Reflections on Story, Leadership, and Becoming Whole

There are moments in life when you realize that what God is inviting you into cannot be rushed. Writing Dim Sum and Faith: How Stories Form Our Souls was one of those moments for me.

If I had written a book about bees or caterpillars—or anything that lived safely outside of me—I could have relied on research, facts, and tidy conclusions. But this book required something else entirely. It required me to turn inward. To sift through my own stories. To sit with my formation, my leadership journey, my wounds, my joys, and my long walk with God.

That kind of writing is vulnerable. And honestly, it took courage I didn’t know I had.

When the Invitation Is a Whisper

More than a decade ago, my husband and I went through an intensive leadership 360 evaluation. We were in senior leadership at the time, and the process was both humbling and exposing. Nine people spoke honestly into our lives—about who we were, how we led, and how we showed up.

In the midst of that season, I wrote something almost casually in a long-term growth plan: write a book. I tucked it away and moved on. I was parenting teenagers. I loved speaking and mentoring far more than writing. And like many Asian-American women, I quietly assumed that writing books was for other people.

But over time, I began to hear a gentle, persistent whisper from the Spirit:
“Jenn, would you write what I give you? Would you offer it to my people?”

That whisper became the undercurrent of this entire journey. I didn’t know where it would lead. I only knew that God was asking me to trust Him with the outcome.

Why Our Stories Matter

One of the central questions of my book is this: Why do our stories—and storytelling—matter so deeply to our spiritual formation and leadership?

Our lived experiences shape how we see ourselves, how we understand God, and how we relate to others. None of us grows up in a vacuum. We are born into families, cultures, migration stories, generational wounds, and unspoken expectations. Even when there is love, there is also complexity.

For many Asian-Americans, family stories are layered with sacrifice, silence, displacement, and resilience. These stories don’t just live in our memories—they live in our bodies, our leadership styles, our theology, and our relationships.

This is why some people struggle to relate to God as Father. This is why conflict feels terrifying for some leaders. This is why belonging can feel conditional.

When we honor stories—our own and others’—we grow in discernment and compassion. We stop asking, “What’s wrong with you?” and begin asking, “What happened to you?”

The Fear of Knowing Ourselves

One line in the book that continues to surface in conversations is this:
“If God knows us, we do not need to be afraid of knowing ourselves.”

And yet, so many leaders are afraid.

Underneath that fear are universal human questions:

• Am I loved?
• If you really knew me, would you stay?
• Am I too much—or not enough?

As leaders, and especially as Asian-American Christian leaders, we often learn to shape-shift. We read the room. We adapt. We succeed. We spiritualize excellence. Over time, coping strategies become identities.

Psalm 139 anchors me here. It reminds us that God has already searched us and known us. Knowing ourselves doesn’t threaten our faith—it deepens it. God is not confused by us. He is not startled by our chaos. Darkness is not dark to Him.

Undoing Moments: When Growth Feels Like Loss

Every leader I know encounters seasons I call undoing moments—times that feel like winter, wilderness, or hitting a wall you didn’t see coming.

These seasons can look like burnout, grief, depression, disillusionment, or deep exhaustion. They are the moments when everything you knew how to do stops working.

We are often tempted to rush through these seasons. Fix it. Pray harder. Get back to normal.

But undoing is not failure. It is often the birthplace of transformation.

Just as seeds require darkness to grow, our souls require space to unravel and re-form. God is present even when clarity is absent. And we are not meant to walk these seasons alone.

From Undoing to Awakening

When we begin to tell our stories more honestly—not just as victims or heroes, but as people God is still forming—we begin to awaken.

Awakening looks like:

• embracing weakness without shame
• responding instead of reacting
• telling fuller, truer stories
• becoming more spacious and generous leaders

I often describe this as waking up to God, to ourselves, and to others.

Transformation doesn’t come from good intentions alone. It comes when we are willing to face what triggers us, what we fear, and what we carry. It comes when we allow God to redeem—not erase—our stories.

Leadership, Community, and Practice

Authenticity is not a personality trait; it is a fruit of formation. Leaders need places to practice vulnerability appropriately—spaces where stories can be held without being fixed.

This is why community matters so deeply. We heal in the presence of others. We metabolize pain together. We learn how to carry stories with care, so we don’t unintentionally burden those we lead.

When leaders do this work, something shifts. Our presence becomes less anxious. Our compassion deepens. Our leadership becomes more life-giving.

A Final Word to Leaders

If there is one thing I hope leaders carry with them, it is this:

You are not alone. God is with you. And you were never meant to journey by yourself.

This is the heart behind Khora Collective—a shared space where Asian-American Christian leaders can journey together, find language for their stories, and grow without pretense.

What God is cultivating in the depths of you matters. Your story is worth telling. And in telling it—carefully, faithfully, and in community—you may find yourself waking up to a deeper freedom than you imagined.