Book Club: Lean In But Only If You Like Me

September 6, 2013

OK, dear readers. I don’t know about you, but chapter three was tough for me. As if wanting to succeed and having ambition isn’t taboo enough, now we women get to really get emotionally naked and talk about likeability. Well, let’s get naked.

Sandberg dives in with some personal anecdotes to put flesh on the idea that cultural norms tend to associate men with leadership qualities and women with nurturing qualities creating a double bind for women. If a woman lead, she’s basically screwed because if she comes off like a man then people don’t like her, and if she is nice people like her but she can’t get ahead or get anything done. (I know I oversimplified, but I’m not writing a book here.) I’d like to add that it is a double bind for White women. For women of color, there is a racial/cultural twist that adds to the complexity of the issue – it’s a braid.

If a Black woman raises her voice she can quickly become “that (fill in the blank with your synonym of choice) Black woman.”

If a Latina raises her voice she can quickly become “that (fill in the blank with your synonym of choice) Latina.”

If an Asian American woman raises her voice she can quickly become “that dragon lady.” I get to pick the description because this is me.

Sandberg doesn’t have to fight the stereotypes of geishas, those waitresses who can’t speak English, those nail techs at strip mall nail shops who speak in their foreign languages that make English-only-speaking customers worry if they are being made fun of (maybe for once it’s not about you), “I love you long time”, petite & subservient women who cover their mouths when they giggle. Sandberg isn’t straddling multiple cultures in the same way most women of color have to do, and if she does I wish she had included that in her book.

Her suggestions for overcoming the likeability issue is to own one’s success (p. 44), substitute “we” for “I” (p.47), and emote and quickly get over it (p.50). Again, easier said than done.

Let’s tackle emotions because I have a lot of them at any given moment. My dad says I wear all of my emotions on my face the moment I feel them. My mom has always joked that I am the crybaby of the family. When my younger sister was in trouble and getting disciplined, I would be the one crying. That being said, I still cry a lot and I’ve struggled with processing emotions appropriately.

Getting over it quickly isn’t always possible nor do I believe it is the best thing to do in all cases. Yes, sometimes it’s better to take a breath and carry on. Earlier this summer during a fabulous road trip to the East Coast another driver did not appreciate my reminder that the left lane is for passing and shared his ill-manicured middle finger with me, and I responded in kind. I really should’ve just muttered under my breath about the rules of the road and moved on.

But sometimes as a leader, as a friend, as a parent, I have the opportunity to take a breath, name the emotion, connect it to what is going on for me in the conversation. I can help others by explaining what may be obvious to me but confusing to the person watching me: I’m angry, frustrated, sad, disappointed, etc. and it’s difficult, confusing, hurtful, etc. And then instead of hijacking the meeting by addressing my emotion, I can release the meeting to move along with the understanding that this is where I am coming from. It may slow things down, but in a world where we are often misreading each others’ cues – whether it’s through email, tweets, Facebook posts, or in face-to-face conversations, I believe we actually do need to name those emotions more and more.

So after my older son called me out on my expression of anger and frustration, I explained to him that I was ticked off and frustrated but that I shouldn’t have flipped off the other driver. I should’ve been satisfied with honking my horn and flashing my high beams.

Sandberg goes on to say that women need to own their successes and essentially speak in more communal terms when it comes to succeeding, at least in the business world.

Asian Americans who have a grasp of their mother tongue or culture experience the stark contrast between White American Western individualism and their cultures of origin. My Korean name does not start with my given name. It starts with my family name, my last name first because it isn’t about “me” or “I’ but about “we” and “us.” When you go to a traditional Korean restaurant you may have your “own” main dish but all the banchan – the side dishes that fill the table – are meant to be shared.

The feedback many of us Asian Americans have heard is that we are not assertive enough, we don’t self-promote and talk about our successes. But as an Asian American woman if I get into a shouting match and match tone and posture with a male colleague during a simulation in a leadership seminar, I get a talking to about my anger, aggression, and emotion, even if I try to get over it it comes back in evaluations and folklore. The male colleague does not.

Women don’t shout and point fingers. Asian American women certainly don’t shout and point fingers. And Christian women of all shades don’t shout and point fingers.

So what’s a woman to do?

I do think that as women we need to better own our successes whether they are in the business world, in our communities, in our churches, in our homes. I think the wins are important to name, recognize, and celebrate not just for ourselves but for us, our friends and family. And we, as Christian women of all shades, need to bring an end to the Mommy Wars. There is too much in current pop culture that wants to chip away at love that endures and success that brings us closer to “thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” that can easily get lost as women argue about of working outside of the home versus working at home by focusing on our families. Success in our workplaces, in our friendships, in our marriages are worth leaning in to achieve, and I do believe that can come for both men and women in both the secular and the sacred.

What does that look like practically? For me it has meant owning my skills and talent for writing. I’m still figuring out some of the major details, but in the meantime I’m learning to say things like, “I am an author” without giggling. I am also making time to write for fun, to improve my craft, and to make some extra money while writing about things I am passionate about and believe furthering the conversations will bring us closer to kingdom come.

So what do you think? How difficult is it to own your own successes? Has success cost being liked? Do you like this post? Do you still like me?

🙂

Book Club: Lean In, You Fraud

September 4, 2013

I am an author.

I am an author.

It doesn’t matter which word I emphasize. It feels awkward. Fake. Or at least bit of a stretch. Maybe even lying. But it isn’t. Not really. I mean I’m not a full-time writer, and my blog doesn’t have a huge following. And I didn’t write an entire book. I just wrote two chapters of “More Than Serving Tea”.

When I say, “I am an author” I feel like a fraud. I feel like someone will figure out that being a co-author actually means “not an author”. I am afraid that my book doesn’t really count. Or worse, that what I wrote doesn’t count.

It gets so bad my editor, Al Hsu, who also is an author, has corrected me on more than one occasion, reminding me that my name is on record with the Library of Congress or something like that.

But (un)fortunately, I’m not alone. That unique version of self-doubt has a name – the impostor syndrome. Sheryl Sandberg writes about it in “Lean In”, chapter two: Sit at the Table, recalling a speech given by Dr. Peggy McIntosh from the Wellesley Centers for Women. In the speech, McIntosh explains many women feel fraudulent when praised or recognized for their achievements. Note, that it isn’t even praise or recognition for our potential that causes us women to feel like frauds. Even when we are recognized for our done deeds we feel like frauds. Forget ambition. How can a fake excel at anything?

Well that sucks.

I’m hoping there is a generational & cultural shift with my daughter’s and sons’ generation. They are perhaps too young to be the whiny, self-absorbed millennials who have been told they are special (please note attempt at sarcasm and hyperbole but rooted in a wee bit of truth), but I have been cautious and intentional with my hovering, praise, affirmation, umbilical cord-cutting, and recognition of their accomplishments and connecting that to not only their potential but to who God has created them to be, connecting the doing with their being.

Sandberg writes “the real issue was not that I felt like a fraud, but that I could feel something deeply and profoundly and be completely wrong.” (p. 32) For the up and coming generations the mistake might be that they feel deeply and profoundly capable of succeeding in whatever they want and be completely wrong because they have grown up being praised for every benchmark and awarded for showing up. I don’t have that problem.

My immigrant parents did not make it a habit of praising me because:

They didn’t want me growing up believing my accomplishments defined me or made me better than anyone else.
They didn’t want me to think I was the center of the universe because I wasn’t. The family was.
Showing up was the bare minimum, not special.
They didn’t want others to think they thought too highly of their own parenting or of the success of their child.
They spoke “Asian” where an indirect compliment like “Your teacher likes you.” could be translated into “You did a great job on that project, and the teacher recognized your effort and mastery of the material. I’m proud of you.”
They were busy surviving.

It wasn’t until I was well into my adulthood I recognized my parents were and are proud, but for those of us who fought to just fit in and be “American” the impostor syndrome, I believe, is not only connected to our accomplishments but to a deeper sense of not belonging, of being unwelcome and rejected despite our accomplishments. We feel like frauds to the core as we straddle two cultures and sometimes two languages and while we try to lean in and sit at the table we are also figuring out how to respond to people who ask us where we are from or tell us to go back to where we came from. And our fear of being “found out” as a fraud carries with it the weight of being identified as “the other” and jeopardizing the chances of all the other “others”. If someone like Sandberg has to bring her A+ game, where does that leave me? That is the part of the impostor syndrome Sandberg, as a White woman, doesn’t have to address. Am I disappointed that she doesn’t? Yes, but no more disappointed than when all the male authors I’ve read have ignored the gender and culture issue.

But these posts aren’t about getting stuck but about taking what I found a helpful book and getting dialogue started and sharing thoughts and advice. Sandberg gives a few pieces of advice I want us to think about.

“It sometimes helps to fake it” (p. 33). At face value, my Sunday School lessons kick in and scream “NOOOOOO!” As a Christian I am supposed to be honest and trustworthy not fake. Isn’t feeling like a fake part of the problem anyway? But I don’t think that is what Sandberg is talking about. She is talking about not relying solely on our feelings, which are important and valid but not always the complete truth of a situation. It’s like being married for 20+ years. There are many moments when I am not in love with Peter, but I have to choose through my actions with help of a mighty God to love. (And I know Peter has to do the same for me.) Perhaps Queen Esther’s decision to approach the King despite not having been called into his presence is another parallel. Did she walk in feeling completely confident? No, but she did it with as much as she could muster. As an Asian American woman who has grown up learning to swallow my suffering, there is a redemptive side to that task as I have learned that sometimes swallowing or pushing aside the fear, insecurities, and pain actually gives space for God to move in.
“There is no perfect fit when you’re looking for the next big thing to do” (p. 35). There is a danger in Christian culture to believe that God’s will is like a needle in a haystack or we are marionettes that God is puppeteering. We wait to find the perfect college, to get the perfect degree, to get the perfect job, to meet and marry the perfect spouse, to have perfect children at the perfect time with a perfect birth story, to live the perfect life. I’m pretty sure that Jesus was the only perfect person in the Bible. Everyone else’s story is messed up – adulterers, murderers, liars, cheaters. Many of the people we read about in scripture were not perfect fits – King David, Queen Esther, Rahab, and many others were chosen for roles they didn’t fit into and chose to take action despite who they were, what they had done, where they were. As an Asian American girl, I grew up mistakenly believing I had to be perfect in order to succeed, and there was a lot of fear in making the wrong choice. But as an Asian American woman I know that my ability to navigate cross-culturally is a strength that makes an imperfect fit exactly what I’ve learned to enter into.
“No one accomplishes anything alone.” (p. 38). One of the best parts of writing “More Than Serving Tea” was that it was a group effort. We all had our own chapters and assignments. We all hit our own writing walls. But we saw this as something special. Not all achievements are a group project, but Sandberg’s statement rings true. It was not good for Adam to be alone, and Adam and Eve were not created alone for God said, “Let us make human being in our image, in our likeness…” (Genesis 1: 26, TNIV). From the start we were created for community in community. As an Asian American I resonate with that deeply. My Western upbringing was about pulling myself up by my bootstraps, but reality has shown me that when I am humble enough to ask for help, wise enough to accept it, and brave enough to share space, influence, and power with others the craziest things are possible.

So, my dear readers, do you struggle with feeling like a fraud? Is there a phrase like “I am an author” that makes you feel like a fake? What has helped you overcome the impostor syndrome?

#SmartWomenofTwitter #25ChristianBlogsYouShouldBeReading #fail

August 28, 2013

I realize there are still humans who do not tweet, post status updates, Instagram, Snapchat, or remotely care about any of that stuff. But just because it doesn’t matter to you doesn’t mean it doesn’t have an impact on the World. Sometimes ignorance isn’t bliss. It just keeps you in your bubble. And even if you do dabble in that world, you know it moves incredibly fast so it would not be shocking to me if you have no idea what the hashtags in the title of this post mean.

Fast Company, a magazine focused on tech, business, and design, produced on Tuesday a list of the 25 smartest women on twitter. Again, you may not care, but it is a reflection of what is going on in the world.

And on the same day came this list of 25 Christian blogs you should be reading came out with some fanfare.

The first list had no women of color. None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. #fail

The second list had two. Christina Cleveland and Maggie Johnson. #fail

Now, today is the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington. The Dr. Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke of a dream when people would not be judged by the color of their skin but of the content of their character.

So does it matter that out of 50 names of influential people 50 years after Dr. King’s speech that only two are not White? Should I not care?

Both lists had me spending some time online responding, reading, lamenting, and hoping that despite the sheer amount of virtual noise that exists in our cloud-supported virtual world there would be spaces to learn from one another. I can still hope, can’t I?

Both lists also elicited a response. The twitterverse responded with #SmartAAPIWomenofTwitter #SmartBlackWomenofTwitter #SmartLatinaWomenofTwitter (isn’t that redundant?) #SmartNativeWomenofTwitter as a way to self-promote women from those communities who are engaging the virtual world and to draw attention to the blatant lack of diversity in Fast Company’s list.

Similarly, Christian bloggers of color interacted via tweets, emails and Facebook wondering how and why the Evangelical church finds teaching about diversity and inclusion easier than the actual practice of it. And ironically some of us blamed ourselves for nominating each other, voting up each other’s blogs, self-promoting and promoting one another.

Why is that important? Because even in this day and age, 50 years after the march on Washington women of color are invisible, but because of technology there is an opportunity to draw the attention of a broader audience. Because even in this day and age, a high-profile publication or an influential leader can create a list of leaders and believe that they are judging people by their character instead of recognizing the limitations and cultural blind spots of their own networks, readers, and methods. Because I want to expect more from the “experts”, especially those who come from my Evangelical tribe and call me a sister in faith.

So I ask you again, dear reader, does it matter that out of 50 names of influential people 50 years after Dr. King’s speech that only two are not White?

Book Club: Lean In & If I Wasn’t Afraid

June 24, 2013

Female accomplishments come at a cost. Sheryl Sandberg in Lean In, p. 17

What would you do if you weren’t afraid? p. 25

I’m finally at chapter one. Now, that isn’t to say I won’t jump back to the introduction.

Working in vocational ministry for 15 years as a married mother of one, two, and then three has come with great joy, transformation and cost. It’s easier to celebrate the joy and transformation, but it has not served me to dismiss the cost of pursuing this particular call as an Asian American Christian woman.

In the eyes of most of my family I still do not have a real job; as an Asian American woman “family” does not (if ever) mean my nuclear family. It means FAMILY – nuclear, of origin, and in-law with varying generational depths spanning continents and time. Despite working 40+ hours in this faux-job, the individual funding model used to raise support does not do me any favors. Traditional networks for missionary support require involvement in traditional evangelical networks from which I do not come from.

In the eyes of the Asian, and particularly the Korean-, American evangelical church in the Midwest I am a bit of a anomaly, which is a polite way of saying I don’t fit. It ties back to vocational ministry not being a real job. I am not a pastor, nor am I a pastor’s wife. I am not a youth director, children’s pastor or women’s pastor. I am not credentialed – no MDiv, no M anything (not even Mrs. since I didn’t take my husband’s last name when we married), no ordination. We women are making strides, but one of my flaws is my impatience.

And there has been a cost to my husband and family. Imagine our horror when a pastor met privately with my husband about my behavior. Actually, I wasn’t surprised, which is the horror of it all.

It’s not all bad, not all horrible, but at a recent book club discussion I did share with my fellow readers and women that I am a bit tired of blazing trails. It gets lonely. It gets hard, confusing, and exhausting.

Which is where part of Sandberg’s motivation for her book comes in to nudge me back.

What would I do if I wasn’t afraid? Actually, the question for me goes back a step. Why and of what am I afraid of? My faith should inform me. The Lord is my shepherd, and I lack nothing. The psalmist writes the same Lord “delivered me from all my fears” .

I am afraid of failing. Of success. Of disappointing others. Of trying too hard to please others. Of losing myself.

But if I wasn’t afraid, what would I do?

When I wasn’t afraid I managed to repel off of a mountain face in Colorado. I helped write a book. I told my husband to get his mother out of the delivery room. I asked a stranger if she was going to be OK because the young man she was with was yelling at her. I told people I was still sad, months after a miscarriage and years after my youngest child almost died. I asked for a brief leave of absence from work when things were getting emotionally difficult.

The Lord is my shepherd.

What are you afraid of? What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

Book Club: Leaning In Into the Unknown

May 16, 2013

My husband just dropped me off at the airport. I haven’t seen my daughter all day. My two sons put themselves to bed. At least, I think they did.

I’m leaning in, and I have no idea what I am doing. I wish I had a clearer picture, but I don’t.

Sojourners and its founder Jim Wallis wanted to invest in a group of emerging leaders – not emerging as in the emerging church but emerging as in developing, in process, growing. I am honored to be a part of this group, and from the initial invitation I have been challenged to reconsider my presence, privilege, and power. I have asked myself what a suburban wife of one, mother of three is doing in a room with national leaders in social justice, advocacy, and public policy. I am not a pastor, social justice worker, founder of anything.

But apparently those weren’t the only qualifications. I continue to wrestle with the imposter syndrome, wondering when someone will figure out I actually DON’T belong in he room.

Have you ever felt that way?

But here I am waiting for my flight to D.C. – the last flight out today so I could catch my son’s last middle school band concert and still make it in time for the morning session.

My husband, as usual, told me I had to do this. And since he hears this so rarely…

He was right. I had to do this. Sandburg’s big picture message for women is that we shouldn’t take ourselves out of the game until we have to. That means silencing self-doubt, even when it’s REALLY LOUD. It means listening to God and knowing the talents and gifts He has given us are to be stewarded and developed, not buried, ignored, diminished, or disregarded.

I’m scared. I’m intimidated. I’m confused. I’m excited. I’m open to learning, failing, and leaning in.

Is it OK to admit all of those things?

Will you still like me? Wink, wink.

Book Club: Lean In & the Dirty “A” Word

May 11, 2013

Ambition.

Good Christians usually don’t talk about ambition. Maybe we call it “holy ambition” because if we add “holy” it makes it OK. I’ve read some of the Christian response to “Lean In”, and in a nutshell my take is that we Christians are uncomfortable with ambition. I’m afraid, however, that perhaps we have mistaken humility as the antithesis of ambition.

And as a result Christian women maybe even more uncomfortable with ambition. I’m uncomfortable talking about it with Christian women until we’ve established some level of safety. I need to know they won’t judge me. That they won’t think I don’t love my children or my husband or my gender because I am considering applying for a promotion.

Sheryl Sandberg is in your face about it.

“This book makes the case for leaning in for being ambitious in any pursuit,” p. 10 (see, still in the intro!)

Any pursuit. Hmmmm.

As Christian woman I have found it much more acceptable to be ambitious on the home front. Live for your kids and husband, perhaps in that order, because your husband isn’t around during the day and part of the evening, but that’s another chapter. Keep a clean and orderly home. Buy, make, grow, or raise the best, healthiest what-would-Jesus-eat food for your family. Be crafty and a wise steward of money. Be a godly wife and mother.

And that works well, particularly if you are married with children, and that life is something you want and you and your husband willingly agree to.

But not all of us Christian women want that. I want some of that, but I also want to work outside of my home. I enjoy teaching, preaching, speaking, and training. I love it, really. I enjoy writing, and I want to do more of it because (and I say this in a hushed voice) I think I’m good at it. I enjoy developing those skills as much as I enjoy hearing my husband unload the dishwasher (he really is doing that right now) after I’ve whipped up an amazing meal (that I didn’t do tonight).

My Christian Asian American parents helped me pay for college, and I enjoy stewarding that gift by also stewarding my gifts of leadership outside of the home. But I know that they have mixed feelings about my sister being a stay-at-home mom after getting a degree in business and about the amount of travel I choose to take on even though I have a husband.

I just don’t know if it’s OK to say that I have ambitions outside of my home. My home life ambitions have been affirmed in Church. My professional ones? Not so much.

Is it OK to tell people I have ambitions? Do you tell people you have ambitions? Would you describe yourself as ambitious?

Book Club: Lean In & the Dilemma of Self-promoting

May 10, 2013

“A 2011 McKinsey report noted that men are promoted based on potential, while women are promoted based on past accomplishments.” Sheryl Sandberg, “Lean In” p. 8.

I don’t know if I will ever be able to get past the introduction.

Fortunately for me, I didn’t understand the real world in high school though I was desperate to get there. High school can be/was a difficult place for those not in the “in” crowd (though not even some of the cool kids back then would be able to fit into Abercrombie’s sizing, IMHO). But I had a few teachers (and a few friends) who saw this late-bloomer for what she was – full of potential.

The speech team coach asked me to stop by after school to talk with me about my future. He told me there was no future for me if I kept trying the Dramatic Duet event, but he had an idea. He heard me give a class council speech, and he wanted me to compete. I needed a lot of help, but he saw potential. And I drank that forensics punch like it was water in a desert. Where did that get me? Scholarship money and the confidence and skills to speak in front of a crowd…and get paid to do it.

Potential worked fine in high school, but in the real world women need more than potential to get that promotion. Women need deeds done.

Apparently I start a step behind by being a woman.

And for fun I will throw down the race card. I suspect in many places I take another step back because I am an American of Asian descent. (SPOILER ALERT: Sandberg does not directly address race and ethnicity in her book.)

Having a mentor, advocate, and sponsor will help, but all of those are easier to come by if you are a man. And once a woman has managed her potential, connected with a mentor, advocate, and/or sponsor, and started accomplishing things you finally have a chance.

See?! I’m already feeling internal tension, and I’m just writing about the introduction?!?!

Because somewhere along the journey where we all, men and women, need to self-promote. How else will anyone know what you are doing, what your accomplishments are? But what do you do when you’ve been taught and told to do the exact opposite? Christians need to be humble. Asians are taught not to put yourself above others. Modern women grew up being told all sorts of things, often conflicting things about what makes you a “good” woman. Asian American women may not be valued as much as men within their own families as well as within the culture. Asian Americans are told not to stick out, stand out, brag, or boast. As a Christian Asian American woman, any combination draws a short stick.

So…what say you, fine readers? How have you experienced this in your professional life? Have you known men to be promoted on potential while you need to wait to accomplish? How have you developed your potential into accomplishments?

I’ll add more, but you go first.

Another Lesson on White (Christian) Privilege From Cleveland

May 9, 2013

“I want everyone to know that the acts of the defendant is not a reflection of the Puerto Rican community here and in Puerto Rico.” Cleveland Chief Assistant Prosecutor Victor Perez, at a press conference announcing initial charges against Ariel Castro.

When you are White, you never have to apologize for what another White person does, especially the really, really, really bad stuff. That is White privilege.

If you are White in America you are assumed to be an American. Not a U.S. citizen. Not naturalized. Not a legal resident of “fill-in-the-blank” descent. Just American. That is White privilege.

If a young White American bombs a federal building killing more than 160 people or guns down 20 elementary school children and 6 adults, no White American, male or female, in fear of retaliation, gets in front of the media and apologizes for White people. No officials during a press conference remind the audience that the acts of the defendant are not a reflection of White America. That is White privilege.

The kidnapping/rape/sick-to-your-stomach case in Cleveland is both unbelievable and hopeful. I desperately want more hopeful. I hope people like Charles Ramsey are in every neighborhood. I hope more missing children are found. I hope for justice and healing.

But I don’t know what to feel after hearing Maria Castro-Montes’ apology on behalf of the entire Castro family. I don’t know what is appropriate after hearing Cleveland’s chief assistant prosecutor address the pall of suspicion that falls over an entire community because of one person’s actions. (BTW, I can’t find a link to Perez’s comment I use at the start. I heard it on NPR this morning.)

Anger? Confusion? Disappointment? Resignation?

Why aren’t law enforcement officers and neighborhood religious leaders in front of the media apologizing for failing these three women, their families, the neighborhood? The women and a child were enslaved in their community. This didn’t happen in Puerto Rico. This happened in Cleveland. In America.

When news of a shooting on the campus of Virginia Tech started poring out, I remember emails and calls from colleagues and friends. We held our breath until the identity of the shooter was confirmed. And then we kept holding our breath. Koreans and Americans of Korean descent apologized. Young Asian American men were told in hushed voices and in knowing looks to lay low for a bit – retaliation doesn’t necessarily distinguish between Korean American and, say, Chinese American. We felt under suspicion by the way media coverage used words to distinguish, differentiate, and define, reminding us that we were actually the “Others”.

I can’t do this turmoil in my heart justice. I can’t. I can’t believe Amanda Berry, Gina DeJesus, and Michelle Knight were enslaved and hidden in the middle of a neighborhood. I am amazed at their courage and at the story of their freedom. I am thankful Charles Ramsey didn’t ignore a woman’s scream for help. And I can’t stand that Ramsey’s past became part of the story and his words are becoming a minstrel show. I can’t stand that Perez felt it necessary and then publicly distanced an entire community from one person’s sins.

It’s only in God’s presence I can know deeply in my soul that my Asian-ness, what I often feel is my other-ness, is a reflection of God’s image. It is part of the plan. Just a part of the whole. We are all human, created male and female, in God’s image. Connected. Castro’s sin isn’t mine or Perez’s or anyone in the Puerto Rican community, but we are connected to one another through our humanity and our brokenness. We all sin.

In that way, my disappointment lies mostly with Christian leaders who stay silent on the issues of racial and social injustice, claiming those issues are not the gospel. How can what is happening to my brothers and sisters of any race or ethnicity not be a part of me and a part of how Jesus’ Good News changes the broken into wholeness? How can we as believers not come alongside Perez and Castro-Montes and say this isn’t about you being created in God’s image, your ethnicity and your race, but is about a broken majority culture our Church has both ignored and embraced?

That, my friends, is White Christian privilege.

Book Club: Lean In & #firstworldproblems

May 8, 2013

“But knowing that things could be worse should not stop us from trying to make them better.” Sheryl Sandberg, Lean In, p. 5

“It could always be worse” has never been a salve for my soul. Knowing that someone is suffering more than I am doesn’t make me feel better. It usually makes me feel worse. The #firstworldproblems meme meant to be a bit cheeky, snarky and thoughtful (?) makes me think I spend too much time online and not enough time actually trying to change the things I can change.

There are the little things, the personal things I can change. Turn that frown upside down. Go to bed at a decent time. Walk to the library. Recycle. Reuse. Compost. Garden.

But what are the things that require a bit more heavy lifting? Sandberg’s book has gotten me thinking about leadership and the many venues in which a woman’s leadership can play out. Where do we see the problems and then choose to make the effort to make them better? Certainly women choosing to lead doesn’t just mean pregnant women get special parking (though that would’ve been great when I was pregnant with my first child), right?

In my evangelical faith circles, I have to dance this complex dance of affirming God’s will, working within cultural and organizational boundaries/rules/expectations, being encouraging as well as challenging, blessing others to make choices I would never make, asking for the blessing for choices I make that others would never make, and making sure it is all done in prayer, reflection, community, and humility. Sandberg hints at and takes some shots at complexity because she chooses to bring her gender and life stage into play, but in the end many of the solutions are appropriately business-like – cut and dry, you will either choose to lean in or not. After all of the late night conversations over tears and tissues with girlfriends and female colleagues about the challenges of leading while wearing a bra, I appreciate reading a woman’s voice telling me “we can dismantle the hurdles in ourselves today” (p. 9).

So, who are the women who are making things better? Who are the women you all look at examples of this?

I can think of several. Nikki Toyama-Szeto. Joanna Lee. Janet Cho. Jessica Lynn Gimeno. They are just some of the women I look to because they are doing more than laughing over #firstworldproblems and living out Jesus’ prayer in their spheres of influence: Your Kingdom come, your will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven.

In Times Like These We Are All Americans. Not Really. Let’s All Be Human.

April 17, 2013

By the time I finish editing this post, the name of the third victim killed in the Boston Marathon bombing will be making its way around the interwebs. Look at how the news media writes about her, her country. Please take a look at the comments on those stories. Maybe you will be surprised. I’m hoping to be surprised by our humanity, but so far not so much.

Because in times like these, we are actually not all Americans. Tragedy, despite what newscasters might have us believe, can often be quite divisive. I’m well aware of the many random acts of kindness, and how Bostonians literally opened up their homes and shared their resources. But when you heard about the bombing, did you think, even for a moment, “I hope the perp isn’t (fill in the blank with your choice of race, ethnicity, citizenship, etc.).”? I did. Remember Virginia Tech. That was only six years ago. The South Korean government apologized on the shooter’s behalf.

In times like these, the “other” is always to blame. Don’t forget the erroneous reports about a Saudi national being held for questioning. Unless you are an American, and dare I say look “American”, your involvement, your presence may be called into question. There were plenty of people on the scene that looked like Timothy McVeigh or Terry Nichols. One comment on a news article read: “…we have enough problems without involving the Chinese.”

But the Chinese are involved. In fact, the world is involved. As far as I know, the Boston Marathon draws an international running community together. And she was there to watch, just like thousands of other fellow human beings.

She was a Chinese graduate student at Boston University, not much older than my own daughter, and very much like many of the college and university students I interact with through my work with InterVarsity Christian Fellowship. In fact, before turning on the news I knew through Facebook this young woman had attended an InterVarsity graduate student fall conference. She had friends. She had a roommate. She was known. And she was loved.

This morning I heard a talking head on the television say that her name had not yet been released because her parents had not yet told her grandparents. Her parents were concerned the grandparents would not be able to handle the news.

In a culture like ours, where free speech and an individual’s right to bear arms like a battalion headed into war are sacred, where news and misinformation are often confused for one another, where the news cycle never stops on any front, it may seem odd to want to keep such important, personal, yet devastating news from loved ones when people are wondering “who is the third victim”. But for Eastern culture, familial ties run deep and are visceral. Perhaps it is because we in America expect to see a grieving loved one bravely face the cameras or give the media a quote or statement. We respect the grief, but we want to be allowed to be a part of it. But for this young woman’s family, the grief might just physically overcome the grandparents. Or perhaps, her activities here could call her entire family into question under a government in a culture that seems so unlike “ours”.

We may never know all of the details of her life, but that shouldn’t make her less human, less a victim, less important. I do not know if she and I shared a faith in Jesus, but in times like these I don’t care whether or not she was an American. She was my sister, bearing the image of God just as the unnamed Saudi national, Martin Richard and Krystle Campbell.

May the Lord have mercy on us all.

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