A Divine Image

Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secresy the human dress.

The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.

William Blake

Ah, how sweet it is to love!

AH, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young Desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach Love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart:
Ev'n the tears they shed alone
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart:
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.

Love and Time with reverence use,
Treat them like a parting friend;
Nor the golden gifts refuse
Which in youth sincere they send:
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.

Love, like spring-tides full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein;
But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink in again:
If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

John Henry Dryden

God's Grandeur - Gerard Manley Hopkins

By Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–1889)

THE WORLD is charged with the grandeur of God.

It will flame out, like shining from shook foil,

It gathers to a greatness like the ooze of oil

Crushed. Why do men then now not reck His rod?

Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
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And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;

And bears man’s smudge, and shares man’s smell; the soil

Is bare now, nor can foot feel being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
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And though the last lights from the black west went,

Oh, morning at the brown brink eastwards springs—

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast, and with, ah, bright wings.

A Noiseless Patient Spidera poem by Walt Whitman

A noiseless patient spider,
I marked where on a promontory it stood isolated,
Marked how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be formed, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.

Keep In Mind - Halina Poswiatowska

Keep in Mind


if you die
I won't put on a lilac dress
won't buy, colored wreaths
with whispering wind in the ribbons
none of that
none

the hearse will come - will come
the hearse will go - will go
I'll stand at the window - I'll look
wave my hand
flutter my handkerchief
bid farewell
alone in that window

and in summer
in crazy May
I will lie down on the grass
warm grass
and with my hands will touch your hair
and with my lips will touch a bee's pelt
prickly and beautiful
like your smile
like dusk

later it will be
silver - golden
perhaps golden and only red
for that duskthat wind
which whispers love into grasses
stubbornly whispers love
will not allow me to rise
and go
so simply
to my cursed deserted house

Vulnerable

Clothe me Lord
Crown me Father
Here I am your daughter

They stare and wonder
But they cannot see the reason
Obedience to the Father

Clothe me Lord
Drape Your curtain
of Grace over me

I smile and converse
But they keep looking
Cover me, Hide

refresh me

Dear Lord.. can You make it rain in my soul? Let the flowers bloom again? I'm so tired Lord.. Been writing papers all day, but having to fight the impulse of writing to another. God!!! Restrain me! I need to trust you to care for those I love and leave them all to You. I hope they know I care Lord.. but why should that matter. Caring about people should be selfless, not seeking for gratitude. But I just want them to know that they are loved, you know, for their sakes... That they are not forgotten. Give me true strength Lord. To trust and obey, to trust and let God be God. Come hold me, Lord, in Your strength.

life must go on

sometimes ships come our way and we think they might dock. sometimes they stay for quite some time that we think they might dock AND stay. but when they set sail, and we cut the rope and let them go, we feel the space of seawater left. in the night, we see the white slice of the moon reflected on the surface, in the place of that most enchanting ship. most nights, we sit, stare at the crescent and wonder what's happened to the people on the wayfaring ship we've befriended. but we don't have that luxury night after night. lunches need to be cooked, papers need to be written, clothes need to washed and hung, dried and folded, put away. and the experiences we've had visiting the ship are now a memory in the past, whether we like it or not. and memories are just that. we visit them now and again but the time comes when we need to fold them up and put away. the time for hashing out the why's and wherefore's, the pro's and con's must come to an end. the time for fearing if the ship's caught in a storm, wishing it would be safe must stop for sanity's sake. the time for regretting we could have done more for the visitors on the ship must be put behind, and allow ourselves to be forgiven. and today's the day, i tell myself that i cannot take responsibility for everyone around me, especially if they are not in the here and now. for life must somehow go on... the memories of dancing on the ship, the brunches we've had together, the sharing of sunsets and sunrises don't have to be thrown away. we simply keep them in the folds of our hearts. we had changed while the ship was here. and hopefully we've brought cheer and inspiration to the visitors. but we cannot hang on to memories past, neither can we keep wishing for the ship to return because it has a course entirely different from yours. the thing is, that the ship belongs to the wide, wide sea and you belong to land, earth and sky.

A Prayer

his sobbing
it was quiet
tried to hide
i heard and though
i seemed strong
i was sobbing
inside

i can't do this again Lord
please spare me the pain
of having to end.
i know it wasn't you
i put myself through
but now, in obedience i stand.

my tongue pressed to my teeth
my lips pressed together
now words escape me
silence's a friend

my thoughts fly three states down
is he sitting in his chair
is he speaking with another
beauty comforts
i don't blame him

my heart's not broken
just bound,
now rough
layers, of white gauze,
the bleeding must stop
life's draining out

time, time, time
in time.. he will heal
God's not dead
His hand's not short
He can reach and hold
What i never knew nor touched

i look to you Lord
scoop up in Your arms
Your child, till he heals
Walk in Your will
Grown into a son
who knows His Father

Protect him please
Forgive me please
Sing over him
Bless him, love on him
i know not another to ask

heal and cleanse
let it not grow yellow
keep my heart red with kindness
not black gangrene with dead hope

one day, Lord,
surprise me with joy.

Letting Go..

What is this I feel
undescribed, words unspelled, unwhispered
A loss, no.. i never had
it was mist in my hand
a mirage i could not drink from

Confusion.. no
just silence inside
the heart that once danced
silenced
the music continues around
but my feet cannot move
have i lost my steps
no.. i forget

What is this that I feel Lord
the counting doesn't stop
how many more till
till i stop and say yes..
this one.

a rainless sky
yet cold
a leafless tree
yet i stand
i must live
though i do not see
colours are now painted bland
whitewashed
how do i describe

i live yet, don't i?
grateful, yes
grace covered me
my heart feels naked still
tearless sealed inside

time to look up, heart
hope lives in darkness
light does not dawn
while hope is alive
for when the sun appears on high
we see evidence of the substance
hoped for
loss in the past
gift in tomorrow's present

saturday mornin..

mmmm... delicious saturday mornin.. so thankful to be able to catch breakfast at the cafeteria on time. it's nice to know there's one thing for sure - cheerios and soy milk! :) bet the boys will balk at the mention of soy milk! so good to lay in a bit today. it's been a mad dash all week. I'm missing you Lordie.. Lord.. where are you taking me today? Help me return to my first love for you again.. Lord.. give me the strength to follow you wholeheartedly, one day at a time. Start today Lord... and oh ya.. thank you for the sun and the beautiful yellow red leaves around. purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.... :)

A Piece of Chalk by G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)

In this short essay, English author and critic G. K. Chesterton relies on two common items--brown paper and a piece of chalk--as starting points for some thought-provoking meditations.

A Piece of Chalk by G.K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
I remember one splendid morning, all blue and silver, in the summer holidays when I reluctantly tore myself away from the task of doing nothing in particular, and put on a hat of some sort and picked up a walking-stick, and put six very bright-colored chalks in my pocket. I then went into the kitchen (which, along with the rest of the house, belonged to a very square and sensible old woman in a Sussex village), and asked the owner and occupant of the kitchen if she had any brown paper. She had a great deal; in fact, she had too much; and she mistook the purpose and the rationale of the existence of brown paper. She seemed to have an idea that if a person wanted brown paper he must be wanting to tie up parcels; which was the last thing I wanted to do; indeed, it is a thing which I have found to be beyond my mental capacity. Hence she dwelt very much on the varying qualities of toughness and endurance in the material. I explained to her that I only wanted to draw pictures on it, and that I did not want them to endure in the least; and that from my point of view, therefore, it was a question, not of tough consistency, but of responsive surface, a thing comparatively irrelevant in a parcel. When she understood that I wanted to draw she offered to overwhelm me with note-paper.
I then tried to explain the rather delicate logical shade, that I not only liked brown paper, but liked the quality of brownness in paper, just as I like the quality of brownness in October woods, or in beer. Brown paper represents the primal twilight of the first toil of creation, and with a bright-colored chalk or two you can pick out points of fire in it, sparks of gold, and blood-red, and sea-green, like the first fierce stars that sprang out of divine darkness. All this I said (in an off-hand way) to the old woman; and I put the brown paper in my pocket along with the chalks, and possibly other things. I suppose every one must have reflected how primeval and how poetical are the things that one carries in one's pocket; the pocket-knife, for instance, the type of all human tools, the infant of the sword. Once I planned to write a book of poems entirely about things in my pockets. But I found it would be too long; and the age of the great epics is past.
With my stick and my knife, my chalks and my brown paper, I went out on to the great downs. . . .
I crossed one swell of living turf after another, looking for a place to sit down and draw. Do not, for heaven's sake, imagine I was going to sketch from Nature. I was going to draw devils and seraphim, and blind old gods that men worshipped before the dawn of right, and saints in robes of angry crimson, and seas of strange green, and all the sacred or monstrous symbols that look so well in bright colors on brown paper. They are much better worth drawing than Nature; also they are much easier to draw. When a cow came slouching by in the field next to me, a mere artist might have drawn it; but I always get wrong in the hind legs of quadrupeds. So I drew the soul of a cow; which I saw there plainly walking before me in the sunlight; and the soul was all purple and silver, and had seven horns and the mystery that belongs to all beasts. But though I could not with a crayon get the best out of the landscape, it does not follow that the landscape was not getting the best out of me. And this, I think, is the mistake that people make about the old poets who lived before Wordsworth, and were supposed not to care very much about Nature because they did not describe it much.
They preferred writing about great men to writing about great hills; but they sat on the great hills to write it. The gave out much less about Nature, but they drank in, perhaps, much more. They painted the white robes of their holy virgins with the blinding snow, at which they had stared all day. . . The greenness of a thousand green leaves clustered into the live green figure of Robin Hood. The blueness of a score of forgotten skies became the blue robes of the Virgin. The inspiration went in like sunbeams and came out like Apollo.
But as I sat scrawling these silly figures on the brown paper, it began to dawn on me, to my great disgust, that I had left one chalk, and that a most exquisite and essential chalk, behind. I searched all my pockets, but I could not find any white chalk. Now, those who are acquainted with all the philosophy (nay, religion) which is typified in the art of drawing on brown paper, know that white is positive and essential. I cannot avoid remarking here upon a moral significance. One of the wise and awful truths which this brown-paper art reveals, is this, that white is a color. It is not a mere absence of color; it is a shining and affirmative thing, as fierce as red, as definite as black. When, so to speak, your pencil grows red-hot, it draws roses; when it grows white-hot, it draws stars. And one of the two or three defiant verities of the best religious morality, of real Christianity, for example, is exactly this same thing; the chief assertion of religious morality is that white is a color. Virtue is not the absence of vices or the avoidance of moral dangers; virtue is a vivid and separate thing, like pain or a particular smell. Mercy does not mean not being cruel, or sparing people revenge or punishment; it means a plain and positive thing like the sun, which one has either seen or not seen.Chastity does not mean abstention from sexual wrong; it means something flaming, like Joan of Arc. In a word, God paints in many colors; but he never paints so gorgeously, I had almost said so gaudily, as when He paints in white. In a sense our age has realized this fact, and expressed it in our sullen costume. For if it were really true that white was a blank and colorless thing, negative and non-committal, then white would be used instead of black and grey for the funereal dress of this pessimistic period. Which is not the case.
Meanwhile I could not find my chalk.
I sat on the hill in a sort of despair. There was no town near at which it was even remotely probable there would be such a thing as an artist's colorman. And yet, without any white, my absurd little pictures would be as pointless as the world would be if there were no good people in it. I stared stupidly round, racking my brain for expedients. Then I suddenly stood up and roared with laughter, again and again, so that the cows stared at me and called a committee. Imagine a man in the Sahara regretting that he had no sand for his hour-glass. Imagine a gentleman in mid-ocean wishing that he had brought some salt water with him for his chemical experiments. I was sitting on an immense warehouse of white chalk. The landscape was made entirely of white chalk. White chalk was piled more miles until it met the sky. I stooped and broke a piece of the rock I sat on: it did not mark so well as the shop chalks do, but it gave the effect. And I stood there in a trance of pleasure, realizing that this Southern England is not only a grand peninsula, and a tradition and a civilization; it is something even more admirable. It is a piece of chalk.

Privileged

When we live among people of luxury, we forget how much we have. I was just reading the National Geographic magazine (Feb. 2008, vol 213, No. 2). The two stories on the pull to the North on immigrants from Mexico and the plight of Afganistan's Hazaras remind me of the tenacity man has when he has nothing. I sit reading, padded in by the plush black armchair in PBC's empty library and I am gripped with the realisation that I cannot just sit here and do nothing about this world. There is so much going on in the world that I can make a difference. I am complacent by nature, but I cannot be anymore. Lord, help me get out and up, running in Your plan. I don't have the kind of determination to see a project through, what more to live among the dust of the earth and make a real difference. I must step out of my fears and consider strategically what the Lord would have me do so that people around the world can be touched. I cannot just sit here and enjoy the wealth of knowledge, skill and comfort when so many have next to nothing. They don't even have the means to dream. Lord, I have a dream. I don't see it clearly at all. But Lord, I feel Your tugs and nudges. Help me not to ignore them, or be irresponsible of the awareness YOu have given me. Help me plan and manage my life now in a way that You can use.

Help me Lord. I don't want to waste my life living for myself only. Help me be useful for You and Your people, especially those whom You are going to call to Yourself. I don't want to go to heaven and see how much more I could have done for you and did not do them out of laziness or fear. Lord, here I am. Send me, please. Get me going now.

Oh My Gosh!! He’s So Cute!

that is a phrase i hear all the time in the dorms. and i smile. sometimes i get really irritated. i just got back from an interestin trip to seattle. interesting doesn't really describe it. thought-provoking more like it. i saw families holdin on to each other knowin that time is short. i saw life sparkle back on a face of one who realised she's been loved all this while. i saw how people who knew each other well loved one another despite their shortcomings.
on the way to tacoma in sarah's car we talked about relationships with her cousin, kent. he asked me one very bold question, what do you expect in a relationship? i thought that would be a difficult question for me considering that i have never really been in a romantic relationship before. but the answer shot out of my mouth before i knew it. "To be known and still loved." coming to america and living in the dorms has been very interesting. i see how people get together all the time. it can be quite different from the way relationships build at home. i see how people flirt with one another, telling the object of our passion how attractive he or she is and i wonder, do they even know each other? so what if we think the other person is cute when we haven't asked enough questions about who they are really and what they like and dont. or if we haven't taken the time to understand the joys and pain of the other. i think that if someone tells you that they like you after they have really gotten to know you a bit, then that kind of likin could put you on cloud nine. i think i am really gettin old inside. my heart sees things i never realised all my life. or maybe my heart is just honest with my many shortcomings and i guess the best present someone can have is to be known and still loved for them.

Wake up from our slumber

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Today, I'm all spacey and my emotions are scrambled. I'm wobbly inside. Last night I had dinner with an old friend and we talked about the Lord. I had so much to share about my trip to Kansas and about the things God has been speaking to me about since September 2007. He shared some of the insights God has been blessing him with. One thing struck me deep. An interviewer asked the Chinese underground church and Latin American churches, "What is the one thing about the American church that amazes you?" They said ''Ït's amazing how much the American church can do without the Spirit of God." Oh, Lord! This statement struck fear in me. We talked about how we need to run the race hard for the Lord in view of His soon coming. We need to be aware of the season we are living now and wake up from our slumber. Hamilton and I talked and prayed till about 3 in the morning in the most holy place in PBC - the Library! (hehe). We were so struck by a holy fear and passion for the Lord that we needed to pray after we both shared the things God has been warning us about. This morning I woke up praying, Oh Lord, don't ever let me do ministry without the person of the Holy Spirit. It is so easy for us in the modern world with our human ingenuity, creative ideas and wealth to build the church without the move of the Holy Spirit. It is time for the houses of the Lord to be the Houses of Prayer where we stay on our knees until the Lord feels that we are ready to be the place where He wants to rest. In that atmosphere, miracles and healing can't help but take place. There is an urgent fire in my heart and soul, burning through my bones. I have kept in the message the Lord gave me. But maybe it is time for me and those around to blow the trumpet and sound the alarm. Walking out the faith daily in small ways through the mundane is the test of our hearts. It is easier for me to speak about running the race. But would I serve when no one's looking? When I am in the midst of doing something?Would I pray and hide in my closet when I don't feel like it? Lord, help me finish the race You have set before me that I might win the prize. And on that trophy is this name - Jesus! He alone OUR my reward! For those of you reading this I would be so blessed if you would write a comment back so we can build each other up and pray.

My One Distraction

Thursday, January 03, 2008

It's been amazin. So much has happened in my heart i can barely utter how this visit to the International House of Prayer in Kansas City has affected me. Received so many words from the Lord thru the messages, worship and prophecies. Been really busy but am now going to the night watch in the house of prayer n sit at His feet. Can't believe how long and short this trip feels. Going back to portland tmrw. Ready to meet the year of new beginnings, open doors and new opportunities. I want to live in this place of constant yearning for His presence. Lord, keep my heart tender ya... Rivet my eyes on you Lord. Be my one distraction.

Angel in a Song

Sunday, December 23, 2007
I was just cooking shrimp in butter and herbs in Dorm 1's kitchen when Erin walked in and told me about a phenomenal phenomena. Uh-huh! I hate using same words in one sentence but I tell you this is just telling it as it should be told! (Shwucks! I did it again!). Anyway, Erin told me bout a song that Jason Upton recorded with his band during a conference. After the recording was made and the concert ended, a little boy came up to him and told him that he saw an angel standing next to Jason and the drummer. Jason smiled and thanked him politely and (like a typical macho man) thought nothing of it. I bet you if it was a woman worship leader she would have gone into a time of prayer and praise believing that a miracle has taken place! Well, later as the band was listening to the recording they heard a man's voice coming through Jason's mic, harmonising with the song and music. It was an other-worldly voice, of a quality that would cause shivers to travel down your spine and you wil experience a kind of fear that comes because you know you are hearing something supernatural.
I listened with some sceptism but I was so interested to hear it. Erin played it for me on our VCD downstairs and my heart stopped when I heard not just the angel's voice but the context of the song. The song is entitled "Fly" where God was exhorting HIs people to move out of the places we have been caught in fear and into new atmospheres. God has been speaking to me about new seasons in my life and has been gently breaking my spirit to receive and walk into His new gift of altered seasons. The song was apt not only for my life, but for yours too. When in fear, walk out. Walk in faith in the Lord's character and integrity. Walk in honest evaluation of your heart and then run as He runs with you in your pursuit of holy things and The Holy One.
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living your dream

So what's it like to live your dream!? For me, I'd say, doing the two things I like most - studying music and theology/philosophy. Just before my recital last tuesday, the Lord prompted my music teachers to plant a seed in my heart. I played my last mock performance for Lisa from PSU and at the end of it, she sat silent for a few minutes. And then, she said, "How did you do that?". Ok.. by this time I feel like I'm the best concert pianist in the world! hehe. She then went on to speak of how we could prepare me to be enrolled into a Masters Music program in PSU. At the end of it, she said, "Ching, all we are seeing right now is just the tip of the iceberg. Where have you been hiding all this while? We've got to get you working up to the level you need to be at soon." Just two hours prior to that conversation, my choral conducting teacher sat me down to tell me that I need to push myself further in music. Gosh, she was hard on me but I sensed a deep concern and conviction in her voice. Just before she dropped me off to catch my bus for my music class, she told me, "I wouldn't push you that hard if I didn't think God's given you so much talent."All day, as I walked downtown, and as my bus swirled around the SW hills amidst the autumn leaves, I hugged this little secret over and over again. "I'm living my dream" and hopefully one day, I will get to use what talent I have to touch hearts and turn them to the Lord. When I looked back and saw how all my life I always thought I was never talented enough to go far in music, I realise that God saw my little heart's desire even when I doubted myself. I still remember the day I tore up all my music certificates, not in anger, but in silent resignation, thinking I'd let my childhood dream die. But you know, the Lord who was crucified is the same Lord who rose again. And if you think you've let a dream die, remember that He who created your heart is able to breathe life back into your deepest unspoken desires.