Y'all Want Some Rice With That?

Growing up a military brat, I was surrounded by diversity. Especially when we lived in Korea and there were many other hapas like me. It was easy to get through nearly my first half of life not giving any thought to whether my physical appearance made me stand out from my friends. Because it didn't. We were all different. I never looked in a mirror and caught myself thinking, "Why, hello, Asian girl! Why can I never tell if your eyes are open or closed? Want some rice?"

(Well, maybe the last part of that. I do love me some rice.)

Anyhoo, moving to Texas was an altogether different story. It started with going to high school in south Dallas. It became more obvious when I went to a university where the Asian population was about seven (the sushi chef, some math professors and me) and I started to notice something was way different.

Case in point, I offer you two photos taken on a boot scootin' night my fish year. Please glance quickly at them and then tell me who stands out like a sore Asian thumb wearing boots and an enormous belt buckle. With her pants hiked way up and needing an eyebrow plucking intervention.

I do wonder what those cowboys thought when they saw this crew of dancers and a lone math professor walking into Denim and Diamonds.

There's an episode of Golden Girls where one of the girls sits on a plane and starts speaking slowly and loudly to the Asian man sitting next to her. He spends the whole flight quietly accommodating her need to talk. It's not until much later in the episode that it's revealed that the guy actually has been able to understand her English the entire time and he, in fact, has a very heavy southern accent.

I can so relate! Most people don't assume I don't speak English (some only assume I am skilled at both chopsticks and nunchucks), but I wonder sometimes if it surprises them that I have a southern accent. And, this accent is not something I give much thought to until I'm out of the south. As in Colorado, for example, and it's only then that I realize I sound very well, southern. Beyond the "y'alls," there is a very distinct drawl I never hear until I'm north of the Mason Dixon. Suddenly I sound like I came with the last name Clampett and a Granny who thinks the South won the Civil War.

And, suddenly, I am aware of two things.

#1...I sound very Texan. #2...I feel very Asian. Funny how, when you mix the two, one makes the other stand out so much more.

Because you see a white girl with a southern accent and you think nothing of it. Or, you see an Asian girl with a Californian accent and no one pays much attention. BUT, you hear an Asian girl fixin to piddle with a do-hicky and you'd think I was three sheets to the wind. We're scarce as teeth on a hen, I tell y'all.

But it's not like I can go back on my raisin'. I am both Asian and Texan and I am proud.

And I am thankful. I give thanks because I can go to my parents house and eat both BBQ chicken and kimchi on the same day. One day, I opened up my parents' fridge to find some yummy kimchi soup. Mmm, there is just no way to put its deliciousness into words. I stood there in the cold fridge doorway and audibly offered thanks to God or my Dad (I don't remember which) for my Mom being Korean.

I do get the best of both worlds, y'all.

Inch By Inch, Play By Play...Til We're Finished

Some days, I just feel restless.

Being part of a church family with a major missional life focus has got me thinking.

Back in grade school days, I had some big plans. Here were my life plans in chronological order:

1. Lifeguard in high school (Whistle on a lanyard = rare unbridled power. And, hey, you gotta start somewhere. Kurt Warner used to be a grocery shelf stocker and just look where it got him.)


2. Dolphin trainer in college (I guess I figured if I had to pay for my nightlife, I may as well have a sweet way of doing it. Except for the part where I got to College Station and discovered they don't really have dolphins there...just lots and lots of football. And even that is debatable sometimes.)


3. Pediatrician after college (Except for the part where I got to College Station and discovered I really, really stink at science...even political science. What really sealed the deal was the B I got in the "easiest A on campus" - biomedical science 101. Hey Freshman Class of '13, it really pays to go to class and hear the deadline on that paper titled "What I Want to be When I Grow Up" so you can get an A just for turning it in...on time. )


4. And, finally, I was going to retire and be a medical missionary in Africa (especially Ethiopia - it was the '80s and what I remember seeing on t.v. in the '80s was He-Man, Jem, The Smurfs and lots of starving children in Ethiopia.) My heartstrings were pulled and I knew I wanted to do something to help.

It's 2009 and I'm happy to report that I did accomplish two of those life goals. If you were a swimmer at Crawford Park Pool between 1993 and 1996, your life was guarded by my vigilant eyes watching over you while I simultaneously worked on my really awesome tan...to the point I may pay for that experience in the form of moles someday. (Why couldn't my 31 year old self have slapped her upside the head had a heart-to-heart with my 16 year old self?)

And, I did get to accomplish the last goal, minus the MD title (and paycheck...and status), when I went to South Africa as a missionary in '07 and '08. WOW, what a blessing those trips were.

But, somewhere between 1985 and now, my perspective on life changed and I realized the other day that, whatever my role or job title is, I desire to be this:

1. An empty vessel. Poured out. Nothing left to give.

Don't we all? To be that player that leaves it all on the field. Jordan...Game 6...Utah Jazz...45 points...game winning jumper. Al Pacino's Any Given Sunday speech about willing to fight and die for that inch (minus the profanity, oh my word) "because that is what LIVING is." Jesus, on the cross. "It is finished." The gypsy moth that succumbs to death after mating which, if nothing else, that should tell you it had some kind of dedication and vision.

My pastor, Jeff Warren, has a lovely way of phrasing this (this notion, not the moth's weird mating-related suicide). It goes something like, "The paradox of Christianity is this, you are the most blessed when you have humbled yourself to serve others." Beautiful, isn't it? But, what does that look like? What does it mean to live with the desire to serve others in such a sacrificial way? To what degree will I Go and Be? I'm still trying to figure that out. I wrestle to find the answer in the quiet moments. Searching makes me restless. I want to know what gives a person courage to lay down their own life, their own needs, their own comforts and their own desires to Go serve others and Be Christ in the flesh.

Spc. Ross McGinnis, 19. A soldier who covered a grenade with his body and, in so doing, laid down his life for his buddies. He knew. Dr. Ellice Hammond, the Australian mom who denied herself chemotherapy and died so her unborn daughter could live. She knew. The impoverished widow who gave away her two copper coins, all that she had to live on. She knew. Jim Elliot, Nate Saint, Roger Youderian, Pete Fleming and Ed McCully. They went to tell the Waodani about Jesus and help them stop killing each other...and they were speared to death. They knew.

What made them different? What gave them courage? What does it take to live sacrificially?

I want whatever it is they had.

I hope I figure this out and then I hope I have the courage to do what I'm called to do. Whatever that something may be.

Because restlessness is not a comfortable place to be.

You find out that life is just a game of inches. So is football. Because in either game, life or football, the margin for error is so small. I mean, one half step too late or too early you don't quite make it. One half second too slow or too fast and you don't quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They are in every break of the game, every minute, every second. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Cause we know, when we add up all those inches, that's going to make the difference between WINNING and LOSING, between LIVING and DYING. Al Pacino, censored by a Mommy, Any Given Sunday