Enter Stage Right

I’m reading best-selling author Steven Pressfield’s book called The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles.  Its totally kicking my butt.  Here’s a few excerpts:

Most of us have two lives.  The life we live, and the unlived life within us.  Between the two stands Resistance.

Resistance is the most toxic force on the planet.  It is the root of more unhappiness than poverty, disease, and erectile dysfunction.

How many of us have become drunks and drug addicts, developed tumors and neuroses, succumbed to painkillers, gossip, and compulsive cell phone use, simply because we don’t do that thing that our hearts, our inner genius, is calling us to?

If tomorrow morning by some stroke of magic every dazed and benighted soul woke up with the power to take the first step towards pursuing his or her dreams, every shrink in the directory would be out of business.  Prisons would stand empty.  The alcohol and tobacco industries would collapse, along with the junk food, cosmetic surgery, and infotainment businesses, not to mention pharmaceutical companies, hospitals, and the medical profession from top to bottom.  Domestic abuse would become extinct, as would addiction, obesity, migraine headaches, road rage, and dandruff.

You know, Hitler wanted to be an artist.  At eighteen he took his inheritance, seven hundred kronen, and moved to Vienna to live and study.  He applied to the Academy of Fine Arts and later to the School of Architecture.  Ever see one of his paintings?  Neither have I.  Resistance beat him.  Call it overstatement but I’ll say it anyway: it was easier for Hitler to start World War II than it was for him to face a blank square canvas. 

Pressfield goes on to share how he confronts Resistance in a practical and consistent way as a writer:

I get up, take a shower, have breakfast.  I read the paper, brush my teeth.  If I have phone calls to make, I make them…  It’s about ten-thirty now.  I sit down and plunge in.  When I start making typos, I know I’m getting tired.  That’s four hours or so.  I’ve hit the point of diminishing returns.  I wrap up for the way and power down.  It’s three, three-thirty.  The office is closed.  How many pages have I produced?  I don’t care.  Are they any good?  I don’t even think about it.  All that matters is that, for this day, for this session, I have overcome Resistance.

There’s a secret that real writers know that wannabe writers don’t, and the secret is this: It’s not the writing part that’s hard.  What’s hard is sitting down to write. 

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After reading that, I know Resistance has kept me from becoming who I really am and what I’m called to do.  Every time I sit down to write, a flood of pressing and “altruistic” activities that I “must” tend to suddenly rush into my mind.  It all sounds so right and holy, too.  “She really needs my advice in this area and I’m the only one with enough experience and expertise to give it to her.”  ”What would Jesus do?”  ”I haven’t hung out with him for awhile, I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him because there’s a slight possibility he might be my future husband.”  “I need to go on a run right now, I had that extra helping of salmon last night.”  You know what I’m talking about.

But there’s no greater and selfless gift that I can give to the world than being who I am created to be and do what I’m created to do.  You know, that thing within us that whispers to us, “I am meant for greatness.  I was born to do something that’s never been done before and will never be done again because only I can do it.  I exist to change the world.”

Before I started this book, I thought I was doing a great job confronting Resistance.  After all, I:

1) overcame my recent addictions: Halo & MW3, TV, Half & Half honey boba (still working on the FB one)

2) revolutionized my health/diet regimen: lost 30 pounds, workout three times a week, eat like a rabbit, and possess tighter abs

3) had an “extreme” makeover in changing my appearance, demeanor, and personality

4) learned how to do make up, curl my hair, and dated guys after a 10 year draught

5) got my finances in order and actually have a semblance of a budget  (OK, well I keep track of it in my mind but at least its a start)

6) graduated from a good college with a 3.3 GPA.  It would’ve been a 3.6 had I not failed Greek.  There’s a reason that language is dead  -_-

7) taken many principled stands in the face of adversity whether in private or before stadiums & the California Senate

8) done what I can to help others in need

So I’ve confronted a lot of demons in my time on earth.  But I’ve realized that I have been running from the biggest one.  The Resistance to me being who I am created to be.

Sure, I have had the courage to shed off much of what wasn’t me but its easier to take off costumes and masks that I hide behind to play whatever role I’ve been assigned in life’s dramas.  The kicker is actually coming back on to the world’s stage without all the fluff & fanfare and facing the scrutiny knowing that the audience is no longer criticizing or judging a fabrication of myself but the real me.  In light of that, I’ve been cowering and procrastinating backstage for a long time.

Did you know that Henry Fonda threw up before each stage performance even when he was seventy-five?  Resistance might not ever leave your side.  But I know one thing, you can force him to go on stage with you which will annoy the hell out of him.

So are you ready to enter stage right?

I will by pushing the “publish” button

right…

now…

The Vanity Mirror

Religion is like spending all your time staring at yourself in the bedroom vanity mirror.  You compulsively brush your hair to make sure there are no stray strands and that your bob is perfectly coiffed and curled.  You obsessively hide every imperfection with “the works” concealer for that natural, flawless finish.  Even after spending hours creating that effortless yet dazzling look that make your eyes pop just so, it never seems to come out the way you imagined, no matter how hard you try. You convince yourself to move on and focus on enhancing your complexion by applying that new blush that promises a pure, rosy radiance.  Finally, you shape and plump your lips for that perfect pout.

You examine the finished product with methodical precision.  Frustrated with the slightest discrepancy of your eye shadow, you scrub it all off and start over again.  Then you consult with the beauty experts at your weekly appointment on Sundays.  They tell you the latest makeover tips and tricks for the immaculate look that seems to allude you every time.

All the while, your Husband waits patiently for that moment – when you’re finally satisfied enough to hop into bed with Him and just cuddle.  Sadly, that moment never arrives.

Words Like Waves: Part Two

I spent a week in early September 2011 at a beach house in Malibu after tragedy unexpectedly struck my life.

For at least an hour, I stared at a pile of rubble getting smashed by the waves.  It was the one thing I could connect with as I scanned the horizon for answers.  Here’s what I wrote:

I can either remain

hidden & dead

or

exposed & alive.

I get to choose.

Either I will drift aimlessly along

with the masses of sediments

carried by the invisible currents of indifference

that settle at the bottom

of stagnant waters

preserved in a jaded state,

drowning in the formaldehyde

of distractions and addictions,

hidden from life’s elements

to become petrified

as I’m wedged in

between eroded souls

accumulating layer upon layer

of pain, apathy, hatred and sorrow

resting the weight

of my broken life

upon those entombed beside me

until I become a hollow fossil

of what I used to be

or

I remain in the eye of life’s cruel storms

for this one reason:

in the center of them

I find the center of me.

My essence and core

will be revealed

for all to see

no longer concealed

by the barbed edges

malformed by tragedy.

All is washed away

stripping me of everything

that wasn’t really me

until all that remains

is what was always at the core of me… Love.

Words Like Waves: Part One

Lying like jaded, broken rubble

as the waves keep crashing over my heart;

who would’ve guessed that Love could be so devastating?

Like the clockwork of a pendulum’s blade swaying back and forth

rising and falling on the surface of the tides

each breaker slices into every crevice and crack

pounding and thrashing what is already shattered

until one day my heart emerges as a perfectly smooth stone

reflecting brilliantly in an otherwise nebulous, dark sea

the rays of the dawning sun.

With millions of fine, soothing pebbles of myself

washed along the shores of humanity like sand

softening the calloused feet of those who wander aimlessly

on life’s coast,

I remain in their shoes

long after their summer vacation strolls

to be an ever pesky reminder

with every calculated step they take

as they rush through their to-do lists

that there’s more to life than just skimming the surface

gingerly with your toes on red-letter holidays

designated by your smart phone

as if life really followed a day planner

and the enjoyment of it was meant to be a novelty

only to be toasted, sipped and swirled

but never swallowed,

lest we become so inebriated

that we forget to remain slaves.

Graceland

Home is that sacred space – external or internal – where we don’t have to be afraid; where we are confident of hospitality and love. In our society we have many homeless people sleeping not only on the streets, in shelters or in welfare hotels, but vagabonds who are in flight, who never come home to themselves. They seek a safe place through alcohol or drugs or sex or security in success, competence, friends, pleasure, notoriety, knowledge, or even a little religion.

They have become strangers to themselves, people who have an address but are never at home, who never hear the voice of love or experience the freedom of God’s children.

To those of us in flight, who are afraid to turn around lest we run into ourselves, Jesus says, “You have a home. I am your home. Claim Me as your home. You will find it to be the intimate place where I have found My home. It is right where you are, in your innermost being. In your heart.

- Excerpt from The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning

I had been occupying “homes” in two seemingly opposing lands.  One is predictable, neatly groomed, and low risk but very strict and boring. Kind of like a suburb.

This land is called “religion” and is ruled by the guilty feeling that you are never good enough no matter how hard you try, no matter what accomplishments you have or how many expensive “must haves” you happen to accumulate. Every area of life is enforced by endless rules and regulations, and everything is gained through backbreaking human effort. All the residents strut their best spiritual accomplishments in a weekly contest on Sundays and they strive to outperform their neighbors in daily rituals.  But really everyone’s dressed in filthy rags (Isa. 64:6).

Then there was another land I would occasionally visit out of the promise of freedom and excitement. It is very dirty, dangerous and chaotic. But there are seemingly endless options except for the right one which makes me question if freedom really existed there after all.  But at least nobody told you what to do. It is a big, bustling metropolis full of people stumbling through its wide streets (Matt. 7:13). That land is called ”sin.”

For the majority of the past 15 years, I had been going back and forth like on a seesaw between “strict religion” and “liberating sin.” It was how I maintained my Christian walk because I thought He wanted me to live in the land of religion. Yet I was desperate for so much more. I hated both lands because I felt like a mindless zombie with life, creativity, and passion draining out of me but I could see no other option in ”Christianity.” Something within me cried out, “There has to be more! Where’s the abundant life that You promised? Why do I feel like I’m just shoveling out empty but diligent prayers in chains of guilt and shame with fear as my master? Why do I feel like sin is my only option for ‘freedom’? Help!”

That’s when God showed me another land. Sin and religion do not exist there. It was hidden until I became like a little child (Luke 18:17). It is a very simple place of open, green pastures with only one narrow path that leads to real life. It isn’t a formula or pattern, but a Person. He is Jesus (John 14:6). He is the One who fulfills the innermost needs and desires of our hearts, not because of the works we do, but by His grace:

“And if by grace, then it is no longer by works;
if it were, grace would no longer be grace.” – Romans 11:6 (NIV)

Daily the Father beckons from the hilltops of Grace for His lost sons and daughters to leave their familiar lands of sin and religion to possess His land. He’s calling us to abandon all other homes that are ruled by slavery and ultimately lead to death. Jesus Christ died to make the way back to the place where we can live eternal life as we were meant to, abundantly as children free in the unconditional love and grace of their Daddy.

Graceland is the home where we lack no good thing.  Graceland is where we no longer have to slave away under the cruel micromanagement of sin, fear, and religion to pay off the land because the mortgage has already been paid in full (Rom 8:15).

Do you hear Him calling your name? In breathtaking sunsets, He beckons us to come home to a freedom this world can never offer us. He whispers in our dreams and in the faces of little children, “Remember. Remember Me. Come back to Me. Find Me again.”  May you find your way back home, back to the heart of our Father.

Making Tough Choices

Lil’ Wayne’s music video for his latest hit, How To Love, perfectly illustrates why sometimes love looks like making difficult and painful choices now in order to ensure the best for our loved one(s)’ future… even to the point of separating ourselves from those we care about most if they refuse to give up being destructive to themselves and those around them.

How Do You Like Your Eggs?

The following entry was originally written on 11/15/10:

Just as our lungs are made to breathe oxygen, our souls are designed to flourish in an atmosphere rich in love and meaning, security and significance, intimacy and adventure. But we don’t live in that world anymore. Far from it. Though we try to resolve the dilemma by disowning our desire, it doesn’t work. It is the soul’s equivalent of holding our breath. Eventually, we find ourselves gasping for air. - John Eldredge in Journey of Desire

When we think we’re not worthy of love, we instead are constantly in motion, giving, producing, working, being there for others, serving, helping; terrified of the moment when we’re actually still and at rest enough to discover the truth of whether we’re loved just as we are or only for what we can give and do.

I think this is one of the primary motivators of why I was addicted to ministry and romantic relationships.  It gave me a sense of purpose and meaning because I didn’t believe I was loved just as I am, only for what I could contribute to God and humanity.

I sought after their affirmation for my achievements, humor, intellect, communication skills, and talents, mistaking it for love when really it only reinforced the lie that I wasn’t loved just as I am, only for how I could benefit them.

With ministry, it can be so deceiving.  When it makes you feel so good about yourself and others are so grateful for what you’re doing, people are amazed by the revelations you share and encouraging you to keep up the good work, it’s hard to get off the spinning mouse wheel.  But we’ll never get to the destination of love if we’re only ministering and sharing our revelations to run away from our fears of being unlovable.

With relationships, it starts off looking so noble; living for the other person, sacrificing your desires and needs to make sure they’re happy and satisfied.  But the more we neglect ourselves in order to become what the other person wants and needs, a love deficit is created within because we weren’t loving and honoring ourselves in the process.  Because of that, a demand is made within that the person that you so “selflessly” loved and gave yourself to would now become your sense of worth and purpose: your identity.  But no human can bear that role of defining another person and love isn’t to be given with expectations or strings attached.

My good friend, Nancy Liaw, sent me the following e-mail while I started realizing that I have become what people wanted my entire life in order to be “loved”:

It’s like the movie, “Runaway Bride” starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere.  In the film, Maggie Carpenter (Julia Roberts) was supposed to be married three times before.  But, she always, always bolts right at the altar; she never goes through with getting married.  And Ike Graham (Richard Gere) is out to find out why the heck she always runs. 

There’s this one scene where Ike confronts Maggie and says something to the effect of, “How do you like your eggs?”  And she thinks she knows, but she really has no idea.  Her favorite type of eggs has always been whatever her previous fiancés wanted and liked; she actually had no idea at all how she likes her eggs. 

When Maggie fesses up to the reason why she left those three guys at the altar, she shares, “When I was walking down the aisle, I was walking toward somebody who didn’t have any idea who I really was. And it was only half the other person’s fault, because I had done everything to convince him that I was exactly what he wanted. So it was good that I didn’t go through with it because it would have been a lie.”

So she goes through this exercise of trying to determine who she is – discovering how she like her eggs, what her favorite activities are, what her dreams and ambitions are – apart from her fiancés.  Who is the real woman, not the woman who has been engaged all these times and whose interests simply became what she felt her fiancés wanted, or what she thought they “should” be. 

Anyway, it made me think of you and your discovery of being comfortable in your own skin, of being the real Sarah Allis Yang – not who you think you ought to be, not who you wish you were, not who you think others want you to be, etc. But just Sarah Allis Yang, discovering exactly how does she like her eggs done – and loving and liking herself through and for it all.

This is why I believe God had to take me to a place for the past three years where I have been dependent instead of dependable, helpless instead of helpful, broken instead of stable, wounded instead of whole.  Unable to support myself, I have to rely on others to give to me without being able to pay them back.  Moving from place to place relying on the kindness of others, even living in a senior home for five months (a place that stands as a monument to how the world really feels about people who no longer can contribute to a “productive” society), to discover what being loved is all about, not about what I can give or do but simply because I exist.

He’s trying to show me that Sarah Allis Yang is loved not for how she can contribute but for who she is: the good, the bad, and the terrifying.  Only when we receive true love will we be able to give true love away.  We can’t give away what we don’t have.  The most selfless thing we can ever do is to be loved because the greatest deficit in the world is love.  When you receive love, you can’t help but to give it away because that is the nature of love.  And what this world needs more than anything is…