This past week was Corrie’s last week with us in Berkeley. Some of the kids decided (helped along by one of the moms) to get together and have their own farewell for her. These kids have an experience few of us in the world have – they have been friends their entire lives, shared and passed down the same crib, worn each others hand-me-downs sometimes four to five generations down, were babysat together while their parents were in prayer meetings and staff meetings, went to school together, and of course learned the sacred art of fighting and saying sorry—and all of this, together. Corrie is now ten years old and she and Josiah were born the same year, though Corrie is decidedly taller and with a voice an octave lower. And now, after ten years of friendship and doing everything together, Corrie was getting on a plane to join the rest of her family in Austin as they start our Gracepoint Austin church.

I was at Northloop on the day of this farewell and had the privilege of being a part of it. The menu was none other than California Rolls in honor of her last day in California and there was a sign put up on the whiteboard that read: “We will miss you, Corrie soooo much!” Sprinkled on the board, were a dozen “corrie-isms” including things like “that’s too much!” “devastating!” and others that revealed that indeed, she is her father’s daughter. Next on the program after dinner was a song and dance, where the kids changed one of the Joyland song lyrics for this occasion. Josiah was in the front leading with full limb extension. This song/dance combo (or shamelessly making a fool out of yourself for the joy and sake of your honored friend) is an age-old practice they’ve seen the adults do for weddings, farewells, and they’ve gotten quite good at in their own right. Some of the lines from the song were “we’re gonna spread, we’re gonna spread, we’re gonna spread the light of Jesus.” It wasn’t the most coordinated dance, but there was a lot of heart. After the laughs, we got together around the table and had a time of sharing. The prompt was “one thing I appreciate about Corrie.”

Some of the things shared:

“When we’re playing in the warehouse and we’re all dead tired, Corrie’s the one who says, ‘Who wants ice water?’ and goes and gets us water.”
“Her contagious enthusiasm!”
From one of the aunties: “I’m going to miss cooking for Corrie, because even if it’s the most normal meal, she says, “THANK YOU SO MUCH! This is SO good!”
“When we went bowling, she was the one who gave high-fives to everyone, even for gutter balls. She’s such an encourager. I’m gonna miss that.”
There was a cake decorated by her friends and a group picture. The next day at 5:00am, her friends, bleary-eyed, piled into cars with their moms and saw their friend off at Oakland Airport with tears.

On one hand, it was a small affair, but in another light, this was a vintage moment of the church I’ve come to call home. What happened at that tiny gathering was a microcosm of what happened just a couple weeks before when Corrie’s parents and the Austin team left. We had a big farewell for them, the customary shameless dances, about a hundred people’s sharings of how they’ve impacted our lives, and the morning they left at 5:00am, two hundred people, bleary eyed, piled into their cars to Oakland Airport, and saw our friends off with many, many tears.

What I saw in that snapshot of the kids’ farewell was something precious, something you couldn’t teach in a couple Sunday school lessons about loving your neighbor. They learned about loving your neighbor from actually squabbling with, fighting with, getting in trouble with your neighbor. They learned to share their toys because their parents had shared their toys, their money, their hearts. They learned that family lines were blurry and that they were stuck with each other like family. They learned other people were precious by sharing their food with countless college and grad students their parents would invite over. (I remember when Corrie was about 7, turning to her mom when I was over saying, “Does Auntie Jenny just come over to eat?”) They learned that the gospel was so precious that it was worth picking up and leaving your friends for, even when it hurt.

Every May, our tradition of cheering on graduating seniors with thunderous applause during commencement has always been a memorable moment for me ever since my freshman year. It is a celebration of how they made it through four years of all-nighters, research papers, and final exams, and at an institution like UC Berkeley, it is quite an accomplishment.

Now on the receiving end, in my own cap and gown, I have reflected on the past four years and what I have accomplished. On one of my graduation cards, it read "Congratulations on surviving four years at CAL and also surviving the spiritual journey!" It really struck me then that people were cheering for more than just academic achievement at the Greek Theatre every May. My leaders and friends were proud of me, not because I gave it my all during classes, but because I gave it all spiritually. Despite my mistakes and setbacks while trying to love and serve people, they're proud of how I got back up again and tried to be faithful. I think they were happy that I tried to lead a DT group, lived in the dorms to minister to freshmen, and tried to reach out to my friends, and although these things did not necessarily bring people to our church, I got to connect with God in a deeper way, realizing my purpose in God's work, and learning to give sacrificially. I was able to experience so much more than what could be summarized on a transcript or diploma—the care in a God-centered community, the opportunities in kingdom work, and a glimpse into the heart of God.

In a sense, through all the ups and downs of Christian living, I survived a leg of my spiritual journey, a time in which voices were simply saying to give up on Christian life or to strive after ambition and to prepare for my future instead of serving God. Yet even through all the failures and times when I gave into these voices, I finished—a job done. And in the end, I can't say that I graduated UC Berkeley with highest honors, but I know I had tried to give it my all, to give glory and honor to the Highest.

Yesterday, we went to the Salvation Army shelter in Oakland to celebrate Valentine's Day. I met a junior in high school named Matt (name changed for protection of the student), who attended Island High in Alameda. Perhaps the most poignant moment of the night was when I asked him, "Oh, so you drive to Alameda every day?" to which he responded, "No, I take two buses." He was very matter-of-fact about it, but when the words came out of his mouth, I was shocked by my ignorance. My eyes were opened to how much I take things for granted. A car seems so simple to me, but for this young man, it's something he could only dream of having. He doesn't even have a driver's license yet.

I'm so accustomed to my way of life that it's so easy to forget that I'm privileged and have been given very, very much. I feel so average around our church people that I forget that with respect to the rest of America--and the rest of the world, for that matter--I would venture to estimate that my standard of living is among the top five to ten percent. Many Americans don't have cars or computers; still more don't have a higher education. Most of all, these people don't have the spiritual community that I am surrounded by.

I have been given very, very much. Why should I have what I have when the world around me can only dream of it? I've been so blessed--physically, socially, economically, and spiritually. Why me? I don't deserve any of it, yet it's given freely. What shall I do? Hoard it all and continue to amass this blessing for myself? Dump it all out and throw it away, give it away? No, I need to steward it, grow it, and share it. It has been said, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked," and, "The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same." I have more than enough because of Christ; I must share what I've received from God so as to bring His blessings into the lives of others.

“Is this the right time?”

Chul posed this question during a staff meeting in late 2007 as we were mulling over the idea of the first ever ISM retreat.

The idea of an ISM retreat came about as we took stock of our ministry and realized that there were many students who were earnestly listening to and struggling with the Word of God. But it wasn’t a simple “let’s go” kind of decision. We knew what was at stake. While a retreat could be an immense benefit to our students, it could also turn them away. We wondered if this was God’s timing and if it wasn’t what were the consequences? That night we ended with the conclusion that we should pray and fast to seek clarity from the Lord.

In the weeks that ensued, Chul would begin our staff meetings with something along the lines of “Have you heard anything from God yet?” This question would always be followed by laughter, but it was a reminder that we really needed God's guidance. And the decision to move forward with the retreat and the planning of the retreat happened week by week, step by step as God clarified his perfect timing.

The date of the retreat was set for MLK Jr. weekend and it was with bated breath that we launched the retreat sign up page. We watched as students started to sign up; one at first, then five, ten, then twenty nine! We were in awe as we watched these numbers grew. Some of us wondered if the students understood that this was not like their school retreats, which were focused times of teambuilding, but rather a focused time of intense bible study. As we checked and confirmed, we found that many knew and were still willing to come! Praise God!

Ok so we had people coming but who would address them? Pastor Ed? The more we prayed, the more we knew this retreat was a special one, not only because it was our first ever but because we knew that this could be the turning point for many of our students.

It was only by God’s provision that we were able to get Pastor Timothy Rhee from Waypoint Community Church in Davis to be our retreat speaker. Pastor Timothy, head of Koinonia up at UC Davis, was scheduled to attend the Waypoint CC College Retreat that same weekend but somehow he was able to lead our entire retreat.

From the moment the announcement for the retreat went out to the minute we left for Sierra Lodge on Friday night, January 18th, it was a spiritual battle. A portion of every staff meeting was devoted to prayer. In the end about fifty people spent MLK Jr. weekend up at Sierra Lodge listening to Pastor Timothy’s clear presentation of the gospel. With each message, we witnessed hearts changing. The serious, and sometimes pained, expression on peoples’ faces was evidence that they were struggling with what they were hearing. Indeed, many of our students made great spiritual progress at this retreat.

We are so thankful to God for the five salvation decisions that were made at this retreat. But there is much more to be thankful for. As it is in ministry, we are not always able to see the fruit of our labors. During this retreat we had the awesome experience of being able to join in Heaven’s celebration over these precious brothers and sisters. We were also reminded again that God is faithful and that it is the work of the Holy Spirit that convicts us of our need for the Cross.

As a fairly new teacher for the 4th grade girls, I was hesitant and almost fearful to lead the song & dance scene for the 4th grade skit. Since all the 4th graders in Joyland were supposed to be in Joyland Christmas Celebration if they wanted to, the song & dance scene was mostly comprised of kids who were not assigned speaking roles. Many of these kids did not speak English as comfortably as the others kids in the skit and were more difficult to control. During practices, some were clearly bored, others wouldn't stop kicking each other, and in general, the atmosphere was increasingly tense. I knew that as a teacher I needed to show these kids the love of Christ more than anything else. Before each practice, I would dread herding these kids into the room to practice the steps over and over again - basically dread dealing with all their needs, whims, and requests.

However, the feelings of frustration and annoyance that I expected would come over me during practices were replaced by an increasing desire to love the kids. I found my heart expanding, wanting to make more room to care for them. I found myself smiling as I reassured them that they would do great when they expressed to me how scared they were to go on stage - realizing that similarly, God looks upon me as a little child, scared of the future, scared of what living this life will require of me. But God knows that we will get through everything life inevitably throws at us, because He knows more and will do more than we can ever imagine. As I saw them do their final performance on stage the day of JCC, smiles on their faces, no faces bruised or knees injured, I knew that the God we serve is indeed a faithful God.