In the end, it really wasn't about loneliness.  I learned that I don't get to earn the love that is given to me, which is good because I couldn't, and even as Thanksgiving passed, I didn't realize how thankful I would be for this most difficult weekend.

Yet again, this is where this story ends.  Maybe next time, if Janna is willing, I'll try this again with some help.

Five years ago, I mentioned a place where the sidewalk ends.  I think it would be fitting to finish with another story by Shel - this one is about a mother's love.

*****

Once there was a tree...
and she loved a little boy.
And every day the boy would come
and he would gather
her leaves
and make them into
crowns and play
king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they
would play
hide-and-go-seek.
And when
he was tired,
he would sleep
in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree...
very much.

And the tree was happy.

But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, "Come, Boy, come and climb
up my trunk and swing from my branches
and eat apples and play in my shade
and be happy."
"I am too big to climb and play," said the boy.
"I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money.
Can you give me some money?"
"I'm sorry," said the tree, "but I have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them
in the city. Then you will have money
and you will be happy."
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered
her apples
and carried them away.

And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away
for a long time...
and the tree was sad.
And then one day
the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, "Come, Boy,
climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches
and be happy."
"I am too busy to climb trees,"
said the boy.
"I want a house to keep me warm,"
he said.
"I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house?"
"I have no house," said the tree.
"The forest is my house,
but you may cut off my branches
and build a house.
Then you will be happy."
And so the boy cut off
her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.

And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away
for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
"Come, Boy," she whispered,
"come and play."
"I am too old and sad to play,"
said the boy.
"I want a boat that will
take me far away
from here.
Can you give me a boat?"
"Cut down my trunk
and make a boat,"
said the tree.
"Then you can sail away...
and be happy."
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.

And the tree was happy...
but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
"I am sorry, Boy,"
said the tree, "but I have nothing
left to give you-
My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak
for apples," said the boy.
"My branches are gone,"
said the tree. "You
cannot swing on them-"
"I am too old to swing
on branches," said the boy.
"My trunk is gone," said the tree.
"You cannot climb-"
"I am too tired to climb," said the boy.
"I am sorry," sighed the tree.
"I wish that I could
give you something...
but I have nothing left. I am just
an old stump. I am sorry..."
"I don't need very much now,"
said the boy,
"just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired."
"Well," said the tree,
straightening herself up
as much as she could,
"well, an old stump is good
for sitting and resting.
Come, Boy, sit down.
Sit down and rest."

And the boy did.

And the tree was happy.

Sorry, this is kind of lazy, but here are a few pictures from the summer and fall.

Waterfall at Starved Rock

Janna and me at the Bean

Myung and Sulah

Cat and Snoopy

  

Maybe it's because I never went away to summer camp, but I can't really recall particular childhood summers.  I don't have memories of any seminal coming-of-age seasons, of young love found and lost, of entire lifetimes spent in the hazy heat of a July afternoon.  The closest thing I had were church summer retreats, but they were always too short, and my earnest efforts to do as the guest speaker implored and seek God in the midst of the sweltering darkness and the holy ruckus of the main conference cabin as the older kids in the praise band played the chorus for the tenth time somehow made it a little difficult to enjoy the rest of the day without a tinge of spiritual guilt.  After all, the road to godliness was supposed to be littered with persecution and hardship, and not very many friendship bracelets.  So my appreciation for What Summer Meant was always limited.

Until now.

I met Janna four months ago, almost to the day, and I've felt both slightly punch drunk and perfectly balanced the entire time.  We hiked through a mini-waterfall, wandered through fests and festivals, interrupted a picnicking couple with Kuub, broke out of a parking lot, learned that ATVs can drive over lawns on two wheels, and took a Sunday morning jog on Lake Shore Drive.  We read to each other, did a Bible study together, drank beer on her porch, and sat and talked on an old blue couch a million times.  We both tried to break up with each other and failed miserably.  We should be complete opposites, and we are in some ways, but we really are also exactly the same.  I've never met anyone like her.

Now she is in Minnesota and I am in Chicago.  We're making the best of it, but the future isn't clear and Autumn is coming.  I know Summer can't be endless, but I can at least hope that it will last a lifetime.

I'm not sure why I thought it would be easy once I got to this point because it isn't.

Most of the resistance, predictably, has been from my parents, who have at least turned down the threat level from out-and-out disownment to simmering disapproval and guilt-tripping under the guise of parental concern.  It wouldn't be fair for me to judge them without taking into account the world that they grew up in and societal norms of the first generation Korean immigrant.  So I understand somewhat why they are reacting this way, but it doesn't make it any better.

And my sister, who, to be fair, has been very supportive in dealing with the initial hostility of my parents, seems a little less excited about the relationship itself.  She keeps comparing it to her old failed relationships and talks about how she hopes our family will be okay when all this is done and keeps trying to remind me about our parents' point of view when, really, all I need for her to do is support me through this, regardless of how it turns out, and have some faith.

It's all been very discouraging, and the only thing keeping me going is the fact that I think she is worth it.

I always hoped that I wouldn't be disappointed when I finally fell in love. And even though I've seen other people who were supposed to be in love - in real life, in movies - I could never see myself putting aside my protective distance long enough to free my emotions. I thought I might end up settling for falling in comfortable like.

I was wrong.  I've never been happier to be wrong and I've never been happier.

I visited New York City last weekend for the first time since the last time. And the last time was the start of something big, so this time will be interesting to see.

Met Janna. Good talk. Wonderful girl.

I hate the stomach-churning ups and downs of searching for love. As much as I try to steel myself against the whimsies of my emotions, every hint of reciprocal interest lifts me six inches off the ground and every minute of passing silence buries me six feet under. My only saving grace seems to be the gentle pull of God's actual saving grace.

I want to put these in writing during this momentary bout of clarity so that I don't forget:

My complaint is often that God should give me my heart's desire, so as to satisfy my longing, or (in my oh-so-praise-worthy self-sacrifice) take away my desire completely. But He doesn't want to take away my desire - it's meant to be there. Of course it is; He created it. But that gnawing in my heart isn't what I think it is. I'm looking at the wrong thing.

I've gone out on dates with good Christian girls, and our conversations have included good Christian talks. But have they been Christ-centered? And by that I mean, have we intentionally focused our discussion around the idea that this nascent relationship will be intentionally built on Jesus as the only goal? No, we usually spend the time talking about things we like to do, our friends and families, our careers, and try to get a feel for whether we may be compatible together. These things aren't inherently bad, and in fact, are helpful in completing the periphery of the picture of ourselves. But how can I hope for a Christ-centered relationship when I'm constantly making doughnuts?

Loneliness is difficult and frustrating and painful, but it would be far worse to be lonely together. By the grace of God, let us desire the doughnut hole.

I don't do well with too many choices.  I've jumped in with both feet into the seedy underworld of online dating, and, uh, I'm probably making it sound much worse than it is.  I don't really know all the rules of how this is supposed to go, and I'm likely breaking online dating etiquette all over the place, so I just hope I'm not unintentionally burning any bridges.  But then again, one little click and I can find myself a million new bridges, all nice and flammable.

But I don't like that.  I really just want to find one good girl and leave the winks and icebreakers behind.  And if she can put her head through an ice cream cone with a smile on her face, all the better.

Myung is trying to help me in real life.  Myung said Sulah knew a girl that she could set up with me.  I told him I don't want to know anything about her, lest I have some baseless reason for not wanting to meet her.

Myung: So I said I'll give you her number and you can call her.

Me: Okay.

He: But Sulah said that's not how it works.  She's going to set something up.

Me: Okay.  Wait, do you know this girl?

He: No.

Me: You've never seen her?

He: No.

Me: What?  If I'm not going to know anything about her, then you have to screen her for me.

He: Okay.

The next day he texted me.

He: Sulah got so mad at me for asking for a picture.

Me: Hahaha.

He: She's pretty.  She's too good for you.  Call her.  Here's her number.

Me: I thought Sulah didn't want that.

He: She doesn't want to get involved because you are mean.

Me: Hahaha.

So it's on by any means necessary.  Come on, heart: move, but don't break.

After Bruce Weber's firing, the one and only name at the forefront of media speculation to replace him was Shaka Smart. Smart was the head coach of the men's basketball team at Virginia Commonwealth University. In his third season as a head coach, he had led his team to the NCAA tournament for the second straight time, following up a surprising run to the Final Four last year. He was young, energetic, charismatic, and seemed to be on the verge of great things. So it seemed an obvious match for an up-and-coming coach from a mid-major school to advance his career by moving up to Illinois.

As is the norm in today's saturated 24-7 Twitterized media cycle, speculation became rumor became unnamed sources became a done deal. Reports came out that Smart was offered twice his current salary, facility renovations, and the opportunity to take advantage of the fertile recruiting grounds of Chicago. How could he say no?

He said no.

The night before he did, I knew he would.

*****

I love my dad. I do. But there are times when he tells me things that I rather wish he would have kept to himself.

He came over to my place a while back, and happened to start talking about my single-hood.

He: I know your mom is putting a lot of pressure on you.

Me: Yes.

He: Let me tell you something. You should try to find a girl who is affectionate. You want a girl who can laugh and be outgoing.

Me: Yes.

He: Your mom isn't like that. She's a hard-worker and sensible and a good person, but she never shows any affection. I didn't really know your mom well before we got married, but I met your grandmother and she was gregarious and funny, so I thought she would be similar, but she wasn't.

Me:

He: But you should try to find a girl who is affectionate.

And at that moment I realized that my parents love my sister and me very much, and appreciate everything that the other has invested in the marriage, but ... did they truly love each other? Or was this a marriage of propriety, held together for the sake of the kids, and after nearly forty years, they were now merely roommates, waiting for grandchildren?

As immigrant Koreans, maybe the children were more important than things like love. After all, they gave up their comfortable lives for the hope that we might have more. Maybe that's the choice they made.

*****

I met up with Parker last week and, among other things, we talked about how our generation of Korean-American Christians were starting to deal with the realities and difficulties of marriage and divorce. He said that the divorces that he knew about all had the wife, for various reasons, leaving the husband.

Each situation is different, so who knows? But I'm afraid of what it says about the men. Are they immature? Stubborn? Not willing or able to grow as a person and a partner? And the women? Are they dissatisfied? Selfish? Not willing to fight through the worse, the poorer, and the sickness?

Or do they just want to be happy?

*****

It's about choices. Sometimes you make a choice, and sometimes a choice is made for you.

Anson has been preaching on the book of Ruth and it's been encouraging. (But not encouraging enough)

Iris said that she finds joy in gratitude, and hoped that I would find the same. (But I haven't really)

Maybe there's something wrong with me. ( )

Bruce Weber was fired yesterday from his position as the men's basketball head coach at the University of Illinois. After a successful start at the beginning of his tenure, including a run to the national championship game in 2005, he was unable to maintain that level of excellence. His teams had missed the NCAA tournament in three of the past five years, and his record in conference play since the graduation of his predecessor's recruits was a mediocre 55-66. By all accounts, he is a very nice man who loves his family and runs a clean program. Unfortunately, all those things do not cover a multitude of losses.

I have nothing personal against Bruce Weber, but it seems pretty obvious that it was time for a change. The players weren't responding to his coaching, and the new director of athletics had no reason to hang on to a stumbling coach that he didn't hire. Sometimes, a relationship runs its course, and no matter how great things were at its peak, the best thing for everyone involved is to move on.

*****

I saw a movie called The Grey a little while back, about a group of survivors from an airplane crash trying to fight off the wolves and cold of the Alaskan wilderness. Near the end of the movie, the main character - exhausted, desperate - makes a plea to the heavens. "Do something! Show me something! I need it now! Not later! Now! ... I'm calling on you! I'm calling on you!"

The sky remains clear and quiet, and there is no answer.

"F--- it," he says, "I'll do it myself."

I also read a book review recently about a young woman who loses, in short order, her mother to cancer, any meaningful relationship with her family, and her marriage to divorce. Her response to this, irrational as it may seem, is to hike the Pacific Crest Trail, and somehow try to find deliverance in the 1,100 miles of physical penance.

Before the hike, she writes about being in her mother's hospital room. "I prayed to the whole wide universe and hoped God would be in it, listening to me. I prayed and prayed, and then I faltered. Not because I couldn't find God, but because suddenly I absolutely did: God was there, I realized, and God had no intention of making things happen or not, of saving my mother's life. God was not a granter of wishes. God was a ruthless bitch."

*****

Things resonate for a reason. There are times and there are situations that cause me to wonder. Yet still I wait.

I spent last week in Vegas for the ASC conference, and even though nothing terrible happened, I think I'll be okay if I don't go back to Vegas again for a good long while.

Work is less hectic because I don't have to study for the ABSITE anymore, but with deadlines for abstracts and presentations and conferences that never seem to end, I keep getting these headaches.

And as for my personal life, I'm not in a good place.

You may remember that the annual surgery in-training exam is at the end of January. Well, even during research I am required to take it and hopefully I won't mention it again for another eleven months or so. But that's what I've been up to.

So now.

Myung said he had a conversation at work with one of the girls that he teaches, Killian, age 9.

Killian: Who do you think is prettier, Taylor Swift or Katy Perry?

Myung: Uh, Katy Perry.

She: No way! Who do you think sings better?

He: Katy Perry.

She: No way!

And as he was telling this story, Kara emphatically seconded Killian's opinion.

Kara: I agree with Killian.

Me: Kara, let me tell you something that you can look back on in twenty years. Boys will always like the Katy Perrys and girls will always prefer the Taylor Swifts.

Of course, I kind of love/hate both.

I asked Myung how things were going with Sulah and he said things were going really well. He said he's hoping to propose sometime later this year and maybe get married next year. It seemed fast, but then again, not really. It mostly just made me wonder what I was doing.

Time to giddy up.

A few months ago, my dad said that he needed to learn how to use email because he would be getting more involved at his church. For my parents, who have never double-clicked anything in their lives, it was a big step. I took the old laptop that I had, pasted some Korean letters on the keyboard, and deleted everything except for two icons on the desktop: email and Joonmedia, the not-quite-legal Korean video streaming site. And they loved it.

Initially I got daily emails in Korean from both parentals, but once they started writing to their friends and families, I quickly became chan bop. And when I visited for the holidays, I would see my mom in the evening watching her Korean shows on the new laptop that we bought her for Christmas. I even had hopes of teaching her Skype. So things were good.

I had dinner with Sharon yesterday, and in between our usual arguing, as I was telling her about my parents' technological leap, she dropped this:

Sharon: Oh, Joonmedia got shut down.

Me: What?

She: The only thing on the homepage now is a video of Rick Warren.

Me: Why?

She: I don't know, but my roommate came to me yesterday and asked me if Joonmedia was working for me, because all she saw was Rick Warren.

It's true. All that remains where hundreds of Korean video links once were is one purpose-driven white guy. Because my parents' grasp of the idea of the internet is still rather tenuous, I'm not sure what they thought when they tried to open Joonmedia this week. My mom hasn't called me about it, probably because she doesn't want to bother me, but I'm guessing that she thinks she did something wrong. Don't worry, Mom, it'll be okay, I'll find you another site. This place is bigger and smaller than you can imagine.

I've been meaning to update, but I guess not really. The past few weeks have been a little busy, meeting up with people that I hadn't seen in ever/two months/six years/ten years/forever. And it was fun/strange/awkward/funever, but I don't have the energy to rehash everything.

My resolutions are the same as they've been since last year, and possibly the year before that. It wasn't that bad, though. I mostly/rarely/rarely/rarely kept them. Okay, it was that bad. Let's see if I can bump one of those up to a sometimes.

Other than that, I still have no idea what I'm doing with anything. Happy New Year!