Avner Complex.... not!

Shikes.

Double shikes.

Methinks that's really all I can say about not blogging for ...(gasp!) almost two weeks since the last post! Other than the fact that not much has happened - my hard disk with all those wonderful Tokyo pixs can't be posted coz there was a connection flaw; the wound where they stitched up my arm after the surgery spawned into a huge, fat caterpillar scar (my friend suspects its coz of the Vit E), my arm - nerve injury returned; I suddenly had a deluge of jobs (good news for paying off Hanoi trip); I discovered I had an eyelash allergy; watched Fantastic Four and Transformers (the latter was surprisingly entertaining); and both my toilets need fixing.

Oh yeah, I finished George Jonas' "Vengeance" in two days. Pageturner it was, at least for me. Even after I had watched the Spielberg version months before; about a hit team led by "Avner", sent to hunt and assasinate the terrorists whom the Mossad were convinced had perpetrated the Munich Olympic massacre in 1972.

Strange that in a twist of circumstances, the book should end up in my hands. It actually belonged to a friend who loaned it to his friend, who incidentally kept it for a long, long time before returning it when her employment ended. From one hand to another, the book was passed to me. I happened to have some time to kill while waiting for my car to be serviced and opened it. Once I started, there was no stopping. Until two days later, that is...

What captivated me, more than the intrigue of international espionage, was the blow-by-blow account of the Munich massacre - the brutality and spine-chilling account of how the Israeli athletes were slain... the evil face of terrorism - and later, the paradoxical concept of retaliation by the "victims" themselves. Terrorism, counter-terrorism... are they any different? Doesn't both sides comprise people with the same fears, dedication and weaknesses?

To a micro extent, it drew me back to my task at hand. Hanoi. The thought that occupied me mostly was how to get everyone there and back in one piece. To tell the truth, this thought concerned me more than "what kind of impact" we were going to make there. That I leave to God. Tell me my focus is wrong, or that I am not trusting enough, etc etc... but what really concerns me is that I am taking some people to a strange place and I am in a way responsible for their safety.

Of course, I know that all will turn out as purposed (Rom 8:28) and a good understanding of that purpose is necessary to ease the taut between the tensions.

As the day draws nearer, I find myself, eager, and yet unprepared. Though I have prepared all I possibly could. I have told people a million times that a flexible attitude is the greatest asset. Yet to what extent should I allow flexibility? What kinda decisions would I be making when we are out there, decisions that could affect another person's life? What kind of mistakes are deemed too costly?

Wisdom, yes. Courage, I need plenty.

On one hand, this could be seen as a girl scouts' outing. But as it is, nothing is ever what it seems on the surface. God's ways are not man's ways. There is a sudden rush even as I type this, a feeling of that hint of the unexpected, the danger, the risk; and yet knowing that God will not allow more than what we can bear. Would I be a good leader? I really dunno, hey, I am just doing this because I was asked to volunteer, ok?

Whatever happens- good, bad, ugly - one thing is for sure. We are all moving one step nearer to understanding the call and destiny in Christ.



How we get there.... is another story for another post in the future.

Hiccup-ed

Shikes.... I had not blogged since coming back from Tokyo... have a good reason for it too - I got an external disk to store all my stuff but there was a connection problem with the port and I could not get it to work... AND all my photos are inside! So... since I've somehow gotten the thing to work, there will be some furious blogging coming up soon. (Yeah, yeah, yeah...)

Living in a Fishbowl

Less than a week ago, I met my cousin at the wet market. I needed her help to choose a yam for a pork dish I was making, and hence looked her up at the meat section. My cousin is in her 50s, has three grown-up kids and helps her butcher husband at his stall.

We got talking. She asked me about what I had planned for the future. "Have you set some savings aside to at least buy yourself a house or somewhere to stay in?" she asked, concerned that I would grow old and end up on the streets.

"Nope. I don't worry much about these things..."

She gasped, "No, no... you m-u-s-t prepare for it," she insisted, and continued to tell me the benefits of property ownership when suddenly, she stopped herself short.

"Oh, I forgot that you are a Christian," she said. Then she continued, "and therefore you have a different direction in life. You are preoccupied with something else..."

She seemed pretty satisfied as she concluded her own opinion about me, and did not push the matter any further.

I was gobsmacked. I had never talked to her about my faith, as we never really had the chance to talk to each other over the years, despite staying relatively closeby. So I was surprised she said what she did.

Boy, you'll never know who's watching you.

Serious Blessing

When God blesses, the unbelievable happens.

Just Tuesday afternoon, a bright and sunny day at that, my friend Crystal called up and asked, "Hey, you wanna go Japan next week?" I went like, "Huh? You mean eat at a Japanese restaurant, right?" She said, "No. Do you want to go to Japan next week?"

I was still in a blur. I mean, how do you respond to a question like that? Besides, I was mired deep in work, re-drafting scripts and profiles, cooking, going to the wet market, doing the housewife gig...sigh.

"So do you want to go or not?" Crystal jolted me back into reality... "We can go watch the premiere of Pirates of the Carribean 3!"

"What??????" I almost shouted over the phone. "Premiere? In Tokyo? Holy Flip! YES!!!"

Turned out Crystal won the grand prize of the Buena Vista-Channel V contest, so both of us are going to the Nippon Budokan to watch Pirates 3, all expenses paid plus Tokyo tour thrown in and meeting the filmmakers and actors in person. Wow!

All that happened at 3pm. Ninety minutes later, I was the last person at the immigration counter renewing my passport. I was 5 minutes late and had to plead and beg them to process my passport that day itself. They did. Then it was a flurry of activities to apply for the visa, plan the trip, reschedule my work, etc etc.

I didn't sleep much for the next two days. This is a serious blessing from God. The visa didn't cost me anything, I discovered Disney has sponsored the entire trip and we needn't worry about a thing! The package tour included accommodation at the 5-Star New Otani Hotel, a day's tour of the city and of course, the red carpet premiere with the main cast of Pirates along with moghul producer Jerry Bruckheimer. Then there is the River Cruise Dinner after the premiere! The entire trip would have cost us more than RM9k each and now we are only paying RM700++ per pax for the airport tax and insurance!

I think I can die.

Just the last couple months there has been steadily mounting pressure from home. Mom fell sick and slipped into hyperchondria, my family seemed to be falling apart in terms of communication and getting along with each other. I started to take care of my mom and to cook. Dad's temper grew from worse to intolerable. Everyone had extra things to do and we are not really taking it too gallantly, I admit. Just when things threathened to boil over, Japan burst into the scene.

My take? God knows our needs, and He knows how much we can take. He knows what we are made of. Just as I was about to break, God came in with a wonderful, unexpected surprise in the form this trip. How He cares! There is no doubt that His hand is in my life - through the crappy times and the good ones. I serve a wonderful, caring and intimate God Who cares deeply and gives the right gifts at the right time.

So now I am furiously printing namecards (gotta pass one to Bruckheimer when I get the chance!), changing money, getting my work stuff outta the way so I can go next week! Not planning to buy anything coz it is too expensive, but definitely gonna take loads of pictures!

How we wish our friends Ivy and Gracey can come with us too!!!!! (They had to work and there were only tickets for two). But they wished us well and asked us to buy a tonne of stuff for them when are there. :)

So there! In less than 48 hours we would be onna plane heading East. Excited. But still got work finish off... and people to meet before flying off.

Life is good.

Because God is great.

Selective Memory

"How can it be..." asked Gracey, "that you can remember Bible verses, but cannot even recall what I told you couple days back?" We were both sitting in her car, on our way to a slumber night on the eve of Labour Day holiday.

I suppose I am getting old. And old (ok-ageing) people have decaying grey matter. And it's a matter of time before one becomes really selective of things to retain in that cranium cavity of limited storage capacity.

"Well," I began, "I think I have..."

"Selective memory" we both chorused. And laughed.

It is true. As my brain groans under the pressure of information overload, it goes into automatic overdrive and keeps only what it thinks is important. OK, what I think is important.

So I need to be reminded of appointments as they get nearer, I forget where I left my things and I am kinda generally absent-minded about the nitty-gritty of daily life... all at the expense of attempting to be sharp and incisive in slicing and dividing the Word of Truth.

It is a wonderful trade-off.

Good Kinda Thickening...

"I never saw Genesis quite that way before," Allan said last Saturday, during the end of our year-long study on the first book of the Bible. It was a year of postponed studies, missed appointments and arguements over discussions. It was also a year filled with attempts to study God's word in a disciplined manner; of fellowship and of bonding.

How quickly that year passed.

So when I posed the question, "Do you guys wanna continue studying the Bible?" it was met with an enthusiastic "Yes!" But... I said... if we were to continue into Year 2, they would not have it so easy any longer. They were threathened with MORE homework, which of course, meant heavier preparation on my part.

LP and Allan each took like 5 seconds to vote "aye". I really wanted to pat them on their backs and congratulate them. It has not been an easy year, and just to make time for Bible study was a challenge every week. Both had super-duper work commitments which took them away for hours and hours. And when they are finally free over the weekend, Bea's family commitments had to be juggled and thrown into the mix. Not easy indeed.

So, now we are on to Year 2. Just like that. We will inductively study the book of Philemon before going to The Life of Moses (Exodus - Deuteronomy).

Then all of a sudden, another friend expressed interest to join the study and even offered to open up her house for it! Hmmm... the plot thickens... but some thickening are of the good kind. :)

Revealed...

I started a serious study on the book of Revelation six months ago. It began with much trepidation, namely because I did not want to get sucked into any of the several views that had been used for years to interpret it. It was a Catch 22 situation - if I do not attempt to study it, I will not even have o-n-e view.

Hence I started by just observing the text, aided by my tutor, an experienced Bible teacher who was willing to meet me one-on-one to impart her knowledge.

Revelation is the last book in the Bible and actually, it should be named The Revelation of Jesus Christ, becoz that is what the entire book is about. Forget about Left Behind junkies and the myriad upon myriad tonnes of material available in bookstores with titles like Armageddon and Unlocking Last Days' Prophecies, etc, etc. Just study the text the way it is presented. Don't complicate life.

Revelation is not as confusing and intimidating as I first thought it to be. All that was needed was an understanding of the type of literature it is, its purpose to the original reader, and the historical context in which it was written.

Of course the various ways of interpreting it still hold sway, depending on which camp you happen to fall under. But in its gist, Revelation was written to Christians undergoing persecution, along with warnings and exhortation. In a nutshell, "we win!"

Revelation is special as it encompasses 4 major kinds of literature of its day - epistles, apocalyptic, prophetic and historical. One common approach to this book is to pin down a 'date' or 'event' in which we use to interpret Last Days. This approach is not only faulty, but dangerous as it reduces the book to a formulaic almanac of sorts. It is not!

Bearing in mind that it is written for the specific purpose to encourage Christians under persecution to have patient endurance and to be overcomers, Revelation has been largely misunderstood due to its nature as prophetic literature and also the fluidity of its pictorial language.

However, rather than hindering it, the visually-heavy language of the book actually paints a glorious landscape of Christ in His second coming. No more do we see Jesus as "meek and mild". Here He is the King and Judge. The author Apostle John, now in his 90s, wrote the book while being a political exile for his faith in the tiny island of Patmos. The last time John saw Jesus, the Lord washed his feet, died on the cross, arose and was caught up in heaven. That was almost 60 years ago. Now John is old and bent and a prisoner. When Jesus appeared to him, John fell face down in fear. This Jesus is totally different from what he remembered. This Jesus had hair that was white, eyes like fire, face like the shinning sun and voice of many waters.

(To appreciate the situation then, Christians were persecuted under the Roman Empire with Nero and then Domitian. The persecution often involved killings of Christians for sport a'la Gladiator where those who refused to renounce their faith were fed alive to hungry lions while the bloodthirsty stadium crowd cheered on.)

Now imagine being a Christian during that time. You are hungry, poor, naked and worse... going to be lion fodder soon. Just because you won't say "I am not a Christian" in the presence of some Imperial bigwig. There only way out for you is a cruel death in a public execution. Your friends and family deserted you. You are totally alone.

And in this instance Jesus appears to you. He says..."I am the Alpha and Omega" (I am the Beginning and the End).

Imagine how much that meant to the original reader.

In the light of God's greatness and glory, our sufferings matter so little. It is us who need His grace, for we suffer but for a short while, compared to the rewards of eternity! For when that Day comes, when the cosmos melts down and the mountains and the sea are no more; when the sky is rolled back like a scroll; when all the inhabitants of the earth run to the caves and plead for the mountains to fall on them (rather than to face the wrath of God), those who have suffered and awaited long for His coming will be able to sing... "It is well with my soul".

Come, Lord Jesus!

Mission team to...?

Ok. Here is the question... do I lead a mission team to Thailand, Myanmar, Vietnam or rural Malaysia in July?

The "spiritual" answer: Pray about it and let God decide.

The "carnal" answer: Look into affordability, the condition of my health and what kinda job opportunities that would be foregone.

My answer: I dunno. For the moment.

The team participants will consist mostly internationals and the assignment is a two-week outreach in any of the countries designated above. And if I don't know Operation Mobilisation any better, I would be thinking it would be a guided mission tour. However, experience strongly attest to the contrary - with nights out in the open airports in the bitter cold, missed trains, busses, non-existent time to prepare programs (hence the flexibility to "just wing it" is a great asset), and tendency to gravitate towards Murphy's Law - anything that goes wrong WILL go wrong.

So it never ceased to amaze me how our human foibles can actually accomplish God's plans. I mean, He doesn't wait for us to get it right... and in fact, He often times lets us get it totally wrong... so that His marvels can be shown. Hey, let no flesh glory in the work of God, man!

So I have no idea what my team is gonna be like. I have no inkling what the schedules are, nor what I will be in for during the three weeks (one-week conference + two weeks' outreach) in July. But hey, God has not let me down yet, and I know He never will. Whatever the future's gonna hold for this team of His is anyone's guess. But I have a strong feeling that someone will be touched, changed and challenged to consider world missions as their path for life.

And that is why I am going.

Gluttony to the maxx!

"What's so great about Sitiawan that you'ld go there twice in 3 months?" a friend asked.

Now here is a question I half-expect, especially from urbanite friends who would think the only thing notable about that settlement near the coast is their birdnest trade. Actually birdnest is only one of the many food products this enterprising community came up with over the years.

There are the famous Kampung Koh chilly sauce, mee sua and soy sauce to name a few. So when we went up to Gracey's house to continue our erm... "Makansutra" escapade during last Chinese New Year, we made sure we emptied our stomachs for the long haul eating session.

Crystal and I took a bus up to the Sitiawan bus stop, where Gracey was supposeda pick us. However before she could arrive, we already crossed the street to check out the Cendol stall before it closed for the day. And it was a good thing too, because we just managed to get the last bowl of special Cendol with glutinous rice. Phew...

Then it was eating, eating and eating all day long for the next two days, even when we arrived at Ivy's house in nearby Teluk Intan. Words exhaust me, but suffice to say that we were disgustingly, shamelessly fed, and fed well too. Of course, other than eating we saw some sights... the ahem, Leaning Tower of Teluk Intan (pix) happened to be one of them.

































Anyway, we we really delighted to find the friendly neighbourhood ice-cream man peddling his ware! Haven't seen this kinda sight for like... more than 2 decades!!!! We all stuffed faces with double-scooped ice-cream in between our eating sessions.






















And after all that eating, Gracey and I burped in satisfaction... while waiting for the next meal.

No Melanoma!

The biopsy results are out.

That patch on my arm is a bundle of spindle cells, what the doc diagnosed as micro-fibroma. Benign but recommended to be taken out sonnest possible.

Yay.

But I would have to refrain from using my left arm for another month after the operation on 12th April. Which means no swimming or driving until mid-May. :(

Still, I am happy its not melanoma.

Some Skin Less

`

A couple of weeks ago I went for a skin biopsy and MRI one day apart from each other. For me, it was a first time for both procedures, although I had a biopsy done few years ago prior to a lumpectomy. The skin biopsy was done at the dermatologist's request since there was a strange mole growing at the back of my underarm near the shoulder joint. The procedure involved extracting a slice of skin where the mole is, and sewing the incision shut.

I hadda go under local anaesthetic for this, so I promptly arrived at the hospital's minor operating theatre one cheerful weekday morning, aptly armed with Michael Griffith's "Take My Life". (That is a good book to read should you want to get serious with your faith).

The dermatologist called me in, told me to change into the hospital gown, took photos of the mole and told me to lie down on my side on the operating table. She then spread the big sheet of surgical paper on the mole and started to poke it.

"Does this hurt?"

"Yeah."

"OK, I'll give you the jab now."

"Ouch."

She started poking the other parts and it hurt too, so she gave me a second jab. By the time the second injection sank in, I lost all sensation and wouldn't have realised she was cutting away at my skin had it not been for the scraping noises.

Well, there was an uncomfortable silence. I was lying on my side with a paper covering my shoulder and dermatologist behind me carving out my skin. So I did what I always do when I am nervous / bored. I asked questions.

"What's that red socket on the wall for, eh?"

"What red socket?" asked the dermatologist, amid scraping noises.

"The one next to the normal white one."

"Oh, that's for blackout emergencies." the staff nurse butted in.

"Really?" asked the dermatologist.

"Yeah, all operating theatres have an alternate energy supply."

"Oh, I didn't know that," said dermatologist.

Well, I sure hope she knew what she was doing to my skin. When she was done, I had three stitches which came off two days ago, leaving three rather ugly needle holes. The biopsy results will be out tomorrow.

POV inside a Coffin

"Oh, oh... what did I get myself into?" I wondered as the nurse clapsed a cage across my face, locked my head in position and began to press a button to slide me into the MRI tunnel. All around me were crackling and buzzing noises. I was strapped to the sliding table, hands and feet unable to move. Can't even scratch my nose or slide my bangs. Felt like a science-fiction movie gone terribly wrong.

"Don't worry about the noises inside, ok? It's normal" the nurse coo-ed in her most reassuring tone. *Sure, now where have I heard that before?*

"How long am I supposeda be in there?" I asked.

"Thirty minutes."

What? Thirty minutes immobilised inside a coffin contraption? What kinda nonsense is this? Why wasn't I told this earlier? I waited three months for this appointment, and in between that the hospital called me twice and made me wait another 90 minutes in the waiting room prior to the procedure and no one told me it would be like this???

Somehow I didn't think the nurse / radiologist would be jumping in eager anticipation to hear what's on my mind, so I kept quiet, swallowed hard and hoped that my nose wouldn't itch for the next half an hour.

"Hold on to this," she said, pushing a call-button device into my hand, "press if you need anything."

It was so cold. Sterile. The nurse spread a blanket over me. I started to slide into the sinister machine that opened up to swallow me whole. The examination room disappeared into the far horizon at my feet. I was totally inside the belly of the machine. Tunneled-in. Trapped.

Man, if I were to ever have a first-eye POV (point of view) of what its like to lie inside a closed coffin, this would come really close. It is deadly silent. For a moment. Then a buzz pierced the air. Then humming. Crackling. Then all at once there were noises all around me! It was deafening, and I admit, unnerving.

I started to think about being inside a real coffin. Death is a reality for all, but no one really cares to think seriously about it. It is a certainty that we move closer to everyday, whether we like it or not.

I thought about death that day inside the MRI machine, and I am thankful that I know for sure I could still crawl out of that tunnel when the 30 minutes are up. But what about those who may not even have the 30 minutes to live?

Life is too short. Like vapour. When it is my turn to lie in a real coffin, I don't want to be leaving behind a trail of regret and sorrow of what might have been. And I am really grateful I still have the time to play my cards right.

The results of the MRI came out.

Everything's normal.

Watch the Lamb

The first time I heard this song I was in a cabin onboard the Doulos in '96. Some crewmates were miming to it, and my first thought was: "I have to listen to it again!" The lyrics were strong, powerful and piercing. I quickly decided that I wanted to learn to mime this song too. I did.

I don't remember how many ports we stopped and the number of times we performed it, but it seems like this haunting melody has been with me forever. Everytime I sing it (we have to know the lyrics before we can mime), I am brought back to the cross. Again and again.

The song is sung from the perspective of Simon of Cyrene, whom the Bible described as the person who carried Jesus' cross for him on the way to Golgotha where the crucification took place. (One little thing here is that, although no one is actually able to attest to the racial origin of Simon of Cyrene, he was believed to be darker-skinned as Cyrene was part of North Africa). It is also believed that his two young sons Alexander and Rufus later became well-known in the Christian community in Rome.

To me, this song is a slice of an ordinary life colliding with a great and painful moment in world history. It brings out, blow-by blow, the cruelty of the cross and the terrible price it exacted on Jesus. May we never forget what it cost Jesus to bring us back to God.

Tickets and A Theological Moment...

A credit card company was giving out free movie tickets in return for usage above a certain amount, at a roadshow I helped organise last year. The tickets were admission for the premiere screening of a summer blockbuster, and hence were much coveted.

I saw how people queued up early and rushed to redeem the tickets, even to the point of carelessly charging their cards just to get a shot at the screening. And I saw how their faces fell when they were told the tickets had all been given out. They walked away with their heads lowered. Just because they missed the window timeframe for the redemption.

Redemption is of course a commercial term, used in ancient times for the buying and selling of commodity, mainly for the transaction involving slaves. It particularly refers to the purchase of a slave in order to set the slave free. In that sense, it is the most wonderful word in all Christian vocabulary. Jesus' redemption of us from our sins have made us free from the slavery of sin and death.

As I looked at the crowd who thronged the movie ticket redemtion counter that day, I saw faces lined with hope, anticipation and excitement. They wanted the tickets, they were willing to wait, beg, steal or borrow for them!

What a stark contrast to people's reaction when the offer of Christ's redemption is made to them. (No clambering here for the first place). Truly we do not value nor desire God, eternal life and all those invisible things promised in the Bible. We don't care for the free ticket to heaven. We have lost all sense of affinity for those things, being conditioned by the flesh. We make excuses and console ourselves, all the while headed for hell. And we chose to do so.

American theologian Jonathan Edwards opined that our choices are determined by what we think is the most desirable course of action. So why don't men choose God? Has sin has so blurred their vision that they do not consider righteousness to be the way of personal fulfillment?

I am a movie freak. So I fall into the category of the lesser beings who would 'kill and maim' for the movie tickets. And it is a constant battle to choose between what my minds thinks is most desirable, to what the Word says is best.

And yes, I did manage to get tickets to the premiere screening. They were given to me without being asked.

Surviving Spiritual Responsibility

What happens when you become a parent?

Ask any parent and they will tell you how their lives had been turned upside -down (in a good way) in that irreversible rite of passage.

But what happens when you become spiritual parent to your parents?

Ah.

(This is not a trick question).

What I find amazing about following Jesus is that life continues to throw curveball surprises. Never a dull moment with God. So I find myself in this situation where I am (reluctantly) a spiritual parent to my mom and dad. By spiritual parenting I mean being the person who is concerned and overseeing their spiritual state and a constant presence around them where they are reminded of their allegiance to Christ.

The great thing about this is that I can be myself in speech, behaviour and responses while attempting to live my life in Jesus the best I can. They see my struggles, outbursts and failures and they witness first-hand how Jesus catches me everytime I fall. A real-life drama played out daily at home. With no commercial breaks. Reality shows don't get any more original than this!

The suckky thing is that they have strong opinions formed over their collected lifetimes of over 100 years... and lifelong habits are hard to change. I have to remind myself of that everytime I get frustrated when they don't seem to register that God's ways are worth following. Everytime I try to prod, encourage and persuade I get this retort: "So now you think you know more than us about (whatever)...?" At which point I usually just clam up after feeling the futility of it all. (I really shouldn't... God's word has the power to change people... but in reality I often wonder if it works with my family).

I think the best way to survive spiritual parenthood to your own parents, esp if they are really old, is not to expect too much. Expect God to work in them somehow, but don't even put a timeframe where results are concerned. If God has called to such a role, the burden is His and He will bring along the real, lasting transformation.

Mole in the Arm

"Hey, what's that thing on your arm?" my friend asked over lunch two weeks ago.

"Nothing, it's just a mole." I replied.

"Looks like an awfully big mole..." he continued.

"Yeah, it grew."

He suddenly turned and looked at me, concerned. "You better get it looked at."

"OK."

Of course I forgot all about it. It was just a tiny mole about a year ago when I first discovered it... or maybe slightly longer, I don't remember. Anyways it is tucked on the far end back side of my arm and usually would not be noticeable unless I have a sleeveless shirt on. To my surprise, it had grown to about an inch in diameter.

Yesterday another friend saw it and asked the same question. When I replied her, she turned grave. She has had surgery to remove a neck tumour, a hysterectomy and now discovered another tumour on her jugular. She insisted I saw a doctor about the growing, painless, hairless mole on my left arm.

So I called my doctor friend. He sounded worried when I told him my symptoms and will help me locate a dermatologist at the hospital. I'll speak to him again tomorrow, and hopefully find out how to maneuveur my way around this derma-adventure.

I thought about dying. I imagined various scenarios - bedridden, sick, funeral. I could visualise it... only up to the point where I know Jesus would open his arms and welcome me Home. Nothing beyond that.

I cannot imagine heaven. What it would be like... what the colours would be, what kind of songs would be sung there, how the saints of old would look like, what my new body would be... and what would Jesus be wearing.

Isn't it weird that people think Jesus walks around in a long, white flowing robe? We are so conditioned by the impressions of artists throughout the ages. I won't be surprised the Jesus I finally meet looks nothing like what I have seen. In the same vein, here is a piece on the relevance and dangers of religious movies. "...films cannot be used to present the Scriptures visually without becoming idolatrous. Not only are the images historically false (they are conjured up from the imagination of a screenwriter of director) but they must also conform to the mechanics of the medium (acting, cinematography, art direction, music, sound effects, etc) which are designed to manipulate the senses and emotions for dramatic purposes..."

Jesus can only be whom He is described to me in the Word.

Starting the New Year

Yes, yes, yes.... the CNY madness is finally over! At least for me la. There're about 5 more days before Chap Goh Mei arrives to mark the end of the celebrations for the year of the Golden Boar, but I am already back at work. Things are slow of course, which is a blessing coz my mom still needs a lot of attention.

Just yesterday I spent the entire morning and afternoon driving her to Assunta again to get her tests done. Turned out she has urinary tract infection and we are still awaiting the results of her tumour marker. By the way, the prices in private hospitals defy the law of gravity - just urine and blood tests made us poorer by RM420!

While waiting for her results, I drove to the bank and of course, with the wonderful town planning system in State PJ, there was not a single parking bay available. Circled the area for 45 minutes before finally landing on an empty lot behind a row of shops. Went straight to the customer service centre in the bank - was told to wait to be served while 2 new accounts were being opened. I filled out a form and handed it over to the bank staff, who told me I should hand over my passbook as well. Oh darn, the thing is in my car. At this time a crowd was swelling around the counter. So I told the staff to keep my line while I go bring the passbook. She said ok.

When I returned to the counter I was told there was now an additional 2 more new accounts, courtesy of the lady who was behind me in the line earlier. So now I hadda wait for 4 new accounts to be opened before I could be served. I c0mplied since I did not want to kick up a fuss.. 40 minutes of standing later, I was about to be served when another lady stepped up to the counter and asked the staff, "hey, can you serve me first, I am only going to collect my chequebook..." The bank staff was about to attend to her request, when I firmly demanded to be served. And when I put up an angry front, I got served.

The wheel that makes the most noise gets the grease.

Such a sad state of affairs...

My Father(s)

I have four. One biological, two adopted and One starts with a capital F. When I was 29 I learnt that I had problems relating to #4, simply because I had a distorted perception of how a father should be.

I was unable to trust God, nor any male authority figure. It had been a prevailing condition throughout my life and I was unable to change it. It was an intensely heartbreaking discovery, as it meant amongst other things, I had arrived at an impasse in my relationship with God.

During the months that followed, I was a walking zombie - the lingering effect of being shaken to the core. I ate, slept and went about my business in a perpetual daze, not caring (unable to care) much what happened to myself nor those around me. This revelation left me injured and totally vulnerable.

Memory was kinder in the years that passed. I soon learnt that time can somewhat numb the pain, though not fully eradicating it. I realised that God has placed godly adopted fathers in my life, showing me through tangible means that His Fatherhood is different. There were other godly men and husbands which were strewn along my path too, slowly wiping out the distortion, giving life and newness to what was once maimed and wanting.

Then God brought me home - charged with this new awareness - to face my dysfunctional family. It is not the easiest thing to do, but then we were not promised ease of life and comfort. In fact, just the opposite is to be expected; for those who aspire to live a godly life should be prepared for persecution (2 Tim 3:12).

My perception of Fatherhood is constantly being challenged, namely because I live in an environment which demands it. I see the disparity between what I know to be truth and what I experience. And as the saying goes, experience is a powerful teacher.

Living between the tension.


Obedience is better than sacrifice or any other rational excuses.

Housemaid-ing Season

If I ever wanted to know how a foreign maid feels in a Malaysian household, I would have asked our former maid Asti. But nope, no chance of that ever happening now since she's gone, and every other able-bodied female in my house is knocked out by this vicious viral fever... I am left alone to tackle all the household chores. How wonderful.

So every morning I wake up to clean and prepare food for my fever-ridden niece, my sick family, and the other members of my family who aren't sick. Then in the blink of an eye the afternoon would be upon us and there's lunch to prepare. All too soon, dinner will arrive. Cleaning, marketing, cooking, nanny-ing, driving on errands.

I am tired. I am really tired.

I salute those housewives who juggle all these and still maintain their sanity, of which I am precariously hanging on thin shreds (and I am not even a housewife). But after all that drudge and crap, there's this relief... joy... when everyone comes home at night and gathers and eat. The effort of the day just seem to melt away.

Oh dear, I sure hope I am not losing it.

The Day I Survived

This is such a weird day.

Woke up early to check my mom outta hospital. Still groogy after yesterday's fever antibiotics. Arrived hospital at 9am-ish. Walked to the ward while talking on the phone. Before I knew it, I stepped on a small patch of water on the floor, slipped and fell on my back. The nurses rushed to me. They hoisted me up and put me on my mom's bed nearby. The doctor arrived and asked me if I needed attention. The ward sister came to take down my details (in case I needed hospitalisation).

OK, enough embarassment already.

So I shoo-shoo-ed them away (by telling them I was perfectly fine) and after a while, proceeded to a quick brekkie at the cafeteria. Had a slice of marble cake, one milk tea and one Milo. Mom called and said she would be able to check out the same day.

Yay!!!!

BUT we hadda wait. OK, I can wait. One hour passed, two hours... and meanwhile, I was developing symptoms of having a seizure attack. Not good. Not good at all.

I went back to ward nurse to ask for a bed. She said the hospital beds were full but there're some seats at the corridor I can use, or else there's also a wheeled stretcher without brakes. I opted for seats. When I saw those single rattan chairs, I groaned. The're no way I can lie comfortably on those.

So I cramped myself in feotal position and snugged into two single chairs facing each other. It was really awkward and I was uncomfortable, but it was better than no lie-down place at all. I switched positions several times but they were all equally uncomfortable. Meanwhile, my phone kept ringing.

I don't know how but I managed to get some sleep. Too soon, my phone rang again, and it was my mom saying it is time to pay and check out of the hospital. After some ding donging here and there, we finally checked mom out at 3pm, six hours after I had arrived at the hospital.

I was too weak to drive, and WL hadda bring us all home. Left my car in the hospital carpark, and I went home to cook porridge for my mom and myself, before taking my long overdue fever medicine and zonking off till 6.30pm. Then later I hadda retrieve my car from the carpark (but not before dropping by to visit Mrs Tan, the 98-year-old stroke victim from my mom's ward). Mrs Tan's daughter was with her, and she even agreed when I suggested to pray for her. Good, good, good. I may visit her some more in the near future.