things untold

the power of the love of God

written by the dearest tina choi

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https://thethingsuntold.wordpress.com/2015/09/28/my-secret-becomes-my-story/

throw it all way

written by cs lewis, from "mere christianity"

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But there must be a real giving up of the self. You must throw it away "blindly" so to speak. Christ will indeed give you a real personality: but you must not go to Him for the sake of that. As long as your own personality is what you are bothering about you are not going to Him at all. The very first step is to try to forget about the self altogether. Your real, new self (which is Christ's and also yours, and yours just because it is His) will not come as long as you are looking for it. It will come when you are looking for Him. Does that sound strange? The same principle holds, you know, for more everyday matters. Even in social life, you will never make a good impression on other people until you stop thinking about what sort of impression you are making. Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it. The principle runs through all life from top to bottom. Give up your self, and you will find your real self. Lose your life and you will save it.

Submit to death, death of your ambitions and favourite wishes every day and death of your whole body in the end: submit with every fibre of your being, and you will find eternal life. Keep back nothing. Nothing that you have not given away will ever be really yours. Nothing in you that has not died will ever be raised from the dead. Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, despair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in.

the wonder of rain

written by john piper
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But as for me, I would seek God, And I would place my cause before God; Who does great and unsearchable things, Wonders without number. He gives rain on the earth, And sends water on the fields. Job 5:8-10

If you said to someone: "My God does great and unsearchable things; He does wonders without number," and they responded, "Really? Like what?" would you say, "Rain"?

When I read these verses recently I felt like I did when I heard the lyrics to a Sonny and Cher song in 1969: "I'd live for you. I'd die for you. I'd even climb the mountain high for you." Even? I would die for you. I would even climb a high mountain for you? The song was good for a joke. Or a good illustration of bad poetry. Not much else.

But Job is not joking. "God does great and unsearchable things, wonders without number." He gives rain on the earth." In Job's mind, rain really is one of the great, unsearchable wonders that God does. So when I read this a few weeks ago, I resolved not to treat it as meaningless pop musical lyrics. I decided to have a conversation with myself (= meditation).

Is rain a great and unsearchable wonder wrought by God? Picture yourself as a farmer in the Near East, far from any lake or stream. A few wells keep the family and animals supplied with water. But if the crops are to grow and the family is to be fed from month to month, water has to come on the fields from another source. From where?

Well, the sky. The sky? Water will come out of the clear blue sky? Well, not exactly. Water will have to be carried in the sky from the Mediterranean Sea, over several hundred miles and then be poured out from the sky onto the fields. Carried? How much does it weigh? Well, if one inch of rain falls on one square mile of farmland during the night, that would be 27,878,400 cubic feet of water, which is 206,300,160 gallons, which is 1,650,501,280 pounds of water.

That's heavy. So how does it get up in the sky and stay up there if it's so heavy? Well, it gets up there by evaporation. Really? That's a nice word. What's it mean? It means that the water sort of stops being water for a while so it can go up and not down. I see. Then how does it get down? Well, condensation happens. What's that? The water starts becoming water again by gathering around little dust particles between .00001 and .0001 centimeters wide. That's small.

What about the salt? Salt? Yes, the Mediterranean Sea is salt water. That would kill the crops. What about the salt? Well, the salt has to be taken out. Oh. So the sky picks up a billion pounds of water from the sea and takes out the salt and then carries it for three hundred miles and then dumps it on the farm?

Well it doesn't dump it. If it dumped a billion pounds of water on the farm, the wheat would be crushed. So the sky dribbles the billion pounds water down in little drops. And they have to be big enough to fall for one mile or so without evaporating, and small enough to keep from crushing the wheat stalks.

How do all these microscopic specks of water that weigh a billion pounds get heavy enough to fall (if that's the way to ask the question)? Well, it's called coalescence. What's that? It means the specks of water start bumping into each other and join up and get bigger. And when they are big enough, they fall. Just like that? Well, not exactly, because they would just bounce off each other instead of joining up, if there were no electric field present. What? Never mind. Take my word for it.

I think, instead, I will just take Job's word for it. I still don't see why drops ever get to the ground, because if they start falling as soon as they are heavier than air, they would be too small not to evaporate on the way down, but if they wait to come down, what holds them up till they are big enough not to evaporate? Yes, I am sure there is a name for that too. But I am satisfied now that, by any name, this is a great and unsearchable thing that God has done. I think I should be thankful - lots more thankful than I am.

imagination and feelings

Sitting at work, but I wanted to jot this down before I forget.

I've never been able to recall how I felt in the past easily. Like, when a high schooler asks me for college application advice, I'm quicker to say, "Dude, you'll be fine," then really empathize about how frustrating that process can truly be and how I struggled with that too. Perhaps even more than remembering past events, trying to put yourself in another's shoes and let your mind wander and imagine how different that environment, if you weren't born in a suburban neighborhood, if you didn't grow up in a good school district, if you didn't grow up in an Asian household...etc.

I think both of these are incredibly important. There's something beautiful about a parent who can recall how it felt to be thirteen, eighteen, or twenty three that may completely change their attitude and tone towards their child.

same mistakes

I think one of my greatest fears is not moving forward, not growing or learning. There are so many lessons to learn, everyday even. Something small, like leaving the popcorn in the microwave too long  -- to something intangible, like increasing in love for others. Of course, it's not a big deal if you burn popcorn every time, it's just silly and so simple to fix. Just decrease the time you put on the timer and try again.

However, improving one's character is not so straight forward. Often, there might be many steps backward before there can be steps forward, but I don't want to become that old man ridden with bitterness.

I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I don't want to look back ten years from now and find myself to exactly where I am now. I don't expect to be perfect, but I want to see fruit.

the little prince's rose

“People where you live," the little prince said, "grow five thousand roses in one garden... yet they don't find what they're looking for..."

"They don't find it," I answered.

"And yet what they're looking for could be found in a single rose, or a little water..."

"Of course," I answered.

And the little prince added, "But eyes are blind. You have to look with the heart.”

work gangs by carl sandburg

Box cars run by a mile long. And I wonder what they say to each other When they stop a mile long on a sidetrack.   Maybe their chatter goes: I came from Fargo with a load of wheat up to the danger line. I came from Omaha with a load of shorthorns and they splintered my          boards. I came from Detroit heavy with a load of flivvers. I carried apples from the Hood river last year and this year bunches of       bananas from Florida; they look for me with watermelons from               Mississippi next year. Hammers and shovels of work gangs sleep in shop corners when the dark stars come on the sky and the night watchmen walk and      look. Then the hammer heads talk to the handles, then the scoops of the shovels talk, how the day’s work nicked and trimmed them, how they swung and lifted all day, how the hands of the work gangs smelled of hope.  In the night of the dark stars when the curve of the sky is a work gang handle, in the night on the mile long sidetracks, in the night where the hammers and shovels sleep in corners, the night watchmen stuff their pipes with dreams— and sometimes they doze and don’t care for nothin’, and sometimes they search their heads for meanings, stories,                         stars.   The stuff of it runs like this: A long way we come; a long way to go; long rests and long deep sniffs           for our lungs on the way. Sleep is a belonging of all; even if all songs are old songs and the                  singing heart is snuffed out like a switchman’s lantern with the oil          gone, even if we forget our names and houses in the finish, the secret      of sleep is left us, sleep belongs to all, sleep is the first and last and          best of all.        People singing; people with song mouths connecting with song                       hearts; people who must sing or die; people whose song hearts                 break if there is no song mouth; these are my people.