leaving L.A.

Aric wrote a beautiful entry about what we will miss the most about L.A. Click here.

on to become government asset

It's final. Aric and I are moving to Washington D.C. The move date has been set. The plane tickets have been reserved.

Finally quit work on Friday. That night, Aric and I set out to San Diego for a relaxing get-away. We pampered ourselves with a night at plush hotel in Del Mar, ate scrumptious chicken soup at a Mexican hole-in-the-wall, and enjoyed late night talks with good friends. I'll be spending the next three weeks tying up loose ends, selling our cars and saying goodbye to folks. Aric will be working and taking classes clear to our move date: Aug. 29. We fly out to D.C. two days later.

I'll be giving an update from time to time as we move and begin exploring this brand new chapter in our lives. We'll be in Washington D.C. for six months while I undergo training at the Foreign Service Institute and Aric takes courses at Wesley Theological Seminary.

Here's one thing I've learned so far. Government folks love acronyms. It's been pretty jarring. Reporters are never allowed to use acronyms we don't define, and even if we do, we shy away from them. Now, I can't write a single e-mail without them when I communicate with the Department of State, or the DOS. I'm not a foreign service officer, but an FSO. Our furniture that will go into storage is HHE and shipment that will travel with us to Washington D.C. is UAB. Insurance options? Forget about it. I gave up last night trying to tell the difference between FEHBP, FEDVIP, FSAFEDS.

Aric is writing a series of blog entries about our move. Check it out: www.aricallen.blogspot.com. It'll make you chuckle.

preach it, husband!

My first sight of Aric was at a homeless shelter, with mic in hand, preaching to a hungry, tired crowd of New York's down and out. I remember observing him curiously. How could this young yuppie, in his Banana Republic pants and crisp white shirt, seem so at ease up there telling homeless men that God loves them?

Recently, Aric started preaching again, as a part of his internship at our church. He's the same, poised man I encountered six year ago -- albeit more weathered and yet more comfortable in his own skin. I must say, his sermons are also more insightful and well-researched than I remember them from those cold winter nights at Bowery. That -- I credit Fuller and the California sun.

turning 29 again

As my husband so kindly put it, I'm turning 29 again this month. The past couple months, to the annoyance of my friends, I've been lamenting about the end of an era, the end of a glorious feast called the 20s.

Perhaps it's because once as a child, my eyes fell on a book on my aunt's bookshelf titled: "Thirty: The party is over." Or because I love the word chong-choon in Korean and sei-shun in Japanese that literally mean the color green and spring, or the springtime of life. The other day, as I was telling my mom about walking through Central Park with a close friend and sharing a cup of coffee and cupcake in the middle of the day, she asked me, how is it that your chong-choon is lasting so long?

So this certain wistfulness in turning 30 (there, I said it) lies in wanting the spring time of my life to last forever. The thrill of the unknown, the ability to travel on a whim, the right to be young and fresh. But I guess spring year-round wouldn't be too fun either. Once again, C.S. Lewis managed to hush my restless heart with his words.

"This is, I think, one little part of what Christ meant by saying that a thing will not really live unless it first dies. It is simply no good trying to keep any thrill: that is the very worst thing you can do. Let the thrill go -- let it die away -- go on through that period of death into the quieter interest and happiness that follow -- and you will find you are living in a world of new thrills all the time. But if you decide to make thrills your regular diet and try to prolong them artificially, they will all get weaker and weaker, and fewer and fewer and you will be a bored, disillusioned old man for the rest of your life.

It is because so few people understand this that you find many middle-aged men and women maundering about their lost youth, at the very age when new horizons ought to be appearing and new doors openings all around them. It is much better fun to learn to swim than to go on endlessly (and hopelessly) trying to get back the feeling you had when you first went paddling as a small boy."

- from Mere Christianity

our church

Our new church is a place where people who live in million-dollar condos rub shoulders with families from low-income housing. It’s a place where an African-American woman with three children, a Columbian-American man born and bred near downtown L.A., and a just-married Asian-American yuppie are huddled in prayer. It’s a place where whether you’re addicted to pride and greed or alcohol and drugs, you can find mercy, grace and forgiveness. It’s a congregation comprised of people who would never have become friends if not for their love for Jesus.

Aric and I joined a team of praying people envisioning a church like this late last year. Even as we prayed for such a church, I was skeptical. Can this really happen? Isn’t Sunday called this country’s most segregated day of the week for a good reason?

Then came our Easter launch service. As people began streaming in, I couldn’t help but stare at their beautiful faces. A Latino single mom, a Caucasian artist from down the street, an African American man who hadn’t been to a church for 10 years but liked the idea of a non-traditional service. Attorneys, military veterans, musicians, businessmen.

I had begrudgingly taken on the role of ordering and serving brunch for the congregation. As people enjoyed conversations over omelet sandwiches from a Cuban bakery, sitting around lilies I had bought from a street vendor in my neighborhood, I felt a rush of thankfulness for this opportunity to serve.

New City Church of Los Angeles. It’s a name that came to Aric’s mind when he woke up one morning. He turned to me and said, how about “New City Church?” Mind you, he’s pretty groggy and grumpy right when he wakes up. It’s pretty cute. On this particular morning, however, he was completely awake. The name signifies new beginnings in downtown L.A. and alludes to the New Jerusalem in the book of Revelation.

Aric, intern at the church, will be giving his first sermon on April 13. Stay tuned.

Our lovely venue: a chic restaurant in downtown's art district.

We put our kids to work... :)

Yummy brunch beforehand.



Cutie pies.

Our worship team.


Our cool pastor on cool-lookin' drums.

Boo reading the story behind the hymn "Because He Lives."


Aric before reading the Easter story.

Meanwhile, kid's church is next door at Blue Dahlia coffee shop.

Our mission statement hammered out by core team members last winter.

Small group time.

For an L.A. Times article on our church, click here.
New City Church of L.A. Web site here.
Aric's Blog here.

anyone out there?

So a handful of my friends have called and e-mailed asking me for a favor. Would I give them the secret password to my blog?

Well, if you're here, you know there's no secret password. Just a new blog address. So say hello if you're here so I know that you're still comin by.

Anyway, since that crazy day in January when I survived the meat-grinder foreign service interview that, looking back, had consumed me for a good six months, I've slowly come back to earth mentally. I'm coming out of a horrible habit. It's what my Japanese friend calls a "Tsugi! Tsugi!" mode when I'm constantly thinking about what's "next." She pointed this out when I was serving dinner for a couple Japanese friends and while we were eating, I asked them whether they preferred tea or coffee after the meal, so I can get them going as we ate. Needless to say, they laughed at me and told me to sit down and enjoy the food with them.

That's sort of the mode I've been in. Well, for those of you who know me, I've been in that mode for longer than six months... :) more like most of college and adult life. Hence all my blogging about living in the moment -- we blog about what eludes us.

But thanks to my friend, I'm thinking less about what's next and more about what's here. I have this nagging feeling that God has cut me and Aric a ticket for an adventure over the next year or so. Now if only I can stop obsessing about Aric and Kyle's birthday bash this weekend...

three times

I worship at the Holy Church of Our Academic Success, as my husband puts it. God knows this. So when in my life, in three pivotal instances, I accomplished something I could truly be proud of, I can honestly say that I had very little control over the situations.

Junior year in high school. I set the curve for my AP History semester final. The class was my nemesis; I had been barely pulling a low B, even with hours of studying. I was a bit dazed the day I took the exam. The night before, while sitting in the driver's seat of my friend's car, I had crashed my head on the windshield and cracked it.

Freshman year in college. First semester, I got perfect scores on my final exams and pulled a 4.3. All I remember about the day I took those exams is staring at the blank exam sheets, feeling completely lost. I was high on Benedryl, with a fever and a skin rash all over my body.

Jan. 25, 2008. I passed a 10-hour oral assessment for the Foreign Service. I was the only one who got a conditional offer out of 12 examinees. The day was punctuated by my dull, loud cough. I was breathless from cough-variant asthma and nauseated from only two hours of sleep.

I love the way God teaches me humility. He simply takes away any temptation to take credit. I love the way in crucial, character-defining moments in my life, He makes me small and takes the helm.