E is for Egg Hunt (Stuart's Version)

Note: As a follow up to what I wrote a couple of weeks ago, here is Stuart's own blog of the annual city egg hunt:

One day, our family went to the Bond Park Easter Egg hunt. My family was so early, I had to wait 30 min. until I could start collecting. There were eggs that were not more than 1 inch away from me. I was dying to pick it up but that would be cheating. Eventually I survived the temptation. Ten seconds were remaining. When they got down to 5, it was too much for me. I eventually pushed down a 7 year old kid on 0. I even forgot to pick up the really close eggs.

F is for Finance

"How to Finance a Hollywood Blockbuster" published earlier this week by Slate Magazine is eye-opening behind-the-scenes look at how Paramount Studios made a profit on the dreadful "Lara Croft: Tomb Raider." It just goes to show that the most creative - and hence, powerful - forces in Hollywood these days are the accountants. Perhaps there should be a new category for CPAs at the Oscars next year...

This may seem odd, but I have always looked in awe to people in finance. In part, it is because I am so inept at it: I don't even bother to balance my checkbook anymore. We often see accountants as mild-mannered calculator-carrying, pocket-protected nerds, but none of the great works of art, architecture and even military campaigns would have come to pass if it weren't for bankers, backers and angels. Form may follow function or vice versa, but both must conform to finance...

One of the first blogs I wrote back in 2001 was about my favorite building in southern California - the Disneyland parking structure:

The family went to Disneyland this past week and we all had a great time, even me. I soaked in the ambiance of the happiest place on earth, hopping on and off rides mindless of their mixed messages - admiring the majestic concrete heights of the faux Matterhorn before descending into hell with Mr. Toad; affirming the brotherhood of humankind on It's a Small World, while enduring the racial stereotypes portrayed in Jungle Cruise - yet the real joy for me was using the new parking lot. Indeed, the facility is a design marvel, but for the techno-geek like myself, it was the best ride in the park and well worth the seven dollar fee. The "Mickey & Friends" parking structure is immense - six-stories high and several football fields across, yet it only took 5 minutes to park and more amazingly it only took a couple minutes to leave as each parking level has its own exit ramp onto Interstate 5. As admirable as the engineering was, I was even more impressed by the backroom finagling of the Disney executives to get the structure built. In 1994, when it looked like the $131 million urban eyesore was not going to be approved by the Anaheim municipal authorities, the House of Mouse spin doctors repackaged the garage as a $223 million "transit facility" with express bus service, rail connections and park-and-ride space for the purpose of alleviating the traffic congestion choking Orange County . This big act of altruism immediately won plaudits from all sectors sucking in enough federal, county and city aid to get the thing built. But, hey; I'm not cynical! I'm grateful. So I bow down to Michael Eisner and the men in mouse grey suits for an awesome parking experience. When it comes down to it, I don't want to be using 30-40 minutes parking my car when that time could be better wasted waiting in line for a $5 bottle of water or $10 cheeseburger or the toilet or... Take care. As He leads, Dick

What applies to Hollywood and town planning holds true in ministry. Pastors and missionaries with vision and drive are a dime a dozen, but show me a compassionate comptroller and I'll show you a ministry that is dynamic and reaching people for Christ. The tricky part about church economics is recognizing the fact that a successful ministry doesn't make a profit. I look back in amazement at the wonderful groundbreaking years of ministry in Europe with Chinese Overseas Christian Mission. We were always in the red, but just so... Even though I often tested the patience of the mission's treasurer with my remedial bookkeepping, he always made sure that I had what I needed for the ministry. Looking back, it was not necessarily that he trusted me personally - "Sure, Dick, you can have airfare to the Bahamas!" - but that he had a deep, intimate knowledge of our mission field and most important of all, an open heart to God's voice in prayer.

This morning a friend called to see if I would be interested in seeking out a local businessman who is known worldwide for funding Asian-American ministry projects in hopes of getting his backing to develop ministry here in North Carolina. I'm a bit reticent: As much as I need a savvy entrepreneur to sort out my dollars and cents, I'd rather that we forge a spirtual relationship in finding God's will for us both. Form follows function follows finance in the world, but faith is the foundation for all who wish to serve in Christ's kingdom...

P is for Penny

Wherever we travel, the boys like to get a souvenir or two from the attractions we visit on our vacations. Recently, Ethan has been demanding toy guns - western six shooters, pop muskets, laser guns - whatever WMD is available at the gift shop. Stuart is a bit more eclectic in his choices, but one that he always asks for (and since his big brother is getting one, Ethan will want one too) is a flattened commemorative penny. For instance, at Disneyland you can get an engraving of Mickey, Minnie, Donald or Goofy. At the local science center you can stamp out a spaceship, an astronaut and two different types of dinosaurs.

I used to think that this was a pretty good collectors item, until we used the machine at Presidents Park. The choices? Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson and Roosevelt. Tell me if this makes sense: I give Stuart and Ethan each 51 cents - half a dollar for the use of the machine and the penny to be flatten - and each boy in turn defaces said legal tender to receive an engraving of their favorite president - Abraham Lincoln! I'm thinking to myself, "Wasn't there already a picture of Lincoln on those pennies?" If that was all they wanted I could have saved myself a dollar and just give them both a penny. Hey, I could have given each of them a penny along with a nickel, a dime and even a quarter and it would still be cheaper.

To top it off, minutes later when Ethan ran out into the park, he casually tossed aside the flattened penny onto the lawn. It's interesting how different adult and child perceptions are: I was more concerned for the object at hand as a momento or keepsake, whereas his pleasure came from just using the machine - an act that is simultaneous creative and destructive. Which brings me back to those guns...

P is for Presidents Park

During the recent spring vacation, Carolyn and I took the kids up to Williamsburg, Virginia. Instead of visiting the area's major attractions - historic Colonial Williamsburg or the theme park, Busch Gardens, we spent most of the time vegetating in our hotel room with hours of Cartoon Network (we don't have cable at home) punctuated occasionally with swims in the indoor pool, afternoon naps and fastfood meals. When home is also your workplace, vacations are when you don't do anything...

[Aside: Cartoon Network is awesome. It's no longer just the Dexter's Lab channel as it now has animation in a variety of genre and tastes. Our favorite cartoons? Carolyn and I really like Teen Titans; Ethan is enthralled with the Star Wars shorts and Stuart, well, let's just say that his picture in the dictionary next to couch potato. When he's watching CN, his response to every question is, "Huh?" But, in spite of that, we're seriously thinking that our next family weekend getaway will be to my parent's place 20 minutes away. They have cable...]

Now, we did try to do something active and educational by visiting Presidents Park. When we were planning our vacation, it sounded intriguing: Why bother to go to Mount Rushmore to see four presidential busts, when you could see all 43 sculpted "Heads" of State from George I to George III. As a history buff, I envisioned a leisurely time taking pictures of my favorite presidents - Wilson and Carter - and reading up on presidential trivia. I even thought up a game for Stuart and Ethan who are learning their presidents in school: I would shout out like the maddest mullah, "Bring me the head of George Bush!" and then race each other to his statue.

The trip turned out to be, uh... a bust. When we saw the park's nearly empty parking lot, we should have turned around and headed back to the hotel for the next rerun of Totally Spies. At first glance of the exhibit you can see why. It aspires to Mount Rushmore's greatness, yet falls miserably short. It's too kitschy - more reminiscent of a circus sideshow than the British Museum. The statues aren't imposing marble or granite, but made of cheap fiberglass; and besides, they were so poorly kept that you'd think that one characteristic that all the presidents had in common was leprosy. The northern Virginian winter took a toll on the park especially on the bust of Ronald Reagan. Here's a workman giving his statue a rhinoplasty - a little nipper on the Gipper...

I think we stayed at the park for less than an hour. Carolyn spent much of that time in front of the men's room waiting for Stuart who decided that he needed to poo. Meanwhile, I was preoccupied with Ethan who took it upon himself to reposition a sign directing patrons to Lincoln's statue to point towards Benjamin Harrison instead. I suppose he thought Harrison's statue a better likeness of our 16th president. I don't think that anyone would have known the difference...

Anyway, we gave up on James, James and Jimmy for Ed, Edd n Eddy. Cartoon characters beat politicians any day, but hey, it's vacation: Don't make me think...

DIY is for Destroy It Yourself

A couple of months back, Stuart, while sitting in front of his open bedroom window, absent-mindedly poked holes in the plastic mesh screen, an important part of the window. Homes in North Carolina must have them to keep the indigenous hoard of blood-sucking insects out when the windows are open. Otherwise, you might as well douse yourself with sugar water, stand outside and yell,"Dinner, come and get it!"

At the time, all I did was to dock Stuart's allowance; but now that it's spring and we want to leave the windows open, I had to fix the screen. I should have left well enough alone...

Somehow, changing a mesh screen, a job that would take the normal person 15 minutes to complete, has now taken me 3 hours and it still isn't done. I went to Home Depot - the local Do It Yourself store - and bought everything that I needed. I followed the instructions, I put the screen up and it was too big. I tried to wedge it into place and cracked the frame. I went back to Home Depot and bought everything that I needed. I put it up for a second time and now it is too small, leaving a wide gap which couldn't keep out a rodent with a severe glandular disorder much less an insect. I can't figure out where I went wrong and I still have to go back to Home Depot. It's really not the place where I want everyone to know my name...

You know, when people are drunk you take away their keys and you don't serve them any more alcohol. They are dangerous, because they don't know what they are doing. When it comes to home improvement they should do the same for me. They should have my photo posted at all the DIYs with the caption, "Do not serve this man. Report to the manager immediately." I should be issued a restraining order that keeps me at least 500 feet away. Better yet, I should be put on Neighborhood Watch. My home needs to be protected from myself.

I do believe there is a spiritual lesson to be learned here. What is it? Why don't you see n say?

E is for Egg Hunt

During Easter week, Carolyn and I took Stuart and Ethan to the annual Town of Cary Easter Egg Hunt. I really wasn't looking forward to it as the frivolity of the event (not to mention the bright pastel colors) seem antithetical to the Lenten season. I like my Easters quiet and contemplative - mediating on our Lord's death and resurrection. This is nigh impossible to do on a field filled with hundreds of children and their parents repeating the same conversation over and over:

Child: Is it time to start yet? Why can't we start? Can I pick up just one egg?
Parent: No... The Easter bunny is still hiding the eggs... We'll start when he's ready... Hey, put that down...

Amazingly, in the midst of that hubbub, I was able to have a decent conversation with my son. Carolyn had taken Ethan to another field for the egg hunt for younger children, so I was looking after Stuart. After 10 years of life together, either he is growing up or I have become a more child-centered parent, but at times I am finding that we can carry on relatively lucid conversations that don't have any thing to do with GameBoys or GameCubes:

Me: So, Stuart, what do you think of this egg hunt?
Stuart: It's my first and last one. [The cut off is 10 years old.]
Me: Do you think that it has anything to do with Easter?
Stuart: Well, yeah...
Me: Really? What does hunting for eggs have to do with Jesus?
Stuart: Well, like eggs are a symbol of life. They're suppose to remind of us of the new life we have in Jesus. Don't you know?
Me: Wow...

Don't let this moment of Stuart's spiritual maturity fool you; he's still very much a kid. As the start of the egg hunt neared, I reminded him that there were a lot of smaller children about and that he should be considerate of them. In fact, Stuart heard this admonition twice, as a mother who had eavesdropped on my parental advice loudly repeated my words verbatim to her large brood. Feeling rather proud and satisfied that I have insured the security of our sector, I walked out to to the middle of the field to wait for a good photo of Stuart, etal. running towards me. I ended up taking this film clip instead. What can I say? All I know is that I'm going to show this at his wedding if he ever gets married.

M is for Multi-Ethnic

There's an awesome article published in the latest Christianity Today - Harder than Anyone Can Imagine. It is a transcript of a moderated forum of American church leaders including Bill Hybels of Willow Creek Community Church on the thesis proposed by the book, United by Faith that Christian churches should - when possible - be multiracial.

My enjoyment of this article is in great part a feeling of vindication. I wanted to take the English ministry at the Raleigh Chinese Christian Church towards this path as a light to the nations in our multi-ethnic community, but, unfortunately, this vision was not in common with the rest of the eldership. Though not the only reason, it is one of the major reasons I resigned from the church. (Those reasons which I have heard about me through the grapevine that are dead wrong: basket case of ministry burnout, expelled because of some grave, dark sin, booted because I was a "liberal, Blue-state Californian.") It's sad: RCCC's theme at its new building dedication was from Isaiah 54:2 - Enlarge the place of your tent; stretch your tent curtains wide, do not hold back; lengthen your cords, strengthen your stakes - a great mission passage, yet the church leadership couldn't even make room for me...

Why do I prefer multi-ethnic? My own journey begins with Galatians 3:28 - There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. The partyline interpretation is that this passage has less to do with racial reconciliation or gender equality than with the specifics of salvation which God opens to all in Jesus Christ. Though I agree that contextually the Apostle Paul is proposing a union in Christ that transcends ethnicity, sexuality and socio-economic position, I must asked how is this to be practiced? How is the depth of this profound theological concept suppose to be expressed visibly to the world if not through the church, the body of Christ? As the CT article points out, racial unity isn't high on the agenda of American churches as less than 6 percent of them are multi-ethnic churches (those which have at least 20 percent of their congregants of another ethnic group). If less than 6 percent of universities or government institutions were integrated wouldn't we be up in arms? Not much has changed since the 1960s when Martin Luther King, Jr. preached that 11 o'clock on Sundays is the most segregated hour...

I have tried to storm the walls of the church as the last bastion of racism and I failed miserably. I realize now that my inability to change the church was forgetting how much God had to do to change me as an individual and that others may not have had the privilege to experience. For instance, my senior year in college I took a course on MLK which profoundly altered my thinking theologically and transformed me spiritually. As part of that class, we attended a seminar by Dr. Charles King (no relation to MLK) who at one point during his lecture marched towards students and brusquely asked, "You're in a car accident. You need help. Before you, equal distance from you, stand two houses - one is a home of a white family, one is a home of a black family. Which house to do go to for help?" To the student who honestly answered that he would go to the white family's home, he shouted, "You know why? It's because you are a racist!" To the poor WASP girl who said that she would go to the black family, King was enraged: "You're worse than a racist... You're a liar!"

Dr. King didn't come around to ask me, though I was fretfully and fearfully preparing what I thought then was a witty answer: "I'm Chinese. We don't ask anybody for help. We'd rather die!" Looking back I did see and still see now that that sophomoric comment revealed to me my deep racism: I hated whites... I feared blacks... Jews were intellectual snobs... Japanese are dishonest... Italians are all part of organized crime... It's amazing what God had to purge out of my system even before I entered into ministry...

I write about this now not only to acknowledge the CT article; not only to commemorate the passing of a great Pope of reconciliation, but to let folks know that the family and I are considering Grace Bible Fellowship (now mostly African-American) as our church home and ask for your prayers.

GBF has a great vision, but yet not a full-service church that meets our needs as a family: Are we willing to sacrifice and serve at great cost? If I start attending and serving in a multi-ethnic church, will I ever return to or be accepted by the Chinese church where prophets and messengers of God's all-encompassing love are few and far between? Would I be blacklisted as a radical? (I don't even like the Asian-American church model as it doesn't go far enough as I believe a multi-ethnic church should. Also, I believe that Asian-American is a monocultural church in disguise as it often ends up catering to a single uppercrust socio-economic class. Worse than racism, it believes its own lie that it is outreaching...) Most important, though GBF may be where I am, is it right for me to drag Carolyn, Stuart and Ethan there? See n say...