Written by Meg Kazea Hunt

As I made my way up the driveway to the Honor Summit retreat, I wondered to myself, “What was I doing here?”

While I was familiar with the Honor Summit, I had never really engaged beyond liking a post on Instagram. But a scholarship through Khora Collective and frequent flyer miles on American made the trip possible. With an unsure heart, I landed in Chicago O’Hare, made the drive up I-294 and wondered what God would do.

I was greeted with hugs by women whose names I heard only a moment before. Yet in an instant, I had found kindred spirits. Women of diverse ethnic backgrounds (Hmong, Indian, Korean, Chinese, Filipinos, Vietnamese), ages and careers gathered. There were a handful of other Filipina sisters at the retreat too. We spent the weekend getting to know one another and being refreshed through fun activities, praying and worshipping together. As Asian American women, there are parts of our stories that resonate with one another.

One morning we shared stories of when we heard our language spoken in an unexpected place. I was brought to tears when a Hmong sister shared about dressing up in traditional clothes and having a picnic at Niagara falls. As she and her sister enjoyed the view, and savored the flavors of a distant homeland, an elder Hmong lady greeted them in the language of their mothers. There was a special moment of connection—to one another and to the land that birthed them.

Another woman shared a memory from her childhood. She and her mother were walking downtown when suddenly a large box truck pulled up to the sidewalk. A white man opened the back to reveal a truckload of chickens. He began to shout in Toisanese, “Chickens for sale!” We all laughed as we imagined the sight of the right words coming from an unexpected place.

During the worship times, we sang together in different languages. One night we sang “Living Hope” in Tagalog (one of the many languages of the Philippines), and I could not hold back my tears. My soul was moved and my heart deeply touched. There is something about hearing your language spoken, especially in a faith environment, that reignites a sense of dignity. In that moment, you remember your language was made to worship the Creator.

On another night, I was deep in conversation with a new friend. After some time we asked ourselves, “Did we really just meet each other this morning?” Throughout the whole day, we had shared very personal stories, enjoyed a trip to Trader Joe’s to grab some snacks, and laughed as the black sesame mochi ice cream we had planned to thoroughly enjoy melted into soup.

The weekend was filled with moments of belonging and connection just like these. So when my husband texted me to ask how Honor Summit was going, and I said there was a softness, I started to ask myself why I used that word. Softness. Kind of a random word to use for a retreat. But as I thought more about my story, softness was the best word I could use to describe what God was doing in me.

My parents and I moved to the United States from the Philippines in the early 90s. If immigration is part of your family’s story, you know that it is incredibly difficult. Research has shown that immigration is a form of trauma and, depending on the circumstances or reason for immigrating, other trauma gets intensified. By assimilating into America, I lost my first language, Chavacano, and never learned to speak Tagalog. This contributed to my constant experience of being “othered.” I didn’t look like the kids around me, but I also couldn’t connect with my own Filipino community. I became hardened towards my own people.

So being at the Honor Summit and experiencing such softness, I couldn’t help but think about my stiff heart. A heart that had been guarded against Filipinos, and perhaps if I was honest, all Asian Americans in general. It wasn’t intentional, but when your childhood is filled with rejection from people who you think should make you feel safest, it’s hard to stay vulnerable. To stay soft to them.

My husband is a ceramicist, making beautiful works from organic matter from the earth. Clay in all its varied forms is used to create things like mugs that carry warm drinks or like art that expresses the creative. But before clay is shaped into a new form, it needs to be wedged from the block. Blocks of clay are hard and stiff and not workable. A ceramicist must first wedge the clay which means a piece of clay is taken from the main block and kneads it—intensely, intentionally and with care. This process makes the clay smooth and malleable. Only after being wedged can the clay be shaped by the potter’s hands.

The Honor Summit was the place where God wedged me. Kneaded my hardened heart that thought it needed protection. Softened me again to the community that my heart so longed to be a part of but did not know how. The Honor Summit is now a part of my story. My life, made of clay, formed by the master Potter.

Softened like Clay: My Heart at the Honor Summit

All a Part of our Wholeness.