The Story of a Name

As a creative prairie girl, I love how big blue skies reflect the possibility of beginnings -- a new season, the potential of an idea, the birth of a newborn into the world. With the ongoing baby boom happening in my spiritual family at church, I've wandered into many conversations with my parent-friends on why they chose their child's name.

Do you know the meaning of your name? Or the story of how your name was chosen? 

Justine has a clear, obvious meaning: just, righteous, fair. Growing up, I always knew the meaning of my name given its plain, unhidden meaning. 

Until recently I felt quite disconnected from living the kind of life pronounced over me by my given name. When I think "just," I think black and white, holding to what is right and true. In contrast, I am often trying to come up with "creative" ways to evade or bend the rules; more often than I'd like to admit I am constantly trying to make up my own rules. Like trying to ride further on the skytrain than my ticket allows, or lying to get a student discount because I look younger than my age. I'm not proud of this, but I can't deny it. 

As I walk further in life with my Creator God, I am continually learning that nothing is random given his sovereign care. Just as a protagonist of an adventure growing into their calling and mission (like Frodo, anyone else excited about the Hobbit movies coming out?), I am slowly coming alive to a life that honours the name my mother gave me.

I have not thought much about why I was given this name, other than recognizing its pragmatic nature; if I was a boy, I would have been called Justin. In February at the Justice Conference, the brilliant canvas made of giant white letters spelling out JUSTICE stared at me throughout the conference, reminding me of my name. My friends also commented that they kept thinking it was my name up on stage. 

As I've been awakening to and grappling with the injustices I see around the world, I asked my mom the other day the story of my name. 

My mother is a learner, curious about life, constantly reading, taking in news, mulling over ideas, exploring creatively. At the time she was pregnant with me, she was heavily into biographies of historical influential figures, including Woodrow Wilson, and others like him. She was inspired by these leaders' ideals and persevering commitment to pursuing peace, justice, and a better world. 

And so she named me Justine. To drive the point home, she carefully picked my Chinese name to complement it further. The first character means "ideals and knowledge." The second means "far reaching, long lasting." Her vision in naming me was for me to commit lifelong to realizing ideals like justice and peace in the world. 

Though I feel far from it, I'm inspired by this vision. I'm thankful for the many conversations and people Jesus has led me to experience to slowly shake me from my slumber. 

My eyes were opened to the surprising (not what you might expect) faces of the marginalized during a city mission trip to the poor in Vancouver back in 1999 as a student. A community of people at my church challenge me to pray and engage actively and regularly with the needs of others beyond my comfort zone. A community of beautiful and strong women at SheLoves inspire me as they pave the way forward with their lives of compassion and courage to stand up for mercy and hope to those who cannot stand or raise their voice due to horrible injustices. 

I am still in the middle of the story, exploring, thinking and praying about what it looks like for me to stay awake and walk the way Jesus is leading me to live. I want to stay sensitive to his Spirit inviting me to choose to engage rather than giving into fear, comfort, or numbing myself with useless distractions. I want to grow in being okay with feeling overwhelmed with the pain and needs around me, because at least to feel means I’m alive.

It can be too much at times to think of all the injustice around the world, and even those that I perpetrate within my own heart. But lest despair swallow me, I only need to lift my eyes to see how Jesus took injustice head on. And he won. And that is how I can have hope to continue in this story. 

This post is part of a synchro blog over at the SheLoves community on being AWAKE. Go on over there and read some (or all!) of the other posts to shake your heart alive and inspire your eyes open.

Addiction + Compulsion = Love Letter?

Look how excited I am about the impending food!

I love food. I love pretty much everything about it (except for the calories, which we'll get to later.) I love eating food. Exploring it creatively with new recipes. Talking ideas with fellow foodies. Embarrassing friends by taking pictures of food in fancy restaurants. I feel cheated if a friend’s Facebook photos of a vacation doesn’t include a good gallery of food.

But when is a good pleasure too much? I love food...a little too much. Planning what I’m going to eat next. Obsessing and feeling guilty about what I’ve already eaten. Mindless binge eating to cope with stress or find comfort in sadness. I can secretly scarf down an entire box of ___ (insert whatever I’m eating, mostly junky, sometimes healthy but still in excess).

I have for years identified as a food addict. When I openly confess it, most laugh it off and chalk it up to my foodie-ness. But I don’t use the word “addiction” lightly. This isn't a laughing a matter for me. The role that food plays in my life and just how extensively it controls me is no joke. When I do experience small victories of resisting temptation, I’m amazed at just how much intentionality, prayer, and planning it takes to win one small resistance. It feels like a constant war.

I’ve warded off the consequences of my binges with another compulsive behaviour – what I’ve now come to recognize as exercise bulimia. As a teen taking in a steady diet of fashion magazines, I did read the occasional article on eating disorders. I knew I wasn’t anorexic. And I wasn’t bulimic, because I had clearly never made myself throw up to reverse a binge. Instead I would wake at 6am to exercise secretly in the basement to purge the calories. To this day I still work to be aware of my motivations before working out.

The war between the binging and purging takes its toll on my body. I trash talk my body all the time. Mostly my criticism is heavy with “you’re not good enough,” which is a broken record that plays in other areas too.

I know that one of the steps to lasting change is to replace the old with the new. And while I’m still primarily in the stage of weeding out the roots of my food habits, I know I must also begin visualizing a different way of thinking.

I started journaling some thoughts to my body awhile ago. Then SheLoves challenged us with a writing prompt to write a love letter to your body. And another blog I read today dared us to take more risks. Well this qualifies as scary for me. 


But after reading all the bold honesty in the flood of blog posts of beautiful, breath-taking, inspiring love letters, I can't not do it. These women from all ends of the spectrum (from “Body, I still hate you,” to “Body, I love and embrace you,”) give me courage and hope for the journey ahead.


So let’s start the conversation, shall we? "Dear Body of mine..."

Love Letter to (Three Parts of) My Body

Sorry for the harshness I've put you through

I started journaling some thoughts to my body awhile ago. Then SheLoves challenged us with a writing prompt to write a love letter to your body. And another blog I read today dared us to take more risks. Well this qualifies as scary for me. 


But after reading all the bold honesty in the flood of blog posts of beautiful, breath-taking, inspiring love letters, I can't not do it. These women from all seasons of life and both ends of the spectrum (from “Body, I still hate you,” to “Body, I love and embrace you,”) give me courage and hope for the journey ahead. So let’s start the conversation, shall we? 

Dear body of mine,

Where do I start? It’s such a foreign language. You know I’m not used to speaking kindly with you. Though I know I haven’t typically been gentle with you, I ask you to be gentle with me as I try to form a new habit in the way I talk to you. I’m sorry it is taking me so long to awaken to just how much I need to change how I see you. 


I knew there was something twisted with the way I thought about you when I put on jeans that felt a little too tight, two weeks before I was about to run you through a full marathon. I knew the ridiculousness of feeling depressed about feeling fat from freshly-shrunken-jeans-from-the-dryer, when instead, I should be amazed at your strength to be able to do such silly physical feats. 

While there are a lot of little things I could more easily thank you for (and I promise to get to that later, now that we’ve got this conversation in the open...), but I want to start this new dialogue by speaking to where I have criticized you the most harshly. Because I know that the years of negativity (for as long as I can remember) will take more time to melt and change.


To my lower limbs: You know I’ve struggled with you being a “pear” shaped body, where the weight never seems to come off your butt and thighs. I’m grateful for all the strength you contain. You’re not flimsy by any stretch. You’re muscular. And all the fat that I resent you holding onto? This is the extra glycogen reserves you’re capable of storing. This is what carries me through a long run and makes me a better long distance runner. 

And to my belly: Every morning I look at you in the mirror first. You get a lot of attention from me, but mostly negative. But you are the gut that takes all that good food and digests it, translating it to energy to fuel all of life’s adventures. You are the part that hurts (in a good way) when I get into a rare uncontrollable laughing fit. While I do not know if you’ll ever carry life in your womb in our time on earth, the fact that you were created with the ability to conceive and give life is pretty miraculous and amazing.

And finally, ending on the toughest-on-the-outside, yet most-tender-on-the-inside part that I’ve cursed my whole life: my skin. You are my largest organ, which is a bragging right in itself. Yet you have taken the most time and energy, because of your rough eczema since the day I was born. You know I hate the countless hours and sleepless nights I’ve spent scratching, moisturizing, soaking in long showers to exfoliate layer after layer. I've probably given you years, if not decades of my time and energy. 


I’ve used you as an excuse to not go out because I feel you’re making me too ugly on a rougher day. I have resented you for being such a visible part of my physical appearance that people can’t help but notice right away. I've given death-stares to innocently curious children on the skytrain who sneak peeks at my skin. I despised being the child that the adults would talk about. Even though I knew it was concern that they spoke about the condition of my skin at every social gathering, I hated feeling singled out. I just wanted to be a kid with normal skin and fit in.

Yet you amaze me, that you regenerate so quickly. I can go to bed one night with an open crack in my finger joint, yet I can awake with the crack healed and sealed over miraculously after a good night of rest. And you have been making a slow but certain journey of healing. Though you will probably always be on the dry side, many of the major patches of eczema of childhood you have healed, even without my intentional attention or effort. You keep me accountable for what I eat by reacting after I feed you junky or allergic foods. You don’t let me get away with it. And you respond to my better choices with further progress in healing when I aim to take better care of you, inside and out.

And most of all, you are the part of this physical body I’ve been given for my time on earth, that acts as a “thorn in my flesh” for my good. This physical weakness makes me all the more dependent on God’s grace to be sufficient. I am thankful for the countless times I have heard and felt God draw near in my struggle. You've made me stronger in God's view of me; for better or worse, because of you, I've developed an "I don't care what others think of how it looks, I'm going to go ahead and live my life anyway" attitude.

How was that? I feel like that’s a good enough of a start. In many ways, there are multiple layers to shed in this conversation about how I see you, about how I want to see you more compassionately. It’s going to take a lot more dialogue, growth, and grace to get me to the place where I truly can say, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” But hear me loud and clear, I want to go there with you. Hold that thought... until the next time we talk very soon.


Thanks for listening. I'll do my best to listen better to you too.


Miss J. 

Creative Fingerprints

Preparing for my first paid calligraphy job of the year. Wish I could have this clean desk in a separate room as a dedicated studio. The dreaming continues!

Some people believe in fate. Others in coincidences. I believe in God-incidences.

I've written before about how I died and came back to life, and how when I came back, I questioned everything of who I was before the burnout. I've also shared how God gave creativity back to me delightfully and unexpectedly through a series of specifically timed opportunities.

I recognize the same divine fingerprints again, the pattern of multiple unsolicited creative jobs coming in a short period.

Shortly after I began the Writer's Challenge, I am quiet enough to recognize the inner voice of my scary dream calling out. Then I declare it out loud, almost accidentally: I am a calligrapher. 

Five days later, an old friend commissions me for a calligraphy piece. Two days after that, I receive an email from a total stranger. "Can you do calligraphy for me?" Umm, yeah! But how did you get my email contact? And did someone tell you about my declaration? It turns out he was sent by an old classmate who advertised her graphic design services on Craigslist. Calligraphy was beyond her scope.

I battle my usual fear. What if I can't translate their vision into reality? What if my style isn't what they're looking for? (This is a heightened concern especially when it's a friend who comes straight to me without shopping around to see if other styles suit their vision better.) I fear the day when I fail to deliver a client's vision.

Of course it is an irrational fear. Both have generously showered me with their positive feedback. Oh, the flood of relief that comes when they like a sketched concept in the first pass! I'm excited to buy new supplies as my old paints dried up with the last creative drought.

So I saw another fingerprint today, while taking a break after starting this blog last night. Today I receive an automated email from Behance, an online community of creative professionals. Apparently last year I began setting up an account for an online portfolio in my last creative spurt, but I didn't finish. Thus the email prompt to resume the account and showcase my work online.

Browsing others' portfolios triggers a whole host of other insecurities. It's one thing for my friends and family to say I'm talented, but it's another fear to share my work with a professional community who can recognize the difference between beginner's skill and a well-formed craft. Their work, and this Writer's Challenge, has given me a sober view of my need to practice and hone my ability. But they have also inspired me to do just that and cultivate what I've been given. 

While I do that, I'll keep my eyes and heart tuned for the next fingerprint. Because divine fingerprints, and the One whose hands they belong to, give me courage to face my fears.

I am a Calligrapher

Apparently Picasso said, "Good artists copy. Great artists steal." Or as  the wise King Solomon said, "What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:9)

One of the reasons I prefer calligraphy over drawing is that drawing is not my forte. When my handwriting is on what I call "good behaviour," accentuated by a smooth pen with the perfect point, a sheet of thick paper, on a just-right surface, I can write something and it can look artistic or beautiful without me doing much else to it.

I may not have been born with stunning supermodel looks, but I was given great penmanship. Some of my artist friends think in images a lot, but for me, I love the forms of the letters themselves. I like to play with how letters fit together in a word, or in a phrase in a given space.

There's a certain je-ne-sais-quoi that I love about the pen nib gliding across a physical page. During a defining time of transition and decision making a few years ago, I switched my journaling from paper to electronic, because I type faster than I can write. The thoughts were flowing too fast for me to journal old school with pen and paper. But after the transition passed, I went back to my beloved pen and paper.

When I'm working on a piece for someone who wants some elements of drawing included with the words, I usually have a freakout internally. I fight the usual barrage of doubts, "What if I can't draw the style they're looking for? What if I can't draw the item in a way that is intelligible and recognizable?"

But then, I am saved by the act of stealing. I google to find what other illustrators have done. And then I copy it in the most simple style that I can. For example, I'm working on a piece that is to include a golden retriever. How in the world do I draw it so that it looks like a dog and not some abstract art or worse, a butchered animal? Fortunately, as a calligrapher, the words are the main focus, not the images. (To be clear, the act of thievery today in the image above is a stolen quote, not a stolen image.)

Oh my! Did you catch that? I almost missed it myself... That's the first time I've ever called myself that! It totally just slipped out on its own. Looks like we're back to a Day 1 declaration: I am a calligrapher. 

Day 5: Prepare

Two steps ago on the Great Writer's Challenge, I decided to start and resurrect an old creative dream of mine. This dream doesn't exactly have to do with pure writing, but it does have to do with words. I am not revealing the full dream yet, but it does include calligraphy. So wherever possible for the rest of this challenge, I am going to use the accountability provided by the challenge to try to keep breathing that dream to life. This means there will be less pure writing posts, and more calligraphy.

I'm being quite literal with these challenges, for this step of "preparing" includes shipping something out, and getting feedback. So here is an old piece I did that has a possible connection to my future dream.

I'm going to leave it super open ended. What do you think? Where could you see something like this being used, shown, or printed?

Day 3: Just Do It!

So Day 3 on the 15 Habits of Great Writers Challenge is: INITIATE. In other words, just do it. Start already! And every day is a new chance to start, again. 

I'm a terrible starter. Even waking up to get the day started is a momentous task. I can procrastinate for several hours on a task that takes only one hour to finish. Getting into a groove is really hard for me. My running personality mirrors this struggle. The first few miles are just sluggish where all I want to do is quit. This happens every time I run, guaranteed. And pretty much everywhere else in life, I naturally resist starting.

But enough procrastinating by whining about how much I hate starting. So the challenge assignment is to:

1. Choose yourself. Write down "I am a_____" somewhere secret.
2. Start something you're scared of.

I really had to think about this, because there are no natural instincts or dreams within me to choose anything related specifically to writing to fill in that blank. As for starting something I'm scared of, I have the same struggle with no natural fears related to writing. I have never dreamed about publishing a book or becoming an author...

... but I have dreamed another creative dream for a long time. The dream died with my burnout, but then it emerged again, quite unexpectedly. The fire burned for about half a year, but now, the embers have been burning low for the past year.

That scary dream is the one I think I'm going to try starting again. I filled in the blank and wrote it in big, bold, all caps letters. And I'm going to keep it a secret. And I'm going to pull out my old musings on the dream. Let's get the party started again!

What's your scary hope? What's a dream that needs to be resurrected?
What's one small step that you can take to get started?

Day 2: Wait and Believe

Since I've been given life again after burnout, life has been... full. I'm thankful for renewed energy to engage meaningfully in relationships and work. With all that's been swirling on, both growth inside my heart, and outside around me, it seems perhaps a bit odd to be feel like I'm in waiting. At work we're waiting for some doors of partnership to open. Personally, I'm waiting for clarity in my creative dreams and relational hopes. And yet again, I'm waiting for the right roommate to come along in the right time.

Working with my team at Prayer Current, we've been talking and praying through the idea of "waiting in prayer." One of the key places this idea comes from is Jesus' last interactions with the disciples after his resurrection. After giving the disciples a clear mission, you'd think they were good to go out and accomplish the mission! Yes Jesus told them to wait, and stay in the city until they received power from on high. They had the mission, but they needed to be equipped with the power to do it.

I'm increasingly struck by just how opposite Jesus' kingdom values are with how our natural human wisdom works. We live in a world that tells you to charge ahead and create your own destiny. But my story as a follower of Jesus includes a character much greater and more powerful than me who takes a central focus in the story of my life. God created me, knitted me together in my mother's womb, and gives me breath each day. He is the author of my life.

So if God is the one writing my story, I want to check in with him, talk with him, listen and wait, to see what the next steps are, to see the direction to come, to get all that I need to move forward. Even more, I need to get to know the Author more, so that I can recognize him and his voice, and trust that he can write a way better story than I ever could!

Waiting is not just sitting around, doing nothing, twiddling my thumbs, expecting everything to fall from the sky into my lap with no effort on my part. I'm talking about the kind of waiting where there is action happening... below the surface, often undetected to the natural eye. This kind of waiting is a time of formation, involving almost always a subtle (or sometimes drastic) growth in my heart, and sometimes a stirring of external circumstances and timing before a door opens to walk through. It takes discernment and a supernatural eye to recognize the action that happens in waiting, internally and externally.

Right now it feels a bit like I'm pregnant. I'm leaning toward, expecting, anticipating something within me that feels like it's growing and forming. Never mind that I'm not sure exactly what I'm giving birth to exactly, though I have some early conceptions. I guess it's still too early to tell if it's a boy or a girl.

Yesterday was Day 2 in the 15 Habits of Great Writers Challenge. The second habit of great writers Jeff Goin introduced was, "Believe." He writes, "We choose to see the invisible inside ourselves and bring it to light." When I wait in prayer, it's a foundational step in believing -- choosing to believe God's power, choosing to receive and believe the "divine invisible" that's been placed inside me, and letting Jesus call out the light. 

I love Jeff's counterintuitive practicality here, "How do we turn something like belief into action? We don't. Not yet, anyway. Instead, we marinate... We become what we fixate on. So today, believe it. Tomorrow, do it." The way he describes it, believing sounds a lot like "waiting" to me. Wait/Believe. Respond/Act. Believe. Act. This is the rhythm of walking in belief and faith, as a Writer, and as a follower of Jesus.

Where are you needing to wait, believe, marinate?

Day 1: I Declare I'm A...

There's something of a pattern of reluctance towards putting any "labels" on myself.... I don't call myself a runner (even though I've run ridiculous distances). And I certainly don't call myself a writer (even though I have this on-again-off-again blog). Somehow I am more comfortable with calling myself a "person who runs" or a "person who writes." 


This slight technical difference in words makes me feel less defined by the action, or less committed to the image of the label. Somehow I've managed to concoct some specific view of what I think a good writer should be. I don't write like ___, whose authentic and transparent voice I admire. I'm not sarcastic and smart in my writing like ____. I won't get you rolling on the floor laughing like ____. I'm not even a grammar geek or grammar nazi. My vocabulary feels too simple. I'm not a strong reader, so how could I be a good writer? I mean, who goes and gets a Bachelors in Communication, deliberately avoiding taking a single English class? 


To declare I am a writer feels like too much accountability to let anyone outside my own head hear it. In the world of my head, I am safe and content to simply dream up ideas, but never really act on them. I remember talking with some close friends about some ideas I was excited to explore. Several months later, I ran into one of them shopping at a craft show. As we caught up, she asked, "So, how's it going with getting _____ going?" Oops, did I share that idea out loud? Can I take it back?


Recently I was doing an online quiz where you had to choose the best word out of each set of four words that best describes you. There was a defining parameter - to choose your answer based on what you were like as a child. It actually tripped me up a little because in a lot of ways I have changed. But I think what they were getting at was the idea that we are often our most natural selves in childhood, with the least inhibitions and piles of fears or hurt that inevitably accumulate as we grow into adults navigating our way through life in the world. 


It got me thinking about the intense, unfiltered, fearless little girl I used to be. This writing challenge reminded me that I used to create illustrated story books  when I was about 8. I wrote a simple story line, and I even drew some pictures (though I still claim I can't draw to save my life now). 

What happened to her? I think it's time to respond to the divine whisper I heard in my heart not long ago to write more. I think it's time to call her out again.

Hey, World! I declare I am a writer.  
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This post is my effort in taking up Jeff Goin's Day 1 of Great Habits of Writers Challenge. 

I'm still here... and still running

I'm done apologizing for my blogging infrequency. Life on the other side of burnout has brought me to a growing acceptance of who I am and how I roll. I am an all-or-nothing kind of gal, including my blogging frequency. Just call me a binge-blogger, posting a bunch at a time, and then nothing. I will blog whenever I'm inspired to blog, and stop apologizing every time I come back (so Canadian I know, eh?).

Now is an apt time for me to dive back in where I left off. Yep, I'm still here.... and I'm still running. This is a shock most of all to me. My all-or-nothing ways lead me to chew through a new pursuit intensely, and then move on to something else, sometimes never to return again. Yet somehow, even on the other side of winter, I'm still running. While my sister, whom I hold responsible (i.e. delegating the blame) for all this running ridiculousness, is a hard core runner and will do races in the dark, at night, in the heaviest of pouring rain, I am a fairweather runner. If it's anything more than lightly sprinkling, running for cover is the type of running you'll see me do.

After the first marathon I did in October, I swore I would never subject myself to that kind of pain again. Ever. Though I had trained hard and was in good shape, I made a critical yet classic newbie mistake of starting off too fast, and fell apart two thirds of the way through the race. Way too early I hit the "Wall" dreaded by all runners (when your body has used up every ounce of energy and you feel like you can't go on.) While I did manage to finish that race with a lot of walking (I would have crawled if I could have), the last third was so brutal and full of pain I'd rather not re-live.

Eventually memory of the pain wore off enough that I egged my sister on to sign up for her first full marathon, offering to do it with her if she took my dare. And she took the challenge! (Serves me right!)

The lessons and goals matured from my first to second race. The first time, I wanted to finish, and aim for a specific time (which I surrendered to the wind when I fell apart). This time, my goal was quality over quantity. My major aim was to run a better race, especially in how I ran the race. I didn't even care if my time was slower, I just didn't want to feel like I was going to die half way through like last time. And I wanted to finish strong, rather than slowing to a crawl near the finish line. Applying my painfully acquired lessons from the first race, I managed to run the whole race with only five brief walking breaks, with the bonus icing on the cake that I shaved five minutes off my previous time (which was unexpected!). The cherry on top was having energy (barely) to help my sister run the last leg of her race.

The end result was still the same (a finished race) but I felt so much better and enjoyed it more the second time (or at least all the photos with my cheesy grins would lead you to believe I was actually having fun out there, rather than enduring the foot abuse). I hope I can keep applying a few key lessons to finish the "race of life" strong:

• Purpose and preparation is key. To know your goal and approach, and to have a direction is invaluable in life. You may not rock the plan every time or you may have some "off" days, but sticking to your direction overall prepares you and builds momentum for the finish (if you pace yourself... see below). Truth be told, I probably only stuck to the plan two thirds of the time, and there were other variables that meant my condition was weaker going into this race, but I knew where I was headed.
• Pacing and refuelling is everything. For running, this includes pacing your training with enough recovery time so you don't injure yourself (the plan I use is actually called "Run Less, Run Faster" which is contrary to some of the approaches out there that go for mass volume of miles), and tapering (reducing your miles) to reserve energy for race day. And of course, managing your pace and energy, including breaks, water, and fuel, during the actual race, so you have enough in your tank to actually finish the race.
  
  This is probably the greatest life lesson running long distances has taught me. I used to try to push at an intense pace constantly and feel frustrated I wasn't always effective. Then I hit the Wall of living unsustainably. I burnt out. My body, mind, and heart shut down and wouldn't let me live as I had before. After a lot of recalibration and soul surgery with Jesus shining light on my inner drives and needs gone awry, I emerged out of the darkness into a new way of living and approaching the race of life. I now live more according to "seasons," knowing that if I am approaching a busy or difficult uphill stretch, I give myself permission to slow down before (to conserve energy) and after (to restore energy).
• Traveling light is wise. In running you may not notice in shorter distances if you're carrying a pack full of stuff, even useful things. But the further you go, the more you feel the burden of every extra ounce of weight that you carry. You actually want to throw it off. In life, I see the wisdom of travelling with less and less as we go further, rather than going for more and more. Less emotional baggage. Less unhealthy expectations. Less material stuff. All this just weighs you down, keeps you from running and enjoying the race, and maybe even hinders you from finishing the race.

And so, we'll see where this running journey leads... I suspect I'll keep on keeping on, just because I am a learning junkie and love all the metaphors to be had (and a glutton for pain, apparently!).

Running: From Allergy to Obsession

It's no secret that Vancouver is a fit city. It's a fabulous city for the outdoors and sports. There are beautiful trails, not to mention our gorgeous long stretch of seawall that runs along beaches, trees, and shiny cityscape that is perfect for running. It's a city full of races, runs, and walkathons year round. I remember on my way to church on the skytrain some mornings, seeing people with race T-shirts boasting "Vancouver Marathon". I used to think these runner-people were crazy -- I can barely manage to roll out of bed and onto the skytrain at 9am on a Sunday morning, and they have already finished running 42km/26 miles by that time. Who are these crazy people?!

Well somehow, the impossible has happened. I've become one of them. I somehow still am not comfortable calling myself a runner... I'd rather describe myself as "a person who runs." I'm not sure what's behind my reluctance to just own it, but it really is weird to see that I've come such a long way with this thing called running.

I used to say, "I'm allergic to running." And people would laugh. And I'd say, "No, really, running makes me itchy." And really, it did! When I told my sister this one day many years ago, she enlightened me about this thing called "runner's chafe" and that if you choose the right clothes, it would reduce the chance of itchiness. Turns out she was right.

So I couldn't use that excuse anymore, not using a physical allergic reaction anymore as a copout, at least. But I was still mentally allergic to running. Once a year in high school phys ed class, we would do the dreaded Cooper Run -- 12 minutes of running laps in the gym. We were graded on how many laps we could complete. The more laps you ran, the higher the grade. I don't have a problem with using such an exercise to evaluate fitness, but there never seemed to be any warning, preparation or training for the task. You would just show up one day, and it would be Cooper Run day. As an asthmatic, unathletic person growing up, this was quite the dreaded task.

It was no surprise then, that when I started attempting to add the treadmill to my gym cardio mix last year, that 12 minutes was the mental barrier. But amazingly, using a run-walk rhythm approach, I gradually increased my endurance to run beyond a dozen minutes, one minute at a time. I was happily treading along on my contained cardio machine routines, when one day, my sister upped the anti.

She was renewing her running energies, she asked if I wanted to go along with her to run a 10K race, post Thanksgiving. I blame all my subsequent running obsessions on her! My all-or-nothing personality and way about tackling new interests kicked in high gear. After running that one simple race with her, we egged each other on in our running efforts. I'm not quite sure how it escalated to this point -- but this weekend, we are heading to Victoria. My sister will run her first half-marathon (go Flo!) and I will ahem, attempt my first full marathon. I'm still daily debating with myself if I've officially lost it... what was I thinking when I signed up?!

When I started diving into the whole arena of "race training" and preparation, I anticipated there would be many analogies that would parallel life and the many lessons along the journey.

• You learn to pace yourself for the long haul, so you can finish the race without burning out too early on.
• You learn to know your style, not getting caught up in trying to be like someone else. I'm such a bad sprinter and am a better long distance runner, so I don't need to freak out with my sluggish-start before I can really hit my groove past 10km/6miles. True to my form, it takes me forever to start at anything I begin!
• You learn to listen to your body, to hydrate, rest and recover adequately.
• You learn the value of having a training goal and plan, how structure and direction provide a good foundation.
• You learn how a seemingly impossible goal is achievable, one step at a time, slowly pushing your comfort zone bit by bit, mile by mile.
• You learn the value of accountability and having people to run with. There were some days my sister had to coax my butt out the door.
• You learn the value of encouragement, and cheerleaders along the way, especially in the really hard parts where you feel you have nothing left.
• You learn that having people to celebrate with at the finish line is much more satisfying than just accomplishing it by your lonesome. My sister and roommate running on the same day I did my first half-marathon made the euphoria grander, and the pain of laughing more joyful.
• You learn to enjoy the journey, to look around and see the bigger picture of where you are. I've actually stopped listening to music as I find there's enough around me to take in, observe and absorb, and pray for people and the city as I pass on by.

Speaking of "the bigger picture" while I began running just to challenge myself, I realize that I'd be foolish to miss out on the opportunity that it can be to draw others into my journey for a greater cause. I was inspired by the beautiful and passionate women who recently completed the She-Loves Half Marathon to raise money for our sisters in Uganda who are suffering atrocious injustices.

And so, I'd like to ask you to please give to SA (Servants Anonymous) Foundation -- a local Vancouver organization that works to fight human trafficking of women and children around the world. They are one of few organizations internationally that offers a comprehensive and uniquely designed long-term recovery program for young women between the ages of 16-29, who have been or are at risk of becoming sexually exploited and/or trafficked, including those who are pregnant and/or have children. Read more about Servants Anonymous here. Make a donation here. Please note that while the race is Oct. 9, the giving page will be up until the end of the month, as I was late getting into the fundraising arena.

If you think of it, and if you are the praying type, please pray that I would finish the run in one piece, but more important, pray for the countless struggling and exploited women to be freed to live in the dignity and beauty that God created for them.

Thanks for joining me on this journey...

Summer Miracles

O summer, where art thou? Growing up in sunny Saskatchewan, I am forever a sun-seeker. While the sunny season in this city is short, it is glorious indeed!

But with autumn in the air, and the official first day of the season past, I find myself in a lot of conversations answering, "How was your summer?" It's a bit like the back-to-school obligatory creative writing exercise within the first week of class.

While I stayed in the city for most of the summer, I kept it necessarily simple. Do the work I needed to get done, leisurely enjoy the sun and the city, and focus on my family.

At the beginning of the season, my 97 year old paternal grandfather fell ill and was admitted to the hospital. Amazingly up until that time, he was living with my grandmother on their own in a sweet co-op housing deal near English Bay. I would imagine that one of the most difficult things about the aging process is losing your independence, after having enjoyed it for most of your life. Basically our mobility and independence starts out zilch when we enter the world as babies, and if God grants us a long life, we eventually deteriorate to lose both those treasured abilities in our old age.

So most of the summer was invested in family support, with my parents and other relatives coming in and out of town, as my grandfather remained in hospital, and then eventually when he left us and passed on to the next life.

As the family busied ourselves with preparations for the memorial service, it turned out that my small contribution of sharing a portion of the eulogy, was a blessing in disguise. In the constant-being-with-family, my contemplative soul was hungry for some down time to slow down and simply remember. The assignment of preparing part of the eulogy was just the right accountability to pause and reflect. The process of looking back allowed me to really see, recognize, and receive the hidden gems and miracles of what had just transpired.

As I began to speak at the memorial service, I surprised myself with tears as I struggled to keep control of my words. I had not cried while doing my maternal grandma's eulogy. And I certainly did not expect to cry on this occasion, as I would not classify my relationship with my grandfather as close, warm or fuzzy. This reality of relationship was partly due to language barriers, but was also related to some difficult lessons of hurt and conflict that had occurred in our family in recent years.

As I looked at him and said my last goodbye on this side of heaven, it hit me why the extra emotion in the farewell. With the family drama and conflict that had gone down and dragged on in the last decade of his life, his (and our own) weaknesses were all the more apparent. A battle of pride, self-protection, and our typical Asian inability to truly resolve conflict left us with a painful several-long year gap of non-communication in key family relationships.

Our need was more desperate for God to intervene with his power to bring reconciliation to our seemingly beyond-repair broken relationships. The relational crack was so large and impossible to our doubtful natural human eyes... so when God showed up, it was so obviously supernatural, so evidently clear that it was his power doing the work of reconciliation. It truly was a miracle to see the softened hearts and openness that brought communication and relationship alive again for the last year of his life.

In essence, because of my grandfather's human frailty and weaknesses, I could see God's grace more clearly in him. He wasn't perfect. Nor is anyone in my family perfect. And least of all, I am not perfect. But the more evident our weaknesses and limitations are, the clearer that God's goodness and grace can shine through our cracks.

I am grateful to have gained this rich life lesson in this past season. God will need to help me walk it out in reality, so that I can increasingly embrace my weaknesses and find and share his grace there. The journey continues...

Goodbye to Grandpa Hwang (Yeh Yeh)

Spontaneous poem written by my grandmother

For seventy three years,
we loved and watched out for each other

You were an energetic man with wings

We could not fly side by side,
like love birds in the sky

We were like intertwined vines on earth

Today you went ahead of me,
resting in the bossom of the Lord

But I still treasure your foot prints

Forever you will live in my heart

Love, Check

My portion of the eulogy remembering my Yeh Yeh on August 19, 2011

We all know my grandfather had a love of all things air-related -- airplanes, flight and skies. By the time my grandparents arrived in Canada, and by the time we were born, his flight career was a previous chapter of his life. And I want to remember him more than just what he passionately did for his career. I want to share more personally of the person he was.

My grandparents first arrived in Canada in the spring of 1976. That was the year i was born, in May. My parents decided to put them to work right away and left me behind in their care when I was one month old, while they went off to vacation in New York. He was my first care giver.

When I got older, he continued to care for me in practical ways. I am glad that I came to Vancouver to study 16 years ago, because of the opportunity to grow in my relationship with him. He gave me his first TV in Canada so I could watch TV while at school. He gave me a fabulous clothing iron from the 1950s that I still use today -- it's much better quality and built to last than anything you could buy today. He always told me he would care for me, that if I ever needed him or anything, just tell him, because I was his granddaughter.

But more than these practical ways that he cared for me, what I will treasure most is the spirit he exhibited especially in his last days. I thank God for what a clear mind and heart to talk with us whenever we came for visits. He was always in good spirits, joking with us, telling us what we were like as children when he was taking care of us. You could tell he was taking pleasure in us and enjoying us and his family. The nurses repeatedly commented on what a good and pleasant patient he was, joking with them, saying how good their care of him was. Despite his weakness, tiredness and physical struggles and suffering, he didn't complain about being in the hospital. In fact he joked about why he didn't come sooner to the hospital to enjoy such good quality care.

I really feel God gave him a softer, more tender spirit in his last days. He was always thanking and praising God for giving him such a good life with so many blessings, and bringing him this far. On one particular visit where I arrived around his dinner hour, I had the privilege to help him with his meal. In between bites he kept saying how glad he was for a family that loved him and granddaughters that cared for him.

My grandfather left us a good example of leaving this life well. He had made peace with God. When the pastor visited with him, he knew of his place in heaven and God's love for him. Despite the conflicts that life brings, despite the conflicts that our human nature and weaknesses can stir up in our relationships, he made peace with all his loved ones. He was grateful for a good long life filled with blessing. He was ready to go.

Last week my sister and I went to the hospital for another visit, which turns out was our last. It was Sunday, the day he passed away. He was sleeping so peacefully, breathing ever so gently. So I didn't want to disturb him. I sat down and watched him while I prayed for him. I thanked God for him and how much Jesus loves him. To see him so tender in his spirit, really showed me how God was working in his heart and life. I could see Jesus in him. I prayed for Jesus to be close and present to him even in his sleep, every step until the time he would call him back home with a big warm welcome. And then I said goodbye and left.

And shortly after, he went back to his heavenly home into God's faithful presence, eternal and unconditional love for him. I know that he is enjoying an even better room than at the hospital -- he's enjoying the room and mansion that Jesus said that he is preparing for each of his children that love him. I know that he is joking with and enjoying God face to face. I am thankful that as we remember and celebrate Grandpa's life, we can have hope that we will see him one day again in God's presence.

"High Flight" Poem by John Gillespie Magee Jr, read by my cousin

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds -- and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of -- wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...

Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or ever eagle flew --
And, while the silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the fate of God.

The Simple Secret of Iced Tea

So apparently based on the response to a simple Facebook status update about sipping my Caramel Pear Rooibos home made iced tea, everyone wants to know how to make home made iced tea... and it's actually very easy.

Basically all you have to do is:

1. brew your favourite tea,
2. add your choice of sweetener to your taste (while the tea is still hot so that it dissolves easily),
3. then cool and refrigerate until it's ready to drink!

Et voila! it really is that simple!

The secret to the fancy schmancy exotic flavours (caramel pear) wasn't anything I personally home brewed or added to my tea... I just bought the already fancy flavoured tea, which you can get at any tea shop (or just use whatever tea bags you have at home).

The caramel pear rooibos is from David's Tea, which Anita introduced me to in Ottawa. Luckily they have a location in Vancouver and they sell online as well. I highly recommend it! I walked out of there with three kinds of tea including Read My Lips (chocolate mint black tea), and one of their divine summer Luscious Watermelon fruit teas. All of them iced really well. Just going in to smell all the different teas is a treat in itself!

They have a collection of iced tea recipes, including alcoholic ones, like Spiked Strawberry or La La Long Island Iced Tea (oh that brings me back to the days of my frosh year)! The Watermelon Pops look delish too!

When I first read about how to make iced tea (can't remember where, but it was in a couple of places, from a display in a tea shop to a website), the directions were to doubly steep the tea (twice the amount of tea leaves), then add ice to cool it down.

Umm, is it just me, or does that seem like a waste of good extra tea leaves, only to be watered down? I suppose I'd try the iced method if I was in a pinch, but so far it's been easy enough to brew a jar and refrigerate it so it's ready to enjoy whenever I am thirsty or a guest shows up for an impromptu visit! Or, it's excellent in a blended fruit drink too!

Bonus Tea Tip: Rooibos tea is apparently rich in minerals, making it an excellent sports drink, helping to replenish your body after a workout. It sure tastes better than Gatorade in my books!

Summer Sippin' in the Sunshine

The perfectionist in me is also a huge procrastinator, so I've been waiting for "enough time" to post my last few rounds of recipes...Apparently I just need some accountability, which usually at work takes the form of deadlines. But for fun stuff, apparently all I need is to post it on my Facebook and get people asking for it!

So here goes... all are themed for some summer lovin'. And, as per usual the Justine-key-criteria, all are super duper easy, ready to be served in a pinch with spontaneous visitors, provided you have the ingredients on hand! :)

Hot Chocolate from Thomas Haas: Okay so this one is not really a summer drink, and it's not homemade so I don't have the recipe, but it does go with the theme of drinks. I can't help but plug how amaaazing the hot chocolate was. And what an inspiring place to have a creative work meeting... Leah and I felt like we had a little vacation during the time we were there.

LYCHEE-PEACH SMOOTHIE

Ingredients:

• 1 can of peaches
• 1 can of lychees

Directions: Blend both cans of fruit including all the juices. Pour and enjoy.

Notes: Lychees are extremely versatile and go well with other fruits. Lychee blueberry is another one of my favourite combos, which makes an excellent pie.

There are multiple routes to achieve the frosty refreshing cold effect:

• Add some ice before blending. (This option dilutes the flavour a bit with the added water. The below two options preserve the concentration of the fruit.)
• Refrigerate the cans of fruit before blending.
• Freeze the fruit (or purchase already frozen fruit) without the juices. Then blend the frozen fruit pieces with the liquid unfrozen juices.

BLUEBERRY TEA SMOOTHIE

Ingredients:

• 1 cup of frozen blueberries
• 1 cup of iced tea
• sweetener, to taste

Directions: Blend and enjoy.

Notes: You can experiment with different kinds of frozen fruit. And the possibilities are endless for the kinds of tea you could use... rooibos, green tea, black tea, fruit tea, oh my! Home made iced tea is the best in my opinion though.

CREAMY TOFFEE SHAKE

Ingredients:

• 3 tbsp of Caffe d'Amore Vanilla Smoothie Mix
• 1 cup of ice
• 1/2 cup of milk
• 1/4 cup of Skor bits

Directions: Blend and enjoy.

Notes:

• Try this also with Oreo cookies... yum-a-lum! Or I suppose any crunchy candy like Smarties or Reese Pieces would be a good bet too!
• You can buy the amazing Caffe d'Amore mix at Superstore which works magic in turning any liquid drink into a happenin' shake or smoothie. They also have a coffee frappe version if that's more your fancy.
• You can substitute cow's milk with almond or soy milk, though the drink mix powder does have dairy in it.

PURE WATERMELON SLURPEE (sorry no photo!)

Ingredients: 1 watermelon

Directions:

1. Cut the watermelon into cubes about the size of an ice cube tray (2 inch cubes).
2. Refrigerate half of the cubes.
3. Put the remaining half of the cubes on a flat sheet separated slightly and place in the freezer, so that the cubes do not freeze in one giant mass which makes for easier blending.
4. Once the cubes are frozen, place equal parts of frozen and refrigerated cubes and blend until smooth.

Notes:

The trick with this (or any other icy fruit blended drink) is not to add too much (if any) additional liquid/water, as it can dilute the flavour of the already subtle watermelon. The melon has enough liquid in it already, so you only need to take advantage of its natural juice by freezing it.

Enjoy!!!

Berry Tasty Bars: Long Run Fuel Marathon Chunks

Despite the fact that I watch a total of only 1.5 hours of television each week, there are indeed perks to having a sister who works for a television station. Media outlets often sponsor large events happening throughout the city. This means they get "free" sponsor tickets to use, which are conveniently up for grabs via contests.

So I wanted to go the Wellness Show, but of course I was too cheap to shell out the money for tickets. Conveniently I asked if she could enter the draw and win me tickets. Luck was with her again, and she won! Turns out the tickets were worth every dime we paid; they would have even worth every cent we would have paid had I not been so cheap and bought the tickets for real. There were tons of samples and we left quite full.

Of all the goodies we tasted, the category most represented by far was the oodles of energy and protein bar samples. Of the many we tried, I can't say any of them were decent enough to warrant me wanting to remember the name nor spend the effort to make a purchase. The textures were not very appealing, to say the least. The flavours were even more disappointing -- enticing flavours like "Cookies and Cream Delight" or "Chocolate Peppermint Stick" were overly-sweetened and artificial. I might as well have a real cookies and cream chocolate bar or chocolate peppermint patty for the same amount of calories.

Normally energy bars are not even a product I would be looking to consume. (There was the one time, prompted by a sale, that I bought a pile of Clif bars, and treated them like granola bars. Not a good idea when granola bars are one of my choice items to consume on a carb-sugar-craving-binge. Anyway, that time doesn't count! ;)

But since I was inspired by my sister to start running, I began a hunt for home made recipes for energy bars that tasted like real food to fuel my longer runs. I found success with two recipes, both quite different.

The first one is a three-grain based bar that I'll just link you to from here, because I pretty much followed the recipe, other than doubling the cocoa and eliminating the coffee since I'm just a boring hot-water drinker. Quite delicious and chewy -- and I like to chew everything, from ice cream to frozen baked goods. When I was still in high school, my mom once asked me to stop running down to the deep freeze because I was eating all her frozen muffins she was saving for later. Oops.

The second one is a fruit-and-nut bar I'll post here, because I altered about half the ingredients. You can see the original recipe here. As usual, I like to look at the broad strokes of a recipe and improvise where I can. I love this recipe because it's so simple, and you can swap out any number of adjustments to suit your taste.

Long Run Fuel Marathon Chunks

Ingredients

• 1 cup dried fruit (I did mostly blueberries, with a few cherries thrown in)
• 1 cup raw nuts (I used raw cashews)
• 1/2 cup nut butter (I used my all time favourite hazelnut butter, adjust for desired consistency)
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 2-3 tbsp of liquid sweetener (I used agave, but you can use honey or maple syrup too, adjust for desired consistency)
• 1/3 cup raw sunflower or pumpkin seeds

Directions

1. Combine all (save the sunflower seeds) in a food processor until well mixed.
2. Turn the mixture into a bowl and fold in the sunflower seeds.
3. Remove and press into an 8X8 foil covered pan.
4. Refrigerate overnight.
5. Remove and cut into small chunks.

Notes and Cautions:

According to the original blogger, this can be tough work for your food processor if you use larger fruit like pitted prunes or apricots (I would imagine pulsing would help ease the work, but learn from my errors which resulted in a morgue of small appliances -- if it starts to overheat or smell burnt, just stop or risk killing it!). Smaller fruit like berries worked like a breeze.

I used my silicone baking mat to press the mixture flat after wrestling with a sticky and uneven spoon. You could replicate the same effect by pressing down on parchment paper. I've also seen some other bloggers make similar recipes by shaping the mixture into balls.

I'm a huge fan of berries and really quite hate prunes or apricots, so the combo I used tasted a lot like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a bar form. Super tasty! So tasty I have to restrain myself not to eat too many of these if I'm not immediately planning on going for a run. I did a rough calculation and with the ingredients I used -- these puppies pack about 175 calories per 1.5 inch square. Yikes! Great for a run, but not so good for a couch potato movie snack!

I took these for a test 12 mile run, wearing them in my pack, as a dry run for my race next week. They got a bit squooshy half way through. Next time I think I'll try freezing the chunks and see if that helps.

So there you have it. If you try it out, let me know what twists you added, and tell me how they turned out!