All posts by Kathy Khang

Voting:Responsibility or Privilege?

Next week I will vote for the first time in a presidential election. I became a naturalized U.S. citizen two years ago, giving up my Korean passport, my (not)green card, and pledging allegiance after having lived in the  U.S. since the spring of 1971.

I actually studied for my citizenship exam out of fear and habit – fear that the wrong answer would mean restarting a process that had cost money, time and emotions, and habit because I grew understanding not studying was not an option. The process actually took years for me, wrestling through ambivalence, frustration, grief and gain to get to a point where the privileges, advantages and necessities of becoming a citizen and my faith as a Christian pushed me over the edge.

At the heart of my decision wasn’t the right to vote. It was an issue of integrity. As a writer/blogger/speaker who addresses issues of justice, culture, and faith I have a desire to understand and learn from others about policy and politics as it connects with living out my faith as an individual and as a part of a community. But it was one thing to talk about “the issues”, to take a stand, or to share my opinions. It was another thing to consider what responsibilities and privileges I had or could have at my disposal to steward well.

So next week will be my “first time” (I thought Lena Dunham’s ad was funny). This decision hasn’t been an easy one. Neither major party had me at hello. I am tired of my sons being able to repeat the script for multiple political ads. I do not believe Christians must vote with one party over the other.

But I am wondering if other Christians believe that Christian U.S. citizens must vote or should vote as a matter of stewarding the power and privilege they have in a process that impacts those who cannot represent themselves.

Will you be voting? Why or why not?

How Many Pairs of Jeans Do You Have?

I know Sandy is bearing down on the East Coast (Prayers to all my friends out there. Don’t be stupid. When the powers that be say leave, leave.), and there are more pressing and important matters at hand.

But I’ve almost emptied my inbox, and the sun is shining. Which means I start to look around my office and notice all of the dust and clutter that cloudy days seem to hide so well. And I’m wondering how many pairs of jeans my readers and friends have.

We recently had a garage sale, and did some major purging of a household that I thought was fairly purged. But when you start thinking that someone will pay you money for things around your house I am more apt to make quick decisions. The extra rug that we might need just in case? Garage sale. The shoes that I bought at rummage/bag sale that I wore a few times resulting in vanity pain? Garage sale. The bath bomb that went unused because I don’t take baths? Garage sale.

I am an organizing freak. I don’t like clutter. I have a list of personal projects, home maintenance projects, Pinterest projects, etc. I don’t scrapbook, but I have a binder system to keep each child’s important papers from each school year. My shoes are in clear plastic boxes with labels. My shirts are hung according to sleeve length and color.

I told you I am a freak. (Local friends, I don’t judge you and your homes. I’m only a freak about my own space.)

But the battle is never won. One of the bigger battles (minus the color, sleeve-length, shoe box thing) happens to be my closet. I enjoy shopping and finding a great deal. My favorite places to shop are not the outlet stores but the resale shops and garage sales. Yesterday I stopped at an estate sale and nabbed two great glass dishes, four cans of spray paint, three vintage ties, a pair of pjs, a paint roller, and a beautiful old copy of the Book of Common Prayer for $8. I’ve learned to buy with purpose, each item, even the vintage ties, are going to be put to use within the next month.

But when it comes to clothes, I have a more difficult time (I know, first world problems) discerning what is a good range of “stuff” to have. I also keep clothes for a long time (my favorite and only Benetton sweater from high school is now in my daughter’s closet!). I am mindful of the family budget. I don’t want to put too much emphasis on external beauty, but I like being put together.

So I am curious, how many pairs of jeans do you own? I think my husband owns three pairs. He spends most days in scrubs and then another chunk of time in running gear in prep or recovery. I own six.

Again, no judging. How many pairs of jeans do you own?

Rice Pudding and Other Cross-cultural Adventures as an Outsider

I eat a lot of rice – white, brown, sweet, wild, steamed, fried, with Spam, and with kimchee. It’s “just” rice, rice cakes, rice noodles, rice crackers, rice porridge. When I buy rice it is not in a box. It is in a 20# bag, which I empty into my rice dispenser. The rice cooker (mine plays a song) takes up precious countertop, right next to the toaster oven and the coffee grinder. I have spoons for serving rice.

But until Sunday I had never had rice pudding, and I didn’t know you could eat it with lingonberries. The occasion was my church’s 35th anniversary. My family has been there for at least 5 of those years. The festive, celebratory mood was obvious, and knowing that my church has been such a key place for so many throughout the years continues to give me hope that I too will feel a deeper sense of belonging in the years to come.

But I get impatient, and I get cranky. And I wonder if it’s OK that Sunday is the most segregated day of the week for Christians because on Sunday I really felt like the best I could do was eat and leave. I had to ask what “that dish” was, which I learned was rice pudding. I recognized the salmon and the ham & rolls. Thanks to my mom’s days at Motorola I recognized versions of broccoli salad and jello salad. And thanks to Ikea my boys and I recognized the meatballs and lingonberry as well as the blue and yellow. I felt like a guest at my own church.

I’ve been told by others that I am not alone, and that it takes time. But when you are in the moment(s), time is not what I want to give.

It was a homecoming for many, but it was another cross-cultural adventure for me. I felt so outside inside of my own church, and I am still wrestling with how I as a regular attender can engage well when on most Sundays my family and I stand out.  Our traditions are not part of the present or the past, and we are still trying to find our way to places to impact the present and future. I don’t want to get rid of the rice pudding or meatballs, but I really do think potstickers and seaweed would go well with the salmon.

Because it is in the breaking of bread (or breaking out the rice in its many versions) and in the act of fellowship amongst sisters and brothers in faith we should find that the differences matter because there is space to delight in the variety, creativity and abundance that is from God. Look around. God doesn’t paint all the leaves one shade yellow. Our differences don’t define us; our Creator does.

But that’s easy to say when no one is there to point out the differences and say “we celebrate God’s goodness this way, with this food, with these people”. At the last church we were a part of, we wrestled with the same issue. The church was started specifically for second-generation Korean American youth who were growing up in immigrant, Korean-speaking churches. (And if that doesn’t make any sense to you, please ask for a longer explanation because I would welcome that.) The youth grew up, got married to Koreans and non-Koreans. We had children. We celebrated milestones with kimbap, Korean-style wings, jjap-chae, and dduk. And we assumed everyone would know what it all was and would enjoy it because that is how we all celebrate. And we were wrong.

And so I take a deep breath and discover that rice pudding is OK (better with the lingonberries) though I prefer rice cakes or the meatballs. Because the idea of creating an inviting and welcoming space isn’t limited to Sundays and a church.

Pro-life, Tea Party & Other Dinner Conversations With the Kids

Dear Readers,

How do you talk with your children or the children in your lives about politics? Or do you talk with your children about politics?

Honestly, it wasn’t an aspect of parenting I had thought much about until ‘becoming an American’. Personal opinions are one thing, and I have plenty of opinions. Engaging in conversations with friends, neighbors, church members, etc. have been enlightening, challenging, frustrating, and important. But as my children are growing up in an amped-up informational age and in a community where classmates come dressed up as political figures (I’m not joking. Four years ago there was a mini John McCain with mom dressed up as Sarah Palin.) or have parents running for local office, we are finding the need to address politics.

My two boys get an hour of screen time a night, with exceptions made because of the ink in my veins. I am a news junky, and this election season offers me a new outlet and responsibility. As a fairly recent naturalized citizen, this will be the first time I cast a vote in a presidential election. So the television has been on more often this fall. And the newspaper (an actual ink & paper newspaper) and news magazines linger a little longer.

Which has meant my kids are asking more questions, and dinner conversations are getting interesting. And difficult.

Tonight the 13 y.o. son parroted back a political ad that has been getting quite a bit of airplay out here: So and so candidate is pro-life without exception and has sided with the Tea Party.

“What does that mean? Pro-life without exception? And what is the Tea Party?’ he asked.

Peter and I did what I think was the best we could do. We answered the question (with thought bubbles in italics) and waited for C to ask for further explanation (which he didn’t):

Us: Pro-life in politics often focuses on abortion rights, but we also want you to think about the death penalty. (But I’m also thinking that if it’s really just about abortion it should be pro-abortion/anti-abortion.)

‘Without exception’ can mean a few things, but again in this political race it is addressing abortion in the case of rape. (Or for some the issue is really ‘legitimate rape’ and whether or not a woman can get pregnant as a result of a ‘legitimate rape’.)

The Tea Party is a group of folks who have common convictions about the role of the American government and were generally unhappy with how the Republican party addressed some of those issues. (Some of the Tea Party’s rhetoric scares me, and as a family of Asian Americans we should all be afraid. Can you pass the salt?)

There are still many political ads left to go before election day, and I am certain that our dinner conversations will circle back to politics in the next few days. So when the conversation circles around to politics, do you try to stay non-partisan? Do you engage? Any advice?

The Vitamin L Diary: Day 8

Last year I blogged about anxiety, depression and being on an anti-depressant. My journey continues as I now go in annually to follow-up with my primary physician regarding my prescription. Drugs are not the cure-all, but they can help. I’ve told my doctor I don’t ever want to stop taking my vitamin L(exapro), but she reminded me that the end goal isn’t to stay on the drug but to make sure the drug is helpful and necessary.

I meant to include this last month because July is National Minority Mental Health Awareness Month and Asian Americans continue to face some daunting statistics related to mental health (according to the National Alliance on Mental Health):

  • Asian American girls have the highest rates of depressive symptoms of any racial/ethnic or gender group;
  • Young Asian American women ages 15 to 24 die from suicide at a higher rate than other racial/ethnic groups;
  • Suicide is the fifth leading cause of death among Asian Americans overall, compared to the ninth leading cause of death for white Americans;
  • Older Asian American women have the highest suicide rate of all women over 65; and
  • Among Southeast Asians, 71 percent meet criteria for major affective disorders such as depression—with 81 percent among Cambodians and 85 percent among Hmong.

Any who, this is Day 8 (May 2010) of that private experience. My hope is that “talking” about anxiety and depression might help someone out there take one step closer to loving & honoring her/himself. My hope is in Jesus. Treating my anxiety and depression has only deepened my hope.

May 25, 2010

Can I sleep any more? Argh. I’m really, really, really disliking the sleepy, fatigue crap – can’t keep my eyes open, falling asleep while I’m reading a book at the kitchen table after 8 hours of sleep the night before.

And the water retention. I feel like I swallowed a pool. I do not like getting on the scale and seeing things creep up, and really if you’re trying to treat depression, even mild depression, didn’t anyone think of the possibility that weight gain would not be a helpful side effect?

But, the upside is that I do feel a bit more mellow and grounded. The things that I would normally bite someone’s head over – spilled something or another, running late, forgetting something for the umpteenth time – seem to annoy me but not to the point of screaming. Just annoyed. I can live with annoyed.

The other thing is that I have no desire for sex. I can’t say that my libido was running strong before this, but now all I can think about is taking diuretics and sleeping. Sex? Really? No. Really.

A Good Watering v. a Good Rain

It has been raining since 11 a.m. There are only a few days of summer vacation left for the kids, but I couldn’t be happier we are “stuck” indoors because of the storm clouds.

I’ve been watering my vegetable garden fairly faithfully through the summer with whatever rainwater my two barrels have collected through this dry summer. And even though it’s only required three desperation spigot waterings, even rain water from the barrel wasn’t enough. What I have learned in my amateur gardening career is that what my tomatoes really needed wasn’t  just water.

It needed the rain.

It needed the good soak deep into the roots with several flashes of lightning to ionize the air and help my zucchini freak out like they are on growth hormones kind of rain. The steady rain that makes you relax at first and then go a little crazy after a few hours of pitter patting on the windows with the flashes of lightning that make everything greener than pounds of  chemical fertilizers. The kind of good rain real farmers pray for because their lives depend on it. The kind of good rain amateur gardeners like me pray for because we refuse to buy faux tomatoes during the dead of winter because the taste of a homegrown tomato lingers somewhere in our memories.

Because I can water my garden and give it what it needs to survive. But in a lot of ways I’ve learned I’m a lot like a tomato.  Only God can give my garden and me what we need to thrive when the ground or our souls are parched.

Learning & Leaving – Reflections after reading “Honoring the Generations:Learning with Asian North American Congregations”

One of the earliest photographs taken of me and my parents is of the three of us in front of Chicago’s First Korean United Methodist Church. I grew up in the Korean/Korean-American immigrant church. It was at church where I took Korean language classes. Where I learned Korean folk dancing. Where we spent many Christmas Eves waiting for Korean Santa to show up while many of us were dressed in our Korean dresses and Sunday best, and where we spent New Year’s Eves to the smells of rice cake soup and the sounds of four wooden sticks being thrown up in the air in a lively game of yoot. Where I learned to say the Lord’s Prayer in Korean before I knew it in English. Where I learned to sing hymns and read the liturgy in Korean before I would learn the meaning behind the words.

But also learned about leaving. Elders’ meetings going on for-e-vah. Phonecalls. More meetings. Angry words. More angry words. Churches splitting, leaders resigning, families leaving.

My husband and I left the Asian American church about seven years ago after a series of cultural and generational differences that lead to our decision to bless the mission of that particular church by leaving it. The decision was one of the most difficult and painful to make because it pulled at our identity as a Christian Korean-American family longing to integrate the very best of what we had gained from our immigrant church experience into our “grown-up” lives.

Every now and then the Asian American church pulls at something, tugs at my heart, hits a nerve just under the surface. I wonder what, if anything, my three children are missing out on by not being a part of an Asian American church and youth group. I wonder how different my circle of friends would look like if we were still a part of an Asian American church, how our Sunday afternoons would be spent, and what a small group Bible study would be like.

And then that wonder turns into a hint of longing for what was once familiar, and that is exactly what happened for me as I read Honoring the Generations:Learning with Asian North American Congregations (M. Sydney Park, Soong-Chan Rah, and Al Tizon, editors; Judson Press 2012).

The stories of cultural and generational conflict and misunderstandings resonated deeply with me. I found myself nodding not to sleep but in agreement and affirmation, as if my nod would be felt by the authors and collaborators. Our ANA church history (is your church an art museum or a hospital? p.88) is important to understand and know, not just for those of us who lived and live it but for all in the Church. I found myself nodding because even when I wanted more (would it surprise you if I said I wanted more from chapter 6 on women and men leading together?) I hoped that non ANA church leaders would pick up the book and learn.

Some of the chapters provide more concrete steps for ministry practitioners to take to help move ANA ministry forward. Others leave more space and ambiguity. My personal preference tends to want more concrete steps – something I can either agree with and implement or something I can disagree with and move on.

The book is divided into two main sections covering the ANA church from a generational perspective and a ministry issue/strategy perspective. Each chapter covers a different topic, and each chapter is written by a pair of authors who are using information and stories gathered from a group of ministry practitioners and scholars. In true Asian American form, collaboration takes the lead in shaping this book.

Readers may find this approach, this collaborative voice, both informative and frustrating. If you’re not familiar with the ANA church the stories will be new and informative, and they may be frustrating because they don’t fit in your paradigm and experience. Creating new categories aren’t easy when they are someone else’s story, particularly someone else you may have considered as “White” as Asian Americans have often been seen by the majority culture.

But for me it was like singing a hymn in Korean. It tugs at my heart because the hard memories continue to soften with time, and there is a longing to continue learning despite having left.

Full disclosure: I received an e-copy of the book for free from the publisher post-release to read and review for my blog.

They’re not racist. They just don’t know.

My sons, ages 13 and 10, spend two evenings each week on a golf course because I parent out of my own personal brokenness, which includes an acute awareness of life experiences and skills I was not exposed to growing up. Tennis lessons. Skiing lessons. Swimming lessons. Golf lessons.

Check. Check. Check. Check. (My daughter got the first three. She escaped golf because she has immersed herself into the world of dance for the past few years though it’s not completely out of the picture yet.)

One of my goals has been to expose my children to things I didn’t do and at one point or another felt like I had missed out on. This all despite the fact that I also wrestle with my own personal prejudices against sports like tennis and golf because they have in one way or another represented privilege and access to opportunities and networks my parents and I did not have.

So it did not surprise me to see a very diverse group of participants on our first day at the course – diverse meaning White or Caucasian children were in the minority. Golf, whether you are in business or in medicine, more if you are male but increasingly so if you are female, is one of those “life skills” that also translates into opportunities and networks that non-White communities continue to learn about and enter into.

(And wouldn’t you know that in the crowd of parents one of the other Asian American parents and I recognized each other after having last met about seven years ago!)

But I was a bit annoyed when I found out my sons were asked the following question by a young Black boy on the putting green:

“Are you guys related to Bruce Lee?”

My sons know me, and they have had their many questions about race, ethnicity and culture answered even when they didn’t know there was a question to be asked. They have been encouraged to recognize and value both similarities and differences. So C quickly qualified the young boy’s question with his own response:

“Mom, don’t worry. He wasn’t being racist. He just didn’t know. Bruce Lee isn’t even Korean, right?”

C was correct. Bruce Lee isn’t Korean, and the question wasn’t racist. The young boy didn’t know, and because of what he has and hasn’t learned and been exposed to about Asian Americans through school, community, church, media or family, he tried to make a connection between what he knew (Bruce Lee) and what he was currently experiencing (two Asian American boys). The boy was doing what anyone trying to make small talk might do when you are young or older and trying to make a new friend – find common ground. It wasn’t racist. The boy isn’t a racist. He just didn’t know.

But as I have sat and walked around the course for the past few weeks I’ve been wondering at what point do we move from not knowing to being responsible for what we don’t know. I have been the receiver of much grace and the giver of the same as people of different races/ethnicities/gender/faith find themselves making mistakes as well as being stupid, prejudiced and racist. I have found extending grace easier when the offender acknowledges the offense. It really becomes extending grace when the offender sees no offense.

So I’m still mulling over C’s response to an innocent question that on another day would have made my tired blood boil had I been the one being asked about my relationship to say Lucy Liu, but was tempered and amazed by C’s response, which was to simply tell the boy he wasn’t related to Bruce Lee.

And then they proceeded to sink a few golf balls.

My Mental Caricature of a Conservative Complementarian

I love to jump on the bandwagon as much as the next blogger, and this bandwagon is just begging for attention.

Over at The Gospel Coalition is an interesting and alarming post about sex and subordination. Much of the anger and written response is to the following excerpt from Douglas Wilson’s Fidelity:

In other words, however we try, the sexual act cannot be made into an egalitarian pleasuring party. A man penetrates, conquers, colonizes, plants. A woman receives, surrenders, accepts. This is of course offensive to all egalitarians, and so our culture has rebelled against the concept of authority and submission in marriage. This means that we have sought to suppress the concepts of authority and submission as they relate to the marriage bed.

Now with all the snark I can summon: I can’t imagine why anyone would be alarmed by that sentence, especially if it was written by an intelligent white male conservative complementarian/theologian/prolific author and speaker.

I am not offended by that statement because I am egalitarian. I am not offended by that statement because my husband honors and cherishes me by encouraging me to exercise all of my gifts in teaching and speaking inside and outside of the home to impact both men and women, boys and girls.

I am offended because I am a Christ-follower who understands and takes into consideration the historical as well as the modern-day implications of using those words in a public forum. I am offended because I cannot read between the lines and assume the best of intentions when the words are from someone so learned and lettered. I am offended because as an Asian American woman whose gender and ethnicity come into play whether it is in the here and now or in the kingdom yet to come, those in power use words to put people like me “in our place”.

And my place is apparently to retake my ESL class, according to the response by Wilson:

Anyone who believes that my writing disrespects women either has not read enough of my writing on the subject to say anything whatever about it or, if they still have that view after reading enough pages, they really need to retake their ESL class. A third option — the one I think pertains here — they could surrender the a priori notion that I must be crammed into their mental caricature of a conservative complementarian.

Certainly I have again misunderstood Wilson’s intentions. Surely he didn’t mean to make fun of those who did not grow up with English as our first language. I realize that my role as a woman may be called into question by other believers, but at the end of the day we can all love Jesus together so long as it is with flawless English grammar. Correct?

I grew up in a complementarian world with shades not of grey but of Korea. They were the mothers and fathers of my peer group who sincerely believed that though the matriarch ruled the kitchen at church and at home and school (on Sundays), it was the role of men to teach anyone older than 13-ish about God and other important things. Math, reading and other things that would get us to the Ivy Leagues could be taught to us by women.

Much of my journey with faith and with faith in Jesus has been to reconcile and put into context the cultural patriarchy I grew up with alongside the deep faith and faithfulness that I ultimately embraced. But apparently my mental caricature of a conservative complementation wasn’t completed until today.

Gahmsah hahm nee da.

The Power & Politics of Breasts, Motherhood & Media

So, I went on a quick run, eventually read the cover article, and I needed more time…get it? 

The actual article focused on Dr. Sears, the father of attachment parenting. Oh the irony. The cover shows a White, blonde, attractive woman with her 3-year-old son teetering on a stool to nurse, but the actual story is about a now much older White male and his changing theories and advice on parenting.

Parenting. But somehow parenting gets captured in that image of all images the magazine editors could have come up with? 

Thanks for the reminder that I am in America where breastfeeding becomes some sort of visual gauge of being enough of a mother because there are plenty of places in the rest of the world where infants are dying because women aren’t “mom enough” because there isn’t food enough, prenatal care enough, postnatal care enough. Enough.

I’ll just put it out there. Breastfeeding my children until they were of preschool age never, ever, ever crossed my mind. I never read Dr. Sears or any attachment parenting books. I actually don’t believe I or my husband could ever do enough to ensure our kids feel safe or comforted.

We could never change our parenting enough because for all of the physical presence we gave and could have given them, we would never be enough for the reality of this broken and beautiful world.

I am not mom enough, but I am grateful God is more than enough. So to my Christ-following sisters, let’s stop comparing ourselves to one another and to that imaginary “Enough Mom” and turn our eyes back on the One who chose an unwed teenager who would never be enough to be the mother of our Lord Jesus. We cannot be enough for our kids, but we can nurture their souls and spirits to be open to know that God is always enough.

This is a dangerous post because it’s really on the fly…I knew this magazine cover was hitting the stands, but now it’s sitting on my desk, and there are too many thoughts running through my Asian American Christian woman working mommy brain of mine to keep up with my typing….

Have you seen it? 

I don’t know of any non-White extended breastfeeding moms in the U.S. because here in America we have all sorts of options, including being able to work hard at being able to breastfeed our own children. (Wet nurses are a necessity in other places of the world, btw.)

But the “Are You Mom Enough” language, and the woman’s body language, and the fact that the actual article is about how Dr. Bill Sears is the man who lead the charge in attachment parenting (the article is titled “The man who remade motherhood”) just reminds me that even motherhood can come under the umbrella of men – White men, dominant culture.

And then we are set up to compete against each other – do you breastfeed as long as she does? are you a good enough mother? are you mom enough? can you handle it?

Gahhhhhh!

And then all the internal dissonance – I breastfed all three of my children, and there were many times I freaked out both men and women when I whipped out my blanket to cover my offensive breast to feed my non-offensive child. It’s crazy to see Jamie Lynn stand there with such strength showing less breast than what I saw walking down the red carpet on Oscar night, and to know that there is going to be a lot of crazy talk about this cover.

Wow. Just wow.

I’m going to read the article after I take a short run with my husband, who knew as soon as he got the mail that we would be in for a great conversation. So many thoughts…

What are your initial thoughts? Rants? Raves?

Don’t worry. I’ll be back.

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