Miracle of a Baby

Last week I had the delight of meeting Gabriella Grace Lowe. She was born just one month ago, and is about the size of a large football when she's curled up.

I have never been much of a baby person. They are cute, I like to hold them for a while, and then I'm fine giving them back to Mom. But Gaby arrived into the world at a particular moment for me. This year has been marked by death - 3 loved ones of my house passed away within 6 months. I am still working through my own grief (as are my roommates), and not a day has gone by without my thinking of my friend.

So when I met Gaby, I was amazed by this tiny little girl, created by God - the giver of life. She's beautiful and helpless and already so loved. God breathed life into this girl, formed her in her mother's womb, and knows all of the days of her life that are before her. And according to scripture, there is no death, only inevitable departure from this world for another reality.

Aside from the dear friends her parents have been to me, Gaby will be special to me for reminding me in painful death that God is in fact the life-giver.

3.6 Miles

Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. --John 12:24

This week, I went on my first good run since the half-marathon in March, since I went to Spain and most notably since Hideo passed away.  I strongly believe that distance running is 90% mental, 10% physical.  Anyone with two functioning legs can run. Whether you want to or for how long depends entirely on state of mind.

For 3 months, my state of mind has been stuck.  Reeling from the shock of losing a good friend much sooner than I was prepared to sent me into a tailspin. 

But as I move through my grieving process, I have mysteriously been met by God.  It became clear that the loss of Hideo was the final straw in a series of emotional losses over the past couple of years.  I had managed to put those others away on a shelf.  But when Hideo died, there was no putting it away.  Even still, there's not a day that goes by without him crossing my mind multiple times.  All of my deepest fears about life, the people I love, my future, and God came flooding to the surface.  Was there really life after death?  What hope is there for my friends who have chosen different life paths?  What hope is there for me, either here or beyond?  What's the point of it all?

I always applied that scripture from John in the context of people in ministry who are suffering for the sake of loving other people.  But Hideo never knew Jesus in his life here, and yet somehow his death has born a harvest of gratefulness and love in those that knew him and resulted in what may be the most significant breakthrough in my own relationship with God.  Through the course of digging up those emotions I had put away for so long, and truly being honest with God about it all, I have let him talk to me for the first time in a long time.  And for the first time in a long time, I listened.

I wish Hideo knew what a significant impact he's had on my life, both during and after he lived.  If he was here, I'd tell him what a joy it has been getting to know his sister and other close friends.  I'd want him to know how much he's grown my hope in the kingdom of God, and my understanding that no matter what or who I lose, my true home will always be with Jesus.  I'd thank him, and I'd tell him I miss him.

3.6 miles is not a long distance compared to what I could do just a few months ago. But after many recent attempts to get through short distances and still feeling utterly wiped at the end, I finally got my runner's high back. I'm turning a corner, I hope...


At the Beat Swap Meet, selling items from the personal collection of DJ Hideo.

Remember the Time

Corinne Bailey Rae released an album this year - her first since her successful debut in 2006 and since her husband suddenly passed away from an accidental overdose three years ago. In the first song, she says: "Are you here? 'Cause my heart recalls that it all seems the same, it all feels the same."

It is strange to me that though a person may be gone, we can so clearly remember things about them -- so much that it can seem for a moment they are still with us.  I'll never forget the sound of Midi's voice or her laugh, or Hideo's huge smile and his way of finishing sentences with "ya know'I mean?" 

As I am putting together a memory book of Hideo for his daughter, I am reminded of the many things about him that blessed other people. And I'm glad to remember, as much as it pains me to be reminded of his absence. I've felt a sense of urgency to remember and not forget -- to not lose the only things I have left of him: memories.

I love that in scripture, to remember is such a big deal to God. He remembers a prayer and answers it, or saves a loved one, or blesses a nation. He says over and again, "I will remember..." and calls us to remember what he's done as well. He knows that our memory is a powerful thing.  It can sometimes paralyze us in some traumatic experience, or it can give perspective to our present and give us the strength to keep going into our future.

In the meantime, it's hard not to think about where those loved ones are now. Are they in a state of sleep? Have they entered another realm? Are they able to interact with others who have passed on, or are they confronting only Jesus, face to face? Have Hideo and Midi met and bonded over their Japanese last names, then discovered they both grew up in Torrance and both knew me? Have they met Grandma, or Sam's sister, or Debbie's father, or 2Pac?

There is no answering of these questions until I get there myself. Perhaps someday we'll look back and remember this distant time here on earth -- the lessons learned, the things we had no idea about, the experiences of joy and heartbreak and grieving and longing. I think for some of those memories, I'll be okay to let go.

LOST, for now (spoiler alert)

Last night was the series finale of LOST, the six-year saga of castaways from a plane crash to an island shrouded in mystery. Over that time, almost every episode brought about a whole new batch of questions: What was this mysterious power of the island? Why were these seemingly random people oddly connected before they even boarded the plane? How would the skeletons in their closet of broken relationships, personal failures and tragic disappointments get resolved?

The conclusion left much unanswered. But what does get revealed is a parallel reality for the main characters, where they are given the chance to make the choices they couldn't make in real life. And specifically, we understand that almost the entire complicated story of supernatural beings, time travel and lonely people were all side stories to that of the main protagonist, Jack. When the show ends, he is finally able to let go of his disappointment in himself and his failures in a last act of self-sacrifice for those he loves. As he is greeted by his dead father and the people he loved into some sort of eternity, I watched and cried like a baby.

It has been one month since Hideo passed away, and I've thought about him everyday since. Over the weekend, his loved ones celebrated what would have been his 43rd birthday with an old-school party, the way he would have loved. I have felt more and more peace and acceptance of this life without Hideo, but I don't think I'll ever not feel that missing part in my heart.

Coincidentally, Hideo first lent me season 1 of LOST a few years ago and introduced me to the show. As much as the show had its share of ridiculous plot turns, we learn in the end that the fantastical world of the island was all in fact real. I wonder what reality we live in right now, that often feels so much like the only one that could exist because it's the only one we've known. We live with our day-to-day joys and pains, and we fall in love with the people around us: our dear friends and family. And when we lose them, there's no way to not wonder what all of the carefully placed chaos and joy and people we encounter are all heading towards.

What I appreciated about LOST -- the finale being no exception -- was that creators Jeffrey Lieber and Damon Lindelof thought to imagine a world outside of ours, and a reality much greater than what we can control. Though there is no mention of God, their imagination asked what the answer might be to the damage about our world. In Paul's letter to the Ephesians, he calls God "able to accomplish abundantly far more than we can ask or imagine." What they could ask and imagine is one day letting go of this reality and reuniting with lost loved ones, the prospect of which I can't even imagine the joy I might feel.

I hope for that new day when all of the mourning is over, and I'm blown away by a reality none of us could imagine possible.

Westside 'Til I Die

On Friday evening, during its 2-hour traffic time block, KDAY 93.5 FM aired a tribute to DJ Hideo: his last recorded set. I made sure to leave work at 4:55 so as not to miss a minute of this. I started my car and immediately I heard a brief summary of Hideo's influence on the hip-hop music scene in LA and on the airwaves at 100.3 FM The Beat. And with the very first song, Mark Morrison's "Return of the Mack," I suddenly felt as though he was right there in his element: spinning his favorite party jams and West Coast favorites - a set he would be remembered by. I could see him so clearly in my mind doing it, picturing his way of adjusting the platter, scratching and immaculately transitioning songs, adjusting his EQ, moving with grace and joy to the music. Heavy D, Lighter Shade of Brown, SWV, LL Cool J, 2Pac, Biggie, DJ Kool, MC Breed, Naughty, By Nature, Paperboy, Soul 4 Real, the list goes on. It was a classic Hideo set. He loved the old skool.

I texted a few friends I thought would be interested and who might be on the road to listen to notify them of the set, and got responses back: "Listening now!" "I never met him, but I feel myself tearing up." One friend tuned in with family, and updated me that they were dancing to the music. In addition to the many DJ friends I had who I knew were listening to every move of the set, tweeting their emotions through it to the rest of us, my own close friends were listening because they knew what a rough week this has been for me, and have carried this burden with me the last 14 months.

In that moment, I felt God comforting me through the music I knew we were all both mourning and celebrating to at once. I felt a strange mix of happiness and heartbreak. I remember Hideo mentioning a couple of months ago that he had been recording a bit, which I couldn't even imagine in his condition. I think he was preparing for this time, and somehow knew that this would be a comfort to his friends and his own reminder to us of what DJ-ing is all about: the love of the music. It has been a rough week, but suddenly I felt inspired to spin again. I spent a good part of today just putting songs together that I love. I wanted to honor my friend and his heart for music.

I'm so grateful that in a week of grieving, God has surrounded me with the amazing people I get to call my friends. A special shout-out to Jason, Gregg, Carlos, Pastor Ken, Debbie, Eric, Helen and Jade. Most of them have never even met Hideo, but God has given them a heart to pray for him and his family because they love me. Though I must accept that I will not see Hideo again in this life, I have felt God reminding me through these guys that he is real and with me, and that the reality of something better awaits. I have a road ahead of me as I continue to accept life without Hideo, but I won't be doing it alone.

Goodbyes

I spent the last 9 days in Barcelona, Girona, Madrid, Toledo and Segovia. It was a marathon whirlwind of delicious food, charming cityscapes and extremely hospitable people. Yesterday morning (which in Madrid was more like 30 hours ago), I said goodbye to my friend Michelle who would be returning to Bangkok for at least another 2 1/2 years. I may see her if she visits the states in between, but her address will remain on the other side of the world for now.

At the end of this week, my friend Lisa will be moving up north to live with her family and work for at least a year. Lisa and I have become much closer in the last several months, and I've been so grateful for the wholehearted way she has welcomed me into her life. I will miss her much, and hope for frequent visiting.

On route home from Spain, I regained connection to my world here and the first thing I learned was that my friend Hideo had passed away 2 days before - on Saturday, April 24. In less than a month he would have turned 43.

I have known Hideo has had cancer since the doctors discovered it last February. Though it was an advanced stage 4, there was some hope at the time that he might overcome the disease, as he had a lot going for him - his youth and his infectiously hopeful spirit. Just a couple of weeks ago, he texted me that he didn't plan on leaving this life anytime soon, he just needed to get his energy back. I think I let myself believe it because the alternative was too painful.

But as time went by, I knew deep down that it was likely he wouldn't last through this calendar year. His cancer was continually growing, and the different chemotherapy treatments ineffective. Perhaps he knew as well, as his expressions of gratefulness and love to his friends grew more frequent with each visit.

Words can't express the effect Hideo had on my life. He was one of the most unselfish, humble and caring people I've known, only the more remarkable for his being a well-known, highly skilled and experienced DJ. He never considered himself above anyone else, and was all about giving and enjoying life. As the disbelief melts away, I find my heart breaking at the loss of my good friend.

Still, knowing that the physical pain of the last few months of Hideo's life is gone is something I do feel glad for. Though Hideo didn't know Jesus, I do believe I'll see him in the Holy City one day again, and that even now he is in a much better place than this world. God, remember me for Hideo.

I miss you, my friend. And it will be very hard for us to learn to live life here without you.

Why I Need God

So why did I run the half-marathon?

About a year ago, my friend Candice ran her first marathon. She wrote about the experience afterwards and described something that felt so familiar to me: the arduous, seemingly never-ending road of hard work, tiredness and physical pain that can only be gotten through by enduring it. But her story ended with a finish line.

The last few years have been sprinkled with tragedy and disappointment, either for myself or those I love. I began this blog 5 years ago, with an unspoken hope at the time that by now I might not need it. Loved ones have passed away, jobs lost, hearts broken. What I desperately wanted was a finish line. I believe that's what brought tears to my eyes in reading Candice's race recap, and I'm pretty sure that sums up what made me do such a thing as enter a 13.1-mile race. I had to taste that joy of the finish.

Today I spoke to my friend Hideo for what very well may be the last time. A year ago, he was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, and has been fighting an uphill battle ever since. He is now bedridden, with barely the energy to have a conversation on the phone. After crying my eyes out, I did the only thing I knew would bring me any kind of solace. I called my best friend and asked her to pray for me to remind me who was in control when I wasn't, who had a better plan designed for us all than the broken life that we must all labor through, who would remember me for my friend and for the things that break my heart.

These last few years, I've had to ask myself why I follow Jesus each step of the way -- whether consciously or not. There is something about suffering that forces you to decide what really matters to you in the end. I'm beyond the point where I ask why bad things happen. But I've had to ask what I would do without the hope of God, which I have felt so desperate for in the face of grief. It's not a blind hope, or a band-aid hope to deny what's really happening. It's a hope that has to be bigger than all of the mess I see around me.

My reason for running that half was the same reason I need God. Like a long-distance run ridden with hills, life is pretty hard. But God has promised that it's all going somewhere amazing -- that there is actually a finish line that awaits. So whatever happens today or tomorrow or 5 years from now, the best is yet to come. And I keep going for that day.

Hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what he already sees?
- Romans 8:24

Marathon, Not a Sprint

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day—and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing. -- 2 Timothy 4:7-8

The first three months of 2010 have gone by in a flash. Though days can sometimes feel long, somehow, like laps on a track, only when they are over does the time seem much shorter.

Where have I been the last few months? I have been training for a half-marathon that is to finally take place this coming Saturday morning, bright and earlier than I normally care to be awake (let alone running). After two months of training, I look forward to the day and dread it at once. I'm excited and nervous. I anticipate the relief of the finish, but dread the pain that will start the minute the race begins and evolve for about 3 hours until the finish.

As I've been training for this marathon, the parallels to life are almost cliche, but have become much more real to me. In the midst of a run, every moment my mind is calculating how much longer I have until the end. There is a constant negotiation of how much more my body can handle until the next break. A 13-mile run is only accomplished as a 3-mile chunk, then 2.5 mile chunk, then another 2-mile chunk, and so on. Then somehow, miraculously I find myself at the final lap. I think this half-marathon finds me at a point in my life where it reflects how I feel: You just gotta keep going.

Today my best friend's father passed away after more than a decade of on-and-off health complications. I heard the news and wept, though I've only met him a few times and last saw him years ago. It was partly knowing the loss my friend was feeling, or had been feeling through the years as her father's health declined. Perhaps all the time in my head while running has made me soft. Hell, the other day I found myself tearing up at mile 8 when "Bizarre Love Triangle" played on my iPod. I suppose the reward at the end of a hard-run race tastes that much more rich and real to me these days.

Either way, I feel sure that Lionel Hapuarachy has moved on to a better place. May he rest in peace.

Miracles

Since the miraculous Laker win on Friday, two friends have told me about good, interesting men initiating with them in totally normal, enjoyable ways, one friend has found the love of God in the midst of healing from a painfully broken marriage, and my boss agreed that I have too much work on my plate. Thank God for the signs of hope all around me. Duly noted: Anything is possible.

2010: A New Hope

When I was a kid, Halloween was my favorite holiday. Soliciting free candy at every door in the neighborhood is like a child's wild fantasy come true. Then I got a little older and that favorite holiday became Christmas. I wish I could say it was because of the true, deep meaning of Christmas in celebrating the birth of Jesus, but it wasn't. It was because it was the one day of the year I might get the things I had been begging for year round as presents under the tree.

But in more recent years, my favorite holiday has become New Year's Day. This is not just because of the long-standing tradition that has developed between me and my best friend, of throwing the best house party of the year (though that is certainly a part of it). It is because the closing of the year and beginning of a new one provides a natural moment to reflect on the year that was, breathe, and think with new hope and expectancy of the year that will be.

Today I initiated the new year at Staples Center. Just 5 minutes from my house, I've only been inside the resplendent bastion of downtown once before. But today, I got to go to my first Lakers' game. The first half, the boys were cold and barely able to keep a 15 point deficit to the Sacramento Kings. Outlook was not good. But by midway third quarter, Lakers were back in the game having narrowed the gap to 6 points. After teetering too and fro through the fourth, the score was 108-106 Kings with just 4 seconds left in the game. Victory seemed unlikely, especially with 2 free throws just given to the Kings.

But by a small miracle, those free throws missed and a 3-point shot from Kobe just .1 seconds before the buzzer, the result was a very unexpected win for the Lakers. The crowd was screaming, confetti flying, for about 5 minutes straight. It was a great way to start the year.

In 2009, a good friend was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, my parents went through a financial crisis for the first time in their lives, my mother went on anti-depression medication, and I found myself nursing a rejection wound for the second time from the same guy. But I'm learning to let go of the control I never had, to believe in the things beyond this world and the incomprehensibly good God behind it, and just plain how to hope -- for real. Damn it, if it wasn't one great year.

As I think about my hopes and resolutions for the new year, I can sum it up in tonight's game. The outlook may have been downright bleak at points, and even to the end, no one could be blamed for calling it a lost cause. But I believe the 3-point shots happen when you least expect it. And God knows how I can least expect it. So as the game for this new year begins, I've got my game face on for the seeming lost causes before that 3-point victory shot. And I plan to let myself enjoy it when it comes.