Frannie and Friday

Bursts of light. That’s how I described the clouded winter canopy, as I scribbled my thoughts on paper Friday morning. I woke up early to the soft tapping of rain and cozily sat beside our balcony door, gazing at the dark clouds dancing in the wind, sweeping gracefully along the skyline. While most Seattle mornings consist of a thick grey mass overhead, these fluffy and airy puffs of white moved along swiftly, hurrying to and fro. Pockets of light glittered in the dawn sky, as the clouds flew along freely. This morning was different, I could tell. Change was taking place—there was movement in the sky, and it was fantastic and beautiful to watch. 

In the days leading up to Friday last week, I felt overwhelmed, trapped and scared. Each of the weeks prior had brought news of immense hardship from family and friends. In shouldering this pain, along with our sense of security breached from recent theft, I was emotionally and physically raw. Then came the news about Ken’s biggest scholarship. We lost it—the money wouldn’t be coming, and evidently, that loss started a chain reaction of withheld funding. I didn’t understand what happened and neither did Ken. We were scared of what that meant for us. In haste, I restructured our entire budget and went into “survival mode” for a few days. No extra expenses. No extra giving. We had to buckle down and do it quickly. Last Monday, being in a place of fear and helplessness, I decided to start praying. Ken and I both did. Together. Separate. With others. I also started fasting. I gave up my need for comfort and security. Tangibly, I decided that I would fast desserts and sweets for the next month, until Christmas, so that every time I reached for physical comfort and satisfaction in dessert I would be reminded that instead, I needed to go to God in fulfilling my deeper longings. If you’re wondering what fasting has been like, it’s hard. Especially so, if you give up something that constantly vies for first place in your life. Food is like that for me. I go there first for comfort, and find immense pleasure in its constant companionship. That’s how I know it’s dangerous, and worth swapping out for more directed prayer time.

Besides our own attempts to meet with school advisers, counselors and administration officers, we asked our families, close friends and community group to pray for us. It was awesome. I felt genuinely supported and loved by the ladies in my Stephen Ministry group. They came alongside me, cried with me, and prayed for us. That God would give us hope, when it seemed so very distant.

We received our first ‘burst of light’ on Wednesday afternoon, when we met the sweetest, 60-year-old African-American lady, who works at the school office. She reminds me of my grandma—witty, sweet and fiercely persistent. I’ll call her “Frannie.” Frannie listened attentively to our story and how we were shocked that we didn't receive Ken’s engineering scholarship, especially when it was promised to us. She nodded often and focused on every word we shared. Frannie wanted to help us, it was obvious, and she told us that. She directed us to the next person we would need to talk to, a lady in the finance department who wouldn't be back in the office until the next day. We thanked her and said that we’d be back. Thursday, around 10 a.m., we returned to the finance department and were met with a big smile from Frannie. She welcomed us in and walked us to the financial lady who she thought would be able to help us. After 20 minutes, it was clear that the lady we were meeting with couldn't do anything. Something about how her hands were tied until the scholarship’s coding was changed. Without that electronic revision, no one could help us. She seemed quick to hurry us out of her office and directed us to yet another person.

At this point, Ken and I were disappointed and frustrated. Our time felt wasted. We started to wonder what the next person would say, and the next…How many times would we get the “run-around”, we wondered. But Frannie wouldn't let us despair. She saw our frowns, as we walked toward the door. She grabbed our attention by saying, “You don’t give up, you hear? You need to march into that department and believe that you are going to get that scholarship. You have to be optimistic.” And that was our ray of our hope. Frannie believed that change was possible and she was willing to rally for us. Ken and I turned to each other, encouraged, and ready for the next obstacle.

That Thursday afternoon, Ken knocked on doors and waited to meet with the department facilitators who would be able to help us. He made phone calls and was persistent in sharing his story. The next person he met with had to call another person, and then that person helped the first person change the computer coding. It’s a long, drawn-out process and I’ll spare you any more details. The praise is that Friday morning, the change was finalized. We would get our money. In just a few days, everything changed—for the better.

In reflecting over last week’s challenges, I am reminded of a story I’ve heard many times. It’s a story about a widow and a judge. The widow was a woman who by society’s views was quite helpless and perhaps fearful. She had an adversary and wanted justice for their wrongdoings. So she sought the help of the judge. The judge didn’t care about the widow and refused to help her day after day. But the widow, in persistence, would not give up. She kept seeking justice, with fierce determination. Finally, the judge granted her justice because he did not want her continual plea to wear him out. This story intrigues me. It speaks of a world that I am not entirely familiar with. A realm where persistence in prayer and bringing our requests before the Lord is honored. Faith, despite all odds, is commanded. On these words, I stand completely convicted and humbled. I want the faith and persistence of this widow. At the same time, I feel incredibly blessed with the series of events I’ve been privy to enter into lately. It is through these experiences, where I cannot make things happen on my own, that God is able to work. I’m giving him the space that’s rightfully His.

I treasure Frannie’s words to us last week. She reminded Ken and me of our call to be people of hope and faith. To never give up. Thank you, Frannie. This blog is dedicated to you, and the spark of hope that ignited our faith that God was working in our situation, even it when felt most bleak.


Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?” John 11:40

Dreaming like Daniel and the Fine Line Between Illusion & Truth

It felt so real. Those are the words that echo in my mind this cold November morning. Even with the heat cranked on high in our tiny one bedroom apartment, I feel a chill rush through my bones, as I recount a particular episode from last night. If I were to start backwards, it's 3:39 a.m. and I've just lept out of the comfort of my bed, in a state of urgency. I'm wide awake, as if everything instantly became clear. I'm on a mission. I've cracked the code, so to speak. I'm ready to brake free from the confines of my locked room. But reality swiftly sets in--it's pitch black, far from dawn, and I was only dreaming.

Now, let's start at the beginning.

Do you ever have those dreams where you wake up and you're positive that whatever just happened while your eyes were closed was, in fact, pure reality? It happened, I'm sure of it. I felt the bittersweet emotions, I tasted the tears that ran down my face and also laughed during the moments of overwhelming joy, I heard the voice of my friends, my husband--I know I did. That's exactly how my heart processed the details when I awoke today. I remember going to sleep a little after 9 p.m., when I finally got my pillow tucked under my head in the most ideal position. My breathing relaxed and I nodded off.

And that's when I woke up in another room.

The light in my new bedroom was muted. A bedside lamp to my right, flickered on and I could tell that something was a little off. I had been in this room before. It was the room at my grandmother's house where she'd make me take afternoon naps as a child. I'd lie on the twin size bed, twiddling my thumbs, wishing that I didn't have to take naps--naps were silly. But no, wait. It wasn't that exact bedroom. I'm not there, am I? I know--it's my dorm room at college! Junior year, Goodwin Hall. The same musty smell and cramped quarters. I didn't like that room very much either. Three girls sharing one room was a recipe for conflict. As I pace about my room, I notice qualities that remind me of other rooms I've lived in--my parent's upcountry Maui home, my Aunt's dark and chilly basement, all possessing distinct qualities that somehow have melded into this one room.

Suddenly, I don't want to be here. I want to go home, or at least somewhere safer. Too many difficult memories--pain, confusion, entrapment. As I walk over to the door to leave, it's locked. I start to panic and am met with a stifling sense of solitude. No one else is here. It's just me and all these memories, locked up. My eyes scatter about my surroundings. Old books, magazines, clothing, jewelry and favorite keepsakes line the bed, the dresser, the floor. I feel overwhelmed. It's a hoarder's paradise. All around me are possessions I've owned throughout the years. Items I once found essential--my favorite pair of earrings, my childhood journal, dolls I lost. An eerie sense of wonder takes hold of me. For a moment, I'm excited at all these "treasures" but the loneliness swiftly creeps in. I'm alone, in this room, trapped with this stuff.

It's not a goldmine, it's a prison.

My heart for these things begins to fade and I realize that I have to sort through them. I'm not sure why I come to this decision. But I do. And I act on it. One by one, I pick up each piece of jewelry and I place it in the trash. Looking back, I don't even know if there was a trashcan initially, but it appeared once I needed it. Gold and silver earrings went in the trash. Then the books, the magazines, the keepsakes--all sorted out and discarded. In what felt like seconds and also an eternity--everything was cleared. My bed was neatly made, the dresser and lampstand were empty, and a warmth permeated the space. I didn't feel so alone anymore.

At that moment, the door to my room opened and I noticed it was time to leave. The second I walked through the door, it was as if God whispered to me, "You made it. You are free. I am carrying you through a season of 'sorting' and all those things that you have locked up deep inside your heart are finally being sorted. And you can let them go, because I am doing a new thing. You don't need to hold on to them so tightly--I will give you what you need. Do not be afraid to let them go."

I'm crying now as I write this. There have been so many things that I have held on to over the years: pain, fear, insecurity--and also material items. But in Christ I can be free. I don't need to operate out of my past. I don't have to live in a world of false security, where the walls I create to protect me and my "treasure", instead obstruct me from experiencing true freedom.

Looking back, I'm not sure who opened the door or even if it was ever really locked from the outside. Perhaps it was locked from the inside and God allowed me to see that my choices were keeping me trapped in that place. I'm fascinated by the seemingly thin line between the illusion of freedom and true, unobstructed freedom. I want real freedom and the treasure of the Kingdom.

Lord, please continue to sort my heart. I want treasure that lasts.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." 

Matthew 6:19-21