Author: Vivian Mabuni

An Open Letter to Summer Project Students

(It’s an exciting time of year as students from around the country prepare to serve God all over the planet. I originally wrote this letter for our Epic Movement [Cru’s Asian American ministry] summer project students, but I wanted to share the contents with all of you who are trusting God with the upcoming summer. I hope that you’ll be encouraged.)     Dear Summer Mission Project Participants, Each of you has a different story of how God led you to apply and how … Read More

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When God Says No

“If ever we needed prayer, it is now. The pain is indescribable.” I read and reread Maegan’s post on Facebook in absolute shock and disbelief. No. There must have been a mistake. This can’t be. None of the thousands upon thousands who rallied in prayer the past several weeks expected the story to end this way. Rain fell steadily from the normally bright blue skies here in Southern California the first Saturday in December. Our family, dressed in dark colors, … Read More

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Leadership, Apologies, and the Open Letter

I don’t use the word “retard” or “retarded” anymore when I refer to myself after I mess up. I have two author friends, Amy Julia Becker, author of “A Good and Perfect Gift” and Gillian Marchenko, author of “Sunshine Down.” They both have daughters who have Down Syndrome. Knowing a bit of their story and their heart, I understand with a new awareness why flippantly tossing that word around is hurtful. This is true even when my intention has been … Read More

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Strong in the Lord

My husband, Darrin, and I have a mixed marriage. He is half Japanese, a quarter Portuguese and a quarter Native Hawaiian. He grew up in an Asian majority city and state, Hilo, Hawaii. I’m Chinese and I grew up in a majority Caucasian city and state, Boulder, Colorado. But our mixed marriage runs deeper than our ethnic makeup. He has a Droid. I have an iPhone. Darrin discovers back roads and rarely takes the same route anywhere. I drive the same … Read More

Lamb Tongues

I push the grocery cart fast. Breezing through the aisles. Places to go, errands to run, lots of this and that on my mind. And out of the corner of my eye I see the yellow tray. It doesn’t register until after I push past the glass case. I’m brought to a complete stop. And then I back up my cart and peer in. A yellow tray holding rows of purplish, pinkish somethings. I read the sign, part Arabic, part … Read More

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