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.

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.