The Legend of the Phoenix

Defeated and dying, the embery glow that remains of the majestic bird dims out. In its final moments, it cremates itself in its kindle, giving a last glow of remembrance, charring up in itself. Though out of the ashes comes a glow-- radiating from the ruin, comes that fiery avian-- renewed, revived.

From its past, rises its future-- as elegant as it ever was.


Birthdays shared

Like the dying bird, there came a tragedy back home-- it was unfortunately through social media that I had found out.  It struck me incredibly hard, having a bond that close just cut-- him passing beyond the veil like that.  For a fairly lengthy bit of time, we have gone through our struggles, our sacrifices, and our fair share of challenges.  To have a partner in crime, slip away into the shadows, not to be seen from henceforth and forever just seems like this frail existence of the world that we live in is filled with cruelty and injustice.

Birthdays shared (almost).

Languages intertwined.

French projects accomplished

Seriously, life without him was amazingly dull-- my government class and my French classes were bearable only with the presence and the spunk of this soul.

More and more I think about it, the best of life came from the people you meet-- the people who make you.  He was no exception.  Because of him, I have found humor in the mundaneness of life.

Religionists believe that people who talk too friendly with the knife, succumbing to its temptation, are prone to hit the world underneath.  They believe that the taking of his or her own life constitutes an endless torment of justness.  The impenitent don't have a future.  The knife-wielders don't have a chance.

God is a god of second chances.

Let this phrase emanate to you-- your facilities, also.

I will not be the first person, nor the last, to tell you that in the perspective of Christianity, that my friend is saved.  He will see a glory unlike anything else of this world.  He will be in a place above the kingdoms of the world.
God's plan has been set-- from the birth of time.

We were made by an instrument of the Creator.
We were gifted and blessed with physical bodies.
We came down here to learn and grow-- with those bestowed bodies.
We leave the Earth at the time God calls us-- whenever early it may be.
We hear the blessed message of hope and goodness beyond the veil.
We will have bodies made perfect, living in a realm much greater than here.

The fight will rage, even past mortality, but He gives us hope in knowledge and closure.

For me, the words of a well-known singer reverberates in the voidness of my mind:

Look back in silence
The cradle of your whole life
There in the distance
Losing its greatest pride
Nothing is easy, nothing is sacred, why?
Where did the bow break?
These are questions I've asked myself over and over again.  At this point in time, I'm still coping with the denial phase of the grief cycle, as this hasn't quite hit me as hard as it has yet.  I know the emotions will come-- it does for all.

Intertwined with a self-indoctrinated sense of responsibility of another's swoop off this world, the scars of my heart still burn-- its sutures just barely holding it all together.  To have been a part of 11 total passings have been remarkably difficult for me-- I wouldn't want anyone to witness something of that caliber-- it just kills you inside how much sorrow is built up.  I am grateful for my mission here or else the thread might even have been mine that could have been cut.

To the many who read this, keep strong and see the future ahead.  That's as much as I can tell you in words.  Your life is valuable to more than just your parents.  To your friends.  To the people who had merely a glimpse to have met you.

You may be struggling.  You may be wanting to quit.

Don't.

The future is just a tomorrow away.  If not, it's just an hour away.

Keep your shoulder to the wheel and I can promise you that the world we live in doesn't have to be frail.  In the words of Job, "I shall come forth as gold" (Job 14:14).

This is you.

I don't plan on acknowledgement and I don't plan on fame.  I don't wish to make myself well-known in the expense of a close death.  I simply don't want to be superior in complex, obsessing over the trivial things that may make me come ahead of life-- especially advertising myself and my accolades, exploiting a tragedy for popularity.

I want to help.  I want to support.  I want to embrace.  I want to love.

No amount of happiness will bring to me out of popularity.  To those who do exploit, unknowingly or otherwise, stop.

It's been a sad several days, yet the blood I feel on my hands may be washed away--

"Redemption, keep my covers clean tonight."

And the sun will shine again.

Yes, "only the young can break away."

The Elect

     The hands of death swoops away six of her children before her.

     The arms of the disenchanted are wet with the blood of her husband.

     The mouths of betrayers tear her trust and kindness.

     The minds of the robbers focus to demolish her living.

     The feet of a grieving wife--later widow-- trod along a forlorn road, uncertain of the coming future.

"Death be longing, but it cometh not (Job 3:21)."

Crossing Mississippi

     The face of discouragement and abandonment comes to mind when hearing such tragedy occur in one's life.  An absence of sanity would have resulted in a normal person.  It's a life that no man would wish upon anyone else.  However, this is the price of discipleship that Emma Smith had paid-- exorbitantly high for many.

     While reading through a church magazine*, I came across an article entailing the life of Emma Smith.  In it, a relative describes her grandmother like this:

1841

     “Her eyes were brown and sad. She would smile with her lips but to me, as small as I was, I never saw the brown eyes smile. I asked my mother one day, why don’t Grandma laugh with her eyes like you do and my mother said because she has a deep sorrow in her heart” (Jones).

     She faced a gargantuan load of difficulties even after the reorganization of the church.  Her later son would be institutionalized in a state asylum and her daughter would later succumb to cancer.  During this time of melancholy for someone who had gone through so much, "no one dared approach to offer comfort, because they did not know how to touch the depth of sorrow evidenced by the tears that coursed down her cheeks" (Jones).


     The article about Emma Smith concludes asking several rhetorical questions on why it was that she would regularly wrench in grief.  To me, it seems quite obvious.  To her, I'm sure it was as well.

Nauvoo

      Emma Smith, even with the fires of adversity set to consume her, had kept her character-- a woman whose parents envisioned her to distance her from the man that she would later marry, she had overcome what many would have deemed impossibly depressing.  Many would criticize her lack of faith that came with staying put in Nauvoo, but one cannot deny that her contributions in the Church had led to the exodus, where many lives would then be blessed.

     She's one of the most admirable people I have read about.  In fact, the women in the Church have all played gigantic roles in its advancement-- without them, the Church wouldn't be so.  More than anyone else in Church history, the desolate solace that emanates from the being that is Emma Smith has been an example to me-- of one who had seen everything around her collapse yet still trod on.

     With a steadfast endurance, we too must push on through our problems.  Seeing such a person like her had given me hope in the most despondent of times.  I can tell you that this person holds a special place in my heart not because she has the same birthday as me, but through the grace that she held on to through the grief that she suffered.

*If you're interested in reading that same article, this is the link.

"Strangers in the night"

     The sun fallen asunder, the kids on the bleachers are talking to each other, telling them what they're going to do after this event is over. The gunshot is heard every five minutes and six kids scurry along the lined, rubber road-- seeing who can get to the other side the fastest. While the bulk of the kids were sitting on the bleachers, enjoying the scenery of their friends running past another, there are a certain few kids, behind the concession stand not too far away-- all are excited, but one in particular, having come back from the Sonora valley not even 24 hours ago, has a special sort of excitement pumping in his veins. Through months of preparation, a bouquet was selected, a team was assembled, and a time was set to make the event into a spectacle. As the cold, colorful paint is slathered on the chests and backs of six individuals, it brings about chills of anticipation; raising goosebumps of anxiety. The time is come; the all of them from back there walk up the stretch of orange rubber, where they take their places. Legs warmed in place, a loud "set" is brought forth from a rotund man holding a gun, way up high. The gunshot leads a series of kids forward, foot by foot, trodding down the circular road. Minute after minute, the shiny blue stick is grasped by the hands of those preparing to run another lap.

There seems to be an "I" in teamwork.

      The last man in the group crosses the white line, eons ahead of the rest of the kids-- waiting patiently for the rest of those kids to cross. Once all have crossed, the shirts come off, revealing a giant "ELENI" formed upon the chests of five of the group. Catching the attention of all on the bleachers, the group then turns around, revealing a giant "PROM?" slathered on their backs. A rather anticipating silence overcomes the crowd and the one called such speaks up, orating a humble confirmation.

...and an "M" in me.

     As a high schooler two years ago, the whole thing with prom-posals takes a lot of time and effort to prepare and execute. When the person actually pops the question, though, the answer of the recipient means more than the whole time it took to prepare for it. However, once they have said yes, is it over? Not really. There's dinner you have to attend to-- with the other person. And a group, if you wish. It's a long process took picking out what to wear, what the other person is going to wear, what mode of transportation you're going to be in, what corsage/boutonnière you're going to pick, what flower combination you're going to pick, and how much you're going to spend, and so much more. To get to actual prom, it takes more than just asking the person to get to prom.

     Let's look at joining the church. Is your journey to spiritual enlightenment simply over after baptism? Will the path be easy toward the pearly gates which God hath prepared for us?  No. There are so many things you have to do to get to God. Sad to say, once you start believing, it's not as easy as that.  Faith will be tested.  Hypocrisy will be seen.  Opposition will exist.

     A common comparison that can be made is like entering a gate.  That gate is baptism.  Then, there's a trail past the gate that leads to all sorts of twists and turns of a road, stone, gravel, mulch, mud, angry dogs, people with pitchforks, detours, barbed wire, and all sorts things in your way.  It's when you get through all that, scarred, but alive, when the spiritual enlightenment can truly be made manifest.

     As Fred Rogers said in his book, "there is no normal life that is free of pain.  It is the very wrestling with our problems that can be the impetus for our growth."  We have to put forth our greatest efforts to be with God again. In the words of one of our church leaders, "salvation wasn't a cheap experience...salvation was never easy." So being a church member is.  It's relatively easy to be a member; all you need to do is believe in the restored truth and get baptised, but to press forward in the faith will be a trial that will be that impetus for our growth.

     As we look to the covenants we have (or want to make) with God, we have to always remember that it's not over after just a simple event. Press forward with faith and endure to the end. It's going to
be a rough, but definitely worthwhile ride.

Be Prepared!

     After enjoying a nice, light breakfast consisting of a scoop of oatmeal drizzled with agave nectar, organic of course, and some cinnamon, I button up my dress shirt; tuck it in my slacks; fasten my belt; knot up my tie; and fasten on that name tag.  It's very typical that every missionary do the same (except for the breakfast).  Routinely going about, conducting such a ritual, I was reminded of a verse in Paul's epistle to the Ephesians.  In chapter 6, it mentions how the church members in the Ephesus are to protect themselves from the woes of the world by putting on some protective items of clothing (reworded for easier understanding).

• Underpants of truth (Ephesians 6:14)
• Breastplate of righteousness (Ephesians 6:14)
• Sandals of the gospel (Ephesians 6:15)
• Shield of faith (Ephesians 6:16)
• Helmet of salvation (Ephesians 6:17)
• Sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:17)

     With these pieces of clothing-- and some tools-- God had instructed Paul to instruct these church members with such preparation so that no evil can prevail against them.  While these things are worn, it gives a great promise that one's "utterance may be given that I (not just Paul, but us all) may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel" (Ephesians 6:19).  The fiery darts cannot penetrate your being as you have on God's armor.

     Clipping the nametag in place, it dawned on me that I needed to consider these things that are in my spiritual wardrobe.  Sure, I have a weapon in there, but it's there to pierce the soul to the convincing and undeniable evidence that Jesus is the Christ.

Nothing more.

• We need to wax strong in virtue as it girds our loins.
• We need to let our light shine from our bosoms.
• We need to walk the gospel path-- the path Jesus and His disciples walked.
• We need to block evil and persecution with the faith and testimony in which we possess.
• We need to constantly know and treasure up in our minds that salvation cometh through the Holy Messiah.
• We need to strike others so that they may know the truths in which we believe through the power of the Holy Ghost.

     For us all, Satan lurks in every corner and evil lies in wait-- wanting an opportunity to pounce on you, taking you over so that you can no longer return to God.  A motley crew of attire lies in wait, waiting to be used so that you can defend yourself from his minions it is your 1 Thessalonians 5:22.  Don't think much of the adversity-- just know that you'll be okay if you have everything on while you do your thing.

"Treat Your Mother Right"

     Mother's day is coming up.  This means these next 2 days, men everywhere will be flocking to Hallmarks and grocery stores everywhere to grab what remaining flowers and sentimental cards there are.  For good reason, there's something extremely thankful for as we celebrate this day of maternal gratitude.

     In the minds of many adolescents and even a few adults (sadly), they believe that a mother plays a very restricted role in the play that is family life.  The common misconception that many believe the mother does in the household are this:

• Make [the male household inhabitants] popular lunch foods consisting of deli meats and vegetables enclosed with two slices of white bread
• Relegate themselves to menial chores around the house at the whim of the husband
• Make a living hell out of looking after [a few] kids
• Emphasize the inferiority of the female race as a caretaker of children rather than a successful woman out and about winning the bread for the family
• Inhuman items of display fettered to the household, waiting to be fed while the man of the household exhibits such "object" to guests and acquaintances, waiting for praise and accomplishment

     It sounds very far-fetched, but believe it or not, many people still hold these notions true-- that mothers who stay at home to take care of the kids are in a very, very low position in the household ranks.  While many women had thought the same thing-- that motherhood is a burden rather than a blessing-- they have taken themselves the liberty to go out and work until they've become the successful businesswomen that they've become, but reach an age where child-rearing and family relationships aren't really options anymore.



If Jesus didn't have Mary in His life, I doubt He would have

become the person He turned out to be-- God probably knew

that a long time ago.

     Feminism, especially its influence in the role of the mother, has become a greater and greater part of my life.  I think after I joined the Church, I've become more devoted to the cause of such.  It may not be necessarily in the way that Ellen Willis or Kate Chopin envisioned feminism, but I feel as if women aren't given enough credit in life.  Women are amazing people capable of touching the hearts of all people, both men and other women.  It seems like empathy and sympathy are in their nature; they know when people need what and why.  Sad to say, us men are very tunnel-visioned beings.  We like to think inside the box most of the times and it frustrates a lot of people.  If we're told to do something, we go from point A to point B.  No exceptions.  Mission accomplished.  Women, on the other hand, don't go from point A to point B, but hit points C-Z and then B-- this way, the person giving the instruction doesn't have to give any more instruction to the woman while the instructor has to tell the man at least 25 more times to get all the way to point Z.

     Women are initiative-driven people, independent of a higher plane of thought than men and I think this is so direly important in the roles that they play in the household.  Bestowed with such a gift, they are of the two, the most capable of rearing a child-- a man can definitely raise a child well, but it's the women who go above and beyond to have that child succeed.  A herculean task in and of itself-- a job harder than any other job that one can do-- it is up to the woman to do such.  There's no one better who can nurture, teach, care, and love a child as well as a mother.  In a family though, father = mother.

“There is no limit to what a mother can accomplish. Righteous women have changed the course of history and will continue to do so.” -Julie B. Beck

     This coming Mother's day, love your mother; you really love her.  To all of us.  If the world didn't have any of them, how wayward a great big portion of us would be!  Because of them, sacrificing their time, talent, and sanity, we are who we are.  Seriously.  Mothers-- women-- are so amazing that it kind of confuses me how much more superior they are to men (in terms of everything practical-- when it comes to manly-man stuff, like wrestling bears and chopping down large oak trees, there may be some contention).  Remember that in most cases, it'll be the mother who will know when you need your space and it'll be the mother who will know when you'll need a comic book and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich whenever you're feeling blue.  Jesus' mother raised Him right.  Imagine if Joseph had to raise Jesus.

Save our Ship!

     From a less-than-regional-wide church meeting some many Sundays ago, this anecdote stuck out to me as I pondered my purpose as a missionary:

     A nighttime tempest raging in the high seas, the winds and waves dancing together in furious passion, a time-tested tugboat lay in its midst.  Helpless to the whim of nature, the captain of a crew of 15 radios the coast guard and the navy-- a desperate SOS. 

Mayday

     Received, the nearest coast guard ship hears of the distress.  Some guardsmen respond with urgency and selflessness, willing to risk their own lives in the peril of the storm to save these boatsmen.  The ship captain responds to these acts of valor with a denial of request-- a plan of sorts has to be mapped out before saving these souls.  The storm still raging, the coast guardsmen radio the nearest naval detachment for more instruction.  Told to wait until they have a sound plan for a rescue, the guardsmen obey, the tugboat deteriorating.
     Delayed due to complications and no sound plan, the rescue is not executed until late dawn the following day.  The storm quelled, the search and rescue team heads out to find what is left of the tugboat crew.  At the coordinates of the SOS, the team sees the remains of what was the tugboat,  now just floating debris of aluminum.  Of the sixteen, not a single one was found, even around a 2-mile radius.  The coast guardsmen put off the rescue until it was too late.

     What we can learn from this is that sudden tempestuous situations can hit us at any time.  Salvation may be just a [few miles] away.  However, we cannot delay the salvation of others, as they look up for help and understanding.  The time will pass and these souls will be lost.  As every soul is precious in the eyes of God, there cannot be an opportunity passed where these people may be saved.

No News is Good News

     Approaching each and every doorstep with a dark tan messenger bag at the shoulder, the arm extended and the hand rose up, clenching a fist, lightly rapping the door.  With each raise, the hand had become heavier and heavier.  It was quivering toward the end of each day, wondering if it would want to be raised again.  The words of many behind each door had penetrated the center of where that hand come from-- the acerbity of each voice-- Spanish, Vietnamese, Korean, Chinese-- had wounded the soul inasmuch so that it was harder and harder for the hand to do what it did.  The time had gone by, but the wounds of the words still remained.  Many more piercing prose, ripping open each and every sutured scar.

     The mundaneness of knocking door after door can test the resolve of any missionary resorted to such a task, but I honestly see it as a fun way to find people to teach.  Rejection comes at every corner, but that can easily be brushed off.  Many times, the people may not be Korean or may not even be at home.  As stressful as it is, I still enjoyed knocking-- you meet a ton of interesting people and perhaps you can even teach a couple of things about your church to them!

안녕하세요!

     Lately, though, I've been very weary of knocking doors.  It isn't because of the rejection and it isn't about the lack of Korean people.  Rather, it was the people who listened to us-- the people who were willing to care for what we had to say.  Precisely these people have made me not want to knock on doors.  The people who were willing to hear us out-- the majority of them had disclosed to us that they were either diagnosed or didn't have much time left due to a terminal illness.  On top of that, these people living in the city of Garden Grove, aren't the most well-off people in the world.  These are relatively young people; they still had their lives to live, but that skeletal hand had reached for those shears, soon to break their threads.

     Each time my companion and I plan on going door to door, I hear myself say "no more."  My mind and my physical self was ready to go out and preach, but my heart was sore; it pleaded that I don't open those sutures that I've worked so hard to sew.  "Anything but talking to those people."  It seriously wasn't easy for me to do go out and work-- there was a trail of tears leaving each doorstep whenever I did.

     Midst such, there's still a fire burning-- as much as I don't want to go door-to-door fearing such people may make themselves known unto us, there's a reason why such people were placed there.  Sure, it may just be coincidence, but this coincidence can lead to a blessing beyond imagination.  These people need what we have.  The very essence of what we teach is about reassurance.  Sure, it's sad to hear such, but recently, I've discovered that the help we can provide is even greater than the trials these people have to go through.  The gospel isn't called "good news" for nothing.  I can tell you now that stepping out of that apartment door, I have this in mind, desiring that people can find solace.  It's not an easy task, seeing so much suffering, but through each suffering soul is reason to rejoice.