I got a bag.

I received an email in my inbox at the beginning of the week that said "Happy Lab Week. You are appreciated." Something lit up inside of me. Oo! They're going to give me free stuff! Last year they gave me a meal ticket and a gift card to the bookstore...I wonder what it'll be this year... And that little spark of joy and anticipation stayed with me the next few days.

Today I had a conversation in the lunch room with a woman who was telling me about her research. "It's difficult...because you work and work and work and you hardly ever end up with the results you want."

Oo...chord within me has been struck. That's exactly it. That's exactly how I've been feeling for a while now. Nothing I do is going to give me immediate results and most often not the results that I'm anticipating. With every process of fundraising, there is more waiting. And fifty appointments does not necessarily equal lots of money. And as I hope and long to see real transformation in the lives of college students and of my coworkers and of my family...quick results are pretty much unheard of. In fact, real transformation cannot fully be evaluated until some twenty or thirty years have gone by.

But everything in me says that that's not the way it should work. Since childhood I've been raised with a narrative that goes something like this: You work hard = You reap the benefits. You are lazy = You reap the consequences. You study well = You get the satisfaction of seeing "A"s on your report card. You do a good job at work = You get a...

A bag?? I half chuckled to myself as I went down to pick up my "appreciation" gift. A mass manufactured black insulated bag with "Pathology and Laboratory Medicine" printed on the front. Oh! How much I had looked forward to receiving something that said I was appreciated for my work. (And don't get me wrong...I'm thankful for the bag). But now what will become of it? It will probably sit in our apartment for years, adding to the pile of random objects in our already overflowing closet.

I found myself telling my friend in the lunch room "But think of how meaningful your research really is. We may never see the full effect of it...maybe not till 100 years down the road...But just think of how many lives might someday be saved because of your grueling work."

And a voice popped into my head. "Those words were meant for you." Hmm.... I guess I'll prefer the wait.

The Gift of Fund Development

I have officially begun the process of finding and inviting a team of people to support the ministry here at UCLA.

How's it gone so far? I've pretty much been schooled by Jesus just about every day.

A few snapshots of all I've been learning:

• People are generous...especially those who have little money to give.
  
• God provides...usually in the most unexpected ways.
  
• Jesus wants to make me into a generous and bold person.
  
• Potential donors have SO much to teach me from their life experiences.
• Money is only about 10% of what this is all about. Much of it is about partnership...praying for and encouraging each other. But all of it is about being discipled by Jesus.
• I must simultaneously put to death all desires to please people, but also continually think of ways to serve them well by being relevant and articulate.
  
• I love campus ministry and God is breaking my heart for college students more and more.
• The chance to fundraise is a gift. And I must praise God for it every day.
  

A Redeemed Church

I've seen some beautiful moments at church the last few weeks:

Today the pastor called all the men in the church to practice laying down their lives for their wives by taking the postures of servants in their marriages. About thirty men came to the front of the church to confess they needed help in their marriage and wanted to be better husbands. It was beautiful. Made me cry.

Last week at my home church, in what used to be a largely all white congregation, at least four different languages were spoken from up front, including Armenian. It was beautiful. Made me cry.

I love church. I think that, due to the fact that I work with so many college students who've had bad experiences at church, I've been trained so much to say that I understand it's got its faults and that it often doesn't represent what Jesus actually taught.

But I really like church. There has rarely been a time that I've gone to church, in the last 24 years of my life (or at least those that I can remember), that I haven't been either blessed, challenged, or filled with much joy and peace. :)

A Rich Heritage

Mom and I listened to the recordings of Dad's memorial service tonight. Here are some highlights from what people shared:

• When Dad was in grad school at USC, he burned a hole in a door across the hall with his laser beam. :)
• In the 1970s Dad organized a trip for 150 college students to attend Urbana. (Little did he know his daughters would continue that tradition. ;))
• Dad introduced his friend, Steve Dashiell, to Jesus when he was in grad school and they were best friends for some 25 years after that ("they" meaning Dad and Steve but you can include Jesus in that too).
  
• One of the top managers at Xerox said that he learned everything he knew about parenting from my Dad.
  
• Several missionaries said how much they felt like our house was a home to them when they came back on furlough and how much wisdom and encouragement Dad gave them when they were here.
  
• Dad had a record at Xerox of all his achievements and groups that he's managed. The last entry said "Group Managed: Family. Highest Position Attained: Father."

I know I'm sounding redundant, but I just wish that the whole world would have known my dad. I wish our staff team and my college friends could have known him. I wish my new friends at church and my coworkers could have known him. And now I can only hope that they might see just some small piece of who he was by looking at me.

And that yearning I have for the world to know the dad I had is just a tiny reflection of the desire I have for the world to see how great of a God I have. I want to be like my dad because, when people saw my dad, they saw Jesus. And my prayer and deepest desire is that somehow, through the mystery and grace of God, they might see Jesus in me too.

For everything in me (in regards to both my dad and to Jesus - though the latter all the more) just wants to scream to the world, "You gotta meet my Dad! You gotta meet my Dad!"