True Friends

Some people have one or two friends who will stick though thick and thin with them. I am fortunate to have three. In our 20 years of friendship, BT, LP Liz and I have weathered two marriages, several boyfriends, 1.5 kids, some long separations abroad, a backpacking trip, fights, misunderstandings, persecution, pains of puberty, young adulthood and now early motherhood.

I often wonder how four so incredibly different people can get together and stay friends for such a long time. All of us know each other like, inside out. It's just so uncanny. We share a very strong bond that boggles even ourselves. We may not have given much thought to it, but the centre of our relationship has always been God. We all came to know Jesus at different times (BT and mine being closer in proximity) and in some strange, unplanned and natural manner we just gravitated towards each other. We liked different things, but found that heck, we just liked each other's company enough to forego our own preferences.

There were serious times of misunderstandings too. Like when boyfriends started to come into the picture. And when BT got married, we wondered how the face of our relationship would alter. And then Liz followed suit. Changes in career stole our time too, and in our pursuit of security, cracks of compromise started to surface in our relationship.

One thing that remained unchanged though, was God's constant care for us. Though not perfect, that care was reflected in our friendship in many ways - unseen sacrifices that were made for each other, timely encouragement delivered with honesty and kindness, firm words of correction accompanied by love, and many, many instances that grew us into the people we are today.

During dinner tonight, the four of us remembered how precious this gift of friendship is, how much we mean to each other, and how easily this bond can be broken. It is one of those beautiful "God" moments.

Thank You, Lord, for the great privilege of having friends who understand me so well; be there for me, and strenghten my walk with You.

Not so Soon

It could be a serious slip of the mind, or just plain ignorance. Or perhaps it's the early onset of dementia. In any case, all are poor justification for failure to understand one phrase - "Soaring like an eagle".

I mean, how hard can that be?

Very, apparently.

Fifteen years ago, a visiting missionary prayed for me (and several other people, my godbrother and good friend BT included). I forgot much of the prayer, but one phrase burned in my mind for years - soaring like an eagle.

Since I had absolutely no idea what the prayer meant back then, I looked up all the references in the Bible about eagles and other birds. In fact, I looked up eagle habits in every available encyclopaedia, thus making myself some kind of self-proclaimed guru on those solitary birds. And of course, related episodes of National Geographic were not spared either, I scoured every single one I could lay my eyes on.

I was still none the richer in my quest. Something was still missing... I had all the head knowledge, but the real meaning of that phrase still eluded me.

Years passed. One miracle after another happened in my life. Impossible situations were reversed, against natural odds. God's hand was evident in every area. And I was still wondering what that phrase meant.

Tired, I gave up thinking and allowed it to die a natural death.

One day in recent time, BT brought up the matter again over tea.

"Do you remember the missionary who prayed for you, MY? I started thinking about her and what she said about you soaring like an eagle all those years ago..."

I was taken aback. Here was my buddy BT, who's reknowned for her absent-mindedness and weak attention to details, telling me in great detail a prayer uttered 15 years ago... hmmm... something is definitely going on here...

I started thinking on my bed that night.

And suddenly, in the stillness of the night, just like that, an answer came. Fifteen years and numerous adventures after the initial thought was sown.

Soaring effortlessly at great heights is but a mirror image of the extent I am willing to descend. The issue was never really how high I can soar but how low I am available to stoop down to.

I chuckled myself to sleep. It wasn't dementia after all. :)

Just a Child

I whacked my niece today. She was screaming uncontrollably and wanted her way, so I caned her. Actually she had been quite good over the past 8 days, didn't cry nor scream in the mornings and even got a small treat from me for commendable behaviour. However, she forgot and started to throw her tantrum today. So she got spanked and nobody could come to her rescue; her parents were at work and I insisted that my mom stay out of the scene while I was disciplining her.

Aha.

It worked. After two whipings she stopped crying. (And put on a pitiful look). Well, that didn't work on me (much) and she was promptly sent off to dress for kindergarten. Ten minutes later, she was all dressed, friendly and chatty again.

The wonderful thing about kids is that they can forget their misgivings so easily. Spank them, they'll cry. Then they would forget and life would go on. And they will come back to ask you to play with them.

Have we as adults lost that childlike quality?

God, no matter how much I think I have grown, remind me that I am but a child in Your eyes.

Flowers in my Room

Every time I look at the dried flowers in my room, I remember my uncle, who died of Stage Four liver cancer 5 years ago. He stayed with my family till two weeks before his death. His own family had turned him out.

My uncle was an amiable fellow, well-liked because of his pleasant personality. He was also a great conversationalist and a real ladies' man. Perhaps that was why his family wanted nothing to do with him, even until his death. To this day, his wife says she is still unable to forgive his philandering ways.

Two weeks before his death, uncle was a real wreck. He could not eat nor sleep, kept throwing up and even walked with a limp. He suffered in pain. My mom and I would take him to the market with us, or wherever he wished to go. We would try to cheer him up by taking him to places he wanted and buying small treats for him (he hadn't much appetite).

One of those places was a tea shop in a back alley of the busy part of town. I took my uncle there one hot, blistering afternoon. The shop was located 3 floors up, and we had to climb. He was panting at the first few steps, but insisited on continuing. Half a flight later, he took off his cap to reveal a bald scalp, and continued his ascent.

My heart slowly sank.

After what seemed like a long time, we both reached the shop. Took off our shoes and uncle fell on the chair panting. We ordered tea and some dumplings. He started to say how much he missed and appreciated the long, lazy afternoons sipping tea with company. He talked about his death.

I listened.

He told me how ready he was to face it. He had aceepted Jesus in his life just a couple weeks back, while he was staying with my family. Though oscillating between hope and fear, he held on to the little shred of hope that in a short while he will meet his Maker.

In what was to be my last long conversation with him, my uncle told me about my roots: how his late father (my paternal grandfather) was a murderer who, while on the run from the authorities, found himself in Malaysia and started a family.

He told me how he wished that his family would one day end the decades-long feud over property and pride. He wished that the feud would end with his generation.

From a dying man's point of view, nothing was more important than having the right relationship with the people who mattered. For a person whose claim in this life was slipping, he looked up and saw what he could have done differently should he had more ... time.

The flowers in my room remind me of my uncle, yes, because they were his last gift to me. But to a greater extent, they tell me to to take time... make time ...to love unreservedly, unpretentiously and hold nothing back.

Dust and Ashes

Why do I exist? A friend lamented when faced with the onslaught of rising fuel prices, car debts, mortages, bills, bills and bills. Couple that with doomsday messages blasting over the pulpit and you've got a recipe for despair. Especially so when you've got extended family and kids.

Another friend has been losing money in his business for 5 years running. He is tired, discouraged and wondering why his trial lasted so long. By all counts, he is a good follower of Jesus. "Good" as in he actively serves in church, gives his time and finances, helps people in need, etc.


#1. As believers we are supposeda expect all these (and more!) to befall us. And rejoice.

#2. God is not as interested in the outcome of our faith, compared to the process. The key message in Job is not so much that, in the end, he regained all that he had lost in the wager between Satan and God. Job's outcome could have swung either way; he could have lost everything and that would be that. But God was gracious enough to record the "happy ending" result. IMHO,the real message in Job is encapsulated in 5 words: Repent in dust and ashes.

God never answered Job's questions. Essentially, Job never needed them to be answered. What Job needed was a revolutionary perspective of a Creator's relationship with His creation. God is God, and we are not, according to the cliche.
Sure, Job had gone as low (physically, mentally, emotionally) as he could. But did God spare him the suffering? Not until he was positioned in the 'optimal' spiritual condition - repenting in dust and ashes.

In that place, Job's focus was off his suffering, off his pain, off his circumstances. A pristine clear view of his own spiritual state dawned upon him. What a horrifying - and humbling - moment it must have been. He realised that as a creature, he was making demands on God, who owes him nothing and gave him everything.
Repent in dust and ashes.

I had no answers for my friends. I am going through hard times of my own too. Uncertainty, a forebrooding future, and a bleak prognosis. But God does not make mistakes. And He orders every single day of our lives according to His purpose. Therefore, no matter how hopeless the situation may be, we are people made for this moment.

May we be found spiritually supple before you, Lord.

Slipped the Eye

It didn't look that great hanging on the rack, but I took it down anyways, coz I had just ripped my regular pair and needed a new one.

So I tried it on, looked at the mirror and thought, "well, this ain't bad. For RM15 I shouldn't ask for much."

Paid the cashier and went merrily home. Upon closer inspection, there was a bigger price tag on the other side of the garment, which I hadn't noticed earlier. The pair of Benetton jeans I bought for RM15 was supposeda have been RM309, before discount.

How many other instances have I been blind to the many blessings in my life? God, pry open my eyes...



(Also, those darned retailers!)

All the Important Lessons

Two weeks ago my mom stood up to respond to an altar call. I forgot what the message was all about. Before that, I was seated with my eyes lowered, thinking what futility it had been, me taking staying home all these years freelancing and not being able to really get my life going. In one word, my life had been characterised by "routine" and that is Public Enemy #1 where I am concerned.

My mom just follows me to church and we would do our lunch and weekend groceries together. I love holding her hand when we cross the street coz it reminds me of her holding mine when I was young. It is also the most routine and boring kind of life anyone can ever imagine. A few years earlier, I certainly could not see nor be able to accept that I would be leading this kinda life... think I would rather die.

But. Life has its many turns. And humour. I found myself doing exactly what I dreaded the most... being settled. I mean, this is worse than getting a college diploma. For a person who guffawed at a high school diploma (or for that matter, any diploma), I think I would have gladly heaped a degree rather than sink into a routine.

However, if this is the price to get my family rooted in the love of God, it is definitely worth it. I have a family most would envy. We are not rich, but we are together. All of us have come to know Jesus and lay claim to eternal life. All of us live (sometimes unconciously) under the grace of the Almighty.

All of us still sin.

Darn.

Anyways, my mom. She surprised me by standing up to respond to the message. Something stuck after all in our countless evenings of conversations. I am not running a futile race - there is a deep, silent work the Holy Spirit is doing in her heart, and it required me to be at home.

I can live with that.

Dear God, it'ld be nice if all our seedlings grow strong and mighty overnight... and yet, thank You that they don't. We would have missed all the important lessons.

Not Exactly Popular Fruit

The fruit of the Spirit is something I didn't ask for, nor would I want it at this point of time. Nope, all I want is to assert my rights and have a little bit of my privacy back. I mean, I am not asking for much, I only want to be able to sleep my 7 hours each night; and even that is being abruptly cut short by my 5-year-old niece's screaming and yelling every single morning at 7am.

So who cares that I write and work late and sleep at 3am? I still get woken up at 7am, and would still have to resume my 12-hour workday on my feet most of the time. People who suffer from sleepiness causes road accidents, if that makes the news at all these days. More importantly - lack of sleep aggravates my arm pain.

So for the past 2 years, I kept silent with the screaming. I did bring up the matter with my brother and sis-in-law (the parents) several times and they basically did next-to-nothing. Never disciplined their kid. In fact, the kid commands them around.

Today, the screaming continued. I had enough. Went to talk to my bro and gave him three options:
1. Soundproof the room
2. Carry his daughter downstairs where her piercing voice is outta earshot.
3. Allow me to discipline his kid.

He was reluctant to perform any of the above.

I told him I would have to move out if the condition persist. At that point his kid came down (what else!) crying. Her dad and mom told her to be quiet but to no avail. I took out a cane and told her sternly that if she continues to be disobedient to her parents I would personally see that she gets licked by the rod. She bawled even louder and ran to her mom, who promptly rescued, cradled and pacified her. The bawling intensified. Tragic.

In the mid-morning I had cooled down considerably to send text messages to my bro and sis-in-law to apologise for over-riding their authority earlier. They expressed no intention to discipline their kid (anyways, why start now, since they had never done that before??)

I fear.

I know my bro's family is just a small representation of believing families caught in an endless cycle of parents working long hours, grappling for time, mothers spending hours away from their children, buying expensive toys to substitute their presence.

I fear.

Through permissive parenting we raise up a godless generation who thinks they are "saved from damnation" yet have little regard for moral values. Because their parents did not think it was important. Because a good academic education is preferred. Because "healthy emotional growth" is more... pressing.

I fear.

Fathers losing their authority because they had never practised their God-given role. Children disobedient and downright treating authority with disdain -a generation the Bible mentions will be prevalent in the last days.

But I cannot change things. Except pray.

Sigh, and so I live, one day after the next, screamings and all.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
(Galations 5:22)

Desire & God

All my desire is before Thee, so wrote missionary Elizabeth Elliott when she hadda give up the one thing that she desired most (to be married to Jim Elliot, which she eventually did, before he got martyred). Though I may not understand why she would desire to be married, the feeling of desiring some object is certainly not an alien concept to humankind.

Ahhh... if only I didn't want it so much! If only I could have it, I would be happy, satisfied and want no more. Yeah, wrong. That'll make it something I want more than God. He gets pushed out of the equation in favour of something lesser. Creation takes precedence over Creator. Back to the cycle of sin regenerated. Ugh.

I wonder why God even bothered. Man is so mah-fan, a definite pain-in- the-neck at most times and deperately in need of being rescued at others. But I guess that's what I will never fully comprehend with my head - His patience, His kindness. His love.

He has silenced me with His love, and all my desires are now before Him.

Thoughts of Banana-ism

Being a banana (yellow-skinned, white insides), I concluded, is preferable to being a durian (prickly outside, mushy inside). At least that's what I tell myself anyways.

For the n-th time today, someone commented that I was a banana. I don't think he meant it in a deragoratory manner, but in an unguarded moment, he spoke what was in his heart. He wasn't the only one that thought so either, my closest friends liken me to being that way and honestly, I don't really care. I have gone past the point of caring lah.

What's the use spewing all those Chinese / Malaysianese buzzwords in perfect intonation when all they do is conceal an already Westernised mind? My friends ask me that. I ask myself that. Maybe in time, being a hybrid banana would be fashionable... who knows...

I believe

I am half-convinved that I am in the wrong industry. Am on the verge of turning down another job, when people like me should be scrambling and kissing feet for it. Aaaah... if it wasn't for conviction...

LP says I have way too many convictions. she reminds me that I have already turned down several lucrative offers because of my "convictions" - not allowing myself in situations that would threathen to compromise integrity, ie, bribing, underhand dealings, etc. Seriously, I hope I am not turning into a legalistic zealot. I do hope that at the end, it is God's righteousness that is shown forth. I hope that I am not making a mistake.

But I do believe that the Spirit works in our consciences and somehow, in His faithfulness God helps us despite of ourselves. I believe God will bring in the right jobs, the ones pleasing in His sight. I believe His blessings are the ones that carry no sorrow with them. I believe in Providence. And I believe, in the end, every single thing we do and every single thought (and the motivation behind them) will be brought to God face to face.

And I'd hate to be ashamed on that day.

Dear God, steady me in my decisions. Especially when the alternatives get very tempting.

Floating the Tithe

I find the issue of tithing quite fascinating. More so, when I have to make decisions on how much. Traditional opinion suggests 10 percent of gross income, or more. But is that all to it?

Of course, you have well-meaning people whose testimonies of "not being able to out-give God" plastered and heralded all over. These are people who have endured very trying financial situations (to the point of not being able to feed their children, etc) and still gave whatever paltry sum they had to God. And they testify of being rewarded; they miraculously got out of debt (usually by someone else's intervention) or whatever difficult situation they were in, and is now giving glory to God. That's really good, don't get me wrong. It gives tremendous stimulation and encouragement that God is certainly good, generous and above all, very concerned about the welfare of His children.

But doesn't that make some people think that God is some kind of vending machine? Slot in a coin and get whatever you want? Or worse, a one-arm bandit... just push in your "investment" this time round and see how God "miraculously exponentially returns it?" Or sublimely more dangerous: pay your tithes, it is an insurance against financial calamity and other woes?

In Old Testament, the people of God were required to give a stipulated amount of their possessions back to God, who owns everything anyways. It was part of the Law. No arguement there.

New Testament devotees were told to give sacrificially, with a cheerful heart. That means it could be anything from 1 to 100 percent. Let your heart attitude determine the giving barometer. That's the essence of the freedom Jesus came to give those who believe in Him. Absolute, but with an awesome sense of responsibility. IMHO, no longer can we hide behind the excuse of the law in a fixed numeral tithe. Now it is our hearts which determine the amount we give, and by that, indicate a clear reflection of our spiritual condition.

To be fair, not all people who give great amounts are spiritual giants. The same is to be said of the opposite - not all who give smaller amounts are spiritual gnats. I had known people who had so little to live on, and they do not have anything leftover. Should they be made to feel quilty over their "lack of giving"? I had also known a congregation where one had no qualms of going into debt to "pledge in faith" for an impending church project.

I fall into the 10 percent or more category. Had been there since the day I put my faith in Jesus. Of late, my mind had been brought back to the issue of "getting out of the fixed numeral box" when tithing. Since then I had been sensing the danger of 'floating my tithe' (danger of injury to my own wallet, that is.)

For the first three months, I held back from normal tithing, all the while holding my breath to see if any financial catastrophe will overtake my 'insolence and rebellion'. Nothing happened. Which made it worse as I merely expected the bad things to snowball and hit me harder.

At the end of the third month, I was quite nervous. Never in my Christian life had I failed to tithe, and this experiment was coming to a point where it should have its conclusion, or so I thought. Then, it so happened that a missionary friend visited. One thing led to another and I ended up giving out a generous amount to my friend that covered more than my normal tithe over the same period. It wasn't forced giving, nor was it out of compulsion. It was a natural thing that was devoid of much contemplation nor thought. It was very... spontaneous and natural.

Hmmm... I was relieved when I got tithe out of the way after the third month. It was God's grace upon this little experiment of mine. He knew I probably couldn't take the stakeout much longer, and He also showed me that I had a restricted view of giving. Don't get me wrong, giving should be a consistent discipline, but over the long haul, it should more accurately reflect the condition of the heart rather than a mere adherence to a common practice.

I still "float my tithe". With less guilt (every experiment is a new experience!) and more confidence these past few months, though. A general observation is that I tend to give more after the floating has begun, but the fact that I don't know exactly how much more is a good sign that my head - and heart - had started to lose count.

To Nile or not to Nile

People ask me why I still type with pain in my arms. I usually ward off those kinda questions with a timely joke or a swift change of subject. Handy to have some of those up the sleeves. If you take away writing from me, I would... waste away? Granted, I don't make the prolific writers' list, but hey, who says you've gotta be Indian to enjoy good curry?
Just like you don't need to be an Egyptologist to be fascinated by that ancient civilisation down the Nile. One of these days (I am hoping it would be this year) I will make that trip down the Valley of The Kings and hang out at the Cairo Museum, do the tourist thing (something I haven't done in a long time) and basically be enamoured by the great historic and cultural landscape all around me. Aaaaah...

Man, gotta go rough it out before I get too old and need dentures to chew through my salad. Or else just stock up the backpack with porridge mix. Can't wait to to wander, wander, wander... maybe I should just hook up with a professional wanderer to do a global circuit thing.... hmmm...

Year of The Dog

It's Chinese New Year and my phones haven't stopped ringing! Relatives, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends... the killer calls are the ones from a couple time zones apart, waking you up with enthusiastic "Xin Nien Huai Le"s while you grope around trying to place the receiver on your ear.

If that doesn't prove a health hazard, the monster eating sprees would soon settle that score. Food, food and more food! Increasingly, Chinese New Year has become an excuse to just pig out shamelessly (and thereafter forking out another bundle of moola to gorge our bodies in super slimming therapies to rid the guilt). How much more decadent can we get?

Anyways, I didn't eat much this year coz I was still recovering from flu, plus the fact that I wasn't in the mood for celebration. I've got a couple of angpows though, so that's not too bad. And I could see some good things happening - three of my aunts have responded positively to me taking them to church next Sunday (I hadda wrench them out from their very tight weekend mahjong schedule). I mean, these are aunts who had seen how impossibly bratty and spoiled I was as a young child.... so I guess they wanna check out just what kinda institution could "religionise" a person like me. Whatever.

Today I gotta get stuff from the market so we could cook for a deluge of relatives coming tomorrow, on top of my cousin and his girlfriend who's staying overnight tonight. I love having people around the house (so long as they don't try to matchmake me).

This being the lunar Year of the Canine really brings back wistful
memories of my three dachsunds, all of whom died in the same year. Two were run over by cars, and one died of old age. There were many visits to the vet and I wished I had known about dog insurance back then. Just that pet insurance wasn't very popular. These days, people are more market-savvy and would definitely shop around and compare to settle for the best pet insurance in town.

But hey, Chinese New Year is the time for celebration, rejoicing and of course the big feast!!! And who knows, I may recover and get myself Dachshund #4.

Weekend Rant

Conversation between two friends.

MY: It's the year of the dog. That means it's "our year". We are old farts.

BT: But we have been old farts longtime ago, buddy.

MY: True, but I sure didn't feel like one till... ok, till I had that darned carpal tunnel flipping syndrome, ok? At least I thought I was still immortal...

BT: ...till the delusions dissipated. Wake up, woman! We are old, old! In medieval times we would have had grandkids at our age.

MY: In medieval times we would have died from childbirth, too. Or worse, from some bubonic plague and childbirth. I dunno which is worse - dying young, bloodstained and naked with bad skin, or dying old with botox and bad skin.

BT: Either way you still die.

MY: Yeah, but I sure want to make my life count! I mean, I am an old fart and still haven't done all I am supposed to do!

BT: Aren't you supposeda wait for God's timing?

MY: Easy for you to say! You're not the one in stucksville (or should it be "sucksville") wondering if you'll ever go out to frontline missions again!

BT: As far as I know, Abraham waited plenty years before heading out to the unknown yonder.

MY: Excuse me, Abraham also had plenty of property, not to mention camels and whatever animal-stock while on his wandering circuit.

BT: So now you want some camels?

MY: Very funny... but come to think of it, a new set of wheels wouldn't hurt...

BT: But would it help?

MY: I guess not. (Beat.) No amount of material possession would, not when it is merely used as a substitute for a deeper hunger. Thing is, I have been out of action for 5 years. And that's a mighty long time! I've been waiting for open doors all these while and... I am tired! I will get old and frail and unable to be of any use anymore!

BT: Hmmm...for that, I think God will imprison you a while longer.

MY: I really hate talking to you...

Dear God, when I get impatient, help me to understand that ultimately, it's not my will nor desires that matter.

Relinquishing Control

I have only responded to altar calls in my new church ("new" as in the present one I am attending, of which I had become a member of, and am currently worshipping in) two times.

Number 1 happened years ago when I was hopelessly lost and drifting in a sea of confusion after an upheaval of faith. Number 2 happened today. It was a simple message, a call to go to missions, and it basically spoke to every part of me. Usually I would be sceptical and wary of making an emotional response (especially during altar calls), but today, none of those things came to mind as I got out from my seat and ran the distance to the front of the stage. There was no conflict or whatever of that sort as I whizzed past the aisle. All I was thinking was: "I really want to be prayed for... I am commiting myself to this thing, come what may... and if I perish, I perish... so help me God."

As I got out, I saw that I was the only person out there. In a congregation of 2,000 people, I was the only person in front, where every pair of eyes (that'll be 4,000 eyeballs, thanks for the math) were watching. Great job Michelle, always ending up being a spectacle when it is least desired. Anyways, it was too late to pull back (nor did I intend to), so I walked right up to the front of the stage and basically avoided looking at the musicians right in front of me, just in case I find them staring back.

Thankfully, some other people trickled in after that. One guy I've seen several times in church came and stood beside me. When I saw him I instinctively gave him two thumbs up. He reciprocated. (Must have been a sight, two people in full view of the entire congregation giving each other finger signals.)

Some people prayed for me (two ladies, to be specific). I got prayed for by a second lady coz I didn't leave the altar after the first prayer (I didn't know I was supposed to).

So, this is it. The entire thing is basically in God's hands. My arms still hurt, but heck, I'll take pain over loss of sensation anyday. I am so thankful my hands are still functioning, if somewhat painfully. Some people don't even have that luxury.

Meaning in Pain

Executioners of that day drove their spikes through the wrist, right thru the carpal tunnel that houses finger-controlling tendons and the median nerve. It is impossible to force a spike there without crippling the hand into a claw shape. Jesus had no anesthetic. He allowed those hands to be marred and crippled and destroyed. (In His Image, Dr Paul Brand)

It is good to be able to type again, no matter how briefly it may be. Heck, it is good just to feel the keys on the (newly-installed, 2nd-hand) ergonomic keyboard. After weeks of being misdiagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome/ arthritis/ fibromyalgia; I am glad to be back in action, thanks to my mother who took really good care of me. She should consider a career in nursing.

Pain is a terrible thing. Or it can be a wondrous gift, depending on which perspective one happens to be swaying towards. On one hand, it is a situation no one wants to encounter but which everyone does, in one form or another. No one is exempt. Pain visits your body, emotions and mental faculties, gnawing where it matters and leaving a trail of vivid memories.

But is there meaning to pain?

Ah... the age-old medical question! In physical terms, pain is an in-built human mechanism that naturally triggers a warning when something goes wrong with our bodies, or when certain areas need attention. Talk to a leprosy patient and he will tell you how he wished he could feel pain. I know because I shook the right stump (what had remained of his hand) of one such person and saw the shocked reaction on his face. I guess he didn't see that gesture coming at him. He had lost his left arm, some parts of his face and his right palm because he was unable to feel pain.

In fact, pain is a gift that not many people appreciate nor ask for. Many would seek explanation for medical issues associated with it, and the lucky ones will find a diagnosis. Others live with it. And sometimes it goes on for years. Ask me why a loving God would allow His children to suffer and I definitely would not be able to answer satisfactorily. But note: It is exactly the love that is God that allowed the cruelty of the cross - raw, non-edited, on-your-face. It is something the natural mind finds hard to comprehend. It is grasped by faith, a total reliance and belief on a Person and on that Person alone.

Wait and Ponder

As of today, I will not be using my arms anymore, not unnecessarily anyways. *sigh* (my friend Crystal is typing this post) I have a few more hours til nightfall, so I can actually drive myself home, bring a book to a friend, umm.., return money to another friend (who actually paid for my wrist splint) and eat my meal without being fed.
I HATE CARPAL TUNNEL SYNDROME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Complaints aside, what is God teaching me through this? Do I actually need more pain in my life? Hmm, maybe I do. First, my right arm was gone, then my left arm decided to follow suit. Great. One of the things about pain and suffering is that the more you get it, the more you get used to it. It's a sick way of being positive but I guess compared to the pain and suffering that Jesus went through, what I have is peanuts (not that I want more...)

So I walked through the bookstore today and the horrible thought struck me, "What if I permanently stay this way? I would be totally dependant on someone else to drive me around, type out my thoughts, open the car door for me... AARRGGHHHHH

*Another sigh* So I read all these books on pain. On suffering. Our humanness. But to go through it is another thing altogether. And it would help if it doesn't hurt that much to hold up a book to read either. Always told God that He had better take me home than to allow me to remain on earth as a vegetable. But I guess I shouldn't be dictating the scene of my martyrdom, huh?

Being incapacitated on both arms, although not entirely, is a new experience and a new kind of imprisonment. Seeing how much I value freedom, this has got to be the lowest of the lowest pit. Ugh. But God has a plan, God has a plan. Maybe this is a time for me to rest. Not just physically, but to really slow down in every area of my life and wait. And ponder.

*Sigh*

Retirement Town?

Maybe. It's a great place to spend an undisturbed quiet weekend, but not terribly thrilling for city slickers used to nocturnal excitement and bright lights. Sleepy town of Bagan Dato, Perak, West Malaysia.

Raw Palm Fruit

Shaggy and husky stuff on the outside

...can be removed to reveal the naked fruit...





...up close.