3.28.17 | It was February when I decided. Three options were on the table. Four years of school in Seattle taught me this:
I cared about sustainable business-driven systems that solve social issues.
I loved international students and the richness of exchanging cultures.
I didn’t want to rush into committing to a full time corporate job.
I had three job offers and a short amount of time to decide. One would take me one state south, one would take me to the opposite coast of the country, and one would take me across the Pacific to another country. To me, all were equally appealing, but in the end one offer seemed too time opportune to let go of, so I chose it. I chose NYC.
From the very start it was an experiment, a ten-week commitment and a one way ticket. It wasn’t an act of boldness, it was a calculated choice: If I decided to stay beyond the summer, I wanted to avoid flight cancellation fees. Seattle has always been good to me, and it’s always been home. I had a small startup and a large community rooted in Seattle, but I also had a rapidly budding curiosity and appetite to see if my sustainable fashion dreams could find a home in NYC.
The city turned out to be the perfect place to house, incubate, and safely test my hypotheses about apparel and conscious capitalism. Here, I found my crew of new friends with the same mindful fashion passions as mine. Here, I discovered a plethora of events and forums where I could be constantly watered with streams of information on impact in the broken fashion industry. Here, I joined a collective spirit of dreamers who still entertained other crazy ideas, genuinely listened, and believed in the possibility of fruition. My mind always flourished with eagerness, vision, and gratitude. I loved it.
The city was also the place that God answered my prayers to find meaningful community through crystal clear clarity. He guided me through timing so seamless it couldn’t be just a coincidence. He reassured me through creative language and word play and song. He spoke to me in the best way I would understand:
Disciples (2000 years ago): "Jesus, where you are going?"
Jesus: "Come and see."
Me: "Jesus, why have you guided me to NYC?"
Jesus: "Listen to the sounds of NYC. Hear how the letters resemble: And why? See."
About half a year into my NYC adventure, I started the intentional practice of visiting Seattle every two months. Each trip was timed with the culmination of a work opportunity, giving me time to reflect on what I had learned and gained, while doing so in the place I considered home with the people whom I knew had my heart. At the same time, each trip readied the ground for my startup to make social impact as we made sales. While in Seattle, the Bathing Beauteas team and I visited our nonprofit partner to handcraft our products with survivors of sex trafficking. This process made me feel as alive as I felt while learning in NYC.
Them: “So how did you get an entire week of vacation days?”
Them: “You’re back again?”
Them: “Is there something bothering you about NYC?”
Me: "I'm in a job transition. Yeah, I'm just here for a short time. No, I love New York, but I also love Seattle."
Many friends, even the closest, were confused by my trips back and forth. Even in our social media society, it’s hard to keep up with someone’s life once they are out of your physical presence. We might get occasional photos and status updates, but we can’t read a person’s motivation on a screen. I didn’t expect people to understand my unconventional path, so I filled my time in Seattle jumping back into the lives of others – especially with my international student community on campus and at church. Each time I found myself welcomed back fully, treated as if I had never left, even as the community naturally experienced changes. The direction that the international student group was growing excited me deeply. I saw those without American citizenship feel empowered to lead in our American city, I experienced individuals of varying cultural upbringings come together over the unifying spirit of acceptance, I felt a deep sense of welcome and belonging that is rare to find.
It was December when I realized. I needed to return to Seattle but it wasn’t time yet, and I was intent on waiting for God to show me when. So I began flying round trips and changing my lifestyle and work routine. I got better at budgeting my time and my money. In return, I gained clarity. One of my trips in Seattle led to an open door that made it possible for me to pursue Bathing Beauteas and my international student community at the same time. Just like the opportunity that brought me to NYC, this opportunity that would bring me back to Seattle is so suitable, it is time to say yes.
Come June I return to Seattle, with a twelve-month commitment and a one-way ticket. I know it was absolutely necessary for me to come to NYC. NYC is where I learned so much about sustainable fashion, where I gained so much from beloved and brilliant new friends, and where God answered my biggest question through timing and a word play:
Me: “God, why did you guide me to NYC for a year?”
My Heavenly Father: “And why? SEA*.”
With that, I proceed confidently in the return, knowing that at any time my Father might call me somewhere else next. I know also that my Father will out win me every time with the dad jokes, and so I'll laugh without fear of the future.
*The International Air Transport Association (IATA) airport code for Seattle-Tacoma International Airport is SEA.
I cared about sustainable business-driven systems that solve social issues.
I loved international students and the richness of exchanging cultures.
I didn’t want to rush into committing to a full time corporate job.
I had three job offers and a short amount of time to decide. One would take me one state south, one would take me to the opposite coast of the country, and one would take me across the Pacific to another country. To me, all were equally appealing, but in the end one offer seemed too time opportune to let go of, so I chose it. I chose NYC.
From the very start it was an experiment, a ten-week commitment and a one way ticket. It wasn’t an act of boldness, it was a calculated choice: If I decided to stay beyond the summer, I wanted to avoid flight cancellation fees. Seattle has always been good to me, and it’s always been home. I had a small startup and a large community rooted in Seattle, but I also had a rapidly budding curiosity and appetite to see if my sustainable fashion dreams could find a home in NYC.
The city turned out to be the perfect place to house, incubate, and safely test my hypotheses about apparel and conscious capitalism. Here, I found my crew of new friends with the same mindful fashion passions as mine. Here, I discovered a plethora of events and forums where I could be constantly watered with streams of information on impact in the broken fashion industry. Here, I joined a collective spirit of dreamers who still entertained other crazy ideas, genuinely listened, and believed in the possibility of fruition. My mind always flourished with eagerness, vision, and gratitude. I loved it.
The city was also the place that God answered my prayers to find meaningful community through crystal clear clarity. He guided me through timing so seamless it couldn’t be just a coincidence. He reassured me through creative language and word play and song. He spoke to me in the best way I would understand:
Disciples (2000 years ago): "Jesus, where you are going?"
Jesus: "Come and see."
Me: "Jesus, why have you guided me to NYC?"
Jesus: "Listen to the sounds of NYC. Hear how the letters resemble: And why? See."
About half a year into my NYC adventure, I started the intentional practice of visiting Seattle every two months. Each trip was timed with the culmination of a work opportunity, giving me time to reflect on what I had learned and gained, while doing so in the place I considered home with the people whom I knew had my heart. At the same time, each trip readied the ground for my startup to make social impact as we made sales. While in Seattle, the Bathing Beauteas team and I visited our nonprofit partner to handcraft our products with survivors of sex trafficking. This process made me feel as alive as I felt while learning in NYC.
Them: “So how did you get an entire week of vacation days?”
Them: “You’re back again?”
Them: “Is there something bothering you about NYC?”
Me: "I'm in a job transition. Yeah, I'm just here for a short time. No, I love New York, but I also love Seattle."
Many friends, even the closest, were confused by my trips back and forth. Even in our social media society, it’s hard to keep up with someone’s life once they are out of your physical presence. We might get occasional photos and status updates, but we can’t read a person’s motivation on a screen. I didn’t expect people to understand my unconventional path, so I filled my time in Seattle jumping back into the lives of others – especially with my international student community on campus and at church. Each time I found myself welcomed back fully, treated as if I had never left, even as the community naturally experienced changes. The direction that the international student group was growing excited me deeply. I saw those without American citizenship feel empowered to lead in our American city, I experienced individuals of varying cultural upbringings come together over the unifying spirit of acceptance, I felt a deep sense of welcome and belonging that is rare to find.
It was December when I realized. I needed to return to Seattle but it wasn’t time yet, and I was intent on waiting for God to show me when. So I began flying round trips and changing my lifestyle and work routine. I got better at budgeting my time and my money. In return, I gained clarity. One of my trips in Seattle led to an open door that made it possible for me to pursue Bathing Beauteas and my international student community at the same time. Just like the opportunity that brought me to NYC, this opportunity that would bring me back to Seattle is so suitable, it is time to say yes.
Come June I return to Seattle, with a twelve-month commitment and a one-way ticket. I know it was absolutely necessary for me to come to NYC. NYC is where I learned so much about sustainable fashion, where I gained so much from beloved and brilliant new friends, and where God answered my biggest question through timing and a word play:
Me: “God, why did you guide me to NYC for a year?”
My Heavenly Father: “And why? SEA*.”
With that, I proceed confidently in the return, knowing that at any time my Father might call me somewhere else next. I know also that my Father will out win me every time with the dad jokes, and so I'll laugh without fear of the future.
*The International Air Transport Association (IATA) airport code for Seattle-Tacoma International Airport is SEA.
7.24.2016 | Sunday Morning, East Village 10:52 AM
The room is dim, the air is slightly cool, and the music is serene. It’s my first time in this place. I look down at the card in my lap as the offering baskets are passed around and make their way to my row. In the provided blanks on the Connect Card, I write in my name, my email address, my phone number. I get to the Serving Team section and my hand hovers over Youth. I can’t explain why or what, but I feel that I need to check this box. It’s been almost three years since I’ve led a group of middle school girls and since then I transitioned to serve international students at the collegiate level. Rather than question it, I tick the box for Youth just as the offering basket comes by and drop it in.
Monday Night, Upper West Side 1:34 AM
It’s another one of those nights, ideas whirring, gratitude growing, anticipation brimming, no sleep. Cannot sleep. I try turning to face another direction, I try switching the direction of my entire body, I try adding pillows and taking them away. Still unable to grasp any sense of physical rest, I recognize that my mind is entirely energized and awake. Reluctantly, I stand up, grab my Surface, and start to type. Suddenly the words and ideas that were racing in my mind slow and translate into coherent sentences on a page. The result is a piece called “If I Died Today”. No time for revisions or rereading, because just like that rest falls on me and I am able to find sleep.
Wednesday Morning, Midtown 9:48 AM
An email in my inbox appears from a fellowship group leader I am connected with from the church I went to on Sunday. In it, he shares a recent reflection on his friend who had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep days earlier. He reminds us that we are never promised tomorrow. We are never promised tomorrow.
I say thank you for that reminder, that it is something I have already been thinking about this week. Interesting timing.
Fellowship group is so refreshing, and the next day I send my leader another email thanking him for organizing and hosting. With that email I send him my midnight musing “If I Died Today”, to which he responds “you will find your writing is oddly timely”. Interesting timing.
I reply, “PTL”*. I don’t press for the details, but my belief and faith that God’s timing is always good is strengthened.
Sunday Morning, East Village 10:52 AM
The room is dim, the air is slightly cool, and the music is serene with a touch of somber. I’m back at Trinity Grace Church this morning. I arrive slightly late, so I catch the last song and the pastor goes up to speak. Maybe it’s just me, but people ahead of me seem to stand closer together, seeking connection in closeness. When I catch their gaze, the look in their eyes seems to be searching, seeking answers for something. Pastor Guy (yes, Guy is really his name) clears his throat and looks into the gathering of people. What he says hits me like a ton of bricks. “As many of you, Mark passed away unexpectedly on Wednesday. He was our youth pastor.” As I type this, I feel the same wave of shock and clarity that I felt in that moment. Lord, I hear you. Throughout Guy’s sermon, people of the church who knew Mark well have to leave the room because they just can’t take it. They never leave alone. Each time someone in the church will follow right after them to provide comfort, maybe not even words, but just their presence saying I’m here with you. It is beautiful. During the closing worship songs, I see people hugging, holding one another, honoring solidarity. It is beautiful. Then at the very end Mark’s wife asks to impart some words with us. It is beautiful. She is beautiful.
This moment is beautiful. In it I hear God’s still small voice say, this is home.
Wednesday Afternoon, East Village 1:36 PM
A life lived intentionally. Someone who was 100% humorous and yet 100% serious about life. Always put others first. A human truly unafraid of death. These are the words they used to describe Mark. People dressed in black come up one by one to give eulogies, family members, friends, forepersons – from three different communities that he contributed all his energy to.
These are the words that I hope people would use to describe me, in passing or in passing. Though I will never have the chance to meet Mark on this side of eternity, I will live like he did. Hoping that just like those who met Jesus through him, others might meet Jesus through me.
*PTL stands for Praise the Lord. It also happens to stand for the Passion Tea Lemonade drink at Starbucks. I happen to use the acronym interchangeably. Always know your context.
The room is dim, the air is slightly cool, and the music is serene. It’s my first time in this place. I look down at the card in my lap as the offering baskets are passed around and make their way to my row. In the provided blanks on the Connect Card, I write in my name, my email address, my phone number. I get to the Serving Team section and my hand hovers over Youth. I can’t explain why or what, but I feel that I need to check this box. It’s been almost three years since I’ve led a group of middle school girls and since then I transitioned to serve international students at the collegiate level. Rather than question it, I tick the box for Youth just as the offering basket comes by and drop it in.
Monday Night, Upper West Side 1:34 AM
It’s another one of those nights, ideas whirring, gratitude growing, anticipation brimming, no sleep. Cannot sleep. I try turning to face another direction, I try switching the direction of my entire body, I try adding pillows and taking them away. Still unable to grasp any sense of physical rest, I recognize that my mind is entirely energized and awake. Reluctantly, I stand up, grab my Surface, and start to type. Suddenly the words and ideas that were racing in my mind slow and translate into coherent sentences on a page. The result is a piece called “If I Died Today”. No time for revisions or rereading, because just like that rest falls on me and I am able to find sleep.
Wednesday Morning, Midtown 9:48 AM
An email in my inbox appears from a fellowship group leader I am connected with from the church I went to on Sunday. In it, he shares a recent reflection on his friend who had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep days earlier. He reminds us that we are never promised tomorrow. We are never promised tomorrow.
I say thank you for that reminder, that it is something I have already been thinking about this week. Interesting timing.
Fellowship group is so refreshing, and the next day I send my leader another email thanking him for organizing and hosting. With that email I send him my midnight musing “If I Died Today”, to which he responds “you will find your writing is oddly timely”. Interesting timing.
I reply, “PTL”*. I don’t press for the details, but my belief and faith that God’s timing is always good is strengthened.
Sunday Morning, East Village 10:52 AM
The room is dim, the air is slightly cool, and the music is serene with a touch of somber. I’m back at Trinity Grace Church this morning. I arrive slightly late, so I catch the last song and the pastor goes up to speak. Maybe it’s just me, but people ahead of me seem to stand closer together, seeking connection in closeness. When I catch their gaze, the look in their eyes seems to be searching, seeking answers for something. Pastor Guy (yes, Guy is really his name) clears his throat and looks into the gathering of people. What he says hits me like a ton of bricks. “As many of you, Mark passed away unexpectedly on Wednesday. He was our youth pastor.” As I type this, I feel the same wave of shock and clarity that I felt in that moment. Lord, I hear you. Throughout Guy’s sermon, people of the church who knew Mark well have to leave the room because they just can’t take it. They never leave alone. Each time someone in the church will follow right after them to provide comfort, maybe not even words, but just their presence saying I’m here with you. It is beautiful. During the closing worship songs, I see people hugging, holding one another, honoring solidarity. It is beautiful. Then at the very end Mark’s wife asks to impart some words with us. It is beautiful. She is beautiful.
This moment is beautiful. In it I hear God’s still small voice say, this is home.
Wednesday Afternoon, East Village 1:36 PM
A life lived intentionally. Someone who was 100% humorous and yet 100% serious about life. Always put others first. A human truly unafraid of death. These are the words they used to describe Mark. People dressed in black come up one by one to give eulogies, family members, friends, forepersons – from three different communities that he contributed all his energy to.
These are the words that I hope people would use to describe me, in passing or in passing. Though I will never have the chance to meet Mark on this side of eternity, I will live like he did. Hoping that just like those who met Jesus through him, others might meet Jesus through me.
*PTL stands for Praise the Lord. It also happens to stand for the Passion Tea Lemonade drink at Starbucks. I happen to use the acronym interchangeably. Always know your context.
1.16.2016 | Sometimes it feels as if everything is fogged out. The skyline is there, but you can barely see it. Everything beautiful is still where it always was, but you can no longer make it out clearly. The city moves onward, the mountains still stand strong, and individuals continue building their futures – but all that’s visible is the clouds. The clouds descend to cover every good thing and every bad thing, until there is no thing.
That’s how I felt in my heart as I flew into New York on Monday. Though the skies were clear, the sun shone, and the city presented itself in all its clear glory, my mind and body and soul were fogged out by uncertainty, apathy, and entropy. I was in all the places except here and now.
As I leave New York to return to Seattle, the skies are foggy. The lines of skyscrapers are shrouded in gray. The now familiar places are hard to see from the airplane window. But my heart, oh, it’s something else.
As the plane further ascended, we hit the patch of clouds coming down on the city. Soon enough, all I could see was white. The clouds were only a few inches from my face and enveloping the aircraft. It felt so unfortunate that I could no longer lay one last glance on the city.
Until we burst out of the other side of the cloud sea. Suddenly light streamed, sprinted, showered into my seat. Glorious! With the airplane above the massive mountains of white, the clouds became like a never ending ocean of soft white. Right above that were layers of salmon pink, apricot orange, and baby blue to accompany the brilliant ball of gold that was beginning to set.
At once I was back in Beijing, standing in front of a small but humble congregation of Chinese and international church members. We were here to worship Jesus and I was introducing the following song. Its name is “The Sun above the Clouds”. It’s a piece that is precious to me, I explained, as I mentioned that I was from Seattle – a city known for its rainy days, but perhaps better described as a perpetually cloudy city (discounting the three months of sublime summer). This song proclaimed and praised that God’s will and presence is a lot like the sky He created. Sure, the clouds may cover the rays of the most powerful star in the universe. Yet, the sun is still there as it always has been and forever will be. In fact, the sun above the clouds is a beautiful thing to witness: the shimmering sphere of flame suspended above fields of whipped white. A simple glance out the windowpane of an airplane at this view will transfix you. It sets your heart, mind, and soul on the present beauty and makes you dream of the future’s potential beauty. After all, this sight is not a fabrication of computer-generated imagery or human hands mixing together paints on a palette. It is complete nonfiction. It is real.
It is a reminder that I dare not settle when the path is hidden or the vision I have for my life seems impossible. Even when I want to wallow in the gloom of the gray or stay in the shades of discontentment, I must remember to choose to go up. I will fly upwards into the mystery of the white waves, knowing that the Son stands on the other side, waiting to greet me and say:
You made it, because you believed.
With that, I proceed expectantly to build up my dream of one day empowering countless women internationally through meaningful employment, conscious creation, and timeless fashion. In six months, I’ll walk out of Husky Stadium, no longer a matriculated undergraduate student, and into the continuation of the will God has lovingly designed for me. And just maybe, I’ll be stepping on a plane, sent back into the clouds, and headed back to New York City once again.
That’s how I felt in my heart as I flew into New York on Monday. Though the skies were clear, the sun shone, and the city presented itself in all its clear glory, my mind and body and soul were fogged out by uncertainty, apathy, and entropy. I was in all the places except here and now.
As I leave New York to return to Seattle, the skies are foggy. The lines of skyscrapers are shrouded in gray. The now familiar places are hard to see from the airplane window. But my heart, oh, it’s something else.
As the plane further ascended, we hit the patch of clouds coming down on the city. Soon enough, all I could see was white. The clouds were only a few inches from my face and enveloping the aircraft. It felt so unfortunate that I could no longer lay one last glance on the city.
Until we burst out of the other side of the cloud sea. Suddenly light streamed, sprinted, showered into my seat. Glorious! With the airplane above the massive mountains of white, the clouds became like a never ending ocean of soft white. Right above that were layers of salmon pink, apricot orange, and baby blue to accompany the brilliant ball of gold that was beginning to set.
At once I was back in Beijing, standing in front of a small but humble congregation of Chinese and international church members. We were here to worship Jesus and I was introducing the following song. Its name is “The Sun above the Clouds”. It’s a piece that is precious to me, I explained, as I mentioned that I was from Seattle – a city known for its rainy days, but perhaps better described as a perpetually cloudy city (discounting the three months of sublime summer). This song proclaimed and praised that God’s will and presence is a lot like the sky He created. Sure, the clouds may cover the rays of the most powerful star in the universe. Yet, the sun is still there as it always has been and forever will be. In fact, the sun above the clouds is a beautiful thing to witness: the shimmering sphere of flame suspended above fields of whipped white. A simple glance out the windowpane of an airplane at this view will transfix you. It sets your heart, mind, and soul on the present beauty and makes you dream of the future’s potential beauty. After all, this sight is not a fabrication of computer-generated imagery or human hands mixing together paints on a palette. It is complete nonfiction. It is real.
It is a reminder that I dare not settle when the path is hidden or the vision I have for my life seems impossible. Even when I want to wallow in the gloom of the gray or stay in the shades of discontentment, I must remember to choose to go up. I will fly upwards into the mystery of the white waves, knowing that the Son stands on the other side, waiting to greet me and say:
You made it, because you believed.
With that, I proceed expectantly to build up my dream of one day empowering countless women internationally through meaningful employment, conscious creation, and timeless fashion. In six months, I’ll walk out of Husky Stadium, no longer a matriculated undergraduate student, and into the continuation of the will God has lovingly designed for me. And just maybe, I’ll be stepping on a plane, sent back into the clouds, and headed back to New York City once again.
6.21.2013 | It is Day Five, the fifth day of a two week service trip called Summit. A group of college students gathers in a room to study a book together. At this moment, we pore over the repetition of the word "Father" in this particular passage. It doesn't seem to take any sort of significance for me until we are told that in the original, non-translated text the word used for "Father" is synonymous to "Daddy" in my twenty first century American cultural context. This information hits me like an enormous boulder, as something occurs to me in this passage of the Bible, where Jesus speaks of God the Father: "But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you... for your Father knows what you need before you ask him" (Matthew 6:6-8). For the first time, I see the intimacy that Jesus expresses in this relationship with his Father. He does not paint God the Father as a rule-maker or task-master; He calls God his Daddy, someone to confide in, and someone who teaches him how to grow. I see all the more a side of Jesus that tells me "I love you", and I begin to understand that there is more to Jesus than just "go and do".
There is more to Jesus than going against the face of social reason to love on the margins, more to Jesus than being bold enough to discuss against the thought leaders of the team, more to Jesus than everything I summed him up to be.
Only a day earlier, my team was at a homeless shelter toiling away at demolition projects for the revamping of their old building. We worked alongside the homeless men who were going through the life restoration program, and later ate with them. On this particular day, per my tradition on the 20th of each month since going to Kenya, I was fasting from food. It wasn't the first time there was incredibly good free food on my day of food abstinence. What resembles to me home food, donated from an authentic Chinese restaurant, is enjoyed by all of the people, while I contentedly enjoy the company of everyone's presence. One of the men in the program, Arnold, grabs a fortune cookie for me saying, "even if you can't eat it, you should still see your fortune. Grinning because I don't believe in fortune cookies but appreciate his thoughtfulness, I crack open the edges and reveal a slip that reads "The next full moon brings an enchanted evening". I read it aloud, at which Arnold has a chuckle and nudges me at one of my male team members across the table. I laugh it away, blushing, but secretly hope that the fortune could have some truth. I keep the slip in my pocket and forget about it.
Several nights later, I find myself sitting in the center of the basketball court, seeking refuge and a place for reflection. By this point in the trip, I've made it a habit to come to this spot to pray and seek for God. Contemplating all I've learned that day, I look up to the sky. It's unmistakable; tonight there's a full moon. Immediately, I remember the fortune and emit a short laugh. It said, "The next full moon brings an enchanted evening" - an enchanted evening with my loving Father God. Just what I needed to learn that Jesus really does say to me, "I love you", and God used a fortune cookie to make me sure of it. Shaking my head at the humor of it all, I can't help but appreciate the way God pursues me, a girl who understands his commands to be bold, but didn't recognize his love and desire to build a relationship with me.
The next night, I come back to look for God in the galaxy, but it's too cloudy to see anything. Trying again the following night, I find a clear sky and some stars scattered above, but no moon at all. I remember the astronomy units in middle school science, and know that the phases could not have cycled through from full to new so quickly. However, I am sure of what I saw, only leaving me to wonder whether God let that moon shine that night just for me or hid the moon tonight just to make sure I believed it was no coincidence. Perhaps both are true, as God reveals his glory through miracles again and again.
There is more to Jesus than going against the face of social reason to love on the margins, more to Jesus than being bold enough to discuss against the thought leaders of the team, more to Jesus than everything I summed him up to be.
Only a day earlier, my team was at a homeless shelter toiling away at demolition projects for the revamping of their old building. We worked alongside the homeless men who were going through the life restoration program, and later ate with them. On this particular day, per my tradition on the 20th of each month since going to Kenya, I was fasting from food. It wasn't the first time there was incredibly good free food on my day of food abstinence. What resembles to me home food, donated from an authentic Chinese restaurant, is enjoyed by all of the people, while I contentedly enjoy the company of everyone's presence. One of the men in the program, Arnold, grabs a fortune cookie for me saying, "even if you can't eat it, you should still see your fortune. Grinning because I don't believe in fortune cookies but appreciate his thoughtfulness, I crack open the edges and reveal a slip that reads "The next full moon brings an enchanted evening". I read it aloud, at which Arnold has a chuckle and nudges me at one of my male team members across the table. I laugh it away, blushing, but secretly hope that the fortune could have some truth. I keep the slip in my pocket and forget about it.
Several nights later, I find myself sitting in the center of the basketball court, seeking refuge and a place for reflection. By this point in the trip, I've made it a habit to come to this spot to pray and seek for God. Contemplating all I've learned that day, I look up to the sky. It's unmistakable; tonight there's a full moon. Immediately, I remember the fortune and emit a short laugh. It said, "The next full moon brings an enchanted evening" - an enchanted evening with my loving Father God. Just what I needed to learn that Jesus really does say to me, "I love you", and God used a fortune cookie to make me sure of it. Shaking my head at the humor of it all, I can't help but appreciate the way God pursues me, a girl who understands his commands to be bold, but didn't recognize his love and desire to build a relationship with me.
The next night, I come back to look for God in the galaxy, but it's too cloudy to see anything. Trying again the following night, I find a clear sky and some stars scattered above, but no moon at all. I remember the astronomy units in middle school science, and know that the phases could not have cycled through from full to new so quickly. However, I am sure of what I saw, only leaving me to wonder whether God let that moon shine that night just for me or hid the moon tonight just to make sure I believed it was no coincidence. Perhaps both are true, as God reveals his glory through miracles again and again.