“Why are you always interrupting!” my mom cried out across the table.
My dad, our family’s impulsive bundle of laughter, had started making some loud joke over my mom and I’s heart to heart conversation.
He quieted down, but only for the few seconds before he and my sister began a hot debate over whether to add vinegar or wasabi onto the noodles.
Later on that dinner, the laughter and heart to hearts shifted into serious admonishments. One expressed the frustration of being ignored that week. Another’s lack of communication was sharply noted. Some critiques were received with apology. Others with heated emotional reaction and quick argumentative defense. Sometimes it got straight up ugly. In the heat of a moment I lost my temper and shouted impatiently.
Yet tears of joy brimmed from my eyes as this scene unfolded before me.
I usually go home twice a year — two weeks in summer, and two weeks at Christmas. For the 48 other weeks of the year, I dream of home. In these dreams, my mind is filled with the most romantic visions. Of loving and laughing with everyone at the dining table. Of breathing in the rich, complex aroma of Taiwanese beef noodle soup. Of cuddling together for a movie. Of putting my dad’s legs to sleep as my grown-ass self sits on his lap.
My most cherished, unexpected blessing of 2020 was that I got to spend the most time I’ve ever spent at home since high school — a whooping 4 months! In this precious time, I got to reexperience the complex reality from which my memories sprung forth.
To describe the reality of home is to depict a most beautiful, nuanced mystery. A place where dysfunction meets beauty. At my family’s dinner table, it’s almost hilarious how automatically we wrong each other. That’s what we as humans do. When imperfect beings meet, there will be misunderstanding, unmet expectations, hurt. And as a family, boy do we have a whole lifetime of transgressions to recount.
Yet, some way, somehow, at this table I have the unmistakable sensation of safety, a feeling amplified by the very fact that it exists within the tension. How is it that in the midst of my shortcomings, I can feel no shame, no fear of becoming unloved?
It is because we as a family have come to know the safety of grace. We have each been forgiven much, and so we love much. Even as we face each other’s wrongs, we cling even more to the gospel that declares each of us completely and utterly perfect, unblemished. It is because of this faith in each other’s declared righteousness that we can love each other free of judgment, and be graciously yet relentlessly dedicated to each other’s future glory. Grace has taught us that we ourselves cannot change one another, but that still we are committed to learning and growing together for life. Even in the sharpest disagreements, we remain each other’s teammates in the beautiful yet painful process of sanctification. Even when we go to bed angry at each other, we trust in the morning to revive the mutual faith in our blood-bought reconciliation that remains untouched and untouchable.
This shared awareness of grace is why I can see my family through a lens of overwhelming gratitude. The depths of our depravity meet the greater depths of His grace in the beautiful Splendor of redemption. We are a mosaic of broken pieces whose very existence reflects the light of a greater Salvation. It is in this splendor that I praise the beauty of my family:
Daddy,
You embody that laughter is the best medicine. For as long as I have memories of sound, I have heard the roar of your powerful laughter. The excitement you have for everyday life taught me the foundational posture of embracing the simple things, that there is no such thing as an ordinary day. Your contagious energy pushes me to live my own life to the fullest, to take risks (prayerfully) with no regret. Over the years, you have humbly allowed Jesus to balance you with an increasing wisdom, a gentle strength, and a deeper love for your wife. There is no doubt in my mind that you love mommy more today than on your wedding day. I’ll never forget that beautiful night you knew you had wronged mama, and courageously went into the “lion’s den” (aka the bedroom) to talk even though you must’ve been scared.
All of these wonderful traits aside, the first and foremost reason why I love you is that you are my father. In your loving eyes, I see and adore that I am the one in whom you delight. All the days of my life I will cry from the depths of my heart “Bàba, look at me! Are you proud of me?”
Mommy,
You are my lover, and I am your beloved. Ever since you birthed me, you have taught me how to love, and in so doing you taught me how to live. You showed me how to care deeply for this life, to connect with another soul in genuine relationship. It is in your love that I first experienced the safety of divulging my secrets to one who longs for my greatest good. The most profound way you have embodied love is in how you so sacrificially love and submit to daddy. As Christ gave his life for a sinful people, your humble devotion to an imperfect leader day after day embodies the faithfulness of undeserved grace. Strength and honor are your clothing. I pray that your times of rejoicing have come.
Māma, there is no greater comfort than to be held in your loving arms. It is what I dream of when I am away from home, and what I imagine when I am facing fear or grief. Every memory of your embrace brings tears to my eyes. From the womb to this present moment, I have rested in your love for me. You have undoubtedly been the greatest impact on my life. I love you, māma, because you first loved me.
Videre,
My dearest sister. You are so precious to me. Every childhood experience, every church we attended, every family road trip we restlessly sat through, every hour of homeschooling spent being each other’s only classmate, has forged an unspeakable bond between us. One look, one smile at you always makes me feel understood — we will always share our special space of inside jokes. Through the years, I have come to know and appreciate the gentle spirit God has given you. The gentle spirit with which you so tenderly hold our family, hold my hand in the midst of tension. When your tender, loyal heart finds those in your life worthy of its love, you hold on and never let go. In your loyalty, you reflect our Heavenly Father in how you love to give good gifts. The gift I hold most dearly are the tears you cry for me. Nobody else cries on cue when it’s time for me to fly back to school. Your tears are beautiful, Videre, and I store them in my heart.
I dream beautiful dreams for you, Videre. I dream for you to experience the fullness of life that unlocks when we understand the depths of our Father’s love for us. It is a privilege to be your brother, to walk alongside you on this journey towards eternal glory. We never give up on each other.
To all who have read this love letter, I hope you feel a small sense of how it is that when I fly back to Oregon, I’m not simply going home. I go to a place that transcends the sensations of this world, a place where the turmoils of this earth meet the unimaginable majesties of heaven. A place where dysfunction meets beauty. A place where I am loved even when I am unlovable. A place where mortal humans understand the weight of each other’s immortality. A place where the blood of Jesus has reached every corner — every moment of anger, grief, laughter and joy. It is in this place that we have the permission and privilege of reaching into the depths of each other’s beings in the becoming. And so we live, and we love. Free to be our genuine selves, free to embrace each other as saints and sinners, free to forgive, forever receiving from the river of grace that eternally flows from his nail-pierced hands.
Galatians 5:5-6
5 But we who live by the Spirit eagerly wait to receive by faith the righteousness God has promised to us. 6 For when we place our faith in Christ Jesus, there is no benefit in being circumcised or being uncircumcised. What is important is faith expressing itself in love.
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