The Shape of My Eyes, page 18
I went into a funk. Now we had been denied the opportunity for a new building. I wasn’t sure what to do next.
Grieving the loss and all the effort in trying to acquire this land, I think I heard God’s voice this time.
Why are you so disappointed, Dave? Didn’t you say it’s not about the building but what happens inside the building?
The next question God asked convicted me even more:
Isn’t what happens outside the building more important than what happens inside the building?
The reason this question messed with me so much was because I couldn’t honestly answer it.
In a gentle and simple manner, I heard God answer this question with another.
Dave, what would the church look like if it weren’t confined to a piece of land?
It was like God was speaking Martian to me. I had no idea what He was talking about. I had been trained to build the church on a huge property so we could continue growing. What now? We had campuses in the United States and globally, but it still didn’t seem enough. This constant quest for growth and numbers was like Groundhog Day, or a song playing on an infinite loop. The adding of sites and services could go on forever. I eventually told my staff I didn’t want to be a pastor anymore. It got so bad, I started saying the same thing during Sunday messages: “I don’t want to be a pastor. The only reason I’m doing this is out of obedience.” My heart wasn’t in it. But the people kept coming. It was odd—it didn’t matter what I said, the church kept growing. They said, “Man, Dave is so authentic.” But I felt like I was authentically dying.
It would take some cows and a City of Angels to speak to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Beyond the Uniform
Dave, I think you’d be a great commodities trader. You like risk. You have a global perspective. You can process data and you’re not afraid to make a call. We can make a good amount of money and give it away to causes we believe in. You want to give it a shot?”
I almost couldn’t believe what I was hearing from Paul, a friend of mine. He was one of the first Asian American commodity traders at the Chicago Board of Trade, and now he was inviting me to start a futures trading company with him and a couple other novice investors.
“I’ll help you out and give you the capital you need to start investing,” Paul said. “What I have is yours. We’re brothers. You can trade my money.” Who says stuff like that to you? It seemed like little risk on my part. The upside was huge.
How could I refuse such an offer?
The next several years became a blur. I dove into the investing waters while remaining involved with the church. Paul and two other friends, Mike and Henry, would show up at the office around 5 a.m. to start our day, and we would end around 1:30 p.m., the time the markets closed, and I went to the church after this. We set up the offices in Newport Beach near the Pacific Ocean, at the famous Fashion Island Outdoor Mall. I learned to trade everything from corn, soybeans, wheat, and even pigs and our favorite cattle to silver, gold, and palladium.
Henry always made sure we got good food, like breakfast burritos, or if we felt like we had to be healthy, vegetable and fruit smoothies. Mike, Paul, and I would listen to the news happening around the world. A political coup or the taking down of a corrupt political leader could cause markets to shift. Paul would also call the weather services we paid for that gave us forecasts of daily, weekly, monthly, and potential drought conditions, storms, flooding. Then we rounded it out by calling the grain farmers and, of course, our favorite guys—the cattle farmers.
I never gambled, but that was what this felt like to me. The difference between gambling and trading, Paul assured us, was we were making decisions based upon data and taking educated, calculated risks. The highs were incredible and the lows were like someone “kicking you in the balls,” as Paul would say. If you’ve ever been in a losing trade, where you’re hemmorhaging massive amounts of money, you know what this pain feels like.
We were a few months into our learning curve of trading when we began to believe that cattle prices were headed lower. So we did what we called a short trade. We kept adding to the position that said the cattle markets were going to weaken. However, the market thought otherwise. We got to the point, after building a rather large position, that we had margin calls. This meant that the brokerage house was saying that we were over-leveraged and now owed them money if we wanted to keep our positions.
Paul looked at me with his serious and sad eyes and said, “Sorry, Davey, we’re going to have to roll out of our position and take the loss.” For some reason, we added “ie” or “y” to each other’s names at random times. It was evidence of our affection for each other.
“Paulie, I think one more day is important. Can we hold on to this position at least one more day?”
I didn’t want to tell him I had prayed about it and felt some confidence in our position, because if you’re a serious investor, you don’t want to blame God for the loss if you make a bad decision. Also, it looks unprofessional, like you’re not doing your homework and relying more upon chance. Does God really care about our profit and gains? Bottom line, Paul warned us that we could pray, but just don’t tell anybody.
“Okay, we can wait one more day,” Paul said. Later that day, we were together and saw a breaking news report on the television screens.
“Mad cow disease has been reported among cattle in the United States,” said a television reporter.
As soon as we heard that, our hearts sank.
Oh no—it’s going to affect our position. We’re going to get crushed!
In commodity trading, you have the potential to lose more than you invest. We looked to Paul, who was gravely concerned as well. He would typically invest multiple times what the rest of us would trade, but in this trade we were all heavily vested in our “short” position with cattle.
Paul had weathered many ups and downs as a trader. He calmed us down and said:
“Guys, let me make sure we’re in the wrong position. I’ll call the cattle rancher we talk to regularly.”
We all stood looking at Paul then one another, nervously awaiting the cattle rancher to answer Paul’s call.
It didn’t look good because, in our minds, if cattle were scarce, that would drive up the prices. As Paul made the call, we waited with bated breath. Paul asked the cattle rancher, “Well, are prices going down or up since there’s mad cow disease reported in America?” Then he smiled and said, “Guys, the markets are going down! We’re on the right side of this trade.” We started celebrating.
We’d made a historic trade that was noted by global financial news. We were called the “Asian cowboys.”
Making that windfall early on made us feel invincible, which was not good.
At this same time, the church kept growing despite my reservations about my role at Newsong and whether I should even be a pastor. I was confident that God wanted me to be free from the church. Our success at trading seemed like an indication of God’s affirmation of us.
However, God had something else in mind. We rode the success of that trade for a while. With our next big trade, I told God that if we failed, it would be a sign that I was not supposed to be in this type of business as a trader. The work itself and being with the boys every morning, launching and making fun of each other, was a dream but exhausting. As with the mad cow trade, we were on margin call for a soybean trade. Like before, I asked Paul to wait one more day because I was convinced we had the right trade position. He did, but the market kept going against us. With sadness, Paul looked at me and said, “Sorry, Davey, we have to get out of our position and take the loss.”
As soon as I called the trading house and rolled out of my position, the markets immediately went in the direction of our original position.
The fellas in the office started laughing. They had known I was all in on this trade.
It was clear I had to move on.
Feeling like a failure and with no extra capital that could lead me into my next career, I resigned myself to seeking out God’s plan for my life. I was in disbelief it wasn’t commodity trading. Why would God take me out of something that was so fun and lucrative? We were giving so much money away.
That’s when Paul pulled me aside and said something I’ll never forget:
“Dave, we can find other great traders to invest. But there aren’t too many people that can lead others spiritually like you can.”
I didn’t want to hear that. But I knew I needed to step away from trading. To reboot. I needed to reexamine my life. I told the leadership at Newsong I needed a sabbatical. My family and I decided to go to Thailand for a year. My hope was that I would gain clarity about what was next for me and my family. My guess was that church wasn’t a part of the answer, and I needed some space to think of other directions. Why Thailand? When I visited the work that our church supported there, I felt a connection to the Thai people. It felt like home, and it felt like the Narnia of my childhood. The spiritual energy of Thailand was off the charts.
I was introduced to a pioneer in community development work in Northeast Thailand by the name of Jim Gustafson. Jim was white physically but was Thai culturally. His smile and laugh were contagious. He moved with freedom and speed. He spoke fluently in both Thai and English. Jim had a vigor and youthfulness about him that was attractive. As he got older, he seemed positively younger. He was in his sixties at this time. You could tell he was made for Thailand. He absolutely loved the country and its people. I rarely meet someone like him filled with so much authentic passion and love. He had a PhD in agriculture and also an advanced degree in theology. He did groundbreaking work when it came to integrating spirituality and economic/social development, especially with those who were considered the outcasts of a culture. When I traveled through Bangkok and then the rural regions of Thailand, I felt the deep spirituality of the nation and the vibrant energy pulsating within the people. I’ve traveled extensively and it’s hard to find a friendlier country that welcomes the foreigner. It’s a growing international hub for art, food, design, and health tourism.
It was about the same time I was doing the commodity trading that the great tsunami of 2004 in Southeast Asia took place and devastated portions of Thailand. Over 5,000 people died in Thailand, and in Indonesia over 240,000 people were killed. The world was horrified. My eyes and heart were drawn to Thailand. I knew when my trading days were over that this was where I was supposed to go for my sabbatical. I asked Rebecca and my four children what they thought. Surprisingly, they were all for it.
The original City of Angels is not Los Angeles. This city has a long name that is rooted in Pali and Sanskrit:
Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Ayuthaya Mahadilok Phop Noppharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasi.
The shorter name is: Krung Thep Maha Nakhon, meaning the Great City of Angels. You know it as Bangkok.
After the tsunami, Newsong and the local indigenous Thai organization we partnered with had gained credibility with the Thai government and other NGOs because we helped to build schools and launch businesses for economic development. Our church also started a marine research development organization to help fishermen to farm the most profitable fish in the Andaman Sea and helped start fish farms to support the local economy so that young people wouldn’t sell their bodies to care for their families.
I remember the wonder I felt about living in Greensboro, Maryland, when I was a kid. Arriving in Bangkok felt like walking into Narnia. It was like a real Jungle Book. We could feel the pulsating life of the city as soon as we landed. At the time, Thailand had 65 million people, and Bangkok had around 13 million inhabitants, about 1 million of whom were expats or internationals. Bangkok is commonly stereotyped as a destination for sex tourism. But the country is also known as the land of smiles, fittingly, because the kindness of the people is magical. Thailand is known for her hospitality. Our family loved everything about our time in Thailand.
Every day, five minutes into our usual walk through one of the nicest areas of Bangkok, we would hold our breath for five seconds because of the open sewer we were passing. At first, we were shocked by the pungent odors. The smell was so strong, it seemed like the odor became embedded in our clothes. Yet over time the smells of the city grow on you—the fragrant flowers, the street food frying, baristas making fruit juices and coffee. The mixture of the good and not-so-fragrant smells became the very thing we loved about Bangkok. By the end of our first year there, we’d still hold our breath as we passed the sewer, but then we’d just look at one another and burst out laughing, letting the odor clear our nostrils and breathing more deeply once we were past it. There was a fullness of experiencing it all together.
While we were in Bangkok, life slowed down. In Southern California, it’s not uncommon for people to spend three or even six hours every day in their car alone with the windows up, speeding along the freeway at 80 miles an hour or sitting in traffic hating everything. In Bangkok, we got around by walking. We learned how to catch currents and openings in the crowd to flow with locals and internationals. Immersing yourself in the streets allows you to see things you don’t notice at high speeds. You hear laughter and snatches of conversation, and stop to sample the wide array of colorful food and desserts sold by the street vendors. In Bangkok, I rarely felt alone.
The gift of living in Bangkok was the joy I found again there. It was a joy that I had lost in the hustle of life. I had been working so intensely that I was missing out on my kids growing up and the wonderful, diverse community that was blossoming around me. When you’re driven and have FOMO, you get more compulsive and exhausted. It’s easy to mistake adrenaline for positive energy until it all comes crashing down around you. Overuse of adrenal glands is toxic.
Why had I been hustling so much, trying to force the game? I think my life had become all about trying to prove who I am. I was so used to being the odd man out whenever I entered a space that I worked extremely hard to prove I belonged.
Bangkok awakened me. The beauty and magic of the OG City of Angels brought me to seeing with childlike eyes once again. All this happened as I began to get to know a few people who were very different from me.
We had moved to Thailand with high hopes and high spiritual aspirations. We planned to start a church there, and we saw how quickly people were interested in the way we did church. So we started meeting in our twenty-fourth-floor apartment overlooking the financial district of Bangkok. Shoes lined the hallway outside our door. Our home was filled literally wall-to-wall with people. When we rented space at a popular nightclub where Westerners came to party, the crowds flooded in.
A man named Boyd Kosiyabong came to one of our gatherings after hearing that there were some odd people from America starting a church in the nightclub district of Bangkok. When I first met Boyd, I saw a humble man wearing a light blue polo shirt and shorts. He was a former Buddhist who was exploring Christianity. He was fascinated that we weren’t “religious” in the way he’d come to expect from Christians. We would wear shorts and flip-flops. Occasionally our team would talk too loud or accidentally show the soles of their feet or cross their legs, unknowingly pointing at someone with their feet. To Thais, showing the bottoms of your feet to someone was like saying F you. There was much we did to offend people yet somehow there were key people like Boyd who were so spiritually hungry, they were able to see past our naïve culturally taboo offenses. Boyd wanted to meet me. I was surprised when he asked if I would help him grow spiritually and help give him some ideas of what to do with his then struggling business.
We discovered Boyd was one of the most famous popular composers in Southeast Asia. After he invited me over to his home to meet his wife and two children, I saw that Boyd felt things deeply and gave himself completely to care for other people. He composed music about the heart and love. People would cry while singing his songs. They were ballads that would make you feel like you were home.
In business, the bottom line is profit, the dollars earned or the customers acquired and retained. For churches, the number of attendees during a given weekend is often the key metric of success. Boyd taught me that the most important metric may be one person. He’d mentor young musicians, helping them form unique bands, giving them access to the best resources. Boyd himself could impact the whole nation in one day. He had 80 percent brand recognition in Thailand. That meant that of the 65 million people in Thailand, about 52 million people knew Boyd. He was a marketer’s dream. Boyd showed me how important it is to love one person well. One person could change a city. One person could change a nation. One person could change the world.
Previously, I had stretched myself thin as I worked frantically striving to build this dream community. There might be thousands of people in the audience at Newsong, but it was hard to focus on one of them. When I was on a big stage, I was just talking into blinding lights. The audience became a blur to me. Like one big mass of humanity. As I worked with Boyd, I started asking myself, what if I’m called to work with just one person? What would it look like to inspire and love people like Boyd, who needed customized development with their unique array of gifts and challenges? Previously, I’d felt I had to be in front, because that’s what leaders seemed to do. But when I got to know Boyd, I saw I didn’t have to be in front. I could love and support Boyd, helping him to reach his dreams, and he would have a greater impact on people than I ever could by myself. Basically, if I was willing to be second and focus on serving others, I could be engaged in more meaningful and impactful work. And I wouldn’t have to work as hard. In fact, more actual good work would be accomplished. Since I am an introvert, this vision for my life was contrary to the metrics of success I had focused upon since I started my journey as a pastor.
