Some people even plan trips without an itinerary because they hope to stumble onto something exciting. Not me. I like my Fodor’s Travel Guides, thank you. You won’t find me on a tour bus, but you can always ask me for directions or get the scoop on the best place to grab lunch.

On the occasions I get disoriented, I try not to sweat. I’ve gotten used to feeling lost.

You’d never guess that looking at the street signs translated in Chinese and English, hanging side by side in San Francisco Chinatown.  The streets are bilingual. 

So am I.

A Cliche

Most people would say I have the best of both worlds.   That cliche has never sat right with me.

A person can’t live with more than one identity without sacrificing one for the other.  Without a place where you can fully belong, you are without a home.  You end up doing anything — in my case, everything — to find your path and figure out why you’re here.

I caught on early that I was different from my mother and my father’s family who we were living with in their three bedroom house.  Everyone spoke Chinese, while Kermit the Frog and Big Bird spoke another language on TV.  When my parents divorced, I became the only friend I knew who never bought a Father’s Day card.

Unlike most of my friends in grade school who ate PBJs out of Hello Kitty lunch boxes and slurped milk from a Thermos cap, I carried a Free Lunch card in my pocket and ate cafeteria food.  I loved it.  My friends did too.  They’d trade me fruit roll ups for my tater tots.

Later, when I went to high school, my friends and I had to take public transportation clear to the other side of town.  We lived south of the railroad tracks and everyone who lived North either had their parents drop them off or walked a block or two to school.

Coming from a neighborhood of stoners, smokers, and harmless class cutters, the new kids in my freshman geometry class seemed cool or incredibly intellectual.  We were located in the Silicon Valley, which meant their parents were working for IBM, National Semiconductor or alumni from Berkeley or Standford.  I listened to their weekend reports with the same intrigue and enthusiasm as watching Brady Bunch on TV.

The most exciting thing I did was go to church.  It was seriously the highlight of my week, singing hymns, laughing with my Sunday School friends and grazing on jellied donuts and Safeway chocolate chip cookies baked with fake M&Ms in the fellowship hall between worship services.

It seemed as if everyone and everything fit into some normal version of life, except me.

One Thing

That is how I found God.  It didn’t take much to convince me that I needed God — because I wanted Him.

Finding Jesus was like walking into a big new house, with high beam ceilings and tall windows draped in white linen curtains blown lightly by an ocean breeze, with a picture of me smiling framed on the wall over the mantel.  The idea of a God who loved me enough to leave His place of belonging to be lost and betrayed in this world was the very language that spoke into my loneliness that was resolute for better days.

As you walk through a myriad of curiosity shops and restaurants in Chinatown, look up at the canopy of signs decorating the city skyline.  The names Chinese people give to their products and businesses leave nothing to chance.

“Superior Trading Company”… “Gold Star Unlimited”… “Lucky Fortune” …

I stop as foot traffic flowed around me like ants around a fallen twig. As I point my camera up to snap some pictures, the words appear headless.  They hang in mid-air to attract attention, but what do they really mean?

The Chinese and Americans are not that different.  The pursuit of happiness is one of the greatest freedoms, our God given right.  What happiness means to each person, however, is the power of every drama, tragedy, and triumph.

Happiness has always meant one thing to me:  to be loved and to belong.

With embarrassing naivete, I pursued this at all cost with my family, friends, and even God.   Good ol’ God.  He was always generous, humoring me, as He does His best work making use of clay pots and broken reeds.

Rough Rocks & Smooth Pebbles

Looking back now, I think differently.   The times I have really felt I cherished were never attached to any effort on my part.

I felt most prized when I was remembered.

When I was younger, I dreamed of rapturous love that is euphoric and forte.  As I stand on the sidewalk now — wondering if this trip was foolishly sentimental — a curious set of flashbacks jumped into my mind, like cards magically flying into my hands, ready to be dealt.

What I see in those vignettes, God reminds me that His love runs deeper, without barely a whisper.

~~~~~

If you’ve ever hiked near a creek, just as the sun rises in cold autumn air, you understand how the beauty of quiet can turn the sound of running water into a melody that loudly trickles into your ears.

You would recognize the sound of rough rocks becoming smooth pebbles.

You would also understand that is why the moments you feel most lost are the very ones God seizes in your heart to simply say this — He remembers.

This is what started happening as I sifted through an unexpected deck of memories…

To Be Continued…
~~~~~


What happens next on my journey?

Tune in next time, as I continue the story — “Going Off Script”.
Subscribe Now and get my story directly sent to your email inbox.

If you want to start at the beginning, read the earlier installments and click here.

~~~~~


What are your thoughts? Share a comment. I’d love to hear. I reply on the blog in a day… or two.


~~~~~



Faith. It takes us off script.

Going Off Script is a collection of scenes from my story, interspersed along with my regular brews.
I'm telling it fresh, for the first time, as I take the journey to remember.

Be sure to stay tuned in for my next Going Off Script post, as I continue my story.

SUBSCRIBE NOW  to get the next post in these series and more from FaithBarista hot and
fresh directly in your mailbox via email (click here) or RSS (click here) news reader. 

Like the creek near my house that runs dry this time of year, my days grew dusty with the monotony of routine.   I fell into a spell of staying up too late, like a little kid who whines at bedtime.  The time I spend as a night owl wasn’t all too productive either.

It’s kind of dead time, really — similar to emptying quarters playing skee ball.  You walk up with excitement in pockets full of quarters and walk away with your brain numb trying break the highest score.

The everyday work was starting to feel coin operated.  Even the play.

I was exhausted.

Too tired to type another word, I checked out a site my hairdresser recommended to me.

Pandora. It’s internet radio, customized with songs selected by me.

I punched in Yo-Yo Ma and instantly a new station was created.  A special sauce algorithm lined up music it figured I’d like best based on the artist I selected.

I liked it.  A lot.

Faith Genome

The research that enabled Pandora to analyze the musical identity of a song — the characteristics of “what each individual song sounds like” — was named The Music Genome Project.

It got me thinking.

Is there a “Faith Genome”?

What are the common and differing traits of this faith?

How does God use faith to shape an individual’s identity?

There are some things in life that can’t change or won’t change for awhile.

What can change is my faith.

Whitespace Plus Three

The Greek word genome (γίνομαι) means I become, I am born, to come into being.

Rather than focusing on why my life went monotone, I decided to brainstorm ways to nurture my faith and pick three to practice on.

It was very important not to come up with a goal or number.  No performance metric allowed.  I wanted to practice nurturing faith, not self-effort.

I began by first taking some long overdue Whitespace one Saturday morning. I drove to a nearby park in the mountains and hiked in until I found a quiet spot.  With my backpack as a barrier against damp leaves, I sat down and started to pray through a Psalm.

Then, out came my notebook and a brain dump of ideas started flowing, without evaluating any of it.

After a while, my writing drip dropped to a halt.

Nurturing Criteria

Inner thoughts get interesting once they’re written. Turns out I was more high strung than I realized –  wanting to get somewhere other than “here”.  There were things I wanted to do that were getting into the way of who I wanted to be.

My Personal Faith Genome Project got easier once I noticed this.

I settled on some criteria.  I wanted do things that nurtured my faith based on how much they encouraged me:

To Be Dependent on God (”more aware of my dependence” is probably accurate).

To Be Humble.

To Focus on what Jesus thought of me, more than others.

I’ve made some changes.  They’re so small, I hesitate to even mention them here.  But, the surprise is that the change in me has been big.

God breathed new life into me.  I’m still doing the same needed everyday things, but I’m sensing God doing them with me.  I hear more of His thoughts throughout the day and I share more of mine, especially the ones I didn’t think He wanted to hear.

I’m more aware of my shortcomings, but freer to invite God into them.

Life sounds a lot different.  There is harmony.

I hope to discover more about this faith genome God placed in me — and make my life as individually His as possible.

I know you’re here to join me and share in the experience together.

Faith. Live streaming.

And that makes me happy.

~~~~~

Make me know Your ways, O LORD;

Teach me Your paths.
Lead me in Your truth and teach me,

For You are the God of my salvation;
For You I wait all the day.

~ Psalms 25:4-5

~~~~~

What’s your personal “Faith Genome Project”?

How does God use faith to shape your individual identity?

Share a comment. I’d love to hear your thoughts.



[ P.S.  If you haven't heard about Pandora yet, the great news is that it's FREE.  Just click here.

No, they're not sponsoring this post.  LOL.  But, God has used music there to bless me so much this past few weeks, I hope you enjoy it's benefits as well.  If you're already on Pandora and want to hear what I'm enjoying, let me know. Maybe I can share some selections.]

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“Do not despise the first season of growth for anything in your life.”  ~  Tammy Maltby

I didn’t know that onions grew in the dark until I pulled one sprouting flowers out of my pantry closet.

My husband humorously shakes his head, watching me lug a big bag of onions from Costco into our home.  It seems odd to buy them in bulk when we’re just two adults, a preschooler and a baby.

Hey, I love stir fry.  I throw whole bulbs of this stuff into everything.  I’m also pretty sure I’ve got some Italian in me, because I can’t get enough onions in my pasta either.

But when I first caught a pungent whiff of something smelly from the closet, I realized I hadn’t finished off the 10 lbs of red onions in time.

I needed to destroy the evidence.

I held my breath, yanked the sack out of the closet, and ran them down the garbage disposal.

I sprayed Mountain-Spring-scented Oust! to get rid of any odors.

“There! …Hubby will never know.”

As I shut the door, one onion had rolled out of the sack and escaped to find its home in the corner of my closet.

There it grew, until one day, I wondered why my closet was smelling so bad each time I went to grab a snack…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


…To read the rest of my story and see what happened next – click here and jump over to DaySpring’s (In)Courage website, where today’s post is published.

Share a comment there – I’d love your company.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoky tunes would float through the air just as the sun began it’s descent and the San Francisco wind whipped in cold Pacific air. People still walking through the maze of streets would pull their jackets in tighter and pick up the pace.

On evenings like this, Mom and I didn’t trek up the steep sidewalks. We’d thread through the crowds towards a bus stop, to catch a ride home.

Nothing muffled the brassy puffs of a saxophone, not even restless shoppers or cars roaring past yellow lights.  As we’d make our way down Grant Avenue — Chinatown’s main thoroughfare — the music grew louder.  I’d step out ahead and grip my mother’s hand to get to the source.

He stood off in the sidelines — on storefront steps with crumpled bills and coins scattered in a black, opened case. I recognized my jazz street musician by fedora, woolly scarf and thin black leather shoes. I don’t know if he was always the same person, but it seemed so.

I’d slow down to steal a good, long look as I passed by. He would sway, head tipped down just enough to cover his eyes but not his nose or his lips, pressed around the mouthpiece of the sax.

The loudness of the horn always caught me by surprise. It punched through into my body, even if it played softly.

My mother would notice that I had stopped.

“C’mon…” she’d whisper in Chinese. “He’s drunk… Keep walking.”

Facedown

Chinatown isn’t located within walking distance to the Fillmore District, where jazz legends Billie Holiday, Charlie Parker and John Coltrane used to play gigs in the 40’s and 50’s. But, the city’s jazz influence was still alive in jazz clubs along North Beach — which is Chinatown’s Italian neighbor.

I never ventured past Columbus, the street dividing noodle houses and delicatessens selling pastrami and bocci balls.  I was in my twenties by the time a guy I used to work with pulled out a seat for me at The Stinking Rose.

It wasn’t the first time I had pizza though.

Orange Julius.  Have you ever been in one of those joints?  Loud as heck.  They’re the 70’s version of Jamba Juice — except they throw a bunch of orange powder with some ice in a blender and out pours a sweet, frothy orange beverage.  They were good.

Orange Julius believed Chinese people would think so.  They set up shop right on Grant.  Because it was the only store that I’ve known to sell pizza along with their drinks, I’ve always called it My Orange Julius.

Mom would take me there, like a mother takes a child to Target for popcorn and Icee nowadays.  I’d order the same pizza every time:  Pepperoni.

The slice came thin and very cheesy, and unfortunately for my tiny fingers, slippery.  Sometimes, right as I took my first bite, my piece of pie would do a flip, fall out of my hands and hit the plastic red basket on it’s way down to the floor.  Facedown.

Blue Notes & First Love

You never know what sticks with you as you grow up.  When you focus on making life better and chase after a dream, you don’t think about Plan B or what you’d do if there wasn’t one.

The future is bright because it hasn’t been lived yet.

Eventually, tomorrow suddenly becomes today.  After a while, yesterdays grows longer.  You stare at the calendar and have to count back to your birthday to remember how many candles to blow out.

You wouldn’t think it could ever happen.  But, it happened to me.

Sidelined.

I kept the faith, but everyone and everything seemed to be moving forward.  Except me.

Faith is a funny friend.

Deep and mysterious, Faith is the invisible score God weaves into the blue notes of life and offers a place for a soul to weep and memories to hurt.

He sang to me through jazz, turned me away from pretending and face into the truth of loss.

There, God made a space in me, to compose beauty and tenderness, healing and even passion.

Faith is mischievous.

It built a home for my heart when I didn’t believe there could be someone.  God’s faithfulness brought me on a first date with my future husband a few decades later, when I thought singleness was my calling.

I stood in line for a movie.  My date asked me what my #1 favorite food was.

Pizza.

He thought I was joking.

I answered with a smile.  No. Really…  Pepperroni.

God took the things that stood on the sidelines and made them integral parts of my story.

God took me — even as I faded into the sidelines — to bring my heart back to life.

~~~~~

As I stroll through Chinatown’s main street today, Orange Julius is gone.  It’s morning, so street musicians are probably just pouring a second cup of coffee.

It’s bright and I’m walking at my own pace, understanding a little more than I did back then.  I realize that every nuance in my story, even the random or non-essential, is important and significant to God.

Finding myself can happen right away or slowly.  Even though it’s taken me some time, it’s okay.

Today, I’m walking straight into the sunshine to find more of me…


To Be Continued…
~~~~~


What happens next on my journey?

Tune in next time, as I continue the story — “Going Off Script”.
Subscribe Now and get my story directly sent to your email inbox.

If you want to start at the beginning, read the earlier installments and click here.

~~~~~

What are your thoughts?  Share a comment.  I’d love to hear. I reply on the blog in a day… or two.

~~~~~

Faith. It takes us off script.

Going Off Script is a collection of scenes from my story, interspersed along with my regular brews.
I'm telling it fresh, for the first time, as I take the journey to remember.

Be sure to stay tuned in for my next Going Off Script post, as I continue my story.

SUBSCRIBE NOW  to get the next post in these series and more from FaithBarista hot and
fresh directly in your mailbox via email (click here) or RSS (click here) news reader. 

We pray “The Lord is my shepherd.  I shall not want…” Meanwhile, our hearts are packed with the trickling of wanting.  How to make it stop?

It sounds so good.  Getting rid of clutter, the excess.  Stuff.

But, will having less make us want less?

Having less used to appear parochial to followers of Christ who abandon all to serve God.

Now, having less is going mainstream.

Spurned by a poor economy, people are riding the growing wave of goal-oriented minimalists.  It’s a head turning cultural phenomenon, shedding as much as possible.  People are re-evaluating what makes them happy.

We are asking,What is tying me down and how can I be free from it?

The trend to live simply is a growing expression of relieving that frustration.

Radical Changes

Just recently, I watched a video clip featuring the tiniest 96 square foot house I’d ever seen, built by Jay Shafer.  He’s now making a living building these gum drop residences.  People are casting aside everything to strip down to the bare essentials.

Then, there’s a website that’s cultivated a growing number of faithful followers:  The 100 Thing Challenge.  One couple who made changes inspired by this challenge was featured in The New York Times article last week.   The young couple gave up their treadmill life of spending. They quit their jobs, relocated into a 400 square foot apartment, devoting their lives to the pursuit of meaningful experiences rather than possessions.

It got me thinking.

These people were willing to radically change to a simpler life because of happiness.

What radical changes am I willing to simplify… to pursue God?

The Catalyst

This week, we’ve been discussing the spiritual topic of waiting and how God uses the in-between time to comprise the majority of our faith walk.

The question of how to fill the lull period has been pressing on my mind.  How can I stay untangled from unfulfilled desires?

Can letting go of clutter somehow be the catalyst I need?

Not exactly.

The answer came inspired by way of blogger Stephanie, The Catholic Theoress. In her provocative post about the role of possessions, she was reminded of the contemplative life of prayer by Walter Burghardt.

“One of the pieces of advice Burghardt gives is:

Fourth, learn to let go, to not possess, to let experiences and things be ephemeral.

Most of us are conditioned when we see something beautiful–a sunset, a flower, a cute puppy, or our own children–to take a picture.

The contemplative life savors the moment, but lets it pass.”

For those of us who walk by faith, even experiences were never meant to fulfill us.

No, not even the ones we want so badly.

One Possession

It became plain and simple to me.  I can get so caught up trying to capture life, I miss the moments to simply live life with Jesus.

If we are to live godly lives, we must remember Jesus.

Jesus is the One we want to possess.

He is the only reason why we would let go of anything.

If we were to stop long enough to really want Him, He would be the prize we’d dump everything for.  Just to savor His touch and His words.

Don’t get me wrong, my blog bio confesses I’m a recovering pack rat.  Seeing a cleared counter and floor space can be euphoric.

But, I’m reminded – 

Decluttering possessions to pursue happiness is a far cry from godliness.

Decluttering our priorities, so that God can possess us in the Word and in prayer?  Irrevocably… Life… Changing.

Will having less make us happy?  Maybe.  For the moment.

Will learning to let go — to “let it pass” — fill us with Jesus?  Yes.

~~~~~

Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness;

For bodily discipline is only of little profit,

but godliness is profitable for all things,

since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.

~ 1 Timothy 4:7-8

~~~~~

What radical changes have you made to simply life — in order to pursue Jesus?

Share your thoughts.

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“That sense of newness is simply delicious. It makes new the Bible and friends, love… and God himself.” ~ Temple Gairdner

The life of faith involves a lot of waiting. How do we break the monotony of boredom and restlessness while we wait?

Last summer, my three year old son experienced the thrill of riding his bike — free from training wheels.  Every day leading up to that moment was filled with excitement and drama.  He couldn’t wait to hop on his bike and practice, practice, practice.

I didn’t realize how much the experience meant to TJ, until he sat listless at the breakfast table, with his spoon in hand and Raisin Bran growing soggier by the minute.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I wish I could learn to ride my bike again,” TJ sighs.

“Why?  You already know how to ride your bike.”

“I know.  That’s the problem…  I wish I could do it for the first time again.”

There’s something about conquering a big challenge or reaching a goal.  It makes us feel accomplished and productive.  But, it can also make us feel like we’re in limbo until we taste the thrill of victory.

There’s nothing wrong with being focused and intentional about our priorities, but can goal-setting and goal-capturing also become an addiction?

What’s The Difference?

I’ve been thinking about this question, since I made a recent trip to the local bookstore.  I was looking for a book about writing that was categorized in the “Self-Improvement” section.  As I scanned the book titles, phrases like “power of positive thinking”, “transformation”, and “finding your purpose” dotted the shelves.

What makes a person of faith any different than a practitioner of self-improvement?

As our lives have increasingly gone online, we also see the effects of a social media saturated lifestyle.  We are constantly inundated with data, about who is doing what and how much is being experienced.  By other people.

How much of our drive towards productivity and activity is tied to self-worth?

Waiting

As people of faith, our world jarringly clashes with these messages. Our priority stands in stark contrast. We value a relationship with God that exceeds all importance but is also invisible. Not only that, God’s timetable and purposes are inner, while the world is focused on the outer.

It’s a battle we all fight. When I find myself stressed with some progress of whatever-it-is God has me waiting on, I know I need a realignment.

I had forgotten –

-  if I have God, I have everything.

-  if I’ve neglected to intimately spend time with Him, I have nothing.

-  my heart’s true joy is discovering new things about God, not the temporary highs of achievement.

Waiting is sort of like hitting the play button on my DVD player.

If God has me waiting, I know that God is at work in my life, not me.
God wants me to put my faith in play, not my strivings.

In contrast, if I work so hard to make something happen, that I’m more frustrated than at peace, it is an indicator that I’m not exercising my faith.  I’m walking by sight.

The Way We Were Made

There’s no guilt or shame when this happens, I’d like to point out.

God knows that this dying to self is the very process of spiritual renewal.

It is a wonderful opportunity to respond to God in the way we were made:

surrendering the instincts that draw us away from Him, so that we can walk in the new life that’s found in Him.

As Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father,  so we also should walk in newness of life. (Romans 6:4)

God’s-type-of-new is completely different than the world’s-type-of-new. The world’s version looks improved, more accomplished and easily draws attention.

On the other hand, new to our Lord Jesus is far more valuable and highly prized.

The Greek word used here, kainotes, conveys a quality that only comes from the Holy Spirit.

New From Within

We are new from within.

This the kind of change impacts our everyday lives. 

This new actually changes our perspective, beliefs and feelings about seemingly ordinary and difficult circumstances.

After all, who needs a new attitude if things are going well?

This may be one reason we are all vulnerable to setting new goals ad nauseum, never feeling satiated whenever some are met. New ones must be rectified to take the place of the old one, to fill the hunger that life here on earth gives.

How easily I forget what truly satisfies.

Thank God, it’s just as easy to find that He does.

It’s just like riding a bike.

Once you’ve learned how, you never forget it.

“I move on toward the goal to win the prize.
God has appointed me to win it.
The heavenly prize is Christ Jesus himself.”
~  Philippians 3:14

Can setting goals become an addiction?

How do you respond to the season of waiting?

Share your current journey towards the goal of experiencing Christ.

Share a comment - I'd love to hear your thoughts...

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I don’t know if it’s because people enjoy having me lead them around or whether I enjoy feeding them random bits of information. I’d like to think it’s the former. I take their nodding heads and raised eyebrowed “Really?” to mean “Keep it coming… Tell me more of what I don’t know.” It’s really a win-win situation. Someone doesn’t know very much about something and I know a little.

It’s a lot like marketing really. I remember what my manager told me when I was asked to give a presentation at some schmuck-schmuck meeting as a newbie. I was an engineer by training, but donned with a black pencil skirt and 90’s wrap blouse for a top and a bright smile, I was told not to fear.  If all you know is just a little more than the person next to you, you can call yourself the expert in the room.

I guess that’s why I like taking people to visit a Chinese herbal store.  You don’t even have to take one step in the doorway — just walk by an open door — and your nose starts to twitch.  A cocktail of roots, shrubs, and God-knows-what-else wafts through the air and your brain does a 180.  It doesn’t even know what hit it.

The smells of a Chinese apothecary shop are literally, downright foreign.

Familiar and Strange

If you’ve ever taken a whiff of Tiger Balm, you’d know what I mean.  They actually sell it at Costco now.  It comes in a jar so big, it’s ridiculous.  It’s not just french fries we like super-sized.  So, I wouldn’t bother pointing out Tiger Balm to you in the store.  You already know about that.

No, if I were to take you there now, I’d walk you up to the shop I frequented since I was pint-sized.  It’s crazy to still see the shopkeepers.  They were old and wrinkly way back when.  Now, they seem a tiny smaller and the entrance feels way more narrow.  But they still look old and wrinkly.

One thing hasn’t changed.  The wall of herbs look exactly the same.

They are kept in small drawers that pull out, like old-school card catalogs in libraries past.  As a child waiting for the apothecary to fill a prescription, I’d sit on one of the unpacked shipping boxes and just stare at the wall of drawers.  Slow and steady, the pharmacist would methodically curate the appropriate ingredients, opening and shutting some drawers, while bypassing others.  It was fascinating.  He shuffles, as if in a trance, moving his arms up, down and across the boxes, like a mechanical arm in a jukebox.

What was even more mysterious was the Chinese doctor’s writing on the prescription itself.  It was a swirl of Chinese characters, a cross between doodles and ancient art, while inscribing a combination of healing remedies that the apothecary decodes.

It didn’t matter how the ingredients were listed.  Everything was so Chinese. It was all very familiar to me.  But, it was also so very strange.

Drinking It In

You see, I’ve taken both western and Chinese medicine. Western medicine is sweet.  It’s covered with Cherry, Peppermint, and Grape flavors.

I took plenty of penicillin back in the day.  Back then, pediatricians dispensed it like Baby Tylenol today.  Enough to stain my baby teeth I bet.  I can still picture bottles of the stuff in the fridge, next to the gallon of milk.  Mom would walk me over and put a cold spoonful on my tongue.  One swallow and it would all be gone.  If you don’t think about it too long and imagine watching an episode of Looney Tunes, it’s over quick. Short and sweet.

Not Chinese medicine.  You wish.  No, the Chinese boil their herbs slow.  An hour minimum, simmering leaves, berries, twigs, and crazy stuff that stinks up the whole house.  The sicker you are, the smellier it gets.  You know you’re in for it, when you hear your mom hollering because the medicine’s bubbled over, spilling into the drip pan.

Didn’t matter.  You still had to drink it.  Three cups of water boiled down to one.  It was poured black into a rice bowl. Sometimes it was so black, you got scared even looking at it.  I’d whimper and cringe, claiming it was way too hot.  Mom would blow on it and let it sit for a bit.  But, Chinese herbal medicine needs to go down warm, while the molecules are still in motion.  Heat penetrates deeper, you know.

To get it even near your lips, you must hold your nose.  You know when drinking coffee, an open mug is best?  Those coffee lids are cheating you 100% of the experience of java.  You’ve got to smell it before you taste it.

Well, the opposite is true of Chinese medicine.  The more bitter it tastes, the more effective it is to kill whatever’s ailing you.

I learned that bitterness is good. Especially when I was very sick and the healing needed was deep.

I also learned to look into a cup of darkness and willingly open my mouth to drink it in.

Home Remedies

There are dark days and strange days lived within the walls of my childhood.

I didn’t want to be different. I didn’t want the memories that nobody else seemed to have.  I wanted my life to look and smell like candy, sweet and happy.

I didn’t understand why I was born into a family where life wasn’t simple and the past clashed with the present.  I wished I never had memories of my parents slinging words through a screen door, tossing me back and forth, like a grenade in their emotional scuffle.   I hated having rush hour traffic as the front lawn of our duplex.  I wanted grass, the soft and even kind, to invite friends to play Slip n’ Slide on, rather than heckled by men with ugly voices driving by, as I walked home from school.

When it came to home remedies, we were a praying family.  One time, my cold and cough was especially bad.  I needed to see the doctors and needed the money.  I’ll never forget standing in the parking lot, staring at the entrance of Ching Ching Restaurant, where my father worked.  I hadn’t seem him for a long stretch. He had stopped visiting.  I went into the lobby and asked to see him. 

Sit over there. I was pointed to a seat.  Would he be happy to see me?  Did he look the same?

Just as I nervously wondered, he appeared, more jostled than me.

“What is it?  Why are you here?… You shouldn’t have come in the front door.  It’s for customers.”  His eyes looked troubled and his mouth parted, trying to find the next words.

“I’m sick…” I croaked, swallowing hard from a sore tonsil and awkwardness.  “I need some money to see the doctors.”

He reached into his back pocket and opened his billfold.  I felt sorry for him.  I didn’t want to take his money.

He counted some bills, folded it in half.  As he came down close to put the bills in my hand, I could smell the mixture of gel, cigarettes, and sweet and sour pork in his hair.

He led me out the door, looked straight into my eyes and said, “Never come in here like this again…  Okay?”

I fought back my tears and nodded to him and myself.  I will never ask him for money again. I walked away wobbly, swallowing my cry and drinking in the black bitterness down my throat.

No Purpose

What’s the purpose of all this strangeness in my story?

I must be born for some particular use.  This cup has been so bitter,  dark, and foreign.  I drank my role, my place willingly.  I trusted that it all served a purpose.

I concluded that I must have been born different.  Others arrive in this world with much more fortunate circumstances.  Why did God choose my particular set of happenstance?

I haven’t managed to make much sense out of it, to be perfectly honest.  At least, not in the way I’d like to understand it.  Yes, I know the theological answers to how we are born into sin, and the world is broken, and that is why there is suffering.  But, at the level where I live the everyday, I have tried to figure out some perfect ending that will transform all the bad and make it look good.

It has felt like trying to finish a puzzle, with all the wrong pieces.

I had finished the cup that was handed to me, believing that it would bring healing to the darkness.  But, it never got better.

No Specific Use

As I stood there taking pictures of the old, wrinkly man measuring and weighing a concoction for a waiting patient, I got a very distinct feeling.  A very peculiar awakening.

I wasn’t the only one coming back to visit this shop of little wonders and mysterious ginseng, chrysanthemum teas and honey nectars.

Someone else had sat next to little Bonnie on those old crumpled boxes decades ago.

I never noticed him.  Hadn’t known him, then.  He was so quiet.   But I realized zooming back in time, that he was the same person who sat next to me on those red vinyl chairs at Ching Ching restaurant, where I was waiting to see my father.

He was there quietly in tears with me, as I walked out the door swinging shut in back of me, with cash in my hand.  He was drinking in my bitterness right along with me, to the very last drop.  He tasted my painful memories, dark and lonely.

Jesus was there.

Strange enough, my eyes began to cry behind the camera lens.

There is no purpose to all the black.  I wasn’t born for any specific use.

I was born to be loved.

Jesus loved me, faithfully in every unseen circumstance.   He didn’t change them, but He protected me from letting it poison my heart.

Somehow, Jesus kept His life pulsating through me.  Look at who I’ve become.

I am not that cup of bitterness and black.

God’s beautiful light never burned out inside me.

God was there all along.  His Light — a shield of goodness, beauty and hope — preserved me in the safety of His love.

A power stronger than self-determination and survival has kept my heart soft and my spirit tender.  I see beauty around me and love deeply.

Even as I drank it all, even when I thought it was meant for me — He drank it with me.

~~~~~

I thank the shopkeeper for letting me take pictures.  I say, Goodbye, I must be on my way now. I’m getting closer to my destination, but I think I will take a detour instead.  The journey there is proving to be strewn with unexpected discoveries.  I am no longer afraid to linger.  I want to wander a little more.

Strange medicine indeed…


To Be Continued…
~~~~~


What happens next on my journey?

Tune in next time, as I continue the story — “Going Off Script”.
Subscribe Now and get my story directly sent to your email inbox.

If you want to start at the beginning, read the earlier installments and click here.

~~~~~


Faith.  It takes us off script.

Going Off Script is a collection of scenes from my story, interspersed along with my regular brews.
I'm telling it fresh, for the first time, as I take the journey to remember.

Be sure to stay tuned in for my next Going Off Script post, as I continue my story.

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“Executives know too well the gulf between inspiration and application is sometimes decades-wide.”  ~ Ben Dobbin

Ever been zapped with inspiration, only to find a disconnect in your experience?   It doesn’t mean you heard wrong. It just means keep going.

Every so often, I’ll be grabbed by this headline. It must be one of those recyclable stories that newspaper men keep in their Rolodex of ideas.  A woman’ garage sale find is worth a million dollars… A 64 year old man buys a donut and the winning lotto ticket worth $1.7 million...

People like to hear about good luck. Especially the kind that is random.

If good fortune can land on anyone at anytime — then maybe one day, it can be my turn.

That was me as a little girl. I never got much mail, but there was always junk mail that nobody wanted. 

Unbelievers!  In my eyes, the envelopes stamped “Open Now” and “Urgent” in fake ink was a goldmine of sweepstakes to enter and win.

I’d open them up, check the boxes carefully and stick the gold stickers in the all the right places.  Dropped them in the mail.  And waited.

It took a few years worth of stamps, but I realized that it is very hard to be lucky.  Not to mention, seniors who lived in the mid-west seemed to have it in spades.

I grew up to live and work in the adult world and changed my strategy. 

Girl, the world is your oyster.  This is where you create your own opportunities and make sure it follows a plan.

Somehow, without being conscious of it, a strange hyrbrid of luck and self-effort quietly took seed in my journey of faith.

The Gulf

In Christian circles, the words “gifting” and “purpose” can mess you up.

It seems all the people who know their gifting are always telling others to discover it.  And the ones who don’t know what they’re called to are worried they can’t find it.

So, we figure we’ve missed the signs somehow.  We look back with 20/20 hindsight and shackle ourselves with guilt and regret.  We put together plans with the goal of reaching a destination called “Purpose”.

Faith becomes our Lady Luck and we hope she will get us “there”.  Somewhere.  Anywhere but here.

This can’t be further from the truth.

I’ve come to learn there is a gulf between the inspiration God gives us about His purpose — and the way it looks when we apply it to real life.

This gap doesn’t mean we’re off God’s radar.

This gap is where our faith operates.
Our purpose is found in navigating the everyday with that faith.

The Glimpse

Do you ever catch a vision of who God wants you to be?

You might respond like I do and expect everything will start to align with that flash of inspiration.  In actuality, what God means to do, is simply give us a glimpse of who we are becoming.

Inspiration isn’t meant to be a goal, but an encouragement, to motivate us to keep trusting that He is at work.

God is saying,

I hear your heart’s desire.  I’ve placed it there.
I’m at work in you.
Trust me.

So we do the hard work of faith, scaling trials and joys, without the ability to see how the dots will be connected.

God does have a plan for us, but He didn’t create us to obsess over it.

As people of faith, we can believe we are already living in it.  No matter what it looks like.

God’s purpose is for us to experience this kind of freedom – when we believe His plan is at already work in us.

Living in this freedom affects the choices we make every day.  It gives us the courage to do what gives us joy and peace, in whatever form it takes, in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in.

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.” Galations 5:1

Where It’s All Heading

Are you feeling the space to live inspired is too small for God’s vision?

Do you see a disconnect between what you imagine could be and what is your life now?

Don’t worry about where it’s all heading.

God is cultivating a life of meaning, in the shape of your heart.

God will bring His plan for you to fruition — through an array of seemingly ordinary circumstances, to show just how extraordinary your faith is.

As you trust that God sees and treasures you, your life will take on a special quality, that no plan or luck can impart.

You will develop the sheen of Jesus living in you.  And you will no longer doubt what your purpose is.

“The Kingdom of God is like a farmer
who scatters seed on the ground.

Night and day,
while he’s asleep or awake,
the seed sprouts and grows,
but he does not understand how it happens.

All by itself the soil produces grain.”

~ Jesus, Mark 4:27-29

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“God has not called me to be successful; He has called me to be faithful.” ~ Mother Teresa

I couldn’t sleep.

I got up, ate some pretzels and rummaged for something under a 100 calories. I gave up. I took a frozen bagel out of the freezer and toasted it with some butter and jam. I always think better after loading up on carbs. But, my mind couldn’t stop running in circles this time.

I didn’t want to make the phone call.

My biggest fear isn’t a spider, speaking in front of a crowd, or even eating a deep fried Twinkie.

I’m terrified of confrontation.

I can walk into a boardroom and present graphs trending south without flinching.  I can point my face downhill with boots clamped on a snowboard, teetering over a steep slope.  Lying in the dentist’s chair with metal tools probing?  No problem.  I’ve made it my place of prayer.

Give me a ball of unresolved conflict tied to confrontational someone?

Ugh.  I curl into the fetal position and rock back and forth, moaning.

A Hard Conversation

What do you do when you have to have a hard conversation?

It’s scary to have that dreaded conversation.  I should know.

I came home to find a message left on my phone recorder that left my heart pounding…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


…To read the rest of my story and see what happened next – head over to Dayspring’s (In)Courage website where today’s post is published.


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“If God brought you to it, God will get you through it.”  ~ Pastor Paul Sheppard

How do you overcome discouragement when you run into one dead end after another?

If you’ve ever house sat or been volunteered to water your friend’s plants or feed her cat while she was away on vacation, you know how important the keys are.

After you’ve pawed under the mat or turned over the flower pot and come up empty, you figure she forgot to put the key out.  The thought of shriveled ferns and a dried out feline drives you to hit the panic button.

You dial your friend’s number.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, you confess you can’t to find the keys.

You’re so sorry, but could the keys be somewhere else?

O, yeah. Your friend chuckles.  I forgot to tell you.   The keys are hanging on a nail, right behind the downspout. Near the back door.

Does this scene sound familiar?

Of course, I’m not simply talking about the keys to a house.

I’m talking about the keys to God’s plans for you.

You’ve prayed, read your Bible, and done everything you could possibly think of — to the best of your strengths and even to the detriment of your weaknesses.

But, the keys to your questions can’t seem to be found –

– that opportunity you’ve been knocking down doors to open

– that breakthrough you’ve been waiting for, hanging by a thread

– that big problem you’ve been trying to solve, failure instead of success.

What do you do?

Shock and Loss

I was processing last week’s stack of mail when I pulled it out.  It was an official looking envelope from the State of California.  It’s the kind of letter you open right away.

Reminder:  Your business state taxes are due by the end of the month.

I started a business and became a statistic.

In less than two years, I closed up shop and liquidated all inventory.

It was a shock to me and our bank account because it was the last thing I expected.

I crunched the numbers and accepted the risk.  I became a entrepreneur because I believed God was in it 100%.

My needs were real. I was a new mom who needed a job with flexible hours and a greater desire to stay home with baby.

My priorities were godly. Motherhood and family.  Slam dunk, right?

My prayers were answered. I prayed and sought God’s guidance for a year, as I did the market research, built a business plan, and prototype.  At every intersection along the process, I saw God confirm prayers.

My due diligence. I sought wise counsel and applied my expertise from a career of releasing products for high tech corporations.

Business opened and sales looked promising.  I was hopefully optimistic.

Then, the market crashed.

I Never Would’ve Guessed

What happened?

Why would He lead me down a path that He knew would not only be fruitless, but a loss?

The answers to this question merits a book, which I’d love to write one day.

But, I’m telling you this story because I sit here in the red years later, with a business closed and the door to a lifelong passion opened:  my writing.

To market my product, I created a blog.

I have always looked for an opportunity to pursue writing. But it passed me by like the midnight train to Georgia.

I faced one dead end after another. I gave up hope and resigned my writing life to an underground pursuit behind closed doors and a motley crew of notebooks.

Then, my business died, along with the company blog.

But, I didn’t want to stop writing.

If I blogged for a product, why can’t I blog for purpose?

What if I wrote about all this stuff in my journals and published it online?

Would anybody read it?

Hopefully, I can encourage someone.  Maybe two.

I would’ve never guessed in a thousand years I’d be here to celebrate the birth of Faith Barista Blog with you today.

My disbelief didn’t change God’s plans for me.

The Doors We Cannot Open

Do you have a plan for your life that hasn’t gone the way you expected?

Are you confused to why God’s led you down one path and not another?

We can try to engineer the perfect solution, with sincerity and by faith.

But there are doors that we cannot open.

If you find yourself discouraged, remember –

1.  God has the keys to your life and purpose.

2.  God hasn’t forgotten to tell you where they are and you aren’t left out in the cold.

3.  In His time and wisdom, God will open the doors of opportunity for you. No matter what.

No hardship or personal failure can keep that door from opening.  No matter how late you think it is.

Stay faithful in unchanging situations, while God aligns the needed sequence of events with your heart.

And if it is time to make changes, set them in motion.

Nothing is wasted.  Everything done by faith that is unseen is visible and useful to God.

It may seem door after door is shutting closed in front of you, but God has his hand on the special ones reserved. Just for you.

At the right time, you will walk through them, with a smile on your face and amazement in your eyes.

“These are the words of him who is holy and true,
who holds the key of David.

What he opens no one can shut, and
what he shuts no one can open.”
Revelations 3:7

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