Discovering Home: Thoughts on Visiting Maui & Buying a House in Alaska

The soft glow of my light blue vintage-style “Hawaii 50^th State” lamp beckons my thoughts back to two weeks ago, when Ken and I visited my family on Maui, where natural light and warmth gently nudged me awake each morning, rather than the multi-purpose lamps I now have scattered throughout our new home. If I pause long enough from typing, I can almost hear the sound of the myna birds and coqui frogs as they bellow their morning song. My senses are suddenly overpowered once again by the fresh scent of Plumeria flowers and my heart draws me back to Maui; the tropical landscape that I’ve called home for all these long years. It’s like I’m there:

Tiny crickets chime in on key with their grand cacophony of whistle-like humming. A sweet yet sticky aroma hangs in the air and the intense moisture from Maui’s humidity clings to my skin—the dryness I experienced in Alaska is now covered in nature’s healing balm. I recognize that in this climate my skin is most comfortable.

Only a few minutes past 6 a.m. and I’m recharged and refreshed from a good night’s sleep—we had the windows open and the fresh, cool trade winds kept us at just the right temperature the whole night. Mashed overripe bananas are the “perfect” accompaniment to the oatmeal muffins I start making for breakfast. Rich, buttery bread encased in a lightly toasted crumb holds the moist banana center in a perfect balance. Ken and I sit down at our family friends’ giant marble slab table and dig in to our local farm-fresh eggs medium-fried alongside freshly-baked organic apple-banana bread, made from bananas my mom picked from trees outside the house I grew up in. This is a slice of Heaven, I think to myself, as the intoxicating blend of bananas and butter smells just like Komoda’s stick doughnuts—my all-time favorite dessert from Makawao town’s local bakery.

But alas, these comforting memories of the place where I grew up and visited recently, remind me that I am not on Maui anymore. I’m here in Alaska, specifically the main city of Anchorage, where temperatures hover above zero degrees this time of year. There are no coqui frogs outside—at least whose song I can recognize, there are instead dogs of varying breeds interspersed throughout our neighborhood, whose frustrated howls replace those friendly morning songs. And the light that now fills my vision is a rather muddled hue, not the welcome daily sun that rises along the Pacific islands.

I find myself reminiscing with joy and fascination at the romantic childhood I was blessed to experience. I am from Maui, and that is a gift. It is something I take with me wherever I go.

My sisters and I grew up in a bucolic setting, among acres of green fields home to spotted cows, Billy goats, and riding horses. Adventures abounded for us as children living in a small town on the slopes of Haleakala. My friends and I fought countless battles involving ripe guavas (and some unfortunately, not ripe enough), and would hide out in those barbed wire fenced fruit lots, climbing trees and watching cars pass. Not a care in the world, except of course how we’d love to climb the social ladder at school or be noticed by our crush. My best friend Katheryn and I would spend hours after school dreaming about our futures and how we both wanted to travel the world. Success in our careers always seemed secondary to the spirit of adventure. I suppose this love for seeing the world and immersing myself in new cultures and climates is a big part of how I am finding satisfaction in places that can feel very foreign at times.

Visiting Maui on this past trip helped me understand how very divided my heart has felt over the past 10 years. When I left for college in 2003, I felt a wave of intense joy and also grief that I carried with me throughout the past decade. It was a combination of mismatched feelings that included wanderlust, the fear of settling down, anxiety over missing out (“FOMO” as my friend Jen calls it), and the hope that there will always be something more beautiful to see in this wide expanse of world—I just need to find it. I suppose that for many people, growing up on Maui (or wherever they are from) already seems like Heaven, so why ever travel or move? That makes sense and yet, it was never my calling—to stay. I believe that God placed these desires to travel and see the splendor of His creation on my heart at a young age and tangibly provided the means to fulfill my dreams in this way.

In the past, I think I’ve shared how at age 14, I traveled to Australia on a crew team competing in the World Canoe Sprints. Then, at age 16, I was given the opportunity to be an exchange student to Okinawa, Japan. Since then, I’ve traveled throughout the United States and Canada and visited all the places in Europe previously scribbled on my Bucket List. God truly met me in allowing me to see the world and learn about people and the places they live. My overwhelming sense of curiosity was tempered through these trips although I always felt a sense of longing to be back on Maui—the only place I truly felt at home. I suppose that I never felt rooted anywhere else. Throughout my travels, the places I slept were never ‘home’, they were just a bed (or a floor) where I could rest my head at night. I always missed my family and the illusive feeling of being settled and safe.

But I think that is starting to change. This visit to Maui, I noticed something. Something small and almost indescribable.

It was something in me that had changed.

While I love Maui and find my heart at home being near my family and the sights, sounds, and tastes of island living, I have a growing awareness that I am safe and at home regardless of my present circumstances or physical location. Home is not a place that I can pinpoint on a map; rather it’s a feeling of being rooted in my faith and my marriage, coupled with the desire to press in and find community wherever God has me. Right now, home is in Alaska where God recently provided Ken and me with our first house that we officially own. Already it feels like home, even though we barely have furniture to fill the space and can find multiple things worth ‘fixing’ or ‘replacing’ or ‘updating.’ Christ is doing something in me and in us, and it’s so exciting. He’s showing me that I’m safe in Him and at home—a place I’ve longed to be my entire life.

Praise God.

Muddy Boots: Recounting God's Faithfulness

Squish, squash, goes the sound of my rubber boots as I wade into the knee-deep mud at my grandparents’ farm, I read aloud to the 20-some classmates in my senior Advanced Placement English class on Maui, legs buckling and hands shaking, as I grip my essay with both hands. I’m nervous, obviously. It’s hard to be the center of attention when so much is at stake. My English teacher just moments before had told our class that she came across one of the best college essays she’s heard and that it beat out all other essays for the highest score. Anxious to hear whom the writer was, combined with the excitement of it being my 17th birthday that very day, I stopped chatting with my high school best friend and gave our teacher my full attention.

Maile, your writing is beautiful. Can you come up to the front of the class and read your essay to us?

My eyes shift across the room, glancing at my classmates, as I awkwardly fumble out of my chair.

Ok, I think I can do that, I replied, after what felt like a long period of silence.

I then shared the story I had lovingly crafted as a tribute to my grandparents’ taro farm and the magical childhood I experienced while working in the fields there—planting and harvesting fruits and vegetables, playing in the mud and climbing trees with my dear cousin Isaac, and learning the invaluable skills that my family ingrained in me during those times: a strong work ethic, diligence, reverence, and respect. We all worked together toward a common goal.

It was during these times that I grew in my love for adventure and exploration. I remember with fondness, the few times I snuck away from farmhouse chores with Isaac, to play hide and seek amidst the thick grass or run at full speed through the macadamia nut fields, pretending that we were being chased by robbers or some other form of evil. With a tinge of guilt, I can still hear Uncle Francis calling for us in a loud shout: “Maile! Isaac! Get back here—you have to do dishes! No running from chores!”

But his voice is hindered by the growing distance between us and him, and so Isaac and I run faster, laughing breathlessly, away from certain punishment.

It is stories that like these, which the Lord has been calling to my mind the past few days. Perhaps it’s because I turned 28 years old last Tuesday, and the life I envisioned for myself as a child has turned out to be very different than I expected. In reality, it’s so much better.

As a child, I dreamed that I would travel the world and live for God with abandon. I wanted to explore the wide, open terrain of this marvelous world and I wanted to learn about other people and hear their stories. But I wasn’t sure how that would all play out. I grew up on a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean with very limited means. All I knew was how to work hard for the things I wanted and so I fiercely committed to my studies, in hopes of going to college on the mainland, far from home. During high school, I took as many advanced classes as I could. I also chose Japanese as my four-year language because it seemed like the most competitive option.

My work ethic carried over to other aspects of my life as well. Through rigorous training and perseverance, I won a seat on the crew team at the 2000 World Canoe Paddling Championships in Australia. This was my first time oversees and I was only 14 years old, competing in what was the Olympics of outrigger paddling.

My sophomore year of high school brought many more “God experiences” where I felt the Lord cheering me on through blessing after blessing. I can picture this moment clearly: I’m 15 years old, sitting alone with my cafeteria lunch tray, huddled in the farthest stall of the girl’s bathroom, praying for God to prove Himself faithful in my life. To help me get to college, through whatever means. Later that day, I found out that my friend and I won the title of “Best Senior Research Project” at the Maui County Science & Engineering Fair, the top prize awarded. We then won a scholarship at the Hawaii State Science Fair and were invited to compete at the International Science Fair, a top honor. At that same time, I was selected through an extensive essay and interview competition to take part in a selective exchange program to Okinawa, Japan. It was the summer of my sophomore year in high school and I was now headed to Japan for a month of total cultural immersion.

Looking back, I can see how God has been answering my prayers all along—prayers for adventure, travel, and personal growth. I have been a part of so many other stories, beautiful moments where God came through for me in abundant ways. I’ve won multiple essay contests in high school and college, where the cash prizes were just what I needed to support my college dream. But the stories I wrote were never just my own; they were glimpses into my childhood, shaped by difficult times as well as moments of rejoicing, and some stories were not even mine at all, in that they were shared experiences where I came in contact with other people who taught me something that I hadn’t known before—and I wrote it down, only to find out later that it spoke so deeply to something within us all. I was privy to others’ secrets and hidden sorrows, which formed the basis for my understanding of how to write and do it well.

I guess I’m sharing all these things because God recently put it on my heart to “Call to mind His faithfulness.” This morning I’m reminded of how God has blessed me immeasurably, through these blessings I’ve shared and also through the times of pruning and trial, which I’ve experienced in great measure lately. My cousin Isaac and his wife recently shared these verses with us: “And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us,” Romans 5:2-5.

What I’m challenged by in these verses is that we are called to ‘glory in our sufferings’ because it means that God is working on us. I think I’m surprised when I hear this, because along with our society, I’m tempted to commend those who look ‘glamorous’ and ‘perfect’ on the outside, who do so without any struggle on their part. Facebook is a clear example of this. I suppose this blog has been, in many ways, my response to that lifestyle. Rather than modeling only the ‘good things’ in my life, I’ve wanted to give an honest peek into how God is shaping me in both the good and the hard times. Nothing is wasted in His Kingdom. And yes, if I allow Him, God will gift me with suffering and the ability to truly enter in, and experience that He is enough—far better than anything else.

As I close today’s journal-like entry, I’m grateful for a husband who is loving and kind and cherishes the opportunity to grow together. We’ve experienced much loss and grief these past couple months, and there have been times recently when I’ve compared our lives and our marriage to the ‘beautiful people who are doing amazing things’ I see online or hear about in friend circles.

But then, as Ken reminded me a couple days ago, “They might be missing out on the opportunity to grow, and I want to grow.” He continued, adapting a Dave Ramsey quote: “I want to live as a person of discipline so that later I can be a person of maturity and strength.”

My husband wants to do the hard work now, instead of pretending that everything is just great on the surface. He’s committed to God’s best, and right now, God’s best is for us to grow into people who are more like Him, embodying love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control—the fruits of the Spirit that oftentimes grow best in the soil of adversity and suffering, through perseverance.

Transplanting ourselves in Alaska from Seattle has been an incredible opportunity to grow. As I meander through flooded trails along a nearby lake in this wide, open state, I can hear my new navy blue, rubber Bogs slosh loudly as my feet rise and fall in the deep mud patches.

Squish, squash.

I’m reminded of my childhood, and how through hard work, a desire to grow, and trust in a God who is greater than me, I’ve gotten to this place.

My Journey Into Darkness: Finding Hope When It's Gone Missing

My body is on fire. My legs, arms and lower back are burning up. I didn't realize that taking a little more than a week off from exercise would feel this way. But blame and shame are two words that I'm trying to extract from my mental repertoire of go-to personal phrases. I was sick off-and-on for two weeks, and I even worked out half that time. Then, we had the week of Thanksgiving officially off at boot camp. And now, here I am, back in the saddle. I probably pushed myself too hard. 

The way I feel right now physically parallels my mental and spiritual fatigue these past two months. Since my post recalling our theft situation, our apartment storage locker has been broken into twice. The culprit broke the door latch and lock off both times, surprisingly leaving everything inside. We had to pay for replacement locks and door latches and are still paying for the piece of mind that the burglar took and continues to dangle over our heads. Then, a few weeks ago, I found out that a dear family friend committed suicide. A week later, their spouse committed suicide. With my Stephen Ministry training, I have been trying my best to deal with the emotional earthquake that rattled my family and friends with this information. It's hard. I don't know how to describe it better than that. I am still hurting. That's how I respond when people ask me how I'm doing. It's so confusing. I say that phrase when people give me their best "advice" about how to deal with something as traumatic as suicide. Beyond these situations (and a few others that I will spare you), we recently found out that a major scholarship Ken had won is now forfeit because of his current military benefits. That blow came last week and I'm dealing with the aftershock. Early this summer, we structured our entire monthly budget around those funds and have been living off them, in a state of expectation. Mind you, Ken and I are committed to living frugally and within our means, and well, those means were promised to us. Shock, anger, confusion--yes, we felt all of those, together and separately, in questioning how we will make ends meet these coming months. Our new budget, which I started mapping out this morning, is now 1/3 of our previous monthly budget. That means that we either need to cut back on 2/3 of our expenses to balance out or draw from savings to meet the need. No matter how I crunch numbers, it's frustrating and discouraging. Without going into further detail, something needs to change. I'm realizing that. But it's so hard. 

As Christmas approaches, I'm starting to understand better how the holidays are a struggle for many families. There's so much pressure to buy and receive lots of gifts. But what if you can't afford that? Is that what Christmas is about? Also, what happens when you're really tired of giving and just want to receive--something, anything? Especially from those who seem to require the most. According to the popular "5 Love Languages" book, I give love and receive love by giving gifts. That explains why I love picking out the perfect gift for a friend. It makes my day. Likewise, when someone gives me a gift that is well thought out and meaningful, I feel loved. The reverse is true when I'm not remembered or given something trite. I'd rather not receive anything, if that's the case.

I guess I mention these things because today I'm grappling with them. There's lots of tension in my mind between easy and hard times, giving and receiving, living faithfully or fearfully. My life is a combination of all these things and I'm struggling to find hope, when I keep being met with disappointment. Deep down, there's a spark of faith that God will meet us in this hard place but I have to keep praying that the ongoing darkness with not snuff it out. And maybe, just maybe, there's a brighter Light somewhere in this place that will be worth the journey into the darkness...

Fall Musings on Friendship and Community

Deep breathe in, followed by a calm and relaxed exhale. I can feel the cool air entering my lungs. My chest expands and then collapses back as warm air retreats from my lungs. It's a brisk afternoon, with a bright grey hue blanketing the sky. Here I am, huddled part ways under my thick down-like comforter, pillows propped up behind me, staring out my bedroom window at the tall tree shrouded in ruddy brown and yellow hues. It's so cozy inside, watching the fall colors dance in the wind.

After an influx of visitors these past few weeks (and even months), I am feeling the need for a little relaxation and introspection. It's funny how spending time with dear friends from specific life seasons will do that. My best childhood friend recently stopped over in Seattle on a long layover and then I welcomed two college friends (one a former roommate, the other a hallmate) over back-to-back weekends. What fun we had, reminiscing over years past and the memories that have marked our lives in an unforgettable way. I just love being around friends, especially the ones you have history with. These relationships embody something so indescribably sweet and comfortable. It's easy to forget all the petty conflict or miscommunication we must have experienced "way back when", in the earlier days of our friendship. In retrospect, we grew close by living near one another and by allowing ourselves to step into each others' stories, however messy or inconvenient they seemed. 

Oddly enough, living in close proximity to others who you can share life with has become a novelty to me. Here in Seattle, most of my friends are spread out geographically, so the idea of sharing life together on a consistent basis seems absurd. Sure, the occasional meal together or coffee date happens, but nothing like the communal aspect of college, where my friends were literally right across from me or a few feet down the hall, in another dorm room. Likewise, growing up on Maui, my best friend lived on the same street. I'm pretty sure that we spent most afternoons and weekends together, just hanging out, playing ping pong or poker, baking brownies, or going to the beach. That sort of lifestyle made sense to me. It was natural and rhythmic, the idea of sharing life together in community.

I miss that. My heart longs for a sense of belonging and kinship, to be known and to know others. I was created for this type of connection, I can tell. Because every time I have a really great conversation with someone, whether it be my husband or a friend or even a stranger, who is honest and vulnerable and willing to make themselves known, it sparks this hopeful anticipation in me. It's a taste of community, of being a part of someone's else life. It's powerful. Even though I feel more removed from certain aspects of community I've enjoyed in the past, I want to keep pursuing it. Being intentional and relational and vulnerable--I think it's starts there. Proximity, well, I'll keep praying for that.