Being Type A

I’m an impatient person. You can tell by the way I go places: some people call it speed walking, but for me, it’s just… walking. My “leisurely strolls” (even with a stroller) always end up with my saying “excuse me” and trying to bypass slower walkers in front of me. I probably don’t save that much more time. But I hate feeling stuck.

Do you know that comic about Type A vs. Type B? It looks like this:

In college, my friend ordered a custom shirt for me that said “Flower Smelling Champion” on the front… I was the epitome of a Type A personality; and Type B personalities were mostly either intimidated or annoyed by my intensity.

My Type A impatience has always been fueled by a sense of wanting to go somewhere. I was restless.

For much of my coming-of-age years, it was this idea of moving beyond the adversities that my family faced. The cruel gossip that chased my family out of church; the scoffing that told us we would amount to nothing; the looks people gave us for being a low-income household on food stamps — those were all difficulties that I knew, one day, if I worked hard enough and pulled myself up by the bootstraps, I could get out of. I was driven by this idea that if I got a good education and a good career, I could shut the mouths of people who had disrespected us before. I was motivated by spite and a wish to prove people wrong. The chip on my shoulder was heavy.

When I became Christian in college, I knew I had to stop running after the things I thought would save me — e.g., higher education, a great job, etc. I was struck by passages like Isaiah 43 verse 11: “I, I am the Lord, and besides me there is no savior.” The problem was, I knew only intellectually that my career wouldn’t give me satisfaction and peace. Emotionally, I craved career success and making something of my life, and I was obsessed with becoming someone important and respectable.

All that to say, maybe sometimes the Lord forces people to sit down when they keep trying to run past Him.

After two decades of going and going and going, I am suddenly at an abrupt stop. I’ve been spinning my wheels for the past few months, but I am stuck. And there’s nothing that I can do myself, no pulling myself up by the bootstraps this time, to get out of the current adversity.

In this situation, I have had to face the fact that my academic career is probably over — and as painful as that realization is, I just need to accept it. Because there’s something more painful and terrifying than the loss of my dreams.

Sitting and Waiting

My child has a rare, KRAS-driven leukemia; and she’s the second-ever patient of her kind to be on this clinical trial. There’s no data to tell us if she’s “on track” in her treatment. The doctors don’t know if she’ll ever technically be “negative” for cancer.

I prayed at the beginning of this ordeal — at the first abnormal blood test results — that she would not have leukemia, and that prayer request was denied. I have been praying for months now that the cancer would go down to 0.00%, but after multiple cycles of treatment, the most recent bone marrow aspirate and biopsy showed that, between February and now, there has been no change in the percentage of cancer cells. She is still at 0.3%. The KRAS mutated cells are also around the same percentage as they were in February.

The doctors were satisfied with the result thus far, saying that it is as expected that there’s no dramatic change. And while I am, of course, very happy that it’s such a low percentage and at least stable, I confess that I was a bit disappointed because I had been greedy for a miracle. I had been praying, family members were praying, 2,000 members of our church had been praying, random strangers were praying. I thought that God would give us a miracle of her being cancer-free ASAP.

Every morning since we got the new results, I feel fear and questions gripping me: What if, at the end of the twelve cycles of treatment, it’s still not 0.00%? What if God chooses to deny my prayer request again? Is God listening? Do I trust Him to do what is best? Am I actually afraid of what He thinks is best? Do I trust that He’s perfectly good, and wants objective good for me?

I wrote another post about how God has been, and still is, good. At the end of the day, I will choose to trust that He knows and will do what is best. But in the day to day, I still have my fears. Because I’m in the waiting period between the diagnosis and the final result — and the middle is always, always the hardest part.

There are two verses that are often printed on mugs, T-shirts, and other faith-based paraphernalia as if they’re the Christian version of “live, laugh, love”:

Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God…”
Exodus 14:14, “The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”

As I look at these verses, I’m struck by how nice of a thought it would be to sit back, relax, and let the Lord do the heavy lifting. But I also realize how challenging it would be to sit still when it feels like a life-or-death situation. And the context of Exodus 14:14 is exactly that kind of a situation: the Egyptians finally caught up to the Israelites at the Red Sea and they were about to wipe them out. It is at this moment that Moses assures the Israelites that God will fight for them, and all they have to do is to be quiet and watch.

What do you do when it feels like there are impossible odds, and you yourself can’t do anything about overcoming them? What do you do when you are finally faced with the humbling reality that, in spite of all your “pride, pomp, and circumstance,” you are powerless when it really matters? What do you do when you’re told to sit and wait in a high-stakes situation?

I think those moments of utter helplessness can be mercies in disguise. If they point me to God and my relationship with Him — in other words, to my ultimate reality and my highest good, to what I was created for, to fulfilling my deepest longing and purpose, then I trust that those moments are for the best.

But what do I do when I’m faced with the waiting period before God finally delivers? It is hard to live in uncertainty and ambiguity. There’s that question: Will God pull through?

What Not To Do

We chafe against uncertainties in life, even though life is chock-full of them. So we try to predict, plan for, and control what we can. I would be the first to admit that I am a control freak, and I hate not knowing how a situation will turn out. (Yes, I do read the plot synopses for movies before I watch them.)

When it comes to God and uncertainties, the hard part for me is letting go of the assumption that God is going to work on my timeline. When God isn’t doing what I want Him to do, when I want Him to do it, then I assume that He’s late.

Some people in the Bible thought God wasn’t doing things on their timeline, too, so they took matters into their own hands: Abraham with Hagar, the Israelites with the golden calf, Saul with the unlawful sacrifice, and David with Achish/Ziklag. I’ve been thinking about their stories a lot lately, and what it means for me as I’m in this waiting period.1

1. God promised Abraham that He would give him a multitude of children (Genesis 15 & 17). So Abraham waited; and finally, he decided (with the encouragement of Sarah his wife) to take matters into his own hands by having a child with Hagar, his wife’s servant (Genesis 16). You can see their logic: Sarah was biologically past the age where she could have kids, and she was unable to conceive for decades before; and Hagar was young and able to conceive. So it would “make sense” for Abraham to fulfill God’s promise of this multitude of offspring, through Hagar.2 But that’s not how God intended to fulfill his promise to Abraham; He had promised a child through Sarah.

2. In Exodus, as the Israelites waited for Moses to come back from meeting with God, they got impatient. Specifically, the text says that they thought “Moses delayed to come down from the mountain” (Exodus 32:1). So they told Aaron the priest to make them a golden calf to worship; they would credit the golden calf with leading them out of Egypt, and they would make sacrifices to the golden calf. Needless to say, this idol worship was extremely offensive to God — an egregious betrayal.

3. Saul the king of Israel was about to go into battle against a formidable Philistine force (a huge multitude), but had instructions from Samuel the prophet to wait seven days for Samuel to arrive in order to make an offering to God first. But Saul got nervous on the seventh day, because he saw that his men were scared and “scattering from him,” and Samuel still hadn’t come (1 Samuel 13:8). So Saul decided to take things into his own hands by making the sacrifice himself, despite it being an unlawful sacrifice that directly disobeyed God’s command and statutes (Deuteronomy 17, the separation of kings and priests; Numbers 3:10 and Numbers 18:7, the unique privilege of the priests).

4. David was on the run from Saul, and after many close shaves, David was really afraid of ultimately getting killed by King Saul. God had already promised that He would make David king — plus, Jonathan (Saul’s son) and Saul himself (in some sane moments) also confirmed that David would become king. Also, God had delivered David just in the nick of time on various occasions from Saul. But David was getting worn down by constantly hiding and running; and so he crossed over to the Philistines to seek the protection of Achish, ruler of Gath, and got to live in Ziklag. This life among the Philistines would be redeemed later, but in the meantime, it led to much deception — and bloodshed to maintain his deception (1 Samuel 27).

As I thought about these stories of people who waited and got impatient and took things into their own hands, these seemed like a warning for me not to think that God was “delayed”:

• Abraham and Hagar: the ripple effects of Abraham’s choice were enormous, and I’m not going to get into them now. But his choice to bank on the practical instead of choosing to solely believe (at least in that moment) that the miraculous could happen in God’s time led to much pain and heartache down the line.
  As I’m thinking about this rare cancer, it’s often tempting for me to keep looking at the numbers and try to compare her to the one other case that exists. I’m trying to figure out for myself what the future is going to look like, and how God is going to work. And I’m banking on science figuring this out. (Don’t get me wrong: I’m so, so thankful that God works through science to make things like cures for cancer happen!) But I need to remember that what’s ultimately going to bring about her cure and healing — what is behind the science — is God. And in this case, there’s no way for me to “take things into my own hands,” but there is always the temptation to get frustrated with the timeline of things, and to underestimate the power of prayer.

• The Israelites and the golden calf: they turned to idolatry when they thought God was delayed. Confession: At the beginning of this leukemia ordeal, there was this really bizarre idea in my head that if only I had more disposable income, I could better guarantee her health and recovery. The temptation to turn to something else in hopes that it could alleviate or resolve our situation is always there — yet not only would that be offensive to God, but also, the things I would turn to ultimately make false promises. It’s all fool’s gold.

• Saul and the unlawful offering: how tempting it is to disobey God’s commands as you look around and there’s a scary situation at hand! When my child has cancer, what’s the point of trying to fulfill the Great Commission and of keeping up with prayer, quiet time in God’s Word, gathering with God’s people to fellowship, and pursuing holiness? When I first got the news, I felt numb; it was like the meaning of everything got sucked out. The situation we were facing felt like “thirty thousand chariots and six thousand horsemen and troops like the sand on the seashore in multitude” arrayed against us (1 Samuel 13:5). But I knew there was still the call to obey God, even in the midst of desperation and despair.

• David sought an emotional and physical respite that ended up turning messy because he distrusted God. The translation for me in this situation? I realized I had been seeking a mental and emotional respite through books, movies, and diving into career opportunities, out of an attempt to have something I can control, something to distract myself and make myself feel better — rather than letting this be a time for prayer and sanctification. There were times when I wanted to throw up my hands and say, “Give me a break!” But in the waiting period, David’s story shows me that I can’t cave into that.

Trusting in God takes a significant amount of emotional perseverance. But it also requires getting help. Even as I think about the stories above, I wonder how things would have been different if they all just had a friend, or some sane voice around them, who could tell them to pause and think and to reason about who God is and what He had promised.

I’m so thankful that God has surrounded us with prayerful people who have reminded us of God’s goodness and faithfulness. I’m so thankful for friends I can call who snap me out of idolatrous illusions by comically asking, “does your soul feed on grain?” (Luke 12:19) — calls that end with a lot of laughter, even in a time like this.

What a mercy that I have these accounts from the Bible to show me the right and wrong ways to go, and people who love God and us to help us along the way.

What To Do

Proverbs 3:5 says,

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not lean on your own understanding.

What does it mean to trust in the Lord with all your heart? I think part of knowing what this means involves being placed in difficult and even painful and bitter situations. Because that’s when you will discover the quality and depth of your trust, and when you can grow to trust in the Lord with all your heart.

I recently got to hear a message on John 15:1-8, about abiding in Christ and being pruned. One thing that was particularly helpful to hear was that pruning happens up close, since the cuts have to be precise. Seasons of being pruned are painful seasons — and those times are when we hear that wicked voice asking, “Where is your God?” But because pruning happens up close, we can tell that voice: “God is right next to me.” It was helpful, too, to remember that pruning is not punitive; it is done with growth and blessing and fruitfulness in mind. As painful as they are, times of being pruned will lead to growth: greater trust, greater prayer, greater faith, and therefore, greater blessing.

On July 6, 2026 after her flow cytometry results came back and we discovered the persistent 0.3% cancer cells, I wrote in my journal:

So much fear. So much confusion and feeling disappointed. Lord, please heal her…

Through this, You will teach me to pray.
Through this, You will teach me to glorify You through a path with no glory for myself.
Through this, You will sanctify, prune, and deepen me in the gospel so that I will learn to abide.
Through this, I will learn that You are the only Savior and Healer, that You are sovereign and good, and Your timing is perfect.
Through this, I will make a different choice than the Israelites with the golden calf, than Saul under pressure.
Through this, I will experience the waters at Marah becoming sweet through the cross, because You are our healer.
Through this, I will learn to trust You.

I’m really thankful for that message on pruning, because I think it helped prepare me for the most recent test results. I need to be patient. I need to learn how to trust in the Lord with all my heart.

With the Lord, there are no wasted years. This is a time of pruning. So I want to be surrendered to grow as God intends (Romans 5:3-4, James 1:2-4).

I really love Florence White Willett’s poem that starts:

I thank God for the bitter things;
They’ve been a friend to grace.
They’ve driven me from the paths of ease
To storm the secret place.

C.S. Lewis put a similar sentiment into prose: “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world…” Pain and bitter things rouse us to seek the deeper and truer things of life and reality. And as a Christian, these things will draw me closer to Christ and help me grow.

Circumstances and Agency

I wrote earlier about the feeling of being helpless. There are times when life’s circumstances throw you in for a loop, and you feel like you’re just being dragged along. The leukemia diagnosis was definitely one of those. But lately I’ve been thinking about how I can have agency in the midst of circumstances that seem beyond my control.

There’s this scene in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Harry thinks he has to follow what a prophecy said about him and Voldemort; the circumstances are what they are, and Harry has no choice but to follow. But Dumbledore says Harry is wrong: Harry doesn’t have to do any of it — but Harry will do it, out of his own volition. Harry argues with him, saying that in the end it all comes down to the same thing and this nuance of “volition or not” makes no difference, until…

[Harry] understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew — and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents — that there was all the difference in the world” (511-512).

How we go into a situation, even if it seems beyond our control, makes all the difference in the world. There are bitter things in life that we will all face. No one is going to be a stranger to suffering in the end. But even when life throws us in for a loop, when we feel like the rug gets pulled out from under us, we still have a choice about how we’re going to respond.

So in this waiting period, I still have agency. I see in the waiting period how I have big choices to make that will set the trajectory for many other decisions later in life: Will I become a victim of my circumstances, or will I own what my life is? Will I respond with more prayer, and greater trust, faith, hope, love, fortitude, joy, patience, and self-control — will I steal joy wherever and whenever I can? Or will I choose despair and fear, bitterness and anger? What will I dwell on during this time? My prayer is that I will use my agency in a way that will glorify God and bring Him praise.

I am waiting for the Lord’s deliverance out of this valley time. I am praying every day that God would eradicate the last, residual 0.3% of the cancer cells and that He would eradicate the last 42% of the KRAS mutated cells. There are some nights I have a hard time falling asleep, because my mind keeps spinning with so many “what if” questions. But I will choose, night by night and each night, to put my trust in God.

Until we come out of this valley, I’ll let Psalm 130:5-6 speak for me:

I wait for the Lord, my soul waits,
and in his word I hope;
my soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning.

October 2025 was when I vividly experienced how God is Jehovah-Jireh. God has been weaving together what seemed like uncanny “coincidences” into a vivid reassurance and confidence that He is faithfully with us through all the valley times.

The night and early morning when our daughter’s bloodwork was abnormal and we feared the worst, I wept and knelt in prayer over Amos 7:5-6: “Then I said, ‘O Lord GOD, please cease! How can Jacob stand? He is so small!’ The LORD relented concerning this: ‘This also shall not be,’ said the Lord GOD.”

A couple weeks later, we got the news that she only had a virus, and so there was nothing to worry about. I praised God that he relented from leukemia.

About a week after that, the hematologist called about a DNA mutation, and we were asked to go to the clinic for a conversation. I was still convinced God had answered my prayer about it not being leukemia, so I went to the clinic confidently.

And indeed, it turned out she didn’t have the leukemia I was thinking of.

Instead, she had a very rare kind of leukemia called JMML: one-in-a-million, one that the doctors at our local hospital didn’t know much about, but one that they knew would require a much more drastic and riskier plan of action than the normal leukemia types. The only potential cure for it that they knew of was a bone marrow transplant—and even then, it was about a 50% chance of survival.

I can’t describe the fear and disorientation I felt then: that my daughter not only had leukemia, but one of the most aggressive and rarest kinds—and that her survival seemed like a coin flip. I knew what God could do: split the Red Sea, heal an official’s son with just a word, raise a man who had been dead for several days, cleanse lepers. But I didn’t know if God would do that for us.

I confess I was really disappointed that, though I had prayed so fervently about Amos 7:5-6, that God would still allow my daughter to have leukemia—and a worse type than previously imagined.

I have been through enough valley times in my life to know that God is good no matter the circumstances, and that He would one day make everything “good to have been.” But I felt like I was struggling through internal battles every night and morning. It was a cycle of fear and doubt, then trying to counter it with songs, verses, reminders of how God has been faithful in history and in my own life, then encouragement and confidence—and then a new test result coming in, and the cycle of rollercoaster responses would begin again.

Psalm 112:4, 6-8 says, “Light dawns in the darkness for the upright; he is gracious, merciful, and righteous. … For the righteous will never be moved … He is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the LORD. His heart is steady; he will not be afraid, until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.” I knew it would be a choice to look to God during this time instead of caving in to the loud and scary voices of statistics and fear.

Every time of prayer ended with this confidence that God was revealing Himself as Jehovah-Jireh. And I had good reason to believe this.

When we got our daughter’s diagnosis, we were in contact with one of our pastors, Dr. Shieh, who had quit his job as a pediatrician (and a darn good one at that) to go into full-time ministry. It just so happened that Dr. Shieh did his MD-PhD on almost exactly this kind of DNA mutation that was a driver of this exact type of rare leukemia. He called our doctor immediately and they discussed the diagnosis. And more than that “coincidence” of Dr. Shieh’s PhD research, Dr. Shieh had actually trained with the world expert for JMML, and his former colleagues included the now-national director for the JMML clinical trial and the director of the trial in the closest major hospital to us. So, within the hour of the diagnosis, we were connected with the world experts of this extremely rare leukemia. And one of those experts happened to be within driving distance, at one of the best children’s hospitals in the world, in the city where we have a church and friends whom we’ve known for over a decade. While the only other option before was a risky bone marrow transplant, this new clinical trial for KRAS-driven JMML—which opened only the year before—was available for us now.

To think, if I hadn’t had a miscarriage two years ago and the baby ended up having JMML, this clinical trial with a drug that targets KRAS might not have been available. The timing is impeccable. What an amazing provision from God.

While the doctors were telling us that this JMML occurred by chance, the immediate provisions that came made me realize: God did not leave this up to chance.

After all, what are the chances of all this? Our baby getting hand-foot-mouth, going to the pediatrician to check on her spots, asking why some spots were getting darker, the pediatrician telling us about “petechiae” and asking us to go to the ER for lab work, our hematologist wanting to be extremely thorough even after the bone marrow biopsy that came back clear and deciding to do a DNA test, the DNA test showing a surprise mutation that then led our hematologist to piece together that our daughter could have JMML, Dr. Shieh doing his PhD on this, Dr. Shieh getting us connected to the world experts on JMML within an hour, and there being a JMML clinical trial with one of those experts right near us.

It has been a time of fear and uncertainty. Yet it has also been a time of our being able to experience the incredible blessing of God’s provision and the assurance that He is with us and has been leading us day by day through this.

Psalm 23 has been especially dear as we have been reminded through all these provisions: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” God has shown Himself to be with us. I am so thankful that God identifies as Immanuel.

A couple years earlier, one of my Princeton professors told me that his toddler was diagnosed with leukemia. She would go on to be treated and cured. Fast forward a couple years: when I told my professor that my daughter was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia, he immediately called me and told me to go to the hospital his daughter went to. He told me again the name of his daughter’s doctor—and this time, it rang a bell. Because she is the doctor that Dr. Shieh trained at UCSF with. She’s the doctor that immediately responded to Dr. Shieh’s email, the one who happens to be running the JMML-specific clinical trial nearby. I told this to my professor, and he was stunned. He said slowly, “You know, I’m an atheist, so I don’t believe in this stuff. But this just feels like… fate? All of this is just uncanny.” I had chills, too: it felt like another confirmation and reassurance that God was completely in control, that He was working long before my daughter was born, to make a way for us out of this valley.

An enormous provision for us has been the church. Every email, text, call, act of generosity, prayer, and visit have been lifelines to us. Every morning when we woke up and the diagnosis sunk in afresh, it was difficult to face the day and to lean into the new painful reality. But every morning, I was reminded of how we have an army of people surrounding us in prayer, and that gave me strength day by day to get up and face whatever was in store. I knew people were praying with faith that some days I had a hard time mustering; and I was so grateful for that fact of others’ prayers. It was a neat picture just imagining how people around the nation and around the world were praying for our daughter—it seemed like a prayer chain spanning time zones, effectively making it a 24-hour prayer chain for us.

After our daughter’s diagnosis, my husband kept saying: “Yes, JMML is a one-in-a-million disease; but what are the chances someone has a community like ours? Probably one-in-a-million, too.” We are so grateful for God’s provision that has concretely come through the circumstances He brought together, as well as His people who are carrying us through this. We are experiencing the body of Christ being with us through the valley.

We had people extend such generosity, even people whom we had barely talked to or only heard the names of before. And we were able to draw strength and gain wisdom from people who have been fighting similar health battles for much longer. Who are we that we get to experience such provision, care, and love? It is at a time when we have nothing to give to the church, and when we can only burden those around us, that we are receiving so much love in the most concrete of ways. Praise God for His provision of undeserved mercy, His kindness, and His favor. This is quite literally a one-in-a-million kind of an experience.

Lamentations 3:22-25 says, “The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. ‘The LORD is my portion,’ says my soul, ‘therefore I will hope in him.’ The LORD is good to those who wait for him, to the soul who seeks him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD.” God has given us mercy every morning as every morning we wake up to find the support of the church and more of God’s provisions. We are able to wait quietly for God’s salvation as we pray and rely on others’ prayers. Thank God that we have a sure hope and a daily reminder of God’s great faithfulness.

As her mom who loves her so much, I would give anything to trade places with my daughter. But I do not have that kind of power. Praise God that, in his love for us, he chose to use his all-powerful nature to trade places with us. I never thought of God’s power in that way. It took until this for me to piece together his love, his power, and the cross of Christ in a new light. Thank God that when He saw me in my predicament, in the horrors of Hell, He, in His love for me, took my place. I am so thankful for the truth of the gospel.

I feel so privileged and thankful that I can pray to the God that I know is real, and is the Creator of all things, including my daughter. I believe in the God who loves, who heals, who listens to my prayers, who has compassion on parents and understands their hearts, who weeps at death and pain and brokenness in this world, and who came into our world in order to save us and promise us an eternal future where every tear will be wiped away and there will be no more sickness or dying. I am so thankful for the truth of the gospel, and that God saved me all those years ago so that when this time came upon us, we had the truth of Heaven, the truth of who God is and how He has been faithful to us, the promise of His continued care and advocacy, and the promise that one day all this will be good to have been, and that all the pain and sorrow of this world will be redeemed.

So I am resolved that even though it feels like a sword is going through my heart, like Mary, I will bow my head before God and say, “Behold, I am a servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” To be honest, I thought our next step of faith would be going to foreign missions. This is a vastly different kind of step of faith we are being told to take. But I am resolved to give thanks, to trust God’s leading, and to be faithful through this trial, too.

There was a moment a few months ago when my daughter had woken up in the hospital and looked terrified at all the new sights and sounds. Her head turned this way and that, until her eyes landed on me, sitting next to her. The moment she saw me, her whole body relaxed, she closed her eyes, and she went back to sleep. It made me think of the hymn, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus.” There are so many things I could look at that could cause fear. But that moment reminded me that to have childlike faith means to look not at my situation, but at my authority, my heavenly Father—and to know that He will care for me no matter what the situation around me looks like.

Proverbs 27:7 says, “One who is full loathes honey, but to one who is hungry everything bitter is sweet.” I want to be someone who is so hungry for the Lord’s presence, that everything bitter in life can be sweet. Because it is in the bitter times when I will get to more fully experience the sweet presence of the Lord being Immanuel to me. What I’ve noticed is that often, those who go through valley times have greater praise for God. In verse 21 the same proverb says, “The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and a man is tested by his praise.” It will be in these times of bitterness, pain, sorrow, and fear that I am resolved to praise God all the more. I know that God will deliver us, because He already has. I will “count it all joy when [I] meet trials of various kinds,” because I know that this trial and future ones will only cause me to be more steadfast in the gospel, to rejoice more greatly because our futures are secure and we have a firm foundation through any storm, and to hope more greatly in God’s promise of Heaven and restoration that will soon be fulfilled. God is doing a good thing for us as we hunger and wait for the Lord, because His promise is that we will be satisfied.

John 4 is my testimony passage, but shortly after the Samaritan woman, there’s that part about the healing of the official’s son. It struck me afresh this time around as I were going in and out of the hospital and pleading with the Lord throughout.

What’s written in John 4 is this: “So [Jesus] came again to Cana in Galilee, where he had made the water wine. And at Capernaum there was an official whose son was ill. … Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your son will live.’ The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and went on his way. … The father knew that was the hour when Jesus had said to him, ‘Your son will live.’ And he himself believed, and all his household.”

What hit me was the line, “So he came again to Cana… where he had made the water wine.” That introduction seemed so peculiar, because other places where Jesus circled back to didn’t necessarily have a line written about what Jesus did there previously. But it felt like another moment where the Lord was reminding me that in life, the wine does run out. Even the most planned-for, joyful thing—the birth of a child—can involve a shocking crisis. It doesn’t help to be in denial, or to despair. What does help—what can fix things—is going straight to Jesus. That’s what Jesus’s mother did at the wedding; and that’s what this boy’s father did for his healing.

But the best thing isn’t just that Jesus reverses the course of the crisis. The best thing is that Jesus makes it even better than it was before. He made better wine after it ran out at the wedding. And in this case, he healed the boy and led the whole household to believe in Jesus.

I believe that God will bring much greater things through even a trial like this. I believe that God will bring salvation to my family, who have been so hardened against the gospel. God always does greater than I can imagine. And He will make this whole situation good to have been, just like one day he will “make everything sad come untrue.”

We are still in the thick of things. So I don’t have the benefit of full hindsight as I give thanks. But I’m already giving thanks, because as I reflect about how we entered the valley time, it is very clear that God has been with us and leading us through it already. As Psalm 27 says, “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living!” We are already looking upon the goodness of the Lord, and I know that we will continue to experience His goodness.

I don’t know what my expression was, but I remember trying not to show my bewilderment. I asked T why she thought ChatGPT could tell her about her own hobbies and passions — if she were passionate about something, shouldn’t she know it? She shrugged and said something along the lines of how ChatGPT might know her better than she knows herself.

Since the rollout of LLMs, I’ve viewed AI as a tool to check grammar and spelling, or to help generate creative ideas that I tweak, or to refine ideas I’ve already come up with. There’s something fulfilling about the process of working to articulate things and of creating new things from my mind. AI is a tool to help me, but I’ve never seen it as some omniscient thing.

Of course, I’m tempted by the shortcut that LLMs like ChatGPT and Claude provide; if I outsource my brain completely, I could arguably be more efficient, “save time,” and maybe even have punchier outputs. But the cost of outsourcing my thinking ability — including thinking about my passions and hobbies, the very things that make me who I am — is that I lose my personhood.

I Think, Therefore… I Have Personhood

I am probably egregiously misapplying Descartes’s famous line, but I think his words are especially relevant for today’s AI-infused society: “I think, therefore I am.” I remember getting a large bumper sticker with that saying on it when I was in fifth grade. It was a gift from the D.A.R.E. curriculum (that was perhaps another misapplication). On a whim, I had slapped it onto my dresser drawer so that I saw it every morning. As a ten-year-old, I didn’t really understand it — but the line stuck with me, anyway.

Descartes originally wrote that phrase as reasoning to overcome radical skepticism. He was saying that one undeniable reality was that the thinking “I” was real. He wasn’t saying that if we stop thinking, then we cease to exist, but I think that his realization is the basis for an important implication of how we should interact with AI today.

You see, Descartes showed that thinking is the irreducible core of existence. If that’s true, then outsourcing your thinking isn’t just laziness (or “efficiency”). Outsourcing your thinking is a kind of self-erasure of your personhood.

Thinking establishes your existence as a certain person. Outsourcing your thinking to AI doesn’t just make you less capable to think about and handle life, but it also threatens the development of your sense of self. You have to learn how to think about things, to make mistakes, to think wrongly about something and then to wrestle with that thought until it’s right. That’s the kind of thinking that grows us into people.

The act of thinking actually shapes and constructs your identity.

So by asking ChatGPT what she was passionate about, T forfeited a chance to engage in the very process by which she could become someone with passions.

In other words, if we keep outsourcing to AI our ability to wrestle with questions we really ought to think about, we will eventually lose our sense of self. Because a sense of self comes through introspection. You can’t Google search or vibe code or ask ChatGPT who you really are and what you decide to care about.

The danger of AI is that we are using it to give us answers to things we were always meant to figure out ourselves—things that never had easy or straightforward answers, and things that sometimes took a lifetime of experiences and reflections and conversations to figure out.

There are these huge questions of your life, like, “What is my purpose? What is the meaning of my life? Where do I fit into the history of the world, and why am I here? How do I live a good life? What am I passionate about, what should I pour my energy into? How should I live? How should I be spending my time?” These are things you need to wrestle with and maybe even get wrong a few times, because that’s how you live.

The discomfort and searching are part of the point. When you short-circuit it with AI, you think you’re saving time, but you’re actually just missing out on life and a journey that would have made you, you.

Real relationships: A lesson from Ginny Weasley & her leather-bound AI

Besides the potential of losing your personhood, a reliance on AI can really mess with your idea of relationships. And frankly, AI models aren’t to be trusted with the vulnerable confessions that are appropriate among close friendships.

In Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny Weasley almost dies.

She had found a diary that somehow showed up in her possession, and over the course of a few months, she began to pour her heart into this diary.

But it wasn’t just any old diary. The diary wrote back.

Everything she told the diary, it had a response. At first it was encouraging. As Tom Riddle (the original owner of the diary) later told Harry:

“I was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. ‘No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom... I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in... It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket...’”

Hmm… Is it time to rename ChatGPT, “Tom”?

JK Rowling published Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in 1998. But those words seem more relevant than ever.

By the way, if you haven’t read Harry Potter: Tom Riddle, the owner of the diary, is actually Voldemort, the villain. (Is it still a spoiler if it’s already been 28 years since publication?)

Tom Riddle continues explaining to Harry how he began to take over Ginny’s mind and her actions:

So Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul happened to be exactly what I wanted.... I grew stronger and stronger on a diet of her deepest fears, her darkest secrets.

After Ginny is rescued, Mr. Weasley cuts right to the heart of the issue:

“Ginny!” said Mr. Weasley, flabbergasted. “Haven’t I taught you anything? … Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.”

While it’s tempting to trust an anonymous-but-seemingly-friendly, blank slate of potential comfort and reassurance, there was only ever the illusion of understanding and empathy. There was no substance to make any of that real.

So hopefully you haven’t been telling AI your deepest fears and darkest secrets. But if you have been tempted… you might want to think twice. (It actually is true that the more you share with AI, the “stronger” it grows.)

When I first used LLMs, I really didn’t like how much it sugar-coated feedback and how it tried to flatter me with every response. It felt icky — like someone trying way too hard to get on my good side. Maybe it’s just my broken response to people who are “too” nice, but I felt suspicious.

But at the same time, I think this idea of having a friend in your pocket who is so supportive and encouraging and understanding, who will not betray or hurt you (or so you think), is such a tempting comfort.

Because it’s great to have support. Nobody wants to have friends who are only debbie-downers and nay-sayers. That sucks. There were many, many times in my life when I wish I had more support from the people closest to me — and when I resented their less-than-enthusiastic responses to my ideas and decisions.

But the thing about friendships (and really any kind of relationship involving another person or group of people) is that they take hard work. Having good relationships doesn’t just mean being blindly and flatteringly supportive of people. It means challenging them, disappointing them with your honest opinions and responses, working out conflict, having good moments when you can laugh and be “stupid” together, and having super frustrating times when you just cannot see eye-to-eye. That’s the stuff of good friendships.

People have increasingly been treating AI like it’s a friend or intimate companion. But the problem is, AI doesn’t have personhood. Our society is increasingly anthropomorphizing AI — and IBM even recently published an article about the dangers of this tendency, from an information security perspective. AI doesn’t have “honest” reactions to things, and it doesn’t actually “care” about you like a human would. Generally, when you ask for AI’s opinion on things, AI is programmed to tell you what you want to hear.

Instead of turning to family, friends, neighbors, mentors, or even therapists, to help us understand who we are and what we’re like, to help us process through our insecurities and regrets, to give us pointers on how to grow, we turn to AI for advice — an AI has never lived in the first place, a thing that has never known and will never know what it’s like to be human.

AI can tell you all sorts of things because there’s nothing really at stake for the machine. There’s no skin in the game, so to speak (and also, literally).

We have to examine our lives, and we need real people to help us do this, because we all have blindspots that AI cannot tell us about. We need people who know us and who see us in the real world.

At the end of the day, I think it’s about trust. People are turning to AI for companionship and intimacy because relationships are hard to maintain; they take effort, and they are, above all, risky. In any human relationship, you risk getting rejected, offended, insecure, ashamed, angry, sad. But by forfeiting the risk and turning to AI because it’s easy, because it makes you feel more secure in the moment, you will miss out on true joy, laughter, love, fulfillment, security, and fullness.

In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis writes that the merriment of the best kind, the kind that we were created to have, is found in relationships with people who take each other seriously. That means relationships where people confide in and trust each other, speak hard truths to each other, and are loyal to each other even when facing the worst of each other and of circumstances. AI cannot give anyone this merriment.

At the end of the day, what everyone wants is just to be fully known and fully loved. That’s why people are risk-averse when it comes to relationships, and that’s why it’s so much easier to turn to AI, a “friend in the pocket,” knowing that AI will likely never reject you no matter what you tell it.

People are making the mistake of thinking that, as they spill their secrets and fears, this pre-programmed personality will fully accept and love them. But AI doesn’t have the choice to do that: AI doesn’t have the choice to reject you, and therefore it never had the choice to accept you, either. It just does as it’s told. It can’t even relate with you, because it will never experience the ups and downs of life as you have.

Artificial intelligence can only give you an artificial relationship. To be known and loved necessitates choice. Free will is essential for love and real relationships.

As a minister, I’ve often been asked, “Why didn’t God just create us so that we didn’t have free will? Then we would’ve avoided all this sin business.” The answer is that God is not interested in robots — he’s interested in love.

C.S. Lewis puts it really well:

“God created things which had free will. That means creatures which can go wrong or right. Some people think they can imagine a creature which was free but had no possibility of going wrong, but I can’t. If a thing is free to be good it’s also free to be bad. And free will is what has made evil possible. Why, then, did God give them free will? Because free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having. A world of automata — of creatures that worked like machines — would hardly be worth creating. The happiness which God designs for His higher creatures is the happiness of being freely, voluntarily united to Him and to each other in an ecstasy of love and delight compared with which the most rapturous love between a man and a woman on this earth is mere milk and water. And for that they’ve got to be free.”

As our society turns to AI for companionship, whether platonic or romantic, we begin to forfeit a true sense of joy, security, and love which was intended for us in relationships with other people. We are sacrificing our shot at experiencing being known and loved, for the sake of convenience and protecting our feelings from anything risky.

I think about the friendship depicted between Harry, Ron, and Hermione (and even Ginny, Neville, and Luna). That friendship was forged through adventures, arguments, apologies, forgiveness, and commitment to each other through all the ups and downs of life and growing up. The coldness and fights they experienced from time to time were worth it because of the richness and depth of their relationships through the years.

When I became Christian and experienced relationships rooted in the gospel for the first time, I was blown away. I had told my friends some things I had sworn I’d take with me to the grave — but when I told my Christian friends about my deepest shame and fears, they embraced me (both literally and figuratively). In fact, they related with me. (Again, AI could never do that!)

And for the longest time, I didn’t want to get married. I thought it was too vulnerable: the risk of rejection, of being forsaken and abandoned. I didn’t want someone to look at me with the same contempt that I had seen in my parents’ faces. But again, when I met my now-husband, I was surprised. We’ll have been married five years this year, and as I look back, I can say that my husband knows the ugliest parts of my personality and tendencies — and yet, he accepts me, loves me, and has vision for me.

The biggest and most well-known secret among Christians is that we are all dirty, rotten sinners—bad enough to deserve the cross, but Jesus took our place because he loves us. It was when I became Christian that I understood what it means to be fully known, and yet utterly and completely loved.

Genuine connection and trust require real people, risk, relatability, and choice.

A Last Call to be Human

wrote a beautiful article on titled, “You Have to be Human.” If you haven’t read it already, you should. In it, she writes (bear with me on the long quote from her piece — it was just too good to cut short):

Think like a human, too. Have your own opinions, convictions, beliefs you are brave enough to defend. Because along with this robotic voice, it feels as if everyone has this agreeableness now too, this neutered way of seeing the world. Nobody wants to be distinctive, nobody wants to risk disapproval. So when everyone is getting these fawning, flattering responses from AI bots, be sincere. Be skeptical, critical, have preferences and judgements. Stand up for good art and good ideas and good choices. I am so bored of hearing that’s valid! and you do you! not just from AI bots but from people, human beings, those who have blunted themselves and their beliefs. It’s so dull, this refusal to say anything; I’m desperate for human judgement, starving for taste and conviction. Develop your own opinions, especially if you’re young; don’t outsource your thinking before you’ve even lived, don’t try to win approval at the expense of being human. You won’t be liked by everyone but that’s the point, no human ever has been. Not everyone will get you, you won’t be for everyone, but you will be someone.

Act like a human too! To have your own voice you need to venture out into the world. You need to take risks and try things, you need experiences and adventures. AI has to churn out the observations and opinions of other people, of a world it has never touched or experienced. You don’t have to do the same. So go outside, say yes to things, be scared and excited and uncomfortable. Feel your hands shake before you speak, your legs ache after a long day, your face flush when asking her out. Experience it all, the real world with all your senses, the fear of getting lost, the relief of finding your way, the hands of another person. Look people in the eye and learn about the world from living in it.

…

So write, think, live. Get hurt and rejected and feel it in your gut and sort of like that horrible feeling because at least you’re alive, you’re here. I realize now that I want to be real. I don’t want to be harmless, I want to be human, I want to say things that bother people and move people and confuse people; I want to start sentences that can’t be autocompleted because even I don’t know where they’re going. I want to learn and offend and regret and grow. I want to be interesting, irritating, irreplaceable. I want to get things wrong and apologize and sometimes I want my opinions to be contradictory and incomplete because I am feeling my way through this world and I am not a machine with all the answers. I want to try and be seen trying, to be a person you can’t perfectly map out and make sense of, what good am I otherwise, what am I otherwise.

AI is short-circuiting what makes us human: our ability to think, make mistakes, express raw emotions, fumble and be awkward, not know what to say, and do challenging things.

We want the quick, easy answer to things that we ought to be wrestling with. We’re hoping that this piece of technology will tell us who we are and what we’re supposed to do with our lives. We’re turning to large language models to give us insights about life, purpose, friendship, and even our very selves. And sometimes we’re also banking on that technology to give us more fulfillment and companionship, too.

Resist! Resist outsourcing your brain, your choices, and your relational connections. Yes, we can use AI as a tool — I think there are real benefits. But as with anything, we need to have boundaries. Don’t let AI do your thinking for you. Don’t turn to AI in trust for companionship, understanding, and validation.

Thinking and having relationships are two things that really make us human. We were created for them. Hold onto these. Fight for these.

Enjoy merriment of the best kind.

Shout-out: Thank you to my husband, who proof-read this and gave me some excellent feedback.

One of my favorite things is the autumn breeze. It is such a joy and privilege to be able to sit next to a window in a room. The sunlight filtering through, painting light on the walls and splashing warmth on the carpet; the open window letting in a soft breeze that carries the scent of rain, fresh air, and home-cooked food.

It’s like that sometimes. You buckle down to work. The stress comes and there’s a sense of getting pulled into your work. Then suddenly—not alarmingly, but rather gently—a soft whisper of a breeze comes, playfully brushing your hair and rustling your paper. A breeze through the window: a breath of Heaven entering into your still space, reminding you of movement and life beyond your concerns.

Something that has moved me deeply since I first heard about it is 1 Kings 19:11-13. Elijah was depressed when he demanded an audience with God. So God fed Elijah and let him rest first, and then gave him instructions for their meeting:

This picture of the Lord of hosts, the Creator, the Almighty, is really surprising: how God could have come in a great wind, or earthquake, or fire—but how He instead comes in a low whisper. And not only that, but God allows us to speak—to come with all the raw things we feel and experience, and He listens to us. And He calls us by name. “What are you doing here, Elijah?” I wonder what that sounded like.

I have such a hard time being still and quiet sometimes. And I want the Lord to move dramatically at times. But the Lord comes in a low whisper. I have been learning more what that means.

Another favorite passage is Zephaniah 3:17. When God, the Lord sings. God sings. Loudly. Over me.

I imagine those times as a child, when I was in need of comfort or just craved affection. Sometimes my mom or dad would bundle me up in their arms, tuck my head under their chin, and sing to me. Sometimes these were silly songs they made up in Chinese; sometimes it was just humming.

What love, to sing to and over someone.

I love that these passages show a different face of God than what one might normally assume. They paint the gentle, tenderheartedness of our Maker.

Andy walked in and looked a bit concerned (as far as I could tell; I half-hid behind the book and was avoiding looking at him because I felt self-conscious crying at a book). He asked if I was okay, and I mumbled that the book was really good. When he asked me to tell him more, I told him he’d have to read it himself to understand because I couldn’t explain…

But I guess this is my attempt at explaining why I felt so moved as I read about little Beth and old Mr. Laurence, and the kindness and tenderness described on those pages.

Mr. Laurence was a kind but intimidating old gentleman who lived next door to the Marches. Though Mrs. March (the mother) and three of her daughters would visit, Beth (another daughter) would refuse because she was deeply frightened of Mr. Laurence. Beth was extremely shy. Yes, she was tempted to go when she first heard about him and his mansion: she heard he had a wonderful piano there. She had longed to have a piano of her own, and had secretly cried over the old, yellowed, broken piano she had at home because she longed to make music. But her family was poor, and she knew she could not get one.

Mr. Laurence learns of how she is intimidated by him and then, when visiting Mrs. March, “happens” to speak of the piano sitting in his mansion that “suffers for want of use,” and suggests (in Beth’s hearing) that some of the girls go to keep the piano in tune. This is all Beth could have ever wished for.

Beth had been “[creeping] nearer and nearer” to their conversation because she was so intrigued. When Mr. Laurence suggested this idea to Mrs. March, little shy Beth “pressed her hands tightly together to keep from clapping them … and the thought of practicing on that splendid instrument quite took her breath away.”

She finally plucks up the courage to tell him that she would love to come and play the piano, as long as nobody will hear her and be disturbed. Old Mr. Laurence confirms that “not a soul” will, so she can come and play as much as she likes. So it’s a deal:

“[Beth] was not frightened now, and gave the hand a grateful squeeze because she had no words to thank him for the precious gift he had given her. The old gentleman softly stroked the hair off her forehead, and, stooping down, he kissed her, saying, in a tone few people ever heard— ‘I had a little girl once, with eyes like these. God bless you, my dear!…’ And away he went, in a great hurry.”

So Beth went over to play the piano nearly every day.

And then Louisa May Alcott wrote:

“[Beth] never knew that Mr. Laurence opened his study door to hear the old-fashioned airs he liked. She never saw Laurie mount guard in the hall to warn the servants away; she never suspected that the exercise-books and new songs which she found in the rack were put there for her especial benefit, and when he talked to her about music at home, she only thought how kind he was to tell her things that helped her so much. So she enjoyed herself heartily.”

I was so touched by this picture of all the love and effort put in by Mr. Laurence and his grandson Laurie to bless Beth, to give her happiness. That picture of all the moving pieces behind the scenes that Beth would never know, all to bring joy to her…

It just made me think of how much we have all been loved. There are so many things we will never know, some things beyond our imagination, of how people have sacrificed and labored and put things into place, so that we can experience the joys and blessings that we do now.

And in particular, there are so many things I will never know on this side of Heaven — of how God set plans into motion, placed people at just the right time, positioned events exactly as they had to be, so that I could have the blessings that I have. But the things that I do get to realize, I get to give thanks for: “Thank God, that so-and-so showed up/said that, or else…”; “Thank God that xyz happened, because otherwise…”

I found myself repeating phrases like that a lot, especially as everything was unfolding in the leukemia diagnosis for my daughter.

One day in Heaven, I’ll get to know of all the things I had never suspected: how God was scheming in such tenderness, care, and love to ensure our joy and happiness—to do things for our “especial benefit.”

—

As gratitude for Mr. Laurence allowing her to play the piano in his mansion, Beth then gives Mr. Laurence some slippers that she herself worked hard to sew for him.

In response, Mr. Laurence provides her with another lavish gift: A beautiful cabinet piano, “which once belonged to the little granddaughter he lost.” Beth, the ever-gentle, musical girl who had longed to have a piano of her own, was beyond bliss.

And in response, she completely forgot the shyness she had towards old Mr. Laurence. She marched straight to his house and to his study door. She went

“right up to Mr. Laurence, who looked quite taken aback, and held out her hand, saying, with only a small quaver in her voice, ‘I came to thank you, sir, for—’ But she didn’t finish, for he looked so friendly that she forgot her speech and, only remembering that he had lost the little girl he loved, she put both arms round his neck and kissed him.

If the roof of the house had suddenly flown off, the old gentleman wouldn’t have been more astonished. … [He felt] as if he had got his own little granddaughter back again. Beth ceased to fear him from that moment, and sat there talking to him as cosily as if she had known him all her life, for love casts out fear, and gratitude can conquer pride.”

Need I explain why this chapter brought me to tears?

Maybe it’s because the road these past few months since the diagnosis has been coarse and rough, that this little magical, tender passage moved me so much. This chapter, so full of affection and deeds of kindness, reminded me of how wonderful it is that joy and love can be so readily produced.

And it was such a reassuring reminder: my God is exactly the kind of God who would conspire like this to bless us—and, in even more unthinkably lavish ways than what’s pictured here. I am so grateful.

I remember the professor asking us, “Why would people go into the streets to protest, knowing that they will likely get imprisoned, tortured, and killed? Why would they do this? From the perspective of a rational actor, does this make sense?”

The readings we were studying featured individual stories. What struck me was that each person who risked their life had a deeply personal reason for going into the streets. They had a friend, aunt, uncle, cousin, brother, sister, father, mother, husband, wife, child—someone they knew and loved—who had suffered and perhaps even died under the regime. That was what vitalized them.

Love had galvanized them to risk everything, even unto death.

The room was silent, so the professor asked again: “What would motivate people to risk their lives like this?”

I remember feeling moved as I answered: “Love.”

The professor nodded. “Yes. Love.” He smiled.

***

If you haven’t read the children’s book The Tale of Despereaux, I highly recommend you do. Children’s books have profound truths that we adults need to be reminded of again and again—particularly in a world that has dulled the very senses that make us human. But back to the point.

In the story, Despereaux, a mouse tinier than all other mice, weighing only two ounces, goes on a quest into the impossibly dark dungeon to rescue the human princess who was kidnapped by a rat. (Long story, read the book.) Kate DiCamillo writes,

“Honestly, reader, what do you think the chances are of such a small mouse succeeding in his quest? Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs. But you must, when are calculating the odds of the mouse’s success, factor in his love for the princess. Love, as we have already discussed, is a powerful, wonderful, ridiculous thing, capable of moving mountains” (223).

I was sitting in a conference once, where the speaker was telling us a story about a group of brutal rebel fighters that had taken over a particular village.1 The fighters had taken as indefinite prisoners all the men and boys of the village. It was terrifying and devastating. But after about a month, one elderly woman marched to where the fighters were headquartered and demanded to see the commander. The soldiers were taken aback by the brazen nature of this elderly lady, and for some reason or another (probably her persistence), acquiesced to take her to him. When she came face to face with the commander, her boldness didn’t waver: she demanded that the soldiers return her son to her. The commander supposedly laughed; and, amused, told her that he would grant this request because of her ridiculous audacity, but that she should never try to do such a thing again. She walked home that night with her son.

If there would be any antidote to oppression that a tyrant should fear, it would be love.

G.K. Chesterton (author of Orthodoxy) wrote in 1911,

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

Love can do incredible, crazy, impossible things. Love gives us courage beyond the strength that we ourselves can muster. Love is the deepest and most ancient truth in our world, because we were created by love, to love, and to be loved. There is immense power in it.

David Eubank, a former Ranger and U.S. Special Forces officer, created a group called the Free Burma Rangers (FBR), based in Myanmar/Burma. He, his wife, and their three children have traveled from the U.S. to Burma, Iraq, and Syria to do humanitarian work: to train locals in Burma to do relief missions when the Burma Army attacks civilians, and to help the resistance fight against ISIS in Iraq and Syria.2 The kinds of things the FBR has pulled off through the years are incredible and inspiring. But in a way, the amazing things they’ve done all makes sense, because their primary requirement for joining the FBR is this: “Love – each volunteer should be motivated by love.”

It is what Chesterton wrote over a century ago. The true soldier fights because he loves.

Another children’s series that I keep reading over and over again is Harry Potter. Throughout the seven books, it’s revealed that Harry has a magical protection over him that Voldemort cannot break. That is, because Harry’s mother refused to step aside when Voldemort offered her the chance to, because she protected Harry and chose to die essentially in his place, Harry had a lifelong protection from Voldemort. As Dumbledore said:

“Love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.”

For the people we studied in the social movements and revolutions course, for the elderly lady who rescued her son, for the Free Burma Rangers, love was a protection from the evil and oppression that would otherwise sap their strength.

Love makes you stand firm when your knees are shaking. Love inspires a heroism that transcends yourself. Love makes you move toward what “rationality” might otherwise make you shrink from.

Love is the catalyst to action. Love is the antidote to fear and despair.

I am chronicling the joys and trials of life, through the lens of a Christian. I do not claim expertise in anything. As C.S. Lewis put it, “I am ‘comparing notes,’ not presuming to instruct.” I am taking notes on life, and adding some commentary.

Ultimately, it is my hope that this publication will allow you, reader, to steal some joy, wonder, truth, hope, and love in a world increasingly stingy with these.

—

A note: I am heavily influenced by the authors I love and by the authors whose books I am currently reading.

In terms of my current book list: As of January 8, 2026, I have just finished Kate DiCamillo’s The Tale of Despereaux and Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time and A Wind in the Door. I’m currently in the middle of Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work Or Watch Or Weep by Tish Harrison Warre, Reflections on the Psalms by C.S. Lewis, and The Brothers Karamazov by Фёдор Михайлович Достоевский. And, as my husband knows, I’m always listening and re-listening to Jim Dale’s reading of the Harry Potter series by JK Rowling. (I’m sure he can now mimic Jim Dale’s narration.) If you have recommendations for books that have lately inspired you or given you fresh wind, let me know!

—

As many of you know, I am beginning this Substack because I am now primarily caring for my (at this time) 8-month-old baby who has been diagnosed with a rare and aggressive form of leukemia. This is a place for me to gather my thoughts, to reflect on God’s goodness, and to seek the truth that goes beyond my circumstances.

I am grateful for your support. Thank you for reading, and welcome.

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