I was very happy today because I got two sigg bottles, or really two aluminum bottles that resemble both sigg and kleen kanteen bottles at the Urbana exhibitor's hall today. I think it made me happy because it made me forget about the fact that I left my precious blue sigg bottle that I traveled with in Indonesia. I left it at someone's house that's located about an hour outside of Jakarta. I don't think I will ever it see it again, but I hope it's being used well.

I also hope to be put very good use to the two new ones I got today. Little things make me very happy. Like the week before I left for St. Louis, I went on a rampage at the local Out of the Closet (a clever double-entendre for a thrift store name). I picked up a bunch of various things for the house, but importantly, some very handsome coupe glasses that are all the rage among cocktailians and cocktail bars around town. They were only a buck each!

Right now, it's about half past 12 on the second-to-last day of Urbana. I remember being at the Urbana in December 2003, just a few months after I first started writing on this weblog. That time was transformational, but not as much as I thought it would be. I think it's because by now I have forgotten so much of what was spoken at that conference. This time around, I'm not really participating in all of the events as if I were a student, but I'm spending a lot more time talking to people about the ministry I'm going to be serving in late April.

Some of you (well, if there are any of you), know that I'm going to be going to Japan in a few months. I'm planning to go for a year, but that's really just an easy way for people to come to terms with the fact that I really want to go for much longer than one year. I'm not sure if the Lord has called me to be there for the rest of my life, but I would more than glad to go for that amount. It seems like a terrific waste, doesn't it?

For one thing, my parents do think that this would be a pretty drastic move. They know a lot of full-time and lifetime missionaries, and they know how hard it can be. But perhaps they don't know understand how amazing and God glorifying it could be. I don't know how much they really grasp the idea of committing one's life completely for the sake of Christ's glory and the Gospel in the mission field. Of course, they have gone on my different trips around the world, but they are, by and large, all short-term. I have been on a lot of short terms trips myself, namely to Ukraine, Cuba, China, Canada, and Mexico. I've seen what God is doing in other parts of the world, and it has been a joy to see how much He's moving in those areas.

I think Japan has been the first place where I've really felt a closeness, an intimacy and a connection. I know deep inside that i'm a Korean person, fiery, passionate, a bit rebellious, fiesty, lusty (not lustful, which is completely different), and spicy (like kimchi!). Japanese people are generally not so. However, I can connect so well to Japanese culture. For one thing, I'm an egomaniac when it comes to my own holiness (which is certainly not true in reality - I am truly fallen and sinful). I'm also very nice and polite on the outside, but not always kind (ok, I hope I am kind most of the time!). Lastly, I love consuming popular culture. I could live in a post-modern caccoon of media, television, movies, music, and more, just relishing in all the flash and dash of it all. It makes me completely happy to read faster, type faster, listen faster, watch more frenetically, and consume like none other. Just ask Adam how knowledgeable I am about all things pop culture, pretty much the exact opposite of himself.

I also know the vagaries and depths of depravity, of sexual sin and moral depravity. I wish this were not the case, but unfortunately I know that my heart is not completely regenerated by Christ. I know how much I fail before God and in his midst, despite knowing the his mercy and grace. That makes his grace all the more glorious and amazing, despite my shortcomings.

Most of all, I know that I love serving the people of Japan, a culture that once terrorized and colonized my own. I'm certain my own ancestors and relatives were greatly hurt and perhaps persecuted and killed because of their heritage and faith in Christ. Yet I feel all the more compelled to reconcile not only my own potential dislike (and hatred) of the Japanese, but tell them more passionately of the reconciliation I have with my Creator and God. That I would relish in the freedom of Christ's saving grace, it impels me all the more to tell the people of Japan of this Good News. It's like taking the goodness of delicious food to those who are starving, those who are so hungry they don't even know it. Nothing makes me happier than seeing the face of someone who's tasted good food for the first time, and how much more so the savoring of God's Word? How much deeper the delight of knowing our heavenly Father, who loved us so much that he sent His only Son to take on flesh and humanity, so that he could dwell among us and understand the depth of our stature, and therefore save us from sin and depravity?

Japan has the second largest unreached people group in the world. Almost 128 Million people on this island nation have never heard the Gospel, or have no access to the Gospel. It's not their lack of technology or communication or wealth or sophistication or refinement or culture or passion for life. It's that the culture of the Japanese, which has been developed over hundreds, perhaps thousands of years in solitude and isolation upon an island, has resulted in one that resists the truth of the Bible, the stunning reality of God the Father as creator and providing of all things. It strikes down those who stand while everyone sits. The culture quells and squashes any deviation, it barrages any ideology which compels one to be different. And most of all, their worldview prevents one from even conceiving of a God that created the world and their souls and bodies. It just doesn't fit.

So how amazing would it be to take salt to this land where they know only bland? And perhaps take umami, the fifth flavor of savoryness, which was first coined and discovered by the Japanese, showing the Japanese people that to savor the depths of Christ and his love would absolutely destroy and supersede any preconceived notion of what is good in the world.

I was standing nearby Michael Oh in the booth, giving him a neck and shoulder massage to his tired body. It gave him a moment of respite, in the lull of various students and conference goers who had come to visit us. He turned to me after consulting his iPhone, showing me an email that John Piper had just sent him.

Michael had told him of the 10 minute testimony that he'll be giving tomorrow night at the plenary session, in front of more than 17,000 people in the Edward Jones Dome in Downtown St. Louis, and potentially many thousands more on the waves of the internet after being captured on tape. So many thousands of young hearts who've committed to giving up the utter fallacy this world throws at them, and hear a message of reconciliation.

Piper emailed to Michael that the truth and glory of Christ would not in any way be veiled in his talk, that he would not let Intervarsity or anyone hamper the weighty truth of the Gospel in his 10-minute testimony. I can't think of a more encouraging message from a person that's more passionate about revealing the glory of God.

I've been able to look through the 15 some drafts that Michael's sent to me and Andy. It's a stunning testimony, one that will undoubtedly bring many tears, but also offer an amazing message of hope to the broken and divided in this world. To hear Michael's testimony will only confirm to me the weight of the Great Commission, to go and make disciples, to obey the words of my savior Christ, to lay down all that I own, all that I grab onto, and leave it all. To count my university degree as nothing in light of the saving knowledge of Christ. To count all that pop culture I know as a trifle, mere dust. To consider everything I've built up in one quarter century, outside of everything for God, as trash.

It's funny, Lebron James turned 25 today and everyone on ESPN was talking about how much he'd accomplished so far in his young career. It made me wonder how little I've done in the world's eyes compared to him. I have very little money. I have no job or romantic relationships to trumpet. I have no investments saved up in some trading account, I don't have any inheritance coming from my grandparents, I have no pension to look forward to. Technically I have a few articles of clothing that are getting whittled down every day (sent over to the Out of the Closet). My little netbook helps me put these thoughts down, but I'd still be happy with pen and paper. I have one set of contact lenses. Two aluminum bottles (newly acquired), and an acoustic guitar.

The more I think about it, why not. Why not go and not worry about acquiring anything else beyond what I have. Forget those amazing Michelin-starred restaurant experiences. They're overrated, honestly. Forget the books and the writing career in food, the glitzy-posh restaurants I frequent. Settle for nothing less than glory, God's glory, in the trenches of Nagoya. Oh they're not real trenches compared to eastern Africa or Afghanistan or Iraq. It's a trench of spiritual darkness in the shiny streets and clean sidewalks of Japan. It's the dirt and mud layered beneath the sheen of superficial prosperity.

What will it take? I'm not quite sure, but that's okay. I know I want to go, and I know that God wants me to.

it's not often that insomnia gets the better of me, refusing to let me go of its desperate clutches. i blame the more-than-few drinks that I had earlier in the evening with my meal and afterwards, and also the short but intense nap I even earlier than dinner.

now, in the heart of night, just hours before I'm to awake to prepare for a very important day, I am as far from sleep as I could be.

Nothing seems to work. I already tried delving again into Julia Child's My Life in France, which doesn't fail to put me to bed. It's not that the book is boring or sleep-inducing in the least, it's just that it does quite well in putting my mind to rest and allow me to fall lightly and relaxingly into slumber.

Tonight, thoughts are getting the best of me. Yesterday was one of the most memorable days I've had in a long time, no doubt a credit to the weeks-long prelude and anticipation I had. Then the day was met was unlikely contents and even better experiences. The conversation was lovely, thoughtful, intellectual, compelling. And so here I am the following evening unable to let my mind get rest because of it.

It probably doesn't surprise the reader that the most natural thing would be for me to put thought to blog. Amid grand delusions of taking my food writing career to new heights, I'm convinced that the one thing that separates me is my more spiritual and philosophical line of thinking. That certain "angle" which I possess came to life most palpably last night when I was asked, "so why are you so into food?" It's a basic question that begs a very complex answer, for if the answer is too simple, then it seems fake.

In trying to answer to this question, I immediately went to what compels me most about the subject and matter of food. To me, food is foremost spiritual, a reflection of some physical reality and truth. It's not quite the Platonic form, but rather a sort of signpost or reflection of what is significant in the real world. Plato surmised that his forms were the true nature of a particular thing, but I pit my worldview of food more like a light reflection - different, but equal in many ways.

Then what is an example? Think of communal dining. Not the sort of in-vague or seemingly out-of-vague style of dining with mere strangers at a trendy neighborhood restaurant. That's not what I mean. Think instead the most basic idea of sharing a meal with someone, that act of sitting (or standing, or laying on one's side) together and partaking in food. There is a spiritual and emotional connection made with such an act, much as the physical presence and proximity represents that to be so. Of course one might make the argument that the physical proximity of two diners doesn't necessarily denote a spiritual connection, but I think it works in the other way around. That is, if two are spiritually or emotionally connected through the sharing of a meal, then they must be physically together (Skype meals never hit the mainstream, nor did web-cam meals, neither did tele-dinners).

I think it's this sort of simultaneous reality that best describes why I think food is important to me. Each and every aspect of eating has a spiritual correlative or a partner, whether that be breaking bread, toasting wine, cooking a roast, or enjoying a dessert.

I don't ever think of opening a bottle of good, aged wine as mere function, but truly a marker, or a 4-D photograph of a wine's taste. The popping of the cork forever changes the make and nature of the 750ml that encompasses that glass bottle. The rush of oxygen and air hitting the fermented grape juice prepares it for its final state in a glass before it is consumed. Old wine, at its correct age of opening, more often tastes fresh, almost young and vibrant. The beauty of these wines to survive decades and various epochs of man shows some encapsulated permanence.

Or think of that perfect taste of sweetness. It's too easy to take a wallop of sugar in your mouth and chew. Even a slathering of honey, with its potential complexity, has a limit. Rather, that sugar or honey or agave nectar, must flow through some other vehicle to reach an optimal point. Sugar folded into whipped cream reaches another level. Honey laced into bread or butter sings another harmony. Then when that bite is taken, it hits nerves or points of your palate that are almost like a sweet umami, a balance of saccharine and mouthfeel and heft. It's also why chocolate can reach extraordinary heights of flavor without being dependent on sugary sweetness.

Why does communion or permanence or sweetness mean anything? I think those three things connote spiritual realities that are so often missed in the bustle of daily life. Communion shows unity, connectedness, agreement. Permanence reveals the past and its connection to the present. Sweetness points to a particular taste that settles or satisfies a very peculiar part of human experience. We can't explain why we like sweetness or even fat. The observer might say that humans adapted to sensing flavor because it prevented us from eating anything harmful or poisonous, and leading us to things that are nutritious. It can't be that simple. We crave sweetness or savory because they're good. And we can easily understand that good is an end in itself.

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We took a long drive before parting ways. I thought a lot about my day on the way home. My body was tired, having traveled all over the city in search of delicious food. Our efforts were paid off handsomely. It was all worth it. I knew that when I got home and hit the sack, I would have no problem sleeping. And I didn't. That was last night; today is a new day. I'm sure after all that I do today happens, I'll fall very easily into zzz's.

it's by no means uncomfortable, bu i'm starting to lose my sense of reality. When I wake up in the morning, not only am I unsure if I had any dreams (I certain did, but I can't remember them), I doubt whether the events of the previous evening actually occurred. Mind you this has nothing to do with any chemical substances (like wine), bvut rather the surreality of the events themselves. I sometimes have to pinch myself or rub out my eyes to come to my senses. Am I really traveling the world? Did I really just wake up this late? Was the air really that cold last night that I was shivering in my sleep? It's weird because I'm shivering but hot at the same time. It's hot because the electric heated mattress underneath me was much too hot at "10" so I kicked out my legs from under the blanket, where they were summarily frozen in the stark Chicago midnight.

Last night I had one of the best nights in recent memory. I met with a bunch of Cheryl's friends, some for dinner and some afterwards while waiting in line at the Violet Hour, a great cocktail lounge in Wicker Park. Despite the 1.5 hour wait, we were treated to a very nice 4-top booth in the swanky room, where we quickly converged over a very nice bowl of punch to lubricate banter and badinage.

Afterwards the three girls were being obnoxious and delightful, high-fiving random strangers and munching on delicious Chicago style hot dogs. Wicker Park has this crazy six street intersection where hundreds of cars pass and what seems like thousands of pedestrians wander around in drunken stupor. Some guy "sold" me his hot dog because I had to wait in line for like 20 minutes after him. Nice guy. Hot dog was delicious, chock full of pickles, mustard, relish, tomato, and cucumber. Those Chicagoans sure know how to eat.

Cheryl's hungry so we're off to get pho. It's a perfect day for a hot bowl of pho.