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SOURCE: Book of Art by Isaac Salazar

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A few Saturdays ago, I decided to go to Cream Pan, one of my favorite Japanese bakeries in Tustin. There’s nothing like a strawberry croissant or a custard bun to get you out of bed in the morning. I figured that if I got there early enough, I would have plenty of time to enjoy some time alone, seated outside underneath the shade of umbrellas. I made sure to bring my Bible and journal along as well.

As it turns out, I had all but five minutes to myself before an Asian gentleman — he looked like he was in his thirties — drove into the parking lot, got out of his car, and walked up to the bakery. But instead of going inside, he scanned the tables and selected one to my right against the bakery wall. I didn’t pay much attention; I was too busy stuffing my face with a cream pan.

About ten to fifteen minutes after that, a brunette Caucasian woman — she also looked like a thirtysomething — walked up hesitantly. Immediately, the Asian man got up to greet her.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” they said hugging.

That’s a bit odd, I thought to myself.

“Have you been here before?” the Asian man asked, leading the brunette woman into the bakery.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Okay, well, their strawberry croissants are world famous.”

I like this bakery too, but I’m not so sure that about it being “world famous,” I mumbled to the birds hopping from table to table in search of crumbs.

After buying way too many pastries for two people, taking a bathroom break and going back in to order coffee, the pair finally settled down at a cold metal table, a yard or so away from me. I continued to write slowly in my journal, surreptitiously eavesdropping on their conversation (in my defense, they were annoyingly loud).

“Where were you born?”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“What brought you out to California?”

“What do you do for work?”

“Did you ever find a new place to live?”

As they exchanged stories and details, it began to dawn on me that perhaps I had stumbled across an eHarmony or Match.com first date. They were practically strangers, but they conversed with a sometimes uncomfortable level of personal disclosure. Maybe it wasn’t as awkward for them as it was for me.

He asked if she had ever been to Hong Kong, and upon learning that she hadn’t, he proceeded to whip out his phone.

Ooh, way to be prepared, dude. Wait…what are you doing?

Just as I was about to give him some mental points, he searched Google Images for “Hong Kong” on his phone and handed it to her. And then they were interrupted twice by the sudden appearance of the man’s boss (with wife and kids in tow) and his co-worker, both of which he introduced to his very patient date. But the highlight of their date (at least for me) came when the brunette asked the Asian gentleman about his recent business trip to Texas.

“It went well,” he said, “I noticed that everything is bigger in Texas.”

I silently rolled my eyes.

“It was hard to find anything small. But I bought you this.”

He pulled out a 3-inch leather cowboy boot and handed it to her.

“Oh…I’ve always wanted one,” she replied with all the enthusiasm she could muster (which wasn’t much).

It took all of my composure to not burst into laughter or snort through my nose as I watched the brunette take the souvenir.

I wonder if he’ll get a second date…

Far be it from me to discount the value of online dating services; I know many a happy, flourishing couple brought together by eHarmony. Sometimes I think, “It would be really nice to go out on a date,” or “Do I have any chance of ever meeting someone?”

It’s easy to feel that there’s something wrong with me because so many of my friends are married, engaged or dating — and I’m not. But listening in on such a strange first date reminded me to be thankful that I’m in a stage of life where I can enjoy my singleness and the freedom it affords.

And as my dad always says, “It’s better to be single than to wish you were single.”

I keep wondering, “What is this good work that God began in them, and what does it look like for it to be brought to completion?” A few verses later, Paul says:

And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ to the glory and praise of God (Phil 1:9-11, ESV).

What began to stick out to me was Paul’s emphasis on “the day of Christ” — this future day to which he is looking forward so expectantly. With that as the common thread, it seems like Paul’s image of completion is for Believers to be pure, blameless and filled with the fruit of righteousness (which became possible when God granted us salvation and started His “good work” in us).

The assurance, the hope, and the goal, then, all revolve around the day of Christ. But how often, though, do I think about that day? I get so focused on getting through the next day, the next week, with all its anxiety and trials and to do’s. When do I think about eternity and what really matters in this life?

My small group leader was talking yesterday about the need to live life to the fullest and to use what God has given us here in this life — time, money, energy, abilities — to invest in the Kingdom (it also relates to Terry’s Sunday School message about storing for ourselves treasures in heaven). I think a lot about God’s plans for me and how to discern His will and desire for my life. It’s something that I remember Dr. Theonnes talking to us about in Theo I, and something which he recently mentioned again on the Talbot blog:

While I believe the Bible teaches that God has a detailed plan for our lives, that we should seek his guidance every step of the way, I also believe the Bible calls us to primarily focus on who we are becoming in the midst of the details.  God’s focus is on our characters; while we’re often consumed with our day-timers.  While we seem to be increasingly self and details focused, the Bible challenges us to be God, other, and world focused; to seek God’s Kingdom first, and allow God to provide for us and work out the details of our lives (Matt 6:33-34). We can be sure that God always leads us in the direction of holy living that will bring him the greatest glory. As David declares, “he leads me in paths of righteousness for his name sake” (Ps 23:3). –”Knowing God’s Will for Your Life,” Erik Theonnes

There’s such strong tension between living for the “here and now” and living for the “day of Christ.” I feel so stuck in between, daydreaming about and living for a more immediate future — a future that’s far less important to God than who I am and who He wants me to become.

I’m always thinking about what’s next: the next job, the next city, the next relationship; especially when I’m having a hard time dealing with what’s directly in front of me. It seems to me that my heart is set on all the wrong things, and it’s the root of my discontentment, my covetousness, my anxiety, my fear, my lack of faith and trust.

I guess the real question for me is: How does the “day of Christ” and an eternal perspective truly affect how I live — and who I am — in the here and now?

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m only allowed to blog when the words and thoughts are on the brink of bursting, when I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t get them out. With that being said, there are some things that I wanted to say, no matter what.

As an aside: what follows is based on my own observations and interpretation. Rather than simply accepting my words, I suggest that you read the passage and study it for yourself to see if what I say makes sense.

We studied Luke 14:25-35 this week in Kaleo Sunday School. At this point, the crowds are still following Jesus, waiting for him to heal someone, to perform another miracle, or to feed them (we joke that the only way to get people to church is with free food — guess that was true of ancient times too).

The Pharisees don’t exactly take kindly to being called “hypocrites” and are trying to see if they can trick Jesus into saying something condemnable. And Jesus has set his course for Jerusalem (and to his subsequent death).

Along the way, Jesus has established his identity as Messiah and the One who is bringing in the Kingdom, who is fulfilling the prophecies of the Old Testament prophets and even surpassing their expectations.

He claims Lordship over the Sabbath and the right to forgive sins. He rebukes the crowds and the Pharisees for their disbelief and rejection despite all that he has said and done in their presence. Now that he has established his identity and mission, Jesus exhorts those following him to respond appropriately, urgently.

Entrance to the Kingdom, he says, is not based on genealogy or ethnic heritage. It’s not based on keeping to the letter of the Law and earning your way into God’s favor. Those who belong to the family and Kingdom of God are those who respond to Jesus in belief and repentance, and then follow after Him as disciples.

So what does it look like to be a true follower, a true disciple of Jesus? And why did Luke include this passage in his detailed account to Theophilus, whom he was trying to encourage to endure in his faith?

25 Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, 26 “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. 27 Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. 28 For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it? 29 Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, 30 saying, ‘This man began to build and was not able to finish.’ 31 Or what king, going out to encounter another king in war, will not sit down first and deliberate whether he is able with ten thousand to meet him who comes against him with twenty thousand? 32 And if not, while the other is yet a great way off, he sends a delegation and asks for terms of peace. 33 So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple. 34 “Salt is good, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? 35 It is of no use either for the soil or for the manure pile. It is thrown away. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”

I could go into great detail about this passage, but this has already become quite a lengthy post; I hope it’ll be worth it for you if you’ve already made it thus far. Here are some observations:

• Jesus lays out three “requirements” of discipleship. That is, 1) to hate* your family and your own life (v.26), 2) to bear your own cross and follow after Jesus (v.27), and 3) to renounce all that you have (v.33, NASB translates it as “give up all [your] own possessions”). I think it’s safe to say that that about covers the gamut of everything in our lives: possessions, our closest relationships and even life itself.
• The imagery of bearing a cross is interesting because Jesus was headed to the cross, but he hadn’t been crucified yet. I’m not 100% sure, but I think the cross was a symbol of Roman rule (and cruelty) as well as a symbol of curse to the Jews. Carrying your own cross was agreement that you deserved the guilty sentence — the ultimate act of humility (or perhaps humiliation?). Of course, when Jesus bore his cross, he was bearing our guilty sentence upon himself in the ultimate act of sacrifice. And his resurrection justified him as righteous, overturning the curse of the cross and defeating both sin and death. I’m also reminded of Galatians 2:20: “I have been crucified with Christ; and it is no longer I who live but christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me” (see also Gal 5:24, “now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires”). Either way, the full meaning of carrying the cross hadn’t yet been realized until after Jesus reached Jerusalem.
• The underlying theme of both parables (v.28-32) seems to be that both the person building the tower and the king going into battle stop, count the cost of their operation, and then decide whether it’s something they can accomplish. If not, then they simply won’t start. The idea is not to start something and then have to quit mid-way.
• I think by sandwiching the parable in between the requirements of discipleship, Jesus is saying, “Here is the cost of being my disciple. Count the cost before you decide whether you want to follow me or not. Now that you know what the cost is, are you willing to follow me still?”
• At first, I thought Jesus’ words about salt losing its taste (v.34-35) was a little random and sudden, but they follow directly after “any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple” (v.33). Discipleship to Christ has a cost, which is that you submit everything — your relationships, your possessions, your old flesh and its desires, your entire life — to Christ in order to follow Him. If we say that we are disciples, but we still hold on to those things, the things of this earth, then how are we different from the rest of the world? How are we supposed to be salt (Matthew 5:13) to the people around us? The life of discipleship was and is a radical one, because the cost of being a true follower of Jesus is everything.

This requirement for entrance into the Kingdom of Heaven is a far cry from the political freedom (from Rome), feasting, glories, and restoration the Jews were expecting from their Messiah. I was thinking about how, in some ways, modern Christians have the same kind of attitude toward discipleship as the multitudes listening to Jesus.

We want an easy, seeker-friendly salvation without the cost or the discipleship. We want to be able to follow Christ and still hold on to the things of this world. We want to be justified without being sanctified, without being transformed from our normal, comfortable selves. Everything — the way we live, the way we do church, the way we evangelize — is affected by this attitude.

I think Luke included this section for Theophilus because he wanted to remind him — and us — that the call to follow Christ is a serious one, and one we should not take lightly. Too few of us really count the cost before deciding whether we want to call ourselves Christians. Too few of us really understand what discipleship to Christ looks like, even though we’re trying to pursue it.

My heart is heavy whenever I think about the people in my life who once called themselves Believers and, unable to give up the pleasures and values of this world, have wandered away from the faith and from the church. I think about the people I know who desperately need the Truth and grace of the Gospel, but the sacrifice required is too daunting.

This rings true for me as well. There are things in this life, even at this very moment, that I am still struggling to hand over to Christ. I wonder what it looks like for me to really carry my cross and follow after my Savior. I wonder whether I’m really being salt to those around me. It’s something with which we really need to wrestle.

But as I’ve been praying and thinking over these things, God in His grace has given me a lot of comfort. Even though it seems so crazy, like, “Wow, if I want to be a true disciple of Christ, I have to give up EVERYTHING,” I believe that Jesus has made it more than worth it.

“The Kingdom of heaven,” he says, “is like a treasure hidden in the field, which a man found and hid again; and from joy over it, he goes and sells all that he has and buys the field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking fine pearls, and upon finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it” (Matthew 13:44-46).

The life of discipleship if one filled with joy and hope, and so even though the cost is great, the reward far surpasses anything that we might give up in this world.

*I struggled over what Jesus meant when he said to “hate” your own family. This is a little embarrassing to use an example, but I was watching a Japanese drama in which the heir to a huge international corporation decides he must give up his status, privilege, power and everything else that comes with his position as the company’s heir (even though the company was in dire financial straits) in order to be with the girl he passionately loves. He turns his back on his mother (who disinherits him), his reputation, his wealth —  to the point where it almost seems like he hates them — for the sake of the one he loves. I think that’s similar to how Jesus is using the term “hate.”

I’m still learning to appreciate LA: the dysfunction of the transit system, the brokenness of Skid Row, the overindulgence of Beverly Hills, the shabby-yet-seductive facade of Hollywood, the ethnic strongholds. The hipster, the artist, the businessman, the dreamer, the disillusioned, the activist, the hard-working pragmatist — all together, yet strangely separate. The entire city completely insulated.

I’m still learning to appreciate the complexity of LA. Its shadows are always shifting in my mind’s eye, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t place my finger on it.

But more often then not, I still feel London pulling at me. I know that even if I go back, things won’t be the same, but I’m interested to see what parts of the city have evolved, and what has stayed the same.

Perhaps I’m just anxious to travel again. To discover new things and meet new people (and reconnect with old friends). I want to immerse myself in other cultures and learn new languages while I still can. I want to have fascinating experiences — something fresh to write about. But alas, Los Angeles has its hold on me for the time being.

Anyways, if you love travel, typography and language as much as I do, check out the videos for Beijing, Barcelona and Paris. They may inspire you too.

“Patience is the companion of wisdom.”

-St. Augustine

According to my parents, I came into this world in a hurry (like, almost born at home) and rushed through everything else. Walked early, talked early, skipped the bottle entirely and went straight for the trainer cup — everything except potty training. The parents made the mistake of trying to rush me, and if there’s anything I hate, it’s being rushed.

Waiting is one of the most difficult things for me to do. I grumble at nobody in particular when traffic slows to a crawl. My knees practically start convulsing when a webpage doesn’t load fast enough (how did we ever survive the age of dial-up?). I get plain mean if I have to wait too long for my food. Don’t even get me started on slow drive-thru’s (it’s called “fast food” for a reason, right?).

Not that I’m promoting instant everything, but if I’m honest, patience is just not this girl’s virtue.

“It’s all about the process,” my cousin and I say in unison, mocking sarcasm and rolled eyes giving away our exasperation. Maybe we’re related after all. I’m picking her up from school to spend the weekend at my house.

We understand each other because we’re both going through it, we discover. We both desperately want to be good at what we do — design for her and writing for me — and we can’t wait to get there. It’s one of the things I’ve been struggling most with; despair sets in and I think, “I’m never going to become the kind of writer, the kind of person, I want to be.”

My plane of vision extends further than it should for a 23-year-old. Most people my age are thinking about the next step: Should I go to grad school? Should I take this job? Should I date or marry this person? For some reason, I find myself searching for the crystal ball that will take me ten, 15, 20 years into the future.

“You have arrived.”

Probably the only person I’ll ever hear those words from is Maggie. My GPS.

Sometimes I forget that being 23 means that I’m probably not that great at what I do, that I still need years of experience and mentors and critics and books and trial-and-error and failures and successes to get to where I’m supposed to be in the future. I forget that the people I so admire already paid their dues; they ain’t spring chickens no mo’.

Some twisted part of my psyche keeps telling me that I don’t have time to dilly-dally, that I’m already 23 and I haven’t accomplished anything with my life yet, and I’m going nowhere fast. And why am I so behind? No matter how many times people tell me, “Lynnette, you’re still so young,” I can’t shake the feeling (the fear?) that, in the blink of an eye, my life will be at its end and I won’t have anything to show for it.

“Patience is waiting. Not passively waiting. That is laziness. But to keep going when the going is hard and slow – that is patience.”

-Corazon Aquino

Sometimes I fail to notice that I’ve already grown and changed, even over the last year. I spent an entire year being too scared to do anything, to move forward. This year has been about reading as much as I can, getting words onto paper or blog (even if it’s garbage), pushing myself to put myself out there. About being disciplined and determined.

“You have to walk before you run,” my cousin says wisely. I hate it, but it’s true. I can’t let discouragement or disappointment get the better of me. I have to let go of my super-Asian-overachiever-OCD-perfectionist timetable and be patient with myself.

Some things cannot be forced, the hard things, the frustrating things, the mundane things, the tiny successes nobody celebrates — they give us the opportunity to write the story of our lives. They make us who we are. I want to believe it’s worth the wait.

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God.” Psalm 42:5

I always struggle with what to blog. There are things that are too personal to put into the public sphere, and I don’t want my blog to be over-spiritualized (contrary to popular belief, being a Christian is not about posting Bible verses and holy-sounding quotes on all your social networking sites).

But every once in awhile, God shows me something that I can’t keep to myself — things that are too good not to share. And I’ve come to realize, those things are as much a part of my life as what I ate yesterday or a funny mishap from this morning.

This morning I read the section in Wayne Grudem’s Systematic Theology on God’s goodness. He says, “The goodness of God means that God is the final standard of good, and that all that God is and does is worthy of approval,” (that is, God Himself is the one who determines what is worthy of approval, consistent with His own character).

I was thinking about what this means for me. I realized recently that I have quite high expectations — for myself, especially, and for other people as well. I have a strong sense of what “should be” in this world and how much reality falls short. I’m easily disappointed, disillusioned.

In Luke 18:19, Jesus calls the rich ruler out on his shallow understanding of “good,” saying “no one is good except God alone.” The rich ruler assumed that everything he had done in his life was good enough to enter the Kingdom of God, but God — being the ultimate standard and definition of goodness — has impossibly higher standards.

Perhaps Jesus was alluding to the fact that no one can earn their own salvation, that nothing we ever do is ever really “good enough” when you consider God’s measure of goodness. When I think about how often I set high expectations and become disappointed in myself, it struck me that God’s standards are far higher than mine; He alone really has the right to be disappointed in me or in the way things are in this world.

But Jesus says a few verses later: “What is impossible with men [salvation] is possible with God” (v 27). The only One who is truly good was moved by His own character to provide the only One who would be good enough to pay the penalty for our failure and to fulfill God’s standard of goodness on our behalf (that is, Himself incarnate, Jesus the Son).

“He who did not spare His own Son but gave him up for us all, how will He not also with him graciously give us all things?” Paul reasons (Rom 8:32). The One who gives every good and every perfect gift (James 1:17), the One who is does not withhold any good thing from us (Psalm 84:11a), the One whose will is “good and acceptable and perfect” (Rom 12:2) — how can I reflect on His goodness and not take comfort?

God’s goodness gives us reason to persevere in difficult circumstances, because we know that all things are in His hands and all His actions towards us are good. God’s goodness motivates us to imitate and reflect His character in our relationships with one another, to walk uprightly and to trust in Him (Gal 6:10; Ps 84:11b).

And not only is God the source of all good, He is the ultimate good we should desire and seek. I catch myself seeking the blessings of His goodness towards me rather than pursuing God Himself. But I want to be like the psalmist, who desires nothing on earth besides God, his strength and portion forever (Psalm 73:25-26).

My prayer is that I would “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Psalm 34:8). That head knowledge would translate into heart knowledge through personal experience of God’s goodness in my life. That I would be able to join the psalmist in saying “I sought the Lord, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears” (Ps 34:4). Even my fears of failure and disappointment.