Photo by Theo Crazzolara

By Tina Teng-Henson

We have often wondered, is this the way life should be? The way life should feel?

At the end of my life, my husband John would be the one I’d want to tell our story. He’s been the primary witness to it all, the main observer, my key partner.  He’d remember exactly why one chapter would end and how the next one would begin.

We were hosting dinner on Sunday night with 4 friends, all MIT alumni, when John referenced the “recalibration” I went through when we moved from Boston to the Bay Area in 2011. This term was one we bandied about frequently, which he’d coined to describe my need to adjust my level of ministry energy and involvement to one that would be sustainable long-term.  I was so burned out and exhausted after 6 intense years of campus ministry at Harvard, that I sorely welcomed the opportunity to move to California and enjoy a sabbatical rest.

For years, I’d always thought his selection of this word was informed by his training as a research scientist and electrical engineer.  In my mind, it evoked vague images from chemistry class: a titration process involving a thermometer, a flask of liquid, maybe a Bunsen burner.

But on Sunday, he referenced that word in relation to another set of images entirely: people who had grown up under communist rule in China — who needed to recover from an existence marked by dogged survival, whose minds had borne unquestionable allegiance to the state for generations, and whose bodies knew only how to work, strive, produce and achieve.

The group, being mostly 2nd generation Chinese-Americans, roared with laughter and understanding. I, having just checked on the kids in the adjacent room, had missed the broader context of the conversation, but was glad everyone was enjoying this rare chance to reconnect.  I can’t, even now, recall exactly the words John used — and perhaps even he couldn’t, if I asked him to… but remembering that word association now, several days later, is enough to prompt deeper reflection.

I know the fabric of my being is largely responsible for the texture of our shared life.  In Boston, we both had our respective schools, careers, roommates, and friends to love and attend to. Here in the Bay Area, I’ve completed my seminary training, and I’ve taken on new ministry opportunities basically every two years. God has brought incredible individuals into our lives from many different churches and communities. All of this has come about, somehow, while also bringing 3 remarkable children into the world. Each of them seem to share our capacity for developing friendships.

There are times we feel tired and spent. We wish we had more down time for personal projects and to make improvements around the house. We love to read and think, pray and write. Those are activities that it is hard to carve out time and space for.

But for all that it is worth, this is all a massive gift. We live a charmed life. It is full, and it is deep. Today, a good friend, who is also a reader and a thinker, a pray-er and a writer, understood and blessed my need to pull away from it all and pause to marvel and give thanks. A sabbatical rest has given way to learning once again how much I need a weekly sabbath to keep me.  This morning, I can pause to see the delicate work of God’s hand at work. Certain projects are starting small, but sweetly. Other endeavors are budding, and as surely as buds will bring about blossoms, I am positive there will be a bouquet to gather in due time.

People care to stay in touch. Lives have become interwoven around us; a few have fallen for each other! Others have been drawn near to the flame of God’s love, warmed at his hearth. Folk from every chapter keep reappearing in the present one. The story continues to be written, as we remain available to love and be loved in return.