Hello, thank you all for coming. Allow me to introduce myself...my name is Jason. I'm Hans' other son. Not his natural son, as you can see, but his step son...although i always referred to him as "Dad", because that's exactly what he's been to me.
I have so many fond memories of Hans that I don't know where to begin. Perhaps it's best to start with when I first met him. It was back when Mom and Hans were dating, and I remember that he didn't treat me like I was merely Regina's kid, but he embraced me...literally, you know? First time he came to the house, he rang the doorbell, I ran downstairs to answer it, and as asoon as I opened the door, he greeted me with this great big bear hug, and lifted me off my feet. I was like "Wow, who is this guy?"
Hans was always so warmhearted, right from the beginning. When he was away on business trips, he would always send me postcards...of classic sports cars, because he knew I liked cars. And he would always include a little story of why that particular car was special. I remember collecting all the postcards and would post each one I received on the side of my bookshelf next to my bed. Before long, I had a huge column of postcards.
Hans really opened up my world to so many new things. I remember being stuck in a rut thinking of what to do for a 4th grade science project, and Hans came up with this idea to do a project on solar power. It was a pretty advanced concept at the time, at least for a 9 year old...Hans helped me make an award winning display with a fan powered by a solar cell, while other kids were still trying to make their model volcanos explode.
In 5th grade, I found myself in a familiar situation of being stuck, but this time it was for a paper on John Smith. This was before the days of the internet, mind you, so I couldn't just look it up and copy and paste the text. Hans pointed me in the right direction by approaching the subject with a genuine sense of curiosity, and told me to start the essay by asking the question, "Just who is this John Smith?" I remember when it was time to hand back the papers, our teacher was not pleased. She said everyone failed miserably on the assignment, and it seemed clear that no one had a clue as to how to write an essay. No one except one student...and then she asked me to stand up and read my paper out loud.
Hans also taught a little boy how to be charming. I remember one time Hans took me to this nice Swiss restaurant in San Francisco called the Swiss House. That was where an 8 year old boy got his first proper lesson in Western table etiquette. He also taught me how to say "hello" in Switze-Deutsche, and encouraged me to practice on our waitress...so I said, "Gurrietze" next time she came around, and I think she blushed.
As a little boy growing up and raised by a single mom, I am really grateful for Hans entering my life and teaching me all the things that a boy should know. He taught me how to defend myself when other kids picked on me. He always told me, "Hit FIRST, and hit HARD." So i asked him what comes next after that, and he said, "Well, if the other guy is bigger than you, you run like hell." Hans instilled in me an interest in martial arts, boy scouts, taught me how to swim, how to shoot, a love for James Bond movies and gadgets. Hans loved gadgets, an so did I naturally. I was the only kid in 6th grade with fancy pens. And he'd upgrade my wooden ruler which was given to every student to a shiny black plastic one with a built-in calculator. Of course that later became a problem, because whenever my mom came into my room to give me a spanking, the first thing she would look for would be my ruler. So when Hans upgraded the next one to a sleek, aluminum ruler with built-in calculator AND pen stand, I was very afraid.
I remember when my mom was away, Hans would always use that as an opportunity to take me out to a nice restaurant, since my mother would usually not allow it because it was kind of a guilty pleasure (you can see how my Mom and Hans played the good cop/bad cop role very well). I remember we used to always go to this place called "The Grand Cafe" when we lived in New Jersey. He would always order himself or myself a nice filet mignon, or a "steak au poivre", that was his favorite. And for dessert it was always a chocolate souffle. Hans really loved food...and loved cooking. An because he cooked so well, his love for food was passed down to me as well. All my friends LOVED coming over for dinner. And many of my extended family can attest to how great his breakfasts were...He was always experimenting with new ways to cook eggs. He had about a hundred different ways, because he would never make it the same way twice.
Hans also loved Jazz. One time i took him to a Soul Food restaurant with Jazz, and he was in double heaven. One of his favorite places to hang out in Shanghai was the Blues & Jazz club. The first time I went with him, I could tell he was at home. His favorite seat wasn't in the front, close to the music...it was in the back, by the bar, where he could see everyone come in and chat with people. I witnessed how everyone was really fond of him....the display of his natural congeniality and how he engaged people.
Earlier this year we went to hear Michael Braungart speak on sustainability. Hans was able to engage the guest speaker in a lengthy discussion before and after the speech. During the Q&A segment, he went up to the microphone and gave his own mini-presentation on sustainablity, and I witnessed how he commanded everyone's attention. He always asked the audience questions to make sure they understood...he always had a good feeling for people. One of his favorite past times was going to New York City and just sit at a cafe or park and go people watching. He had an uncanny understanding of people and a genuine interest in their lives, and how they think. He put those talents to work over the last couple of years when he volunteered on weekends at hte lifeline call center, an emergency crisis hotline. He told me that sometimes people would call him just to chat. He has such a heart for being supportive, and I'll always remember how supportive he's been to me, and how he's influence my creative side and personality...he's a big part of who I am today. He will be remembered for serving the Lord through his ability to touch people's lives and through his generous spirit. We all have been blessed by Hans in our lives, and much thanks is given to the Lord today.
I've lied many hurtful lies. I've been deceitful. I've been disingenuous. I've been prideful.
I've never thought of myself as a person that could be labeled as a liar and deceiver, but how can I expect someone to believe otherwise? I used to think that a person shouldn't be defined by their mistakes, and therefore shouldn't be called the mistake (ex. if he said something dumb, it doesn't make him dumb, if she lied, it doesn't necessarily mean she's a liar) but I've come to realize the complexities of sin, or at least acknowledge it. True, telling one lie doesn't necessarily mean someone's heart is consumed with deceit, but oftentimes it doesn't stop there. That one lie opens up a hole in one's integrity, and allows Satan to gain a foothold, and after the first, it gets easier and easier to do it again. Somewhere along the line, my perspective transformed and the complete truth was allowed to be stretched, and it was ok. Somewhere along the line, I chose to compromise integrity to get what I wanted. My heart grew callous and in a way, I've become a liar and in doing so have hurt someone very deeply.
In the end, or actually always, God loves his children, including the person I hurt, and me as well. So naturally He didn't allow my string of lies to continue, and thus my deceitfulness was uncovered. And it wasn't in any subtle fashion...the revelation came with a crash of pain and shame, and the wall of pride I had built up only prolonged the onslaught of truthseeking until it finally caved in in an explosive mess and inflicted severe injury.
I feel broken. I feel so ashamed. I feel humility, but it doesn't compare to the pain...I am suddenly endowed with a heightened sense of empathy (thank you Lord) and I feel the pain I inflicted...the pain that comes from knowing that your sin has embittered the heart of God's precious loved one. I feel so sorry for my sins, and I offer up no excuses for them. I feel so humbled right now.
The Lord has broken my spirit, but I am thankful and hopeful that He is giving me a chance to rebuild it and renew it. I have no doubt that it He will discipline my sinful ways and comfort those who have been hurt. I'm beginning to understand in new ways how we find strength in God through weakness. How pride "obstructs the sinner from seeing his own falleness: the untidiness within, and the shallow foundation of his soul" (taken from another brother's blog and stated beautifully), and counterintuitively how righteousness is received, not achieved.
blessed are the poor in spirit, for *theirs is the kingdom of heaven* blessed are those who mourn, for *they WILL be comforted* Matthew 5:3-4
It is said that beauty in form is derived from the meniscus of a water droplet. The smooth perfectly accelerating curvature of the surface is subconsciously the standard of how we discern which shapes are pleasing to the eye. What gives the droplet that slippery sensual shape is just the right amount of surface tension. Too much and it loses its sleek proportions…too little and it breaks apart into fragmented particles. Thus the right amount of tension is paramount to its structural beauty, as is true in many other facets (illustrations, music, etc.)
Conceptually it is in perfect harmony with the majesty and mystery of God, who delivered us from sin and death through the sacrifice and blood of his Son. Our sin is returned by His grace, His death gives us new life. As Christians, our lives are inherently required to embrace tension. “…Be as shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves.” (Matthew 10:16) “But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.” (Matthew 19:30) During imprisonment, Paul did not ask the Lord for deliverance, but instead he prayed “that whenever I open my mouth, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.” (Ephesians 6:19-20)
Although our hearts are fragile and human,we cannot allow our lives to exist solely for the fulfillment of our personal joy, So let us welcome and embrace the tension God has called into our lives, let us strive for a balance of joy and servitude, and allow Him to transform our taut lives into the beautiful creation that comes only from his majestic and miraculous hand.
Although i'm over a week late, as promised is a post with pics from last weekend.
And a GREAT weekend it was as A came to visit and celebrated my birthday with some friends at 1750 Social Club. Friends were very nice to me...got away with almost not having to drink anything. But seriously, I feel very blessed to have friends who remember my birthday even though I've been gone for a while.
So i discovered a new breed of roses...5 foot long stem roses from Ecuador...they've only been shipping for a month. I suppose that this should be kept a well guarded secret for a guy who wants an edge, but I figure no one really reads my blog anyways, so consider it a reward for those that do.
Rich flourless chocolate cake...yum.
The only picture with my eyes fully open.
It's not the sauce...I just wasn't use to the double flash.
So to celebrate Easter, I decided to abstain from doing any work for a 24 hour period. Well, midnight just rolled around, but I thought maybe I could squeeze in another half hour before heading back home. So there I was, 15 minutes into it, trimming a part with the dremel tool whirring away, when suddenly something smacks into my safety glasses. I look at the dremel tool, and it's still spinning, minus the cutter wheel. It just flew clean off the axle and right into my goggles...freaked me out. Good thing I was exercising good safety procedures. Anyways, if that wasn't a sign to pack up and call it a night, I don't know what is.
As I began my Good Friday morning driving to school, I passed by the shopping plaza parking lot right by my place and saw a man standing at the rear of his pick-up truck leaning over the side, elbows resting on top, and hands folded below his forehead...kind of an unusual site to see, but it was encouraging to see another person praying so boldly first thing in the morning...made me rethink whether I began my day prayerfully and solemnly and not to treat it as just another day.
I stopped by Ralph's on the way to school to pick up some baking soda deodorizer...yep, my car still smells. One praise though is that my classmate who left school shortly after me said he didn't see any roadkill, so I guess the little stinker lived, but just managed to spray my car as I passed over him.
Had a good time of prayerful worship at Good Friday service. About halfway through, people were invited to walk up to the front of the sanctuary and write down a sin or confession and nail it to the cross. Just the act of hammering nails into the wooden cross and hearing the strike of each hammer was so powerful that I could not help but be overcome by emotions buried deep within.
Alright, I should get back to work so I can go home...need to leave this place before the sun rises.
Driving home last night at 3am, I ran over an animal for the very first time...and of all animals, it was a skunk!! I remember seeing something in the middle of the road coming around the bend, and when I approached I realized a little too late that it was a skunk. I hit the brakes and swerved, screeching my tires (if you've seen the running gear on my car, you'll know it's not that easy to do), but I still went directly over the lil stinker. I can't describe just how terrified, horrified and stupefied I was...I wanted to stop right away but thought better of it and kept driving for another quarter of a mile before getting out to inspect. I was going to steal a look under the car to see if I had actually hit it and it was stuck under the car and just dragging along (my car is kinda low), but the stench was powerful enough to promptly usher myself back in the car. I quickly flipped on the recirculator and drove to the gas station near my home to take another peak. Nervously I circled the perimeter of my car before stealing a glance at the underside, fearful for any signs of skunk remains, like blood or fur. I didn't see anything, so that was a relief, but it still smelled like a mother...what a humbling experience this will be I thought...God really knows how to put the finishing touches on this lenten experience. When I got home, I had Greg look up on the internet what to do against skunk stench...the recipe calls for 1 quart of hydrogen peroxide (3%) mixed with 1/4 cup of baking soda and some detergent. The next morning I mixed all of that in a spray bottle and headed down to the local tire shop garage. I sheepishly approached the counter and asked if I could use their lift and spray the underside of my car with this homemade concoction, and consquently had to explain the skunk too. The owner there, Tareq, really showed a brother some love and let me use the lift for free, even tighted a loose bushing that's been making this rattling noise for so long. Anyways, I was really anxious to get that car on the lift so I could really see for sure whether or not that skunk merely sprayed me or was stuck to the bottom of my car for eternity. I've heard some stories that if you ever run over a skunk, your car is trashed forever...that smell will never go away. Fortunately, I didn't see any remains...perhaps some stuff that could've been dried blood on the exhaust downpipe, but I sprayed the bottom pretty thoroughly and wiped it down. It still smells now, but hopefully it will go away...sooner than later God willing.
