It was Carissa's first day of preschool. I wasn't sure what to expect, but all I knew was that I had to brace myself for tantrums and tears.

After 12 minutes or so on the road, we pulled up to the parking lot. The building was attached to a church that was hidden by a cluster of trees. As we passed the playground and entered through an olive-colored gate, I was preparing myself for resistance.

How loud will she scream? How much will she cry? The number of limbs she'll be clinging onto…over or under three? With every step, I was smarting over the fact that Mommy had somehow passed this burden onto me.

When we entered the classroom, it was bright and lively, full of faces and voices. One of the teachers walked right up and introduced herself, taking her by the hand. "Hi, I'm Ms. Liz. What's your name?"

This past Sunday, I was ordained as a minister.

It happened in a small ceremony as part of our church’s regular Sunday service. The pastors and elders invited me up to share a few words, then they prayed over me. It was a short yet meaningful time.

Those of you who know my story might recall my long journey to get to this point. I remember sitting in a service over 12 years ago, casually listening to a sermon, when I felt this sudden impression from God. I don’t even remember what the pastor was talking about. But I sensed a message inside of me that was akin to, “I want you to be a shepherd and feed my flock. I want you to be a pastor.”

God doesn’t usually speak to me in such a way. But I had no reason to doubt it was him. And yet, in that moment, I felt a great sense of dread and fear come upon me. Like, God I think you got the wrong guy. What would my parents think? How would I be able to support a future family? The list of excuses kept rising to the surface.

Life during this period hasn’t been easy by any stretch. 

There have been many sleepless nights, many episodes of inconsolable crying and screaming. From both children. (Possibly from some adults.) Minor spats with the wife because we’re both worn-out, overworked, exhausted. 

And in those moments I’ve cried out variations of “Lord, I’m so done. Can you take me right now?" Like, it’s all good if Jesus just came back and raptured us. I hate to admit it, but that’s what I was feeling. In my flesh I sought to be rescued from hardship.

I told all this to my friend Eric over dinner. He took it all in. Then he replied, "A clean manger means there's no oxen." 

My father is getting older.

I’ve always known this in my head, that this day would be inevitable, but this is something that’s been hard to come to terms with.

The other day my parents had asked me to help install their new washer.

A coin of all things had been lodged into the spinner of their washing machine, and my dad couldn't dislodge it, so naturally my parents needed to buy a new one.

He said the delivery was coming at 3:00pm.

I had a few hours to kill, so I decided to grab lunch with my dad. As it turns out, from the call we received, the delivery truck just so happened to show up right as we arrived at the poke stop.

Yesterday I said goodbye to my cousin Edwin.

His heart gave out one Sunday afternoon, unexpectedly, while he was doing one of the things he loved most, bike-riding. His friend tried to revive him on the spot, hoping to buy time for an ambulance to the hospital. But it was only enough to keep him alive in the technical sense. He sat motionless in a coma at UCLA medical for nearly a week, until it was his time to go.

Ed was in his late fifties, had no signs of ill health. He was a phenomenal athlete by all accounts. He loved life and the people who lived it with him. And he still had so much to offer.

Life can be cruel that way.