff good stories are made of?

The great thing about jazz is that it is all about freedom, going where the music is taking you in that moment. It plays whatever is on the heart, however raw and unwarranted.

You might lose some of that in classical. Maybe sometimes you feel restrained. Strings are going off when you want brass. The cello isn’t getting its solo. And there’s never enough cowbell…

But I dare you to look beyond. Seek the beauty in harmony, orchestration, direction. Wait for the crescendos.

Jazz will always have its solos, but you are gaining a symphony.

Love the Broken Record

Clementine: Joel, I’m not a concept. Too many guys think I’m a concept or I complete them or I’m going to make them alive, but I’m just a f-cked up girl who is looking for my own peace of mind. Don’t assign me yours.
Joel: I remember that speech really well.
Clementine: I had you pegged, didn’t I?
Joel: You had the whole human race pegged.
Clementine: Probably.
Joel: I still thought you were going to save me. Even after that.

I write about the ideals of love often in my blog. You read through enough of my entries and perhaps you get to thinking that I believe love is perfect. That love goes without struggle. That love is the answer.

Well, I am here to make some things clear.

I understand that this sort of love is not reality. I realize that for many of us, our idea of love has been soured and tainted from previous experiences. For some of us, it is as much about letting go of our past as it is about looking to lay hold of our future. We cannot imagine what a good love story is because we’ve only experienced tragedy in our vain attempts.

What pierces us so much, a movie like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind–in particular, this exchange between Joel and Clementine–is that it captures the grounding reality of love. It is the reminder that romance is every bit as bitter as it is sweet. It knows by touch that all roses come with sharp, painful thorns. It warns us about being cautious even as we look for that one in six billion.

Love hurts. I don’t think there is any other way to put it.

For those of us who’ve been through this sort of hell, we know this. We’ve been vulnerable before. We’ve entrusted our hearts to another, only to have it dashed and broken into a thousand little pieces. We’ve been lied to, mistreated, and abandoned without reason. When we experience heartbreak, there is that part of us that shuts up, that refrains from allowing ourselves to ever be susceptible again. Instead, we resort to the very dregs of cynicism, a jaded perception that love isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be and isn’t worth our time or effort.

I had a long conversation with a good friend who shared some of her cynicism. She is a couple years into her recovery after a long relationship that ended in heartbreak. She says she’s ready for marriage, but not necessarily for a relationship. She wants something that is perhaps convenient, steady, comfortable. How exhausting it is to have to, in a sense, start all over. And what if that fails again? There are no guarantees in love. I get it, I’ve been through it before.

The paradox of love could not be captured more powerfully than in the movie’s exchange. Clementine reminds him that she is not an ideal. She is not the perfect answer for a man. Joel knows this. Yet, in a way he cannot help but long for her, an ineffable something within that hopes beyond all reason that she can cure him.

What many of us fail to understand is that love is not complete. What I mean by that is, love from another human being can never truly fulfill us. It won’t make us happy because people are imperfect. It is impossible to demand from an imperfect person something that will make you perfectly happy. Simple logic. Love, in this sense, will always be lacking.

Love also demands sacrifice, patience, devotion and self-denial. Those are hard words. Take those words individually and I bet you think more of discipline than love. But I would dare to argue that love is every bit as much science and math as it is free-verse poetry.

Yet, love rocks. Love makes you feel things, do things, say things that don’t always make sense. Joel hoped she could save him because that’s what love makes you do.

All this to say: love is neither for the cynics nor the idealists. Love is for those who want to learn what it means to risk, hurt, and die to self for something greater. It is a weapon that can bring mass destruction; it is also the fuel that could drive one to greater heights of understanding and appreciation.

There just needs to be a balance. There is a rightful place onstage for love, but it does not sit on the pedestal. It is not God. It is hard, it can hurt, but it hopes. And it is certainly something worth fighting for.

Living the Love Story

I read a recent post by Don Miller that talked about love and what it meant for both men and women to be the right people and look for the right things. If you haven’t read it yet, please close this blog and go there instead. Really, it’s a good read.

That entry is what actually inspired this post.

Because it got me to thinking about all the wonderful ladies I’ve met recently and all throughout my life and how society has got me into this twisted idea of what love is, when the truth is finally staring me in the face and telling me otherwise.

Love is…?

Sure, it can be summed up in a famous Bible passage or expressed in a Shakespearean sonnet. But I look at some of those around me and see how they are living their love stories and I begin to understand a little more what it all means. When I go to weddings and see the fresh kindling of emotion. Sure, it involves that. Then I look at my parents and see how love endures. How deep their care and patience is with each other. That is love evolved.

Then I think bout my good friend “Devin” and how he was living his love story. He was single for 28 years. (Twenty-eight years…the Internet, cellular phones, Starbucks and Justin Bieber have all been invented since that time!) Boy meets girl at a church. After a few brief conversations and encounters, he decides he would like to pursue her. So he writes her a letter, declaring his intentions right out in the open. Heart on the table. Hand-written. Probably sealed with a kiss. She says yes. Then on their first date, he tells her, “I am going to be as upfront and honest with you throughout this thing because I don’t want you to think you are dating somebody you are not. I am going to give you every reason to dump me.” Wait, he just did what? Is that irrational confidence? Balls over brains? The most logical man couldn’t explain it. But it’s been four months, and they are going stronger than ever.

Now tell me that’s not a freaking man.

I mean, when I heard that, I was like thanks for raising the bar for every other mortal man in the world. Do I have to bust out my quill pen, and write a French novel in calligraphy for her? Do I just tell her “Hey I’m just going to DO ME, fart around and pick my butt, because I’m going to give you every reason to dump me…?” Say what? Something tells me that she would actually dump me. Like a truck.

But really. What it comes down to is this. A man who said to himself that if she is worth it, if she is the one I should be with, then I am going to let God build it. I’m not going to try to spit any game. Not trying to put my best foot forward. As flawed and imperfect as I am, I’m just going to do my best to lead her and love her. And she’ll know how much I care because it will be real and genuine.

Young bucks out there need to listen up–this is what a real man does. He’s not trying to take advantage of her. He’s not putting in only so that she will put out. No. A real man points her to something and someone bigger than himself. He has her best interests in mind.

A real man would lay down his very life for his woman.

So that’s what I’m praying for myself. God, may You build it. Whoever she is, wherever she is, let it be that we are both running so hard after the kingdom that what binds us together won’t be a mere physical or metaphysical grasping of love, but that it will actually be a romance forged in the depths of the spirit. A love written on our hearts, inscribed in our souls. A love that says I love in spite of, regardless, even though…

That’s the love story I want to be written. But on my own I can’t write it. I’m smart enough to let God take the pen on this one.

And it’ll be one heck of a love story, too.

On Fire When He Speaks

Don’t give up. Don’t stop believing. Don’t ever count something or somebody out, just because God’s logic doesn’t line up with yours.

I say this because I was guilty. I was in a lonely, desperate rut no more than a few months back and I was about ready to give up on God. Many people around me were moving up and about in life. Church ministry became a huge burden and I felt like a confused hypocrite. Worst of all, I was lonely. I had very few friends to turn to and share about all this stuff.

Then crazy things started happening. A random acquaintance had a vision about me–the type you read about in the Bible that the apostles experienced. It was like a wake-up call from God. Then our church youth retreat happened, and I witnessed one of my youth actually come to accept Jesus as her Lord and Savior. It was a reminder that God still changes lives, even when you have stopped believing.

At this point, I’m thinking, life is still hard but God–You know so much better than me. He must be onto something here so I started praying that God would break me and humble me and give me His heart. It’s a dangerous prayer, I know. But it’s one I knew He would answer. Before I knew it, God had broken and afflicted me with deep, personal trials. As if I were the refiner’s gold and He the blacksmith, all my bad habits and wayward thoughts and insecurities were brought to the surface of the crucible. He said He needed to skim away those impurities in order to renew my spirit and use me.

Somewhere in this refining process God started to pour out abundantly into my life. One thing was community. God divinely brought about a close-knit group of brothers and sisters with whom I am not only able to hang out but share deep stuff, inception-like. The other was ministry. God had reinvigorated my passion for the youth and this past weekend, I even witnessed some of them performing their first random selfless act of kindness: they spent their own money to feed a homeless lady on the streets!

All to say that these gifts and trials and lessons from God came as a reminder to me of one thing: LOVE. God loves us all more than we could ever imagine. I was in a lonely, desperate rut. I didn’t deserve any of this. I didn’t even ask for it, really.

But it doesn’t take long before you discover that in this spiritual union, God is the bridegroom and you are the bride. He pursues us with a passionate and furious love. He chases after us, He woos us with His grandness and beauty. He brings us out of our pits of darkness. And out of His unfathomable love, He enables us to love Him back.

It’s true what they say. God works in mysterious ways. I stopped trying to reason and figure it all out, it’s just a silly game I won’t ever win. All I know is that when I enter those pits in life, I must never give up, never stop believing, and never count Him out.

*****

Please do yourself a favor and watch a documentary called Furious Love. It will light your world on fire.

Naked As We Came

I want to find a girl who I can be naked with.

Not the kind that has me undressed with clothes on the floor but the kind that leaves my soul exposed. Spread out like a frog in science class. You can see every part of me. Not as disturbing, though.

What I really mean is that I want a girl that can make me feel childlike but not childish.

I am reminded of the time I went to the beach to find a two-year-old boy who happened to wriggle out of his swimsuit. He left it all hanging. Butt-naked he ran out across the hot sand, free as could be. He was not aware of his nakedness; I don’t think he cared. He was just in the moment, reveling in the grandness of nature.

My good friend Josh puts it this way. He says that when we are in love, it’s like a state of returning or trying to go back to what we were as children. The state of wide-eyed wonder, unabashed curiosity, and innocence (relatively speaking). Times when we were able to be real and not be so cognizant of social currency–the love that people dispense or withhold based on what value you can give them.

Sure, there is great fear in being real. What scares me is the idea that she will see me for who I am. All of me. The scars, the wounds, the other parts of me I want to hide. We have been trying to cover ourselves up ever since the fall. Whether fig leaves or material objects. Things haven’t changed. And it is magnified with the people we love most.

But I am also reminded of a truth that brings great comfort. There is no currency that could purchase our shame save that of the blood shed by the God-man. He hung on the cross, naked for us. All so that we could be made free and whole and childlike again. It is nothing less than what Jesus calls a rebirth.

I want a girl whom I can love with the abandonment of self. To be willing to swim across the Pacific for her. To make God proud with how I treat His daughter. To protect her, provide for her, and point her to her truest joy in God.

And return back to a time when we were as naked as we came.

Dating is Like a Zoo

My best friend Peter rolled by my place last night. He strolled in with his fancy button-up and meticulously styled hair, leaving an exotic trail of cologne with every step he took. How well he was put together was often an indication of whether girls were involved earlier in the evening. That evening, he left no doubt.

He stopped by to measure the trunk space of my dad’s 4-Runner. He had recently set his sights on a new hardtop cover for his white S2k, and he was in need of a car big enough to carry the piece from one place to another. Not wanting to add precious miles to his lovely S2k, he was intent on borrowing my dad’s car. If all else failed, he was even willing to rent a minivan–just anything but add precious miles to his lovely S2k.

Peter lined his measuring tape closely from one side of the trunk to the other, down to the exact centimeter. That was him–always detailed, very exact. “It’s just who I am,” he would say. “That’s how God wired me.” We determined that the fit was possible, though it would be a tight squeeze. Peter said he would return home to research some more; for now, it had settled the matter.

As we sat at the edge, legs dangling from the trunk, we started to talk about life. Though it is hard for most men, it is not unusual for him to bear his soul. Peter was that sort of fish where you’d throw in your hook and he’d bring down your boat. Whether it meant life or death, he was never afraid to bite. The thing with Peter is, you never know how you feel about yourself when he is talking. Sometimes, it can be like reading a deep novel, discovering something amazing; other times I feel like I’m the only sane person in the room. Because of his early life struggles and experiences, he understands things about life that most people his age do not. In a sense, he is a man before his time. But that is who he is–extremely passionate, intelligent, unorthodox, and at times hard to comprehend. Either brilliant or insane.

As we sat there in the trunk, I couldn’t help but feel a bit awkward. Being shirtless didn’t help. We talked for a good half hour before heading back inside. We naturally progressed onto the topic of women and relationships. We were both poor shots in this department–he couldn’t catch ‘em and I couldn’t keep ‘em. Eventually, I relayed to him my fear of marrying wrong and one day waking up to discover that she has changed completely. Peter paused for a beat.

“You know, dating is like a zoo,” he said.

Like a zoo? I gave him my usual what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about glance before he continued.

“When you go to the zoo, you see a lot of animals, right? Polar bears, penguins, whatever. They act all nice, cute, cuddly…because they are tamed. But these animals aren’t from there. They were captured from the wild, right? They were raised in their natural habitats before they were brought in and trained to act a certain way. That’s like dating. You are taking two people from their natural elements and you’re telling them to act a certain way to attract the opposite sex. But once they are married, once they are comfortable, they revert to their habits, to who they really are. Sure, some of that is ugly, even scary. Penguins can be very mean out in the wild. Oh–but when they love, they love.“

I thought about it briefly; I thought I was onto something brilliant. “So…you’re talking about penguin sex?” Peter gave me the you-idiot face.

“No, listen. Have you ever seen March of the Penguins?” I nodded, faintly recalling Morgan Freeman’s smooth narration as black-coated animals froze their tails off. “You know how the Mom leaves while the Dad is caring for the egg? The penguins return after being months apart, and they try to find each other. In the mass of thousands, they call out to each other. The Mom and Dad can locate the voice of the other because it’s unique. They know each other specially, and he knows she’s the one.”

“But I thought I had found the one,” I said. “I loved Des.”

“Did you love her like Christ loved the church?”

Damn, if you put it that way … I guess we both knew the answer.

“That’s love. With all her faults. You see them, but your love is willing to cover them. Of course, there will be changes–we all change. But God will protect you two from the poachers,” he paused. “When you see her, when you connect with her, when you know her–you’ll know it.”

It was well into the early morning. Before he left, Peter thanked me for listening to his “crazy stories, his crazy life.” But none of it seemed crazy at all. Love, for all its whims and woes, finally started to make sense.

There are nights when I struggle to make sense of it all. On nights like these, God likes to deliver bricks. He’s saying, build on what you know.