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
Sunday, November 30, 2008
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.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
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.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
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.
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
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, November 15, 2008
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.... :)
Sunday, October 05, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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.
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.
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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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.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
"Love Poem" by Elizabeth Jennings
This is one of my most-loved poem by a poet who describes universal truth with such honesty, simplicity and depth.
There is a shyness that we have
Only with those whom we most love.
Something it has to do also
With how we cannot bring to mind
A face whose every line we know.
O, love is kind, O, love is kind.
That there should still remain the first
Sweetness, also the later thirst -
This is why pain must play some part
In all true feelings that we find
And every shaking of the heart.
O, love is kind, O, love is kind.
And it is right that we should want
Discretion, secrecy,, no hint
Of what we share. Love which cries out,
And wants the world to understand,
Is love that holds itself in doubt.
For love is quiet, and love is kind.
There is a shyness that we have
Only with those whom we most love.
Something it has to do also
With how we cannot bring to mind
A face whose every line we know.
O, love is kind, O, love is kind.
That there should still remain the first
Sweetness, also the later thirst -
This is why pain must play some part
In all true feelings that we find
And every shaking of the heart.
O, love is kind, O, love is kind.
And it is right that we should want
Discretion, secrecy,, no hint
Of what we share. Love which cries out,
And wants the world to understand,
Is love that holds itself in doubt.
For love is quiet, and love is kind.
Diraiton - "So They Say"
This is a beautiful piece of music, by a French composer Rainer Maria Rilke about roses.
Abandon entoure d'abandon, tendresse touchant aux tendresses.
C'est ton interieur qui sans cesse se caresse,
dirait, diraiton.
Se caresse en soimeme,
par son propre reflet eclaire.
Ainsi tu inventes le theme du Narcisse exauce.
The translation of the song describes the beauty of a rose,
Abandon surrounding abandon
Tenderness touching tenderness
Your oneness endlessly carreses itself so they say
Self carresing through its own clear reflection
and thus you invent the theme of Narcisse fulfilled
Abandon entoure d'abandon, tendresse touchant aux tendresses.
C'est ton interieur qui sans cesse se caresse,
dirait, diraiton.
Se caresse en soimeme,
par son propre reflet eclaire.
Ainsi tu inventes le theme du Narcisse exauce.
The translation of the song describes the beauty of a rose,
Abandon surrounding abandon
Tenderness touching tenderness
Your oneness endlessly carreses itself so they say
Self carresing through its own clear reflection
and thus you invent the theme of Narcisse fulfilled
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Agitations
This is one of my first poems when I was struggling to express what I felt but had no words for them. So it is a little bit intense. Uh-huh.. just a little!
Agitations of this spirit
Agitations to create
Agitations of wht insufficiency
The soul of art that would not awake
Aptly said young Keats who mourned
Pleading and puzzled at You who poem
Bards of passion and of mirth,
Reveal to me your secrets birth
Agitations of this spirit
Agitations to create
Agitated for what's out of reach
Yet empty so empty is my talent's crate.
Music escapes and leaves a stale
Mediocrity, the common scale
Philosophy mocks this ignorance
Depths of words begs abeyance
Rather than to be used
In moments of an amateur's peruse.
The waters of music
Reaches deep to overwhelming
But taste what's mine - like tumeric
Saffron balm yet not soul's suffering
Why do I not hold
the Ladle to scoop
Waves of emotions, hot or cold
Skill to blow the salty waters and bolt
Lightning to scourge
Till souls implore
"Halt"- the strength of music hurts
For beauty so deep stirs tears and blood!
Agitations of this spirit
Agitations to create
Agitations of wht insufficiency
The soul of art that would not awake
Aptly said young Keats who mourned
Pleading and puzzled at You who poem
Bards of passion and of mirth,
Reveal to me your secrets birth
Agitations of this spirit
Agitations to create
Agitated for what's out of reach
Yet empty so empty is my talent's crate.
Music escapes and leaves a stale
Mediocrity, the common scale
Philosophy mocks this ignorance
Depths of words begs abeyance
Rather than to be used
In moments of an amateur's peruse.
The waters of music
Reaches deep to overwhelming
But taste what's mine - like tumeric
Saffron balm yet not soul's suffering
Why do I not hold
the Ladle to scoop
Waves of emotions, hot or cold
Skill to blow the salty waters and bolt
Lightning to scourge
Till souls implore
"Halt"- the strength of music hurts
For beauty so deep stirs tears and blood!
This World and I
This world and I,
We don't fit somehow...
I am made for the world of fairies,
Of mushrooms and elven-high
little pixies, talking owls
Gee, this stomache ain't made for realities.
I am made of
The north and west poles
Not total dichotomy of order and chaos
Worse, I fear
Just haphazard genealogy.
Too truthful for any worldly ethos.
We don't fit somehow...
I am made for the world of fairies,
Of mushrooms and elven-high
little pixies, talking owls
Gee, this stomache ain't made for realities.
I am made of
The north and west poles
Not total dichotomy of order and chaos
Worse, I fear
Just haphazard genealogy.
Too truthful for any worldly ethos.
Wishful Thinking
Do you think if I jump
Jumo, JUMP high enough
I'd reach the heavens
Pop my head through
The golden streets
And say "Hello -
How do you do?"
Can you imagine
What Daddy would do
When He sees my head
Popping though
"You little girl,
Scared all My citizens!
Nonetheless, I'm awfully glad,
You popped by heaven!"
And then He'll wink
His great big eye
Sparkling with love, magic and twink
Then, ordering His angels to fly
Whizz me down
To earthly grounds
He wishes me, not goodbye
But soon to meet
On golden streets
'xcept I'll be on my feet!
When on this familiar earth
My heart sings and whistles
I saw my Jesus blink!
My toes smile saying
"We've touched ground, grassy green"
When all of a sudden, the singing stops
With one heavy realisation -
I forgot, to hug my Daddy God!
Jumo, JUMP high enough
I'd reach the heavens
Pop my head through
The golden streets
And say "Hello -
How do you do?"
Can you imagine
What Daddy would do
When He sees my head
Popping though
"You little girl,
Scared all My citizens!
Nonetheless, I'm awfully glad,
You popped by heaven!"
And then He'll wink
His great big eye
Sparkling with love, magic and twink
Then, ordering His angels to fly
Whizz me down
To earthly grounds
He wishes me, not goodbye
But soon to meet
On golden streets
'xcept I'll be on my feet!
When on this familiar earth
My heart sings and whistles
I saw my Jesus blink!
My toes smile saying
"We've touched ground, grassy green"
When all of a sudden, the singing stops
With one heavy realisation -
I forgot, to hug my Daddy God!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Old Poems
The next few entries (going upward) will be a collection of my old poems. They were written at an experimental phase of my literary endeavours. I laugh at them now when I read of how passionate I felt at the time I struggled to get the ideas out of my mind. Or rather - wrenching my heart for the emotions I felt but couldn't express. So here goes!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
His Dreams
This is an essay I had to write for a class in PBC. Thought I should just post it. Enjoy!
God’s Purpose and My Response to the
Gift of Singleness
Dreams withheld stir up a whirl of emotions and reactions especially when we feel we have been promised them previously. Especially when we think we really, really need that dream to come true. Or that we deserve them. Otherwise, the world will be forced to witness grumpy acts of manipulation. Little kids scream and flail their arms till they get the Transformer Cyber Stompin Bumblebee they must have or they’ll morph into miniature stompers themselves. Little eaglets hold screeching matches, determined that Mrs. Eagle feed them fat, juicy, slurpy worms. NOW. And even children of God are never quite saintly enough to hold back from straining for the objects of our desire (Kaplan, 25 August 2007) and trust that our Father is never late and always mindful of our needs.
When marriage is held up as one of the top three must-haves, singlehood is rarely seen as a gift, (Baldwin, 2002) especially after the socially-determined expiry date of the roaring 30’s. And in a commune like PBC, girls start to worry if they are not kissed by 21, engaged by 24, married 6 months later, and be beautifully fat with babies by 27. So what do you do when you are 32 and still trying to stealthily glance at couples kissing, hoping to get some close and upfront lessons on Kissing 101? You smile, pray, hope, laugh at yourself and the young beautiful girls. You try to encourage them, come alongside them with prayerful understanding and live life to the fullest. You hope your life becomes an encouragement that it is possible to be bursting with life and cheerful hope even when others look at you suspiciously. But when the corners of your mouth start turning downwards, you go to Glenda and get a pow-wow prayer session to keep you going. It always works! (thank you!)
Being single is great if there wasn’t anyone around. Or if everyone got married at 45. Or if there wasn’t a particular hunk who somehow just makes you want to dress up , splash some make up on and drench yourself with French parfum enough to fill the English “Channel”. Life is freeing and fun with good friends around. Laughter abounds and time with God is uninrrupted and just heavenly. But we live among people, CURIOUS people who have good intentions and they just can’t leave you alone! And it doesn’t help when you are acutely aware of the expiring eggs, going to waste every month!
On good days, these thoughts are really ticklish. On days where we closet ourselves in prayer and wandering thoughts, we get real and honest with the storm of emotions within. Worry, self-doubt, and worst of all, anger. Sometimes you feel it welling up inside like the deadly undercurrent waves, rapidly displaced with the potential to generate a horrible outburst of discontentment. And in all that rage, you feel it directed towards yourself, your past and God.
Dealing with such raw emotions would put one through stages of growth. You go through rebellion, self-doubt, God-doubt, acceptance, self-doubt, faith in God, self-doubt, Great faith in God, self-doubt. You get the drift… But through it all, the lessons learnt are so precious. Each lesson adds an inch to the rod in your back. You learn that it is ok to be imperfect and it is God’s hand not your human imperfections that you find yourself in this season of life. God brings to mind your past and forces you to deal with the issues that keep you in fear. The kind of fear that makes you run whenever someone shows strong interest, and slam down barriers to mask the fondness inside. He gently teaches you that romantic relationships require a particular vulnerability that is dangerously different from the deep, healthy relationships with brothers and sisters of like minds which you currently have. And all this while, He does lessons as you use Him as your punching bag. He just takes the blows and when you crumple up, He holds you in great big arms saying, “Ï know, I know.”
This is also a season where God challenges your 20-something idealisms. You used to think that there is one, Miss or Mr. Perfect-For-You. Write down your 10 requirements and pray over it and then, poof, the church bells toll in your ears. Oh, you ardently preach “the right one for you does not have to be perfect, just perfect for you.” But previous encounters with flirtatious, unhappy married men, memories of unhappy mothers who mother their husbands, and the fateful day when dad walked out of the door with a woman 4 years older than yourself, keep you waiting for a hurt-proof partner. Then you think that when you keep yourself pure and running hard after God since you were a youth, He will surely give you the right person by 29 at the very least. The day when I witnessed a girl whose life was not the epitome of Christian chastity being blessed with a strong man of God who graciously loved her like Christ loves the Church, like Hosea’s God loved Israel through her harlotry, was the day when this idea crumbled into dust. Through God’s grace and the love of this godly man, she has transformed into a godly woman, beautiful and precious, impacting other women’s lives.
I have come to realize there are no formulas, no perfect personality to adorn yourself with to secure yourself the cream of the Christian crop. God does not work with Reward Mentalities. He works graciously, giving you blessings you can never deserve. I don’t think I could give the Sunday School answer that the one best thing I did in my single years was to serve God with utmost enthusiasm. My years of singlehood have been precious mainly because God was able to disclose attitudes and mindsets that I would have ignorantly stood up for had I gotten married earlier. I won’t be able to preach the message I used to believe in my idealistic years, that if we obey Him and keep our purity, we will guarantee ourselves the church-perfect man or woman by 28. Instead, my sharing will take this form: God is good and we obey Him just because we trust He knows that living for Him is what’s best for us and because we love Him, whether or not He gives us our particular desires, my style. Purity, is therefore our blessing from God, not so much our currency to buy ourselves a happy family. I would say, be honest with God and acknowledge the raging pain and self-doubt we feel because it is so absolutely normal. I would emphasise the caution of having faith for something but instead have faith in Someone. And then, serving comes out of a spirit of gratitude and responsibility, wanting to bless Him, instead of the hope to be rewarded with Ken Christian or Barbie Goodwill. For me, the best thing that’s come out of the many years of waiting is the process of intimate knowing and learning of the Divine Lover, coated with the precious substance called ‘contentment.’. Loving people becomes an intense endeavour when you have to make the effort to rise above the struggles so deeply felt, deny your own concerns and concentrate on the needs of others, while trusting One greater than yourself to care for your own needs of protection, being needed and wanted.
I am still learning that precious lesson that I lack no good thing in the Lord because I walk with His hands over mine. My one desperate prayer is that God will help me live my life productively so that I would waste my life so significantly for Him and His glory. My second prayer is that I will never lose hope. Not the hope that I will get married, but the hope in Him, His character and that He will never withhold what’s best for me. I remember the prayer I once said, “God, I want to live a really happy and fulfilled, joyful life before jumping into marriage”. So He always reminds me to have fun and enjoy my days. I have had to also learn that it honors Him when I have faith and speak positively that God will bless me with a man in His time, instead of being bashful about the whole topic. (I am shy though it seems hard for one to believe it!!) It all seems like a myriad of contradictions but ah, they say God has an Eastern mindset where yin exists with yang, black with white.
Dreams do come true after all. It may be different from what or how we expect it to all pan out. One thing is sure though, that in God’s stardust economy, dreams turn out to be better and greater than we can imagine. His one main purpose for the church and us as individuals is that we truly know His love for us and therefore, be transformed into the image of Christ (which means learning life lessons from the Master Teacher). The fulfillment of our dreams may or may not include marriage and the molding of lives to be more Christlike as we share a room and a bed with a beloved. Most times, these dreams turn out better simply because − they are His dreams for the yielded ones instead of their own.
Works Cited
1. Kaplan, Leah. “The Gift of Singlehood.” Aish.com 25 Aug. 2007.
http://www.aish.com/dating/wisdom/The_Gift_of_Singlehood.asp
2. Baldwin, Amelia A. “What Are You Doing with Your Singlehood.” Singlehood.org 2002.
http://www.webprofessor.org/website/singlehood/thegiftofsinglehood.html
God’s Purpose and My Response to the
Gift of Singleness
Dreams withheld stir up a whirl of emotions and reactions especially when we feel we have been promised them previously. Especially when we think we really, really need that dream to come true. Or that we deserve them. Otherwise, the world will be forced to witness grumpy acts of manipulation. Little kids scream and flail their arms till they get the Transformer Cyber Stompin Bumblebee they must have or they’ll morph into miniature stompers themselves. Little eaglets hold screeching matches, determined that Mrs. Eagle feed them fat, juicy, slurpy worms. NOW. And even children of God are never quite saintly enough to hold back from straining for the objects of our desire (Kaplan, 25 August 2007) and trust that our Father is never late and always mindful of our needs.
When marriage is held up as one of the top three must-haves, singlehood is rarely seen as a gift, (Baldwin, 2002) especially after the socially-determined expiry date of the roaring 30’s. And in a commune like PBC, girls start to worry if they are not kissed by 21, engaged by 24, married 6 months later, and be beautifully fat with babies by 27. So what do you do when you are 32 and still trying to stealthily glance at couples kissing, hoping to get some close and upfront lessons on Kissing 101? You smile, pray, hope, laugh at yourself and the young beautiful girls. You try to encourage them, come alongside them with prayerful understanding and live life to the fullest. You hope your life becomes an encouragement that it is possible to be bursting with life and cheerful hope even when others look at you suspiciously. But when the corners of your mouth start turning downwards, you go to Glenda and get a pow-wow prayer session to keep you going. It always works! (thank you!)
Being single is great if there wasn’t anyone around. Or if everyone got married at 45. Or if there wasn’t a particular hunk who somehow just makes you want to dress up , splash some make up on and drench yourself with French parfum enough to fill the English “Channel”. Life is freeing and fun with good friends around. Laughter abounds and time with God is uninrrupted and just heavenly. But we live among people, CURIOUS people who have good intentions and they just can’t leave you alone! And it doesn’t help when you are acutely aware of the expiring eggs, going to waste every month!
On good days, these thoughts are really ticklish. On days where we closet ourselves in prayer and wandering thoughts, we get real and honest with the storm of emotions within. Worry, self-doubt, and worst of all, anger. Sometimes you feel it welling up inside like the deadly undercurrent waves, rapidly displaced with the potential to generate a horrible outburst of discontentment. And in all that rage, you feel it directed towards yourself, your past and God.
Dealing with such raw emotions would put one through stages of growth. You go through rebellion, self-doubt, God-doubt, acceptance, self-doubt, faith in God, self-doubt, Great faith in God, self-doubt. You get the drift… But through it all, the lessons learnt are so precious. Each lesson adds an inch to the rod in your back. You learn that it is ok to be imperfect and it is God’s hand not your human imperfections that you find yourself in this season of life. God brings to mind your past and forces you to deal with the issues that keep you in fear. The kind of fear that makes you run whenever someone shows strong interest, and slam down barriers to mask the fondness inside. He gently teaches you that romantic relationships require a particular vulnerability that is dangerously different from the deep, healthy relationships with brothers and sisters of like minds which you currently have. And all this while, He does lessons as you use Him as your punching bag. He just takes the blows and when you crumple up, He holds you in great big arms saying, “Ï know, I know.”
This is also a season where God challenges your 20-something idealisms. You used to think that there is one, Miss or Mr. Perfect-For-You. Write down your 10 requirements and pray over it and then, poof, the church bells toll in your ears. Oh, you ardently preach “the right one for you does not have to be perfect, just perfect for you.” But previous encounters with flirtatious, unhappy married men, memories of unhappy mothers who mother their husbands, and the fateful day when dad walked out of the door with a woman 4 years older than yourself, keep you waiting for a hurt-proof partner. Then you think that when you keep yourself pure and running hard after God since you were a youth, He will surely give you the right person by 29 at the very least. The day when I witnessed a girl whose life was not the epitome of Christian chastity being blessed with a strong man of God who graciously loved her like Christ loves the Church, like Hosea’s God loved Israel through her harlotry, was the day when this idea crumbled into dust. Through God’s grace and the love of this godly man, she has transformed into a godly woman, beautiful and precious, impacting other women’s lives.
I have come to realize there are no formulas, no perfect personality to adorn yourself with to secure yourself the cream of the Christian crop. God does not work with Reward Mentalities. He works graciously, giving you blessings you can never deserve. I don’t think I could give the Sunday School answer that the one best thing I did in my single years was to serve God with utmost enthusiasm. My years of singlehood have been precious mainly because God was able to disclose attitudes and mindsets that I would have ignorantly stood up for had I gotten married earlier. I won’t be able to preach the message I used to believe in my idealistic years, that if we obey Him and keep our purity, we will guarantee ourselves the church-perfect man or woman by 28. Instead, my sharing will take this form: God is good and we obey Him just because we trust He knows that living for Him is what’s best for us and because we love Him, whether or not He gives us our particular desires, my style. Purity, is therefore our blessing from God, not so much our currency to buy ourselves a happy family. I would say, be honest with God and acknowledge the raging pain and self-doubt we feel because it is so absolutely normal. I would emphasise the caution of having faith for something but instead have faith in Someone. And then, serving comes out of a spirit of gratitude and responsibility, wanting to bless Him, instead of the hope to be rewarded with Ken Christian or Barbie Goodwill. For me, the best thing that’s come out of the many years of waiting is the process of intimate knowing and learning of the Divine Lover, coated with the precious substance called ‘contentment.’. Loving people becomes an intense endeavour when you have to make the effort to rise above the struggles so deeply felt, deny your own concerns and concentrate on the needs of others, while trusting One greater than yourself to care for your own needs of protection, being needed and wanted.
I am still learning that precious lesson that I lack no good thing in the Lord because I walk with His hands over mine. My one desperate prayer is that God will help me live my life productively so that I would waste my life so significantly for Him and His glory. My second prayer is that I will never lose hope. Not the hope that I will get married, but the hope in Him, His character and that He will never withhold what’s best for me. I remember the prayer I once said, “God, I want to live a really happy and fulfilled, joyful life before jumping into marriage”. So He always reminds me to have fun and enjoy my days. I have had to also learn that it honors Him when I have faith and speak positively that God will bless me with a man in His time, instead of being bashful about the whole topic. (I am shy though it seems hard for one to believe it!!) It all seems like a myriad of contradictions but ah, they say God has an Eastern mindset where yin exists with yang, black with white.
Dreams do come true after all. It may be different from what or how we expect it to all pan out. One thing is sure though, that in God’s stardust economy, dreams turn out to be better and greater than we can imagine. His one main purpose for the church and us as individuals is that we truly know His love for us and therefore, be transformed into the image of Christ (which means learning life lessons from the Master Teacher). The fulfillment of our dreams may or may not include marriage and the molding of lives to be more Christlike as we share a room and a bed with a beloved. Most times, these dreams turn out better simply because − they are His dreams for the yielded ones instead of their own.
Works Cited
1. Kaplan, Leah. “The Gift of Singlehood.” Aish.com 25 Aug. 2007.
http://www.aish.com/dating/wisdom/The_Gift_of_Singlehood.asp
2. Baldwin, Amelia A. “What Are You Doing with Your Singlehood.” Singlehood.org 2002.
http://www.webprofessor.org/website/singlehood/thegiftofsinglehood.html
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