Thank You

A couple of friends and I decided to pay a visit to the final resting place of a fallen friend. We had the day off, to commemorate Veteran's Day, and we felt it was only appropriate to spend time at Arlington, paying our respects to the men and women of the armed forces who paid the ultimate sacrifice for country. It was a dreary day, with the rain coming down at a steady rate and the cold wind blowing in our face. But the experience of seeing families, friends, veterans, soldiers, and visitors walking the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery to pay tribute to fallen colleagues, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, friends, and strangers was unforgettable.

A lot can be said about the politics of war. The debate of what to do about Afghanistan continues to rage inside the Beltway, as President Obama wrestles with one of the hardest decisions a president surely has to make: whether to send more soldiers in harm's way. But I leave that discussion for another day. This day, I thank the men and women of the armed forces for their incredible sacrifice and valor. We, as a nation, are indebted to their service. I also thank military families for their sacrifices that go largely unnoticed. Last, but not least, I thank our fallen heroes whose lives have been cut short but never forgotten.

Here is a blog entry written by a stranger who, even after three years, also cannot forget the sacrifice of Andy Kim,our fallen friend who was KIA in Iraq. Andy Minhee Kim, you are remembered. Thanks, friend, for everything.

In light of Veteran's Day, here is one of the most moving advertisements I have ever seen. Thank you.

MJ Mania

Yesterday, the so-called "King of Pop" was eulogized at a memorial service in downtown Los Angeles. While watching the live feed of the memorial service at work, I could not help but find amusement in what turned out to be a media circus instead of a real memorial. For the record, I admire his artistic genius, the way his music inspired others, and the way he gave attention to social needs around the world.

I find it so ironic that millions of "fans" around the world were crying at the loss of their musical "hero" when just a few years ago, none of them would have gone out in public to defend and support him during his several legal troubles involving child molestation. Where were these so called fans who were seen on television weeping and lamenting when Michael Jackson pulled one of his many strange antics in recent memory?

And then at the memorial service, there were a few things that stood out to me. What right did Kobe Bryant and Magic Johnson have in speaking at MJ's service other than the fact that they played basketball in the same city where MJ lived? And what the heck was Magic talking about when he claimed MJ made him a better point guard?

Of course Al Sharpton had another one of his moments when he elevated MJ's contribution to the civil rights movement on par with or surpassing that of Martin Luther King Jr's. And he proceeded to say that "there was nothing wrong with Michael Jackson" and turned a memorial service into a rant about racism.

Then there was the price tag on this entire show: $3.5 million. And who would fit that bill? Why, no other than the near bankrupt City of Los Angeles. Nevermind the city closed down a 6-lane freeway just to transport MJ's hearst. After all, it isn't like LA suffers from the worst traffic congestion in the US...(that was sarcasm if you didn't get it). At a time when LA and the state of California faces one of its worse budget crisis that threatens to shut down the government, at a time when jobs such as police officers and teachers are being shed so quickly, the thoughtful family sends a $3.5 million dollar bill to city officials (again, sarcasm). The argument that such a large public event will produce a net economic gain for the city is misplaced since statistical economic analysis of large sporting events have marginal economic benefits. But that is besides the point.

And then the media coverage has been laughable. Is it really "breaking news" that Paris, MJ's daughter, said he was the best father imaginable? Is that what journalism has come down to? At a time when hundreds are dying in the worst ethnic fighting in recent memory in China, when genocide continues to happen in Darfur, when Iran's political situation is still illegitimate, Paris's remarks is what CNN calls breaking news?

At the end of the day, I'm sick of all these "fans" worshipping MJ as if he were God incarnate, without blemish. It was mortifying hearing Al Sharpton tell a revisionist version of MJ's life, that his kids had nothing to be ashamed of regarding their father. Regardless if MJ wasn't convicted of any of the child molestation charges (note: multiple allegations), you cannot possibly say that he's completely innocent when he reached a $20 million settlement with one of his allegers. If you're innocent, why cut a deal with the accuser? Then there's the baby dangling issue, his multiple facial reconstruction and skin issue, his mismanagement of his finances leading to enormous debt, and the list goes on. Yes kids, you have nothing to be ashamed of...just like every child in this world has a perfect dad (again, sarcasm).

Yes, yesterday was a memorial service, and in memorial services, its important for the family and friends to bring closure to the loss of a loved one. And I respect that. I do not argue that it must have been emotionally difficult for the family, especially the children. But to make a memorial into some political, revisionist, and often inappropriate charade (note the horrible performance by Mariah Carey, who wore a rather overwhelming outfit that exposed just a bit too much of herself) was more humorous than anything else.

The world lost an iconic entertainer for sure. But let's not make him out into a saint in the midst of the mania that has somehow swept across the world.

Two Years ii

Our church schedules a memorial service for a fallen hero. His name was Minhee Kim. Friends knew him better as Andy. He served his country. But he loved God and His people even more. Those who would gather at the service would serve as a living testament to the short life that our friend had lived. The room quickly fills up. Tissue boxes line the aisles. No one says a word to one another. Tears that flow like mighty rivers say enough. Andy lived well. He left a legacy.

Several days later, two friends and I go to visit his family. We bring comfort foods of sort so that they wouldn't have to cook in their time of great grief. We greet the parents and his brother. We try to console them. We tell them some stories about Andy. They grieve. We grieve alongside them. Words seem hallow at a time like this.

A few days later, the casket arrives in full procession. The body arrives at the airport from Dover, DE. There's a more formal open-casket funeral service. Local news reporters, officials, veterans of Operation Iraqi Freedom, veterans from other U.S.-involved wars, and the rest of the Ann Arbor community would cram in the sanctuary of Covenant Presbyterian Church. It's my first time experiencing a military funeral--bagpipes, bugle, the standing guards, etc. One of our pastors presides over the main service. Some of his closest friends and small group leaders give eulogies. A little sermon. Many tears. We pay our final respects. I approach the half-opened wooden casket draped in red, white, and blue. I see his lifeless body robed in full military garb. You did good kid, I whisper. You did good.

The pallbearers close the casket. The flag is draped over. The Marines do their ceremonious procession in carrying the body out and into the funeral car. The parents and his brother follow. It doesn't ease the pain. But at least he's in a better place, a place where there is no more tears and sorrow. I see friends in the arms of others, individuals in contemplation, old war veterans saluting their own. I see grown men cry, young college kids grow up, strangers pay homage and respect. It would be beautiful picture in any other circumstances. But not today. Today, I weep with those who weep, grieve with those who grieve.

I open my email to find the last correspondence I had with him. He last wrote to us on Oct. 16, 2006: "one verse thats been sticking out to me has been psalm 44:22. it brings [an] odd comfort that He calls us to die each day to many different things, physically or spiritually. i need to learn more to take my hands off situations, especially when i can't control who gets to come home in one piece and who doesn't." Psalm 44:22 says, "Yet for your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered." That verse now has new meaning.

People often ask how a loving God could allow tragedy to happen. In my youth, I would have tried to find the most articulate philosophical argument to that question. But these days, I just let God deal with those who ask. Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor? Who has ever given to God that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen.

Two Years

It's a cold and snowy November day. The day isn't any different than usual. I park at the same level of the same parking lot like any other day. I get to the office, turn on the lights, brew some coffee, open my email, and go about the routine. My supervisor comes at her usual time, and then the rest of the office trickles in. I don't remember what I was working on at the time. It's probably some travel/hosting report or something to that effect. My supervisor comes out of her office at around 12:30pm, asking when I'm taking lunch. I tell her, soon. I had no lunch plans that day. I was just going to go to one of the restaurants I usually take out from in days like that. I don't exactly remember why I didn't just go and get something earlier. I probably was gchatting with people. That probably is it.

Then, at 12:34pm, I get an email from my lead pastor. The subject headline says, "Important Information." And being on the leadership at the church, I am accustomed to receiving emails with such subjects. Nonchalantly, I open the email thinking it has something to do with one of our upcoming gatherings. But instead, I read the first line, and I feel like I've been punched in the stomach really hard. Blood drains from my face as I stare blankly at the monitor in front of me. My supervisor walks in and immediately senses something is not right. She asks if I'm okay. I tell her everything is fine. She doesn't buy it, but she walks back into her office. I re-read the short little email. A close friend ims me. He's read the email too. He asks if I'm alright. No, I say. Me neither, he says. We decide to meet up for lunch at Charleys in 15 minutes. In the meantime, I im some others. No one can believe it. This can't be, we tell ourselves. And then none of us can say much after that.

I tell my supervisor that I'm going to lunch. I zipper my jacket, put my hood on, place my hands inside my pockets and head downstairs. I see my friend at the corner of South U and East U. We walk silently towards Charleys. Silence has never been that loud before. We get inside, shake off the snow, take off our jackets, and sit in a booth. We take a look at the menu. Our appetite's gone, but our stomachs tell us to order. I'll have the swiss mushroom burger with fries, I tell the waiter. My friend orders something too. The waiter leaves. I look out the window overlooking the wintry Ann Arbor landscape. The snow is falling thicker and faster than before. None of us say much for the first few minutes. He breaks the tension. His voice cracks. He's cried before we met up. He starts sharing the last thing he remembers. Something at small group. I can't really remember the details. We smile. The food comes. I pick at the fries until he says he'll pray for the food. He prays. He sobs. He whimpers. He barely finishes with the traditional, amen. Little do I realize, tears are raining down on my cheeks as well. Two grown men crying in a public restaurant. Who gives a damn what people think.

I take a bite of my burger. I taste nothing. I chew a little bit, and then I offer a story. The first time I met the kid. Five, maybe six years ago. In a summer small group. When undergrads studied the Word and fellowshipped with high school students and graduate students. A quiet kid, but genuinely good-natured. He had a unique laugh. So did I. We connected. He reminded me of my own brother. I liked him. We got along well. He accepted Christ. Got involved with the church. Then off to college he went. Only to return a year later with plans to transfer. He began serving the church. Small group. Ministry team. His class. And then, out of nowhere one day, he tells me he's enlisting. USMC. I didn't know how to respond. What do you say to that? I thought he was joking. He wasn't. He went off to boot camp. He came back different. The same, but very different. He awaited deployment. Iraq. The Bush administration's flawed war. The search for WMD yielded nothing but an all-out civil war and anarchy. Good men were sent to bring peace. Many saw death. I prayed for a miracle. Somehow his company would not ship to Iraq. Maybe Korea. Japan. Somewhere far away from harm's reach. For awhile, my prayers seemed to be working. He kept getting delayed. Until September. He was finally being deployed. I got a chance to meet up with him. Again, what do you say in that situation? He laughed in his usual goofy form. This time, I only smiled. I could not laugh. I prayed for him. He asked me to. What do you want me to pray for, I asked. He said he wanted to be a witness to his company and to the people of Iraq. Anything else? No. I looked at him. I saw someone vastly different from the one I first met in that random small group. I just nodded my head. And I prayed. The day before he was to deploy, people at church gathered around him and said their good lucks. No goodbyes. He'll come back to us. I give him a hug. Come back safe, I whisper in his ear. He just nods. That's the last I saw of him.

to be continued...

Purpose

It's already been one year. He was supposed to have turned 21 yesterday. But I'm sure the party up there was matchless.

Some would say he was foolish. Foolish for cutting short his youth to enlist and put his neck on the line. Foolish for leaving his family and friends. Foolish for seemingly being reckless in wanting to serve the country. But in the words of a wise man, "He is no fool who gives up what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

Some would say his life was wasted. Only 20 years young, with an entire future ahead of him. But he did something that many fail to achieve in a lifetime. He found his purpose. That is hardly a wasted life.

All would say he left his mark. And his legacy continues.