Lent 2026: Fourth Sunday of Lent - Just Keep Swimming to Shore

It has been six years since my mom passed away. For my siblings and me, that means both our parents are gone. It’s a strange club to belong to.

My dad died in 2009 from lung cancer. When he was diagnosed in 2007, the first thing I did was what most people do... I looked up the prognosis. Doctor Googles estimated two to five years. Instead of coming to the United States for a family reunion and his 70th birthday, my dad canceled the trip, returned the plane tickets, and checked himself into a hospital in Cebu. A doctor promised to save his life by removing 80% of his left lung.

My sister, an oncology nurse, begged him to return to the States so she could help guide his treatment. But my dad, being my dad, believed the surgeon’s promise. He chose hope, maybe even false hope, because sometimes hope feels easier than facing harder truths.

That’s the thing about being human. We make decisions with the options we’re given, and sometimes none of those options feel good. Sometimes we cling to the possibility that things will work out, even when the prognosis is uncertain…or even certain.

I miss my mom every day. Even when we lived 5,000 miles apart, I always knew I could get on a plane and see her if I needed to. Now that option is gone.

In the years since losing both of my parents, my life has taken some unexpected turns. Turning fifty and deciding to go to law school was one of them. I had put it off for years, not because I feared the LSAT, but because I wasn’t sure I was smart enough. I’m still not entirely sure. But on the first day, our professors reminded us that we deserved to be there. We had earned our place. Faculty and staff were there to provide resources and guidance to ensure our success. From that point forward, what happened next would depend on the work we were willing to put in.

In the meantime, I work part-time at a gas station.

On paper, it doesn’t make much sense. I have decades of experience working in nonprofits and leadership roles. I’m more than qualified for jobs with bigger titles and bigger paychecks.

But this job offers something I need right now, flexibility while I’m in law school, health benefits even at part-time hours, and the ability to clock in, do the work, and clock out. No emails waiting at midnight. No grant deadlines keeping me up at night. Just law school homework.

And maybe more importantly, it puts me face to face with the general public. Ick, people.

For years I worked in spaces where we talked about communities and systems and impact. Now I stand behind a counter and see how people actually live their lives. Some days that means selling coffee to unhoused folks at seven in the morning. Other times it’s someone who just needs a quick human interaction in the middle of a hard day.

It’s not glamorous work. But it’s honest work.

A friend once gave me advice that has stuck with me since my early twenties. I told her I often felt like I was just trying to keep my head above water.

She asked a simple question, “Have you ever thought about swimming to shore?”

I hadn’t. Until that moment.

I was using all my energy just to stay afloat. I hadn’t considered that I might actually be able to move toward something better.

My life was a bit of a dumpster fire for a few years. I needed a break from my regularly programmed existence. But I also know even in all my mess my mom and dad would still be proud of me. And for any Asian that's kind of a big deal.

However, they did have plenty of commentary about how I lived my life when they were alive. Not about me being gay. They worried more about me being alone. Being able to take care of myself. Instead of giving me relationship advice (not really taking relationship advice from my parents anyways), they taught me how to be fiercely independent. How to balance a checkbook, change a tire, darn a sock, cook, and clean.

I appreciated their thoughtfulness and thoroughness. But I also wondered… why didn’t they think I could maintain a long-term relationship?

I’m fine. Really. My life is full. I’ve lived many different lives, taken plenty of adventures, and now I’m on another one. Diving into the unknown of higher education and a terminal degree.

No matter how many career milestones or achievements I reach, it sometimes still feels like it won’t be enough. Not because I lack intelligence, but because systems exist that quietly train people like me to believe that.

Erasing that broken record of doubt is its own lifelong quest.

But I persist. As we all should.

Lenten Reflection: Good and Weary

“Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9

Lent is a season where we sit with the hard realities of life: grief, doubt, mistakes, and the consequences of our choices. But it is also a reminder that we are not meant to stay stranded in the water forever… or wandering endlessly in the wilderness.

Sometimes the path forward isn’t perfect. Sometimes it’s simply the choice that lets us keep moving. And as in golf, forward progression no matter how ugly is always good.

Galatians reminds us not to grow weary in doing good. That doesn’t mean life will be easy or that every decision will feel clear. It simply means that persistence matters.

So if you feel like you’re barely staying afloat right now, take heart. Maybe the next step isn’t just surviving the waves.

Maybe it’s time to start just keep swimming toward shore.

Take care of yourself.

And take care of each other. 🧡

#lentreflection2026 #SpiritualWilderness #HopeFloats #LifeLessons