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.

The Siren Song of the Marmoset & Other Adventures as of Late

“MREEAK!” A sound like that of fingernails grinding across a chalkboard deafens my hearing. “Mreeeeak-mreeak!” It comes again, this time with a howl like a child being tortured. My eyes dart across the valley, crazily scanning for the origin of the noise. Ken turns to me and we realize that the shrieking is coming from a marmoset off in the distance. He’s on a large granite boulder, perched roughly 75 feet away from us. And he’s calling to us.

Gracie, my in-laws’ black and white Border Collie, instantly leaps forward in the direction of the marmoset. She’s ready to charge the wild creature. After pouncing through the knee-high brush, she’s at its rock.

But then it’s gone.

A cacophony of screeches ensues, some 40 to 50 feet away, now from different boulders. Gracie runs after the marmoset, indifferent to their changing directions. She loves to hunt. Meanwhile, Ken and I follow, happily chasing after her in pursuit of the marmoset.

This was last Saturday, as the three of us hiked through Archangel Valley near the now nationally recognized town of Wasilla, Alaska. It was my first time venturing down the bumpy, two-mile dirt road leading to this trail, within Hatcher’s Pass. Ken excitedly planned this ‘maiden hike’ for us, in hopes of helping me train for the much more involved 8-hour hike to the crashed B-52 Bomber Plane perched atop a glacier farther along the trail. The hike was wonderful, and a great starting place for me. I enjoyed basking in the verdant mountain landscape while breathing in the crisp 50-degree weather. Likewise, the abandoned mining buildings scattered along our path intrigued me. So much history happened here, I thought to myself, as I walked through the rubble, alongside a rain-swelled creek. I imagined gold miners panning for gold in those waters and digging beneath the surface for the smallest glimmer. And then there were the marmoset, those cat-sized animals scattering across rocks and among shrubs. I felt like we were on an adventure, transported back in time, to a rugged place in history.

In pursuing the marmoset, we quickly lost sight of the main trail and eagerly climbed boulders in the direction Gracie ran. Exhausted from the chase, I sat down on a rock ledge overlooking the valley, where we unpacked our sandwiches and snacks and enjoyed a late lunch. We never made it to the first set of lakes on our journey, our original goal, because we followed the siren call of the marmoset. Although it was a delightful detour, hopefully next time we’ll evade their captivating cries.

Along with our hiking adventures, Ken and I are learning to appreciate the ‘simpler’ aspects of living in a more rural community. Ken’s parents boast a lovely vegetable and fruit garden right outside their front door where we can harvest fresh potatoes, kale, broccoli, and cauliflower for soups, stews, and side dishes. Also, their woodsy and windy street is perfect for wildlife sightings. A year ago, I spotted a moose right in their front yard. More recently, Ken and I came across a beautiful red fox perched along a bank near their property. The majestic creature held a regal stance, as she watched us pass by her early one evening. We endearingly nicknamed her, “The Guardian,” and from time to time, question where The Guardian might be as we weave up or down our road. We live in a marvelous place, ideal for imaginations such as mine.

It’s been a month now since we drove up the Alcan and settled just outside of Anchorage. I’m adjusting to the change in climate, and the heaviness I feel from missing my dear friends in Seattle and scattered throughout Washington, Oregon, and California, is slowly lifting. Honestly, it’s very difficult to now live so far from my closest friends and away from the amenities of city living, and yet, I’m finding glimpses of joy in ways that I’ve never known before. Alaska has a sort of savage splendor to it. A wildly untamed state bold in its assertion of natural beauty. A diamond in the rough, or if I may say so, a nugget of gold pulled from a rocky mountain stream.

++

Here are some photos from our recent adventures!
Click on each to enlarge.

A Chocolate Croissant & Overcoming Setbacks

I glance down at the chocolate splotches lining my fingertips. “You look so happy,” Ken said to me, a moment before, causing me to notice my hands and the empty white china plate in front of me. A warm, gooey, chocolate-filled croissant. I had just finished my first one ever, and it was amazing. Biting into the rich, chocolate cream encased in a flakey, buttery shell was like finding a piece of gold in a lush, verdant field—already beautiful and picturesque by its own right, but now even more wonderful of an experience. Analogies aside, this freshly-baked European pastry was, as the Italians say, “Perfecto!” As I ease back into reality, Ken smiles and continues, “You look really happy when you’re eating.”

I am happy when I’m eating, it’s true. I’ve always been that way. Food is a huge blessing and comfort to me. Perhaps more so than the average person because I know what it’s like to go without. To not have enough food. To be in want. Growing up on simpler means taught me the value of food—and especially good food—very quickly. Food is a gift. And good food is an elaborate present, enclosed in the finest paper, filled with bounty and best unwrapped by a grateful receiver.

Back to the croissant that had miraculously vanished from my plate. It was one of the best breads I’ve ever tasted. I’m thankful to be in the city of Florence, enjoying the many offerings of this pleasant city. Ken and I arrived here a couple days ago, after some big disappointments during our travels. I guess no story is really great without struggle. We experienced our first major difficulty in the form of a less than ideal hotel situation a couple days ago. I booked accommodations at a hillside inn that seemed lovely from the photos and reviews. However, when we got there, after disembarking from our cruise and then spending a few hours driving from Venice to Florence, I immediately felt uncomfortable. The room, sparse and muggy, felt closed in and hot, unusually so. I developed a headache, which turned into a sour stomach and a poor attitude quickly. The air conditioner was broken, the concierge told us, and no one would fix it until Monday (the day we checked out.) Then we realized that our room’s mini-fridge was broken, too. Warm drinking water in cramped, scorching quarters sounded awful. There was no ice to be found, either. My first time in this part of Italy, with the sun blaring down and a room temperature hovering around 80+ degrees felt just horrible. Again, Ken tried to convince the concierge that the room was not suitable. The lady refused to give us a refund although all her others rooms were booked. But our reservation promised air conditioning, we said. She was relentless. So, feeling nauseated and feverish, I asked Ken what are options were. Together, we made a hard decision—our first one that involved losing quite a bit of money.

We decided to go elsewhere.

From that point on, our situation improved immensely. We found a boutique inn just a few miles outside of the heart of Florence and 20 minutes closer to town than our previous hotel. It was a gamble picking our next place to stay, but I felt God’s peace about giving up our desire to save money and instead, placing health and wellness as top priorities in this instance. Our new hotel was impeccably clean, the staff friendly and welcoming, and the air conditioning worked great! There was even a pool, free breakfast and parking included in the cost. Still a bit disappointed from the nonrefundable costs of our previous booking, I started to pray that God would give me a heart of forgiveness and hope, amidst the sense of loss I felt. I believe He’s been doing that and now, two days later, I feel refreshed and encouraged by the restful nights we’ve had in such a comfortable setting! I can see now what a huge blessing it was to be closer to the city, and have incredible food provided each morning as a means of starting the day without having to look for food. We even grew close with our concierge, Asselli, a sincere and social guy in his 20s, who loves to travel and has spent in Britain and America. His English skills allowed us to overcome communication barriers. Asselli pointed out all the top spots for us to visit in Florence and kindly shared Italian customs and traditions with us, in hopes of increasing our understanding about why people do things in a certain way.

For instance, we learned that most Italians eat lunch at 12:30 p.m. or 1 p.m. each day. Dinner is at 7:30 p.m. or 8 p.m. Italians, he commented, are very rigid about when mealtimes take place. They refuse to eat or serve meals outside of those times, for the most part. Upon telling us this, he chuckled and pointed out that Italians are “very traditional.” But coffee, he said, can be enjoyed at any time. Asselli also educated us about how Italians don’t typically put ice in things. This topic came up when we asked where the ice machine was located. “Ice is bad for your stomach the Italians think,” he said.

We are learning so many things while abroad. Driving, in particular, is very different in Italy and Greece than what I’m familiar with. I’ve observed that locals drive much higher than the speed limit, don’t use their turn signals (or rarely use them, as if by accident), and prefer to drive in the middle of two lanes if they are unsure about which lane is moving faster. I’ve seen at least a dozen drivers do this in our two days of having our own car. It’s much like a circus when motorcycles and scooters are also involved. They can pass on either side and will do whatever it takes to get around slower-moving vehicles, even if it means putting themselves at risk.

But our experience with the food and culture here in Italy has been delightful, even with the near-death driving experiences and poor hospitality and service at our previous hotel. I’m thankful that our stories aren’t colored by only “good and seemingly perfect” situations. It’s in the trials, the discomfort and the disappointment where God is able to show us opportunities for growth, emotionally and spiritually. Ken and I are able to work through these things and grow stronger in our marriage. I truly feel blessed to be able to say that we are embracing the good, the bad, and the ugly, in hopes of finding real, meaningful life. Life that is sometimes tucked away and hidden in the darkness, forged by patience and forgiveness.

Well, it’s time to drive through Tuscany. The next couple days we are visiting the seaside town of Sorrento. I look forward to sharing more with you soon!

The Power of a Post It: Wise Words from Rainer Maria Rilke

 "It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything! 

I am not able to begin. I simply skip what should be the beginning." 

Rainer Maria Rilke

Those words, neatly written by my husband onto a sage green post-it note, have been stuck to his dry erase board for as long as I can remember. Typically, I stare blankly at this tiny slip of paper while doing jumping jacks or jogging in place in our living room, while Ken is away at school. But today was different. Rilke's quote took on a new meaning. They forced me to get off the couch (and consequently, to log off Pinterest and Facebook and to quit checking emails on my smartphone) and just start exercising.

Do you ever have days like that--when it feels so hard to 'start' anything, let alone exercise? That was me this morning.

This past month, I have really struggled with my desire to be more self-disciplined, in setting aside proper work time, tending to household needs, being intentional in my relationships, eating well and exercising more often. It feels frustrating because I have such high expectations for myself, my business, my relationships and my body. Although recently, I admit to noticing a change taking place in my life, and it's encouraging. No matter how subtle it is. Rather than beating myself up for not being 'good enough' or 'doing everything right,' I am learning to bask in God's grace and love for me. I suppose in one sense, I am learning to be human. It's weird to phrase it that way, especially since I naturally focus on human depravity or the more negative/sinful aspects of humanity's makeup. But God is slowly transforming the way that I view myself. He's showing me that in loving who He made me, and in acknowledging and accepting my limitations, I am in fact, bringing Him glory.

It's an exciting time in my life. I'm so amazed at how God is crafting me into a more confident, resilient, wiser, and stronger woman who is also vulnerable, transparent and humble. I never knew that those things could exist together, in my life. I'm thankful for the small steps of faith that God has used to draw me deeper into relationship with Him, which in turn has changed me. Three and a half years ago, I moved to Seattle, in faith. Two and a half years ago, I married Ken, in faith. And last week, after a year and a half of prayer, research, diligence and schooling, I launched my own wedding and event planning business--in faith. Like I said, it's exciting. There's a whole list of other things that encompass how I'm feeling as well--scared yet hopeful, anxious but confident, vulnerable, tender, and the list goes on.

As I think back on those words by Rainier Maria Rilke, I'm thankful that God is opening my eyes to His great plans for my life. And how all that I'm called to do is to move forward in faith. I don't need to have everything 'perfect' (i.e. figured out, mapped out, planned, etc.), and I don't need to be perfect (i.e. in the best shape of my life, Martha Stewart, etc.), I just need to start where I'm at. And maybe, thanks to Rilke, I won't even focus on wading in slowly. I'll continue to thrust myself forward, into this ever-evolving story of Christ's work in my life.

Snapshots of San Juan: Our Weekend Getaway

A couple weekends ago, Ken and I seized the opportunity to venture back to San Juan Island, one of my favorite places here in the Pacific Northwest. This secluded, intimate island, which is part of a larger archipelago, boasts about 8,000 year-round residents. Yes, it is quite charming and what it lacks--traffic, fast food restaurants, and department stores--I found refreshing. Just one and a half hours north of Seattle by car and a one-hour ferry ride, San Juan was the perfect Valentine's getaway. Although our Friday morning started with some stressful health concerns (which praise God, have subsided), we made it out of the ER within about three hours and were able to pack up and head north in time to make the last ferry bound for San Juan Island.

Our journey brought us to the Lakedale Resort (lakedale.com), where we enjoyed a time of relaxation, steeped in the immense natural beauty of our surroundings. This resort overlooks three spring water lakes, lined with towering Douglas fir trees. I couldn't have asked for a better "retreat" setting. While there, Ken and I spent some much-needed downtime reading and napping, and also praying and discussing where God is leading us in regards to the weekly community group that we host, and our role as facilitators. In being away from the structure and schedule of our lives here in Seattle, we were able to prayerfully consider what community, particularly ours, can look like. We asked each other questions and engaged with some difficult topics. And we walked away with a stronger sense of unity between us and a greater desire for intentional community within our group, and that is so exciting.

Besides our time at the resort, Ken and I ventured on a picturesque bike ride along the south end of the island. We started at American Camp, a site occupied by the US army from 1859 to 1874, which is now a national historical park. History surrounding the camp and the battle referred to as "The Pig War" (where Great Britain and the US almost waged war over San Juan Island) can be found here. It is quite fascinating and if you make it to San Juan, you must visit this park. The windswept cliffs are captivating. Likewise, the wide, open vistas make for an unforgettable backdrop to a picnic, hike, or in our case, bike ride. I will admit though that the beautiful views are matched fully by the difficulty of biking uphill into the wind. My dear husband can attest to my wobbly, shaky legs fiercely going head-to-head with the wind. At times, I lost the 'battle' and dismounted from my bike, walking or running or charging uphill in a headstrong fashion, but ultimately we did make it back to our starting point. Plus, the intense workout allowed me to relish the large box of assorted chocolates and Italian champagne that were recently gifted to us, which of course, we brought on this trip.

Attached are some photos from our trip. I hope you enjoy them. They're a 'snapshot' of the incredible memories that we are making here in Washington. As we look forward to the future in hope, both Ken and I are curious and excited to see where God takes us next--what adventures (as well as opportunities for growth) await!

DIY Christmas Gifts: The Art of Presentation

"It's all about presentation, Maile," my Dad lovingly shared with me one day, while I playfully arranged his dinner creation of noodles, chicken, fish sauce, and sauteed vegetables on the plates set before me. "You have a real gift for making things look nice," my Dad continued.

I recount my father's encouragement with a smile that quickly lights up my face. His words and that memory have stuck with me these 18 years later. I'm thankful that my Dad taught me the value of working hard and giving your best, which through the years has translated to my love for presentation--in dress and style, crafting and creating elaborate baked goods, and decorating spaces, from my college dorm room to the current one-bedroom apartment I share with my husband. My passion for beauty runs deep and is best seen in my knack for party and wedding planning, photography and picking out the perfect gift for another, along with arranging simple meals in a lovely fashion. My Dad especially can attest to that one.

With that said, I wanted to share some of my recent DIY ("do-it-yourself" if you're reading this, Dad) Christmas gifts, which includes baked goods galore and one of my most favorite crafts--clothespin magnets! I happened upon this idea about a year ago while perusing a little boutique shop on my native island of Maui. The owner had used clothespins to hang photos throughout her shop and I decided that I wanted to take the idea one step farther and turn them into magnets. My secret to success: exquisite patterns and colors taken from magazine cutouts and epoxy--lots and lots of epoxy. (Note: Please use gloves if you decide to make your own. Epoxy is rather toxic if it gets into your skin.) I also crafted smaller magnets by cutting up a vintage holiday postcard a dear friend mailed me last year. In my baked goods section, you'll notice one of my recent finds--small burlap bags! I just love them. Thankfully, I have a few floral stamps on hand for occasions such as this, so I stamped the mini burlap sacks and filled them with treats for two of my friend's birthday presents. The creative packaging was received quite well. Feel free to make your own. All you need are mini burlap bags (http://www.ps-stores.com) and a stamp and ink pad. Be careful to let the sacks dry before use.

I hope you enjoy these photos of my recent creations.
Here's to homemade and handmade gifting!

Christmas Cookie Package 

Treat Tags included in each cookie package

Clothespin Magnets!

Vintage Postcard Cut-out Magnets!

Side view of Clothespin Magnets

Homemade Raspberry-Blueberry Jam

Homemade Apple Spice Granola

Peanut Butter Cookies with dark chocolate and sprinkles

Peanut Butter Blossoms 

Cookie Packages are piling up!

Burlap Sack Goody Bags

I fit a lot inside these Goody Bags!

Chocolate-dipped Shortbread Cookies with Peppermint Bark 

More cookies!

Hooray for cute treat bags!

Filling up the adorable Gingerbread House gift box!

Back view of the Gingerbread House gift box

Front view of the Gingerbread House gift box

And if you've read this far, here's a photo of our adorable little Christmas tree with some of these gifts now hidden underneath. ;)