i'm on a plane

Literally until after I graduated from college, I didn't realize how quintessentially Korean my face looks. This may not mean much to some, and of course, Korean people have varying facial features just like every other ethnic group does. But for the entire stretch of my socially aware adolescence, I consciously perceived in myself a specifically pan-Asian appearance, and thus identified primarily as such. The fact that most of my friends growing up were Chinese probably only helped reinforce this pan-identity. And that was just fine with me. That I am specifically Korean-American (and look ragingly so) was simply a non-issue.

So when my InterVarsity staff workers spent all four of my years at Cal insisting that my ethnicity is indeed an issue by constantly pushing the term "ethnic identity and racial reconciliation," I became both confused and dismissive of the idea. Because for an idea to be promoted to "issue" status, some event needs to take place to legitimize that issue. So without a single significant incident or point of conflict in my childhood to provoke critical thought about the fact that I'm Korean, I chose to resist the idea of reconciling my "ethnic identity."

3-year-old me with other Korean children singing 
for the congregation on Thanksgiving Sunday.

But here is where life with the Lord always brings things full circle, from death to life. Here is where his love leaves me not to myself. He graciously provokes and stirs the brokenness in me with the purpose of restoring me beyond the way I was before. In honestly sharing here some of the conflicts that became undeniable issues in my life, I'm testifying to God's forceful, beautiful, sovereign orchestration of everything in my little life:

At some point in my time as a Christian student on campus, I became adversely sensitive to the way I perceived that gatherings of Koreans, and especially Christian Koreans, seemed to be tacitly exclusive to people who didn't look, sound, worship like them. I watched a few close friends damagingly struggled to pierce a persistently strong veil that never explicitly, but ever so unshakably said, "You're not 'us' enough." At one point, I began to recall a similar perception I had, growing up in an immigrant church with English-speaking second-generation Korean kids, who left ostracized one or two kids who didn't quite fit in. I suddenly found in me a strong desire to disassociate with the greater Korean community, for fear of ever being lumped in and perceived by those who have been hurt, as just another exclusive Korean.

"I would rather hide in the shadow of my oriental pan-ethnicity

than confront the piercing plague of my Korean exclusivity"

At one point, my dad started to constantly suggest that I marry a Korean guy and that I should join more Korean clubs so I can meet more Korean boys. I never thought much of his reminders. But I took it upon myself to reflect one day, and became aware of my parents' fractured social lenses, their prejudices, their culturally influenced fears. It pushed the wedge in my cracked ethnic identity even deeper.

In another season of time, I stopped going home. I rarely took it upon myself to call, to respond, or visit my parents at their house, only half an hour away. Part of me wanted to avoid getting into inevitable conflict with my dad, conversations that never failed to surface the strong ideological East-West divide that had formed between him and me. Part of me wanted to avoid going home on weekends to avoid going back to my home church. I had never felt so distanced from my own family; I had, in a way, unintentionally ostracized myself.

Then came pruning season. In that time, the tension built to burst -- the tension in my family, the tension in my confused allegiances, and the tension in my spirit seeking desperately to find answers as to how God would ever redeem all of this inarticulable mess. And as promised in his death and resurrection, God's spirit forcefully led me through that horrible internally tumultuous time. Where the tainted parts of me were exposed, he burned them away with refiner's fire. Where one relationship died, another with my mom was healed and launched to new heights. Hallelujah man, hallelujah.

All of this to wrap up to say -- with every new life's episode, I cannot help but trust my God with more confidence than ever. To be reconciled matters. To be made whole in your ethnic identity matters. Not for ethnic identity's sake, but because the God who knew you and formed you this way is reconciling you to himself -- all of you. If you want to engage the society and world around you, your whole understanding of your identity will make you a more richly influential agent of movement and change in your spheres of influence.

The transformation was swift and clear. Losing previous distorted notions of my people, my family, and myself has led me to freedom. Being exposed in moments of pain with my family has left me and my mom more open with each other. Since then, she's shared with me precious stories of her own spiritual trajectory, with situational context. The clear convictions and spiritual shifts she experienced when she was my age are uncannily similar to the crazy transformation I'm experiencing in these days. And now I'm seeing omg wait what -- I am my mother's daughter. Inheritance is real!

I am literally on a plane right now. I'm sitting next to a really cute elderly Korean couple, and the woman is watching Frozen. My mom is waiting for me in the motherland Korea, where I'll be spending about one week, for the first time in over ten years. YOU COULD SAY I'M PRETTY EXCITED. I'll be sharing more about my discoveries and insights in this blog soon. 

I've shared this reflection mostly for my own benefit -- to remember the undeniable faithfulness of my God to me in this area of my life, the beauty of the intricacies in his plans. When we speak of "God's plans," we need to remember that his plans aren't primarily his plans for our careers. God's ambition is much more to reconcile all of you to him, from your core; his plans operate inside you for eternal effects as much as they do, if not more in the work of your hands while you're alive here in the world. Here's a prayer God gave me last year, when I was a college senior. It flowed from pen to pad almost mindlessly, and it has stuck in my memory ever since:

O, that all of my ambitions,

and all of my affections,

and all of my allegiance

would be so desperately

to You,

Jesus.