peace . love . joy

Have you ever watched a full programme on Starhub's channel 95: The Biography Channel?

I don't usually. But although I don't religiously stock up knowledge on the life and times of famous people around the world via The Biography Channel, the one time I did, I was mighty encouraged. And whose life story was it, you ask?

The country legend, Dolly Parton.

Now, as many of us know, falling in love isn't too difficult; it's the staying in love that is the hard part. And especially when you're somebody famous, when you've hordes of people clamouring to capture photographs of you, when there are dozens of people attempting to chronicle your life, your life is broadcasted for the world to scrutinize, and that world loves the "juicy bits": the love story. How many celebrities boast a list of ex-lovers, of ex-spouses?

One might subconsciously be moulded to think divorce and breaking off of engagements is normal.

Maybe it is.

But it certainly is not a feature in the life God calls us to live.

See, what made my respect for Dolly Parton increase (and it already was very high) was the fact that she married Carl Dean... And she stayed married to him. They met in the summer of 1964, and were married in May, 1966. And they've been living together as man and wife for 43 years, and are still married! Dolly said, in an interview, that the biggest secret to getting married and staying married were three simple words:

Make it work.

Three simple monosyllabic words that contain more than what any encyclopedia can hold.

It means commitment.
It means perseverence.
It means a heck of a load of effort and resolution.

What God has revealed to me was that this attitude is not only applicable to the institution of marriage between man and wife, but that it is attached to a Christian's relationship to Him. One could even say that it was the intention of God to have human marriage be modelled after, to serve as a practice for, the church's marriage to Him.

When we profess to nurture a relationship with God, to utter our wedding vows to Him, we enter into a sacred relationship with Him. But think not of our wedding day as a "finally!", instead, think of it as an "... and...", an addition, one more "Life Tile" in our "Game of Life"; not the end of the beginning, but the beginning of the end, a glorious end.

Making it work means essentially two very broad things:

To stay together during the bad times...
In Revelation 2: 9-10, the Son of Man had this to say to the church in Smyrna:
"I know your tribulation and your poverty (but you are rich) and the slander of those who say that they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life."

And to stay together during the good times.
When the going is good, forget not the author and perfector of your faith, the creator of all that is good. Give unto Him praise of which He is worthy. "Oh give thanks to the LORD; call upon his name; make known his deeds among the peoples! Sing to him; sing praises to him; tell of all his wondrous works! Glory in his holy name; let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice! Seek the LORD and his strength; seek his presence continually! Remember the wondrous works that he has done, his miracles and the judements he uttered, O offspring of Israel his servant, sons of Jacob, his chosen ones!" (1 Chronicles 16: 8-13)

We've all be taught that we ought to persevere in our faith, to make it work. There exist scores of verses and passages in the Bible, various people's life stories, biographies from which we gain insight and knowledge, lives that tell of perseverence and commitment (and also lives that fail to commit), words of warning and encouragement in the faith. A great deal many.
But when the context shifts, when the kaleidoscope turns and we look upon it as though we were lounging on a bed covered with crisp white linen, gazing into the eyes of our Beloved and Lover, it no longer becomes an "ought to". Rather,
we want to.

We want to keep on keeping on.
We want to make it work.

Even when the going gets tough,
even when the going is good.

Because we are in love
with the greatest Lover the world has ever and will ever know.

Is man's obsession with beauty "innate"?

As far back as I know (which really isn't that far and that detailed), image has been everything. From the latest fashion pieces hot off the runways of Paris and Milan, to seasonal make-up color palates, to edgy hair-dos, it's all hide this, flaunt that, conceal the unflattering, exaggerate the beautiful. Just turn on the television and there are countless programmes on beauty, in particular, physical beauty. There's even a whole channel devoted to it!

Apparently, beauty and youth go hand in hand... at least for majority of us (the Helen Mirrens, Meryl Streeps, George Clooneys Sean Connerys of this world are supposedly few and far between). The pursuit of beauty is underlined by a relentless chase to retain youth. Grey hair is "bad" and "ugly", and one feels practically compelled to yank 'em out or dye the entire crowning glory the moment one is observed. Mothers implore daughters to drink lots of water not to satisfy basic biological requirements in order to survive, but so the skin will be well hydrated and beautiful and won't look older than the being it envelopes. In bids to promote anti-smoking attitudes among school children and teens, slogans claim, among other more serious health threats, that smoking causes premature aging and the ugly-fication of the body. In make-up, concealers are used to hide blemishes while an array of colored powders and shades of tints help sculpt the features and bring a youthful glow. More recently, new technologies and methods hail the "progression" of medical surgery to cosmetic surgery. A little nip here, a little tuck there, a little implant here, a little suction there and voilà, you're good as new!

As many can probably testify, though, such procedures (creams, laser treatments, enhancing cosmetic surgeries, fashion, etc.) are exactly what they are: superficial. As Joe Stowell points out, these efforts are all (not inexpensive!) temporary, require maintenance, and are really in vain. Physiologically, our bodies are aging and uninhibitedly proclaim the process with knee creaks and neck cricks.

It's not because aging is inevitable, and out of a fear of that looming, oncoming defeat that we scramble to find some good in it.
Quite the contrary: that inevitable aging is good... for a disciple of Jesus Christ, that is.

Professor Chuck Dolph in Torch Magazine wrote:

"If we live long enough, we will lose our beauty, our strength, our wealth, our independence, the control of our bodily functions, our pride, and perhaps our very self."

What's so brilliant about that, you ask? Well,

"These are our idols, all the things that we trust in life to make us attractive, valuable, and self-sufficient."

For a vast majority of us mortals, the physical proves to be a real entrapment, a real fascination. There really is nothing wrong with wanting to look one's best, but all too often and all too easily, the focus shifts from thanks to the Creator God for the blessing of sight and beauty and creativity and provision, to a preoccupation, an obsession with the temporary, the fleeting. That which is transient, man has poured uncontainable efforts into transforming it into that which is permanant.

Christians are not blessed with some supernatural powers that spell victory over the juggernaut of physical aging. Christians too fall prey to the material, to the visual.
But here's where the Christian declares triumph:
In aging, the Christian is robbed of his youth (and sometimes beauty, since it really is subjective). And with that, so too is self-reliance and pride (in the tangible) robbed of him. Into their places step a dependence on and trust in God and humility (Stowell).

But a note of caution, Christian, do not wait for aging to become apparent before attaining these nuggets of life. Turn your focus now from the material, the tangible, the corporeal, from the make-up which does not matter to that which does, that of which we are made-up of: the immaterial, the intangible, the spiritual. Even though we are getting older, even though our shells of bodies are dying and wasting away, with our focus on God, we pour our hearts and spend our mights into the pursuit of internal eternal beauty - where it counts!

Age daily into a beautiful person whose eternal character is "wonderfully dependent on the grace and strength of God"(Stowell)!

Here's looking forward to "being more alive inside than ever before in our relationships with God" (Stowell)!

"If our aging is successful, we will end our lives stripped of everything but God...
utterly dependent on Him and the love of others." (Dolph)

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed day by day... So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
~ 2 Corinthians 4: 16, 18

Hello world!

Tonight, I have accomplished what I've never been able to do before... With a lot of help from God. And because it's so fantastic, I want to share it with you:

Earlier this week, after my bath, I realised that my face was tingling in the most uncomfortable manner, in a manner I've never experienced before in my life: it was cold and hot at the same time, and was as though a gazillion needles were poking into my cheeks at once. Thinking perhaps I didn't wash off all the soap properly, I went to the bathroom and vigorously scrubbed my face again. But the discomfort (to put it extremely mildly) remained. I went to sleep last night, the discomfort slowly ebbing away.

The next morning, I awoke and went to wash my face (as I've always done since I was young when I wake up). The hundreds and thousands of needles attacked again! No words could describe how helpless and distraught I was! It was horrible! But I dried my face and the sensations very slowly died away.

In the evening, after my bath, the pain returned, this time as I stood under the shower.

For the next few days, I survived the tinglings, drying my face as quickly as possible and, thinking that perhaps it's because my skin was very dry, dabbed on moisturiser immediately after.

But last night, the sensations did not go away, even after the drying and the moisturising.

Throughout the night, the heat-blazed needles plagued me. I couldn't sleep and I didn't know what to do.

And today morning, the pain had spread to my entire face.

I guess I'm not the sort who likes to go and consult the doctor each time I sneezed or coughed (I much prefer to recover by myself if I can). But this morning, I honestly couldn't stand it anymore. I approached my mother and said, "I'm really sorry, mummy, but can you take me to see the doctor? My face feels like it's on fire."

We ate breakfast, dropped Ellie off at school, and off we went to see the skin doctor at Tampines. I like him, and most importantly, I trust him. He's been my GP and skin doctor since I was little and he's never been wrong or unsure about something.

But this really stunned him. After asking several questions, he decided that the sensations were most likely due to chemicals sprayed in my house, since they only began around the time when the bedbug control people came to spray our furniture, and prescribed me a whole lotta pills (I hate pills. I'd squeeze them in my hand, stand and look contemplatively at them, as though hoping they'd shrink or something. In other words, it'd take me forever to just get the pill into my mouth, let alone swallow.), a face wash and a cream.

The ride home was torture. My face felt like there were a million fishes with nibbly teeth biting away at my flesh, or like bucket-fulls of needles, having passed through fire, were now jabbing mercilessly at my face. I wanted desperately to sleep, to claw my face off, to just get the pain to stop.

We couldn't have reached home soon enough. The moment the front gate was opened, I ran into the bathroom, washed my face with the new prescribed face wash, quickly dried it and slogged on the cream. The tingling sensation returned, but not as vicious as before. I took the smaller tablets (the kind that I would have squashed, but I was too tired), and tried to avoid the big blue capsule.

Mummy noticed and told me to take them.

Brilliant, innit? The doctor just had to prescribe me them big blue capsules, the kind that can't be cut nor crushed. And they simply had to be antibiotics, ie. I've got to finish the whole course. And they just had to be taken two by two in regular six hour intervals.

I tried. They just got stuck and caused me even more panic. I gave up, twisted them open and downed the contents with gulps of water. It was the most disgusting medicine I had ever tasted! Yech!

This evening, after my bath, the face-washing, the cream-slogging, I realised it was time for the two big blue capsules again.

I stood at the counter, punched out two tablets, poured myself a glass of water... And prayed.

Then, I put one pill into my mouth width-wise so that it'd be "easier" to go down, chugged a mouthful of water (which spun the pill into a longer length-wise position), looked up, and... gulped it down!
It went down!
I prayed again for God's help and assurance, gulped again, and down went the second one, and I barely felt a thing!

For those of you who know me, this is nothing short of a miracle.
Me! Megan! Managed to swallow not one, but two gigantic capsules!
I was always rather fearful, and I guess perhaps that fear kept me from being calm and swallowing them nasty pills, clenching my throat at the very moment the pill was about to slide down, making them stuck, and feeding back into my fear of choking.
I always cut my pills in half, or even better yet, squash them between two metal spoons.
What if there were no metal spoons, you ask? Well, I always brought two metal spoons with me whenever the situation called for me to take pills.

So I sit here, on the cold marble floor, savouring the triumph of downing two capsules, proclaiming to the whole world what a marvelous encourager and soother my God is: no trouble too minute nor too lowly for Him.

Thank you, Father Lord.
Thank you for helping me swallow my pills.
Please heal my body, as You've healed my soul.

Amen.

'But reject profane and old wives' fables, and exercise thyself rather unto godliness.

For bodily exercise profiteth little, but godliness is profitable unto all things, having promise of the life that now is, and of that which is to come.

This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance.

For therefore we both labour and suffer reproach, because we trust in the living God, who is the Savior of all men, especially of those who believe.'

~ 1 Timothy 4: 7-10

Paul wrote this epistle, of a very pastoral nature, to Timothy at the novel beginning of the growth and expansion of the first century churches, and at the waning end of the apostolic period. And though such issues as church order, truthfulness of faith and personal discipline were not new, they were again dealt with here in 1 Timothy.

As a brief introduction to the situation young Timothy faced, here, the church of Ephesus was under siege of the ascetic apostates. Paul therefore urged him not to become too embroiled in addressing and refuting such godless and feeble claims, but instead turn his attention toward a far more pressing and worthwhile matter: training himself up in godliness.

And this is what is interesting.

What the New King James Version calls "exercise", the New American Standard Bible calls "discipline", and the Amplified Bible and English Standard Version calls "train", is actually the Greek γυμνάζω, which has two meanings: one of which is to (figuratively) train or exercise. The other usage of the term occurs during actual games. It means to practise naked.

Perhaps I am going out on a limb here, but I think there is a reason why this particular word was used. On the one hand, could be due to the issues presently being dealt with (ie. bodily issues of asceticism versus spiritual intangibles). But I think there is a possibility that it alludes to something much more profound than simply that.

Dictionaries define "naked" as laid bare; exposed; plainly revealed; being without concealment, adornment nor disguise; to be vulnerable.

So to train "naked" or in fact, to do anything naked, allows us to see ourselves in our entirety: in physical training, as what Greeks were accustomed to doing so nude, it allows for clearer understanding of positions and methods, for revelation of mistakes and errors, for pinpointing areas that beg greater improvement. And if we translate that to a spiritual training, a spiritual discipline, a spiritual exercise in efforts to become increasingly godly (note: not god-like), it means we reveal ourselves, our past and present situations, for God, our master trainer, to see, to chastise, to correct, and to nurture (cf. 2 Timothy 3:16).

Our successes, our glories, our triumphs, our certainties... And also our failures, our hurts, our vices, and our uncertainties. All must be plainly exposed without distraction.

And that is not easy. Not many of us think, let alone actually doing it, of praying for God to reveal to us our weakness, our habits of destruction and discouragement, our misconceptions, etc. Most of us don't even like to think of our shortcomings because we're afraid it will lead to our wallowing and inescapable spiraling into self-pity. We don't like to feel we're worthless, we don't like to look at our feebleness. There's nothing wrong with not liking the feeling of worthlessness, there's nothing wrong with not wanting to be discouraged by anything, even more so by our own lives.

What is the point, you ask? Why should we even entertain that notion of praying that we reveal our Achilles heels?

The answer is there: to exercise thyself unto godliness.
It is our calling (2 Peter 1: 1-11). No doubt not an easy call to answer, a tough duty to perform.
But we know this is important and we obey because it pertains to life. In 1 Timothy 4:8, that life is the Greek ζωή, meaning a higher principle, a perfect antithesis to death. It was ζωή that was used here, as opposed to βίος, the physical aspects of life.
We obey because we cling onto the Hope. The Hope that exists beyond and transcends the grave. The Hope that is the living God, the universal Savior of all mankind.

I like what Dr. Constable has written that "(God's) Salvation is sufficient for all but efficient only for those who believe". Presumably that is why Paul wrote that last bit in verse 10. For us believers, we are able to rise from the dark depths of our humanity, rising to the challenge, because we have and know the Hope which is in Jesus Christ, because the 'Joy of the Lord is our strength'.

Perhaps this training was not meant to discourage. Instead, it was meant to build up and strengthen, that through our lives, our strengths and our weaknesses, God may be glorified. Ever wondered why He said what He said in 2 Corinthians 12:9?

In your obedience, be not discouraged.

Don't look at the problem; look at the solution.
Don't look at the difficulty; look at the One who overcame the difficulty.
(Rick Warren, in a recorded series of Encouragement).

It all depends on where you have your eyes on...

So where and what are you looking at?

It's been a while since the last post, hasn't it?

Having been back in my own church (that which I grew up in since I first attended back when I was 9 years old) for about three months since my return, I've been quite down. I look at the familiar congregation, the dear ministries which I serve in and serve alongside in and I am sad.

What has happened in those six months that I was gone?
The passion and excitement in those young eyes I remember has died down. The lust for a holy life, filled with ever so frequent uncontrollable urges and convulsions to commune with an awesome God, the pining to tear away and sit at the Savior's feet, lapping up every word as though it were a precious and delicious morsel... All that has vanished. And in its place, distracted joking, vacant expressions, sloth, fiddling on iphones (and what not).

Have they forgotten the reason why we gather and read and pray and sing and serve?

Recorded in Philippians 2 is a morning hymn that early Christians sang. Some of us may know it today as the Carmen Christi. Then, it was not a passage around which theological debates now rage angrily around, it was simply given a melody and sung; difficult and complicated Truths about the Incarnation were just accepted as such and celebrated as such. No digging nor clarifying nor qualifying. None. Just belief in the unbelievable, an adoption and a profound understanding.

Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus:
who, being in the very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human lifeness.
And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death --even death on a cross!

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name,
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven on earth and under the earth,
and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord,

to the glory of God the Father.

~ Philippians 2: 5-11

Just reading these black words on the white pages of my Bible makes me quiver in excitement!

I hear proud and majestic trumpets and horns, coupled with the pristine singing of strings accented by the delicate plucking of harps, crashing cymbols and the bells of the tambourine, all set against, not a formal and structured choir, but a noisy and rowdy crowd jostling and yelling and shouting and praising in what can only be described as a "joyful noise"!

Life is given to two otherwise lifeless concepts of humble servitude to exalted lordship, joined by an interesting word "therefore" that points to a strange and radical reversal of traits and status.

Do you not also hear this intense magnitude of sound waves?

Can you not feel the a strange excitement well up within you, knowing you belong to a God who turns tables in His wake, who began His most glorious miracle in a minor key of a servant bending his knee to a painful death, but then resolves the minor by a clever and rousing sequence of chords to a elated major key, taking His place as God of the cosmos!

We sing because we know the Truth,
because the Truth is alive,
because we live in the Truth.

Don't get caught up in the studying and the rationalising and the theory,
at least not so much that you forget that what you are reading is not words, but Life.

Those early Christians didn't, but then maybe it's also because many were not literate, or that in those days, close studying of the Scriptures wasn't their culture. In any case, their faith was alive. And it gave them such joy and pleasure to be keepers of of the Truth that they could not help but "make a joyful noise" (Psalm 95, 100) to the Lord, the Rock of their salvation.

They made a רוּע, a noise, an ear-splitting, triumphant cry. No coherent words could unify their many loud voices, no one could control their many varied outbursts. But an onlooker could not but describe it as a "joyful" noise.

What does your noise sound like?

Yesterday we did a Bible study about "putting sin to death" with our group of 17 year olds. Along the way, someone mentioned that it's quite hard to put sin to death, acknowledging that often we fail to do so, saying at times the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. And that caught my attention at once.

Does that, that quote of the spirit being willing, but the flesh being weak, sound familiar to you?

Well, it should. It appears in the Bible. More specifically, it is spoken by Jesus Himself in the garden of Gethsemane before He was betrayed and arrested:

'And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said to Peter, "So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."'

~ Matthew 26: 40-41

Methinks it is a fact, that while sometimes we are able to control ourselves, to discipline ourselves, to attempt to "put sin to death" by doing so, we do encounter situations where we find it practically impossible to succeed. But this struggle has a strange twist in that while we are so enthusiastic, so idealistic, so driven to want to resist committing a particular sin, or to obey a request of God's, we somehow find ourselves incapable. The primary enemy here, we realise, being not so much the devil, perhaps, as ourselves.

For example, feeling led to attend a night sermon, one cheerfully does so, but finds one cannot stay awake for its duration.
Or perhaps trying hard to kick the habit of watching pornography, one somehow finds oneself failing and going back again and again, even though the interest is consciously stifled, as though the finger has a mind of its own and automatically clicks on a link, and the eyes become glazed and passively watches subdued.

Admittedly, failure, especially repeated failure does get us down. We start off with the best intentions, the most excitement and resolution, but somewhere along the way riddled with in-vains after in-vains, those initial motives become blurred, those sentiments become muffled and abandoned. It is very easy to throw in the white towel, quoting what the Savior Himself conceded, saying we've tried, no doubt about that, we've tried and we were so willing to change, but our σάρξ, our flesh, our physical bodies were just so weak. It is as the Christ had said, it is as our Bible study student had said.

But aren't you forgetting something?

That was not all Jesus uttered that evening, and it is of vital importance when reading the Bible to read the entire verse, the entire chapter, or even better yet, the entire book. It is extremely crucial to not neglect and to quote out of context, out of reference, for such is the way of the devil. Half-truths are never Truth.

On the one hand, Jesus did say that while the mind may be indeed willing, the flesh is no doubt weak.
But on the other hand, He also subtly implied the invalidity of that statement by reminding us of the whole Truth; die ganze Wahrheit.

We are reminded, even before that truth of contrast between our "volatile strength" and "weak physique" was confessed, that we have residing in us a power far greater than our own puny human capabilities and abilities, a power far greater than the influence of the physical body, and that entity has been invited into our being the moment we said yes, the moment we realised our insufficiency and error, the moment we acknowledged our status with respect to another, the moment when we humbly took our place at His feet and bowed to the Sovereign God.

Our infinitely gracious and urgently loving Lord and Friend did not simply remind us that we have living within us a force we can use, in fact are to use. He left us precious instruction.

Our job is to submit to conviction and to commit to resolution. I like what Jonathan Edwards said to be "Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruptions, however unsuccessful I may be". That is our duty, our choice, our first step to partake in a victory already won. Not forgetting, however, that because the flesh is weak, we must exercise and fully comprehend that reminder: we must not fail to draw on that higher power, to call on that higher being - God; we must not forget to pray, to call for His help, to seek His counsel, to be filled with His strength, to obey His instruction.

And He will answer. That I promise you.

Watch & Pray, said He.

Two things. Two beings. Two hands to clap.

Our all-powerful God is willing and ever-ready to respond, to help and to conquer.

Question is:

Are you?

I am tossed into a cube.

It's large enough for me to sit comfortably in it, but small enough that I can't stretch my legs out from under me. I can't raise my arms above my head, neither can I reach out beyond my bent knees.

It's made of a material that cannot be chipped, ripped nor broken. A transparent material. And I am made to look out of it, made to see. I cannot blink. My eyelids have gone.

There are no doors, no hidden contraption.
No way in, no way out.
Just me in it.
Looking out.

Looking helplessly out.

That cube is then tossed into the ocean.
But this ocean is unlike the ocean you and I know, teeming with life and movement; this ocean is still and dead.

Death is all around me.

As the cube sinks deeper and deeper into the depths, I see bones, cartilage, lifelessly limp bodies of creatures. Those few still alive, one by one, shudder in uncontrollable fits, screaming and moaning, then grow still as death snatches their life away.
Unfair.
I want to get out.
I need to get out.

I can't get out.

That's my nightmare.

It's everything that I fear most: a bottomless ocean, the grim trail and evidence of death, being made to witness what I'd much rather not see..
And being unable to help, not possessing the knowledge to help, absolutely incapable to help.. Being helpless. You cannot even begin to imagine how much that scares, no, torments me.

What is your nightmare?
What do you fear most?

Can you imagine yourself in that situation?
Can your imagination even voluntarily picture you in that situation?

Maybe you're already in that nightmare of yours. Maybe you're already under the circumstances that causes you to fear, to become frustrated, to suffer agonising fits.

Seems like there's no way out. You can't crawl under a desk, grab your blue blankie, curl into a ball, suck your thumb and wish it all away.
It's there, staring you straight in the face.

And then, amidst all that pouting and rolling, amidst all those tears and cries, you suddenly hear a voice. A small voice. A quiet voice. A voice you know so well and have grown to love even when it reprimands. And it says:

You've touched these tired eyes of mine
And mapped my face out line by line
And somehow growing old feels fine

I listen close for I'm not smart
You wrap your thoughts in works of art
And they're hanging on the walls of my heart

I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
And though I may not look like much,
I'm yours.

And though my edges may be rough
I never feel I'm quite enough
It may not seem like very much,
But I'm yours.

You healed these scars over time
Embraced my soul, you loved my mind
You're the only angel in my life

The day news came: my best friend died
My knees went weak and you saw me cry
Say I'm still the soldier in your eyes

I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
And though I may not look like much,
I'm yours.

And though my edges may be rough
I never feel I'm quite enough
It may not seem like very much,
But I'm yours.

I may not have the softest touch
I may not say the words as such
I know I don't fit in that much,

But I'm yours.

My mother loves to listen to recordings of Christian talks and seminars. And she was doing just that yesterday when I walked into the kitchen to wash up from lunch. Usually, I'd just walk on by, slightly cringing (because I don't quite like people angrily screaming into my ear, for some strange reason, preachers tend to love doing that), but then something the speaker said caught my attention:

No Christian has his theology perfect.
And we've all been guilty at some time of not only misinterpreting texts, but our own experiences.
And what Wesley says about that is our experience is not the final authority;
the Word of God is the final authority.

So if there is some kind of conflict between the Word of God and the experience, which one of those has to be wrong?
That would be the experience.
Experience is not an independent authority in our lives. A Lot of people say things like "I can't deny my experience". My response is "yes, you can".
You have to critically evaluate your experiences.

Here's the point:
A genuine experience may not be a true experience.

(Rev. Dr. Ben Witherington III, Rapture or Parousia?, Aldersgate Convention)

Here, he was answering a question about someone's apparent vision of the Rapture and being left behind. Now, what interested me was not discussed topic of the End Times, but his ideas of our experiences.

All of us experience things, from simple physical stimulations, like sounds and smells, that our body and brain register, to more complex intangible and invisible sensations, some of which we find great difficulty in expressing and recounting in exact terms to others. Human beings were created with, to borrow from Jane Austen, sense and sensibility. And all of it is very real to us, however you choose to define 'real'. That's what Rev. Dr. Ben meant when he mentioned a "genuine" experience.

But here's where the confusion and complication begins:
he claims not all experiences, no matter how "genuine", are "true".
By "true", he was refering to experiences that originated, that are created and sent by God to us.

This statement resonates profoundly within me. Because I, for one, place great significance and value on my faculties of sensibility. My belief is that God has given me a body, a working physical body complete with its hidden inner mechanisms, whose functions I shall exploit to understand and glorify Him as best I can. Through my body, its receptors and processors, through my past and present circumstances, through my experiences, the Bible and its contents have been brought to life, God has been made real in my life.

But while some experiences are "true" and God-inherent, others aren't.

Descriptively put, our brains are not permanently and exclusively tuned to God's channel.

We are like radios that require manual-tuning, you know, those with the little knobs that you turn to adjust the frequency, to listen to different radio broadcasting stations. Sometimes, there is a clear and abrupt change when you turn the dial: just one degree of rotation and the station changes without a confusing mish-mash of voices, static and what not. But sometimes, there is a transition, there is this range of frequencies within which, you can register two different channels and so, you simultaneously hear two different stations layered upon each other. And that's when you'll have to decide which station is the one you desire to listen to.

Messages, words, pictures or visions, voices, sensations.. Some are honestly from God, of God, good, correct, True. Others are obviously not. But those that aren't so clear-cut, those whose frequencies straddle the fence, slyly overlapping and sharing them frequency ranges..

Testing our experiences, what we perceive, calls for discernment, wisdom, knowledge and a very strict and critical mind.
Methinks this is not an easy task at all fundamentally because our experiences are so authentic, so difficult to dispute with, to deny, to doubt, to call into question.
But sometimes, it's also because the Truth is not what we want to hear, to see, to know.

A genuine experience may not be a true experience.

"Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, for many false prophets have gone out into the world.
By this you know the Spirit of God:
every spirit that confesses that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God,
and every spirit that does not confess Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist, which you heard was coming and now is in the world already."

~ 1 John 4:1-3

A Youth-Centred Culture is a Backward Facing One.

That's one interesting statment that most certainly caught my attention! On first glace, it doesn't make much sense to me. Well, maybe my being part of church ministries serving the youths has something to do with my lack of understanding. But then comes the qualifier:

A society with such a culture is one where people honour who they used to be.

Look around you, I think this culture, this taken to reminiscing and romanticizing about the past, is very much alive in this world. Certificates, medals and achievements are laminated, framed and prominently displayed, plastic surgery becomes an answer to the aging body. In fact, I'd generalise even further to extend that honouring to the wider past. Museums are built to remember the dead and the deed, the young are educated in affairs of the past.

There isn't anything inherently evil about looking over the shoulder. For some, the past is simply an interesting string of events that occurred, a means for understanding the present, a reference that guides better-informed decisions of the future. I, myself, am rather fascinated by history, both the larger world history and my own personal past. But when does that celebration and commemoration become a worship, an idolisation, an obsession?

Why is it that while we always speak of "the future", and we write brilliant imaginative essays, draw fantastical pictures of a life yet to come, we tend to treat it as though it were something vague, distant and crawling?
And all the while leaving a foot in the door that we are peeking out from, the doorway of the past..

While there may be many reasons for this reluctance to move on, a significant keeper of this jail, I fear, is fear.

The fear of the unfamiliar comes head to head with the assurance of the familiar.
Which shall emerge triumphant?

We came from the past. It has finished, it is over, it cannot change any more than a satellite that has been knocked off its course in the vastness of the theoretically ever-expanding space. The truth is we find comfort in the unchangable, unchanging past. The glorious days of the life we once lived and the achievements we've made give us a reason to be proud of ourselves, to continue believing in ourselves when we fail. And that is something we hold very dear to our hearts, something we need.. Or is it?

The future is uncertain. We cannot tell what the future holds. And that is scary. Change! Change is scary. We, Christians, are called to greatness, to fulfil deeds and speak words and live lives so marvelous. "Yes! Amen!", we say, but then we go and forget all about it, drowning what is yet to come in the fermented vines of the past, cutting it out of the juicy pies of the present, reducing the could-be, would-be fantastic to boring mediocrity.

We fear letting go of who we were, what we held on to because we don't know who we will become, where we will end up. We don't know if we will like it.

We forget, then, that we have a God, that we belong to a God who 'works for the good of those who love Him, who are called according to His purpose', who is that 'Perfect Love' that 'casteth out fear', who 'arms us with strength', who is our 'shield', 'rock', 'fortress', 'deliverer', whose very Name is 'a strong tower'!

All too often we fear the future, we fear the unknown, we fear. But in that fear, O trembling one, realize that you do know the final permanent outcome, you do know the One who sees all, each minute detail and macro picture, you do know what will last for eternity.

Eternity.. such a strange and foreign concept..

But hey, our God is the God of eternity, no?
Our God is eternity.

Be brave and have faith:
Release the self you once knew;
The person that grew,
And become the you,
Spirit-bathed.

'Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave nor forsake you.'
~ Deuteronomy 31:6

It's a strange feeling coming home.

Six months don't seem like a long time. One minute races into the next, the numbers on the clock relentlessly rotate and progress, days slip and slyly skulk by, the pages on the calendar torn off one by one at an alarming rate.

Maybe it's not the time.. But the person.
Maybe it's the person that adapts and changes that makes time stretch, as though who they were before had long gone, not even the shadow of the former self lingers. And there, a stranger stands.

For the first time in a long time,
I come home to a family of six, live in such close proximity with them such that it's impossible to pass a single day without speaking to each one of them at least once.
I share a bed with someone, a bedroom with three others, a study with five more.
Someone shops for groceries instead of me, decides on what to cook instead of me.
Someone yells at me to come eat, tells me to go to bed, wakes me in the morning.
Someone instructs me on how to sit at the table, where to eat, what (not) to wear.
I have a curfew again.

Living alone away from home, moving back home to a family..
I guess there are both good and not-so-welcomed sides of each.

One of the things that I'm trying to get back in step with is controlled freedom.
Trust me, it's not that easy a shift to progress from a rather strict control of freedom (dressing, drinking, curfews, etc.) to absolute total freedom, and then straight back to the way things were before. Eyes are opened, ears are unclogged, skin is thickened, spirits have soared to new territories.. and somewhat enjoyed the new experiences, new indenpendence, new freedom.

Maybe it's part of growing up, I don't know.

My "growing up", my taste of "adult life" came like a bullet train. Once I stepped off the platform of safety, let go of my parents' hands, and onto the carriage, the ties that bound me to the familiar world of protection and, to some degree, dictation were abruptly severed, and I was left to either survive or live.. on my own. But as quick as it came, as quick it made its rounds and docked back at that old familiar station, and I alighted.

But while it is tempting to demand our parents step back and let go, thinking we've all grown up (maybe we have, maybe we haven't), perhaps we've even "prooved" that we can do it, wanting, desiring to taste yet again the juicy grapes and sweet wines of independence, of freedom, to push boundaries, or better yet, demolish them entirely,
I pray you stop and consider:

'Regard (treat with honor, due obedience, and courtesy) your father and mother, that your days may be long in the land the Lord your God gives you.'
~ Exodus 20:12

Sure, you're growing up, perhaps thinking it is in some respects a step already towards it, and you'd want "some space". Try talking to your parents, all the while exercising self-control and patience, sit them down over scones and tea, and hold a good solid conversation, not one of those flimsy uncertain flippant remarks, but one that aims at conscious (for all parties) negotiation.

They might let up or even relinquish control over some things.

But what if they adamantly and vehemently refuse?

What then will you do?

'Children, obey your parents in everything, for this is pleasing to the Lord'
~ Colossians 3:20

What exactly is love?
What does it feel like? How do you display it?

Recently, I've been questioning myself and my relationship with God.
Why is it that I stray from Him so quickly and so frequently these past few weeks?
Why is it that when I do, I feel guilty and miserable?
If such an act makes me feel bad, and if I love God, shouldn't I want to be with Him and not get distracted so easily?
But since I apparently prefer doing other things than spending time with Him, as much I can, whenever I can, does it mean that I don't love God?

That led me to put my relationship with my family on the hot seat:
Assuming I love them, every one of the five of them, am I showing that I love them?
Why do I love them?
Because as much as I can gather, there was never a "why" in this love equation. I just love them. They're my family and I love them. But then, if they were someone else, if they weren't family, would I still love them? In that case, does that love equal a feeble blood tie? If so, it's a weak association.. or is it?

These sentiments and questions increasingly crowded my mind in the days leading up to our Scotland visit. My family had come up to the UK on my request, and we were going to travel to Scotland together.

And in the day just before we left, I opened my quiet time materials and the closing instruction was for me to lay a question at God's feet, something that's been bothering me, but just bringing it up to God, not demanding an answer from Him.
But what do you know, God chose to answer there and then:
He told me that I will be shown what love is during our Scotland getaway.
So all I asked was for me to keep my eyes and ears and heart peeled for the answer that I really needed to know. That's it.

What is love?

It came in a long and drawn out reply.

Our mode of transport was purely trains. We took a train ride from London Kings Cross to Edinburgh Haymarket, from Haymarket to Mallaig, from Mallaig to Fort William, from Fort William to Haymarket, from Haymarket to Edinburgh Waverly, and finally the Caledonian Sleeper from Waverly to London Euston.

And all the time, looking out the window, I'd see landscape after landscape, sometimes bare greens of ferns and coniferous trees, sometimes the vast highlands giving way to lakes and trickling streams and rivers. Occassionally, we'd come across a house or two dotting the scenary. Cows, sheep, rabbits, birds contributed the only animated movement in the stillness of earth and sky. Colourful flowers decorated the land, and full clouds interrupted the clear blue heavens. Beautiful, majestic and sublime. It was then I realised and really understood why the Romantic painters like Constable, Palmer and Turner loved landscapes. I could see the paintings, not super-imposed, but in the actual vision of Scotland itself. I know why they placed nature on an elevated pedestal, treating it with some sort of religious agenda, stopping shy of calling it "god". Their paintings were in essence a worship of nature, of God's creation.

I loved what I saw.

But when the trains stopped, ceasing all individual private meditation on the sacred feast for the senses, human interaction began. And those of you who know my family, know we tend to irritate one another. If we're in a foul mood, the phrase "misery loves company" aptly applies. Sometimes, some of us even search for opportunities to get upset. Walking the tightrope between being "true to yourself", no matter how much you've changed as a person, and being patient, self-controlled and obedient to your parents is no easy feat. And so far, I think I can claim the victor's crown on one occassion out of the multiple countless times the situation called for such an exercise of character!

And that's when it hit me.

Someone once told me that love is a choice.
It was new to me then, and it is still new to me now.

Love is a choice.
A decision to be patient, self-controlled, honouring to another who you think deserves it not.
An immovable stone in difficult and raging white water.
A perseverence.

It's so easy to love something so beautiful, something that can't talk back; can't react, something that just lies there and lets your hungry senses undress it.
But it's ever so difficult to love something that is not beautiful at that very moment, something intelligent that retorts; that responds, something that is animated and has its own ideas.

So far, I think I haven't mastered the act of loving my family.
But I do hope to do so one day. And I hope that day approaches soon. Because I don't like what an impatient, impulsive and argumentative person I've become especially when dealing with my family.

It makes me think about God, and how He has loved me.

It is difficult perhaps, to love God: Him being wild and untamable, an animated being that responds and replies, an intelligent entity with His own will. C. S. Lewis hit the nail on the head likening God to a wild lion.

I hope to love Him as much I did, no, more than before. To show Him I do love Him.

As to the question of why I love Him, why I love my family.. There is no answer. I just do. Perhaps the reasons, while unclear to me now, are feeble and pathetic. But for now, they'll have to do, whatever they are. I don't think I'll ever find an answer to that question, one answer that pleases and satisfies me.

But the assumption that I love God, and I love my family holds true for me.

All the same, a hope is merely a hope: a sentence of words strung together. A glimmer in the distance.

It'll take a heck of an effort on my part to lift my feet and make them walk towards that glimmer.

But until the cows come home, until the sun implodes, until the day of Judgement, may I be found walking and reaching towards that hope!

Yesterday, I saw off the last of my closest friends I've made here in the UK. Heaven knows I'm lousy at goodbyes, even if the goodbyes really are see-you-laters.

cupcake

AnnaBanana

sQuishy

Before I came, I was really thrilled that I was going to be alone (that was wayy before I heard that some others were also going to come to UniS) because then I'd have to really force myself to be brave and courageous and make new friends. Oh, the thought of a clean new beginning! Terrifically exciting!

But about a week into being without old friends, without family, it hit me just how hard it is to be utterly alone without a familiar face, without a familiar voice. Any reminder of home will usually be received with tears on my side. And that was when I was really thankful that God brought sQuishy, cupcake & AnnaBanana to me. They were new friends, yes, but they were good friends, the closest I have here. How we clicked is simply miraculous. When we felt down, we cheered each other up. When we were troubled, we shared the load. When we were happy for no reason, we celebrated together. It truly is amazing. I am so thankful for them.

I realised I don't like to be alone. I dislike it a great deal more than I dislike the feeling of loneliness. I need people around me, noise and laughter and voices conversing, footsteps on the floor, the clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen, the slamming of doors.. I need to know there's human life..

But the time came for summer vacation.

Everyone packed and left right about the same time. 12 of the 14 rooms on my floor emptied in one morning. The noise ceased, the signs of life dwindled, the largeness of the kitchen and the starkness of the corridors suddenly grew large and wide and empty.

That same day, AnnaBanana's aunt came over. They had to leave early the next morning so AnnaBanana could catch her flight. sQuishy also shifted over to my room to spend the next two nights. She didn't like being alone in her house, since her housemates left too, which was off the university campus.

AnnaBanana left 6.25 am on Sunday.
Her leave was too early in the day for me to feel anything, but when I took a shower later that morning..

That added another digit to the emptied rooms on my floor.
Mine was the only one left occupied.. But occupied by two, not one.

sQuishy & I.

It was fun scavanging the kitchen with sQuishy for anything left by their previous owners that was edible (like that potato salad & chicken breasts), and could be used (like that peeler, a bottle opener, olive oil, washing liquid, &c.). Really fun times! It felt as though we were in one of those movies where zombies have taken over the world and we were the only two left and were trying to survive!

She left yesterday.

I helped drag her luggage down, which was another fun activity in itself, what with our laughter extremely piercing and loud and unstoppable echoing through the stairwell! Hilarious!
And I cried watching the taxi drive her away.

Now it's just me.

Home never sounded so good before. Ever.
Trust me, when you watch everybody around you leave, close friends, acquaintences, strangers alike, when you have to watch them go knowing full well that they won't be coming back (unlike Easter vacation), knowing full well that you will have to stay.. It tears you up and assasinates you inside like nothing ever can. Not in the same way, not in the same silent helpless viciousness.

But I am very thankful that God answered my earlier prayer, and also a prayer that I did not utter:

He knows me better than even I know myself!
He sent me people from home to be with me when, and even though, I couldn't see that I would need them.
And those people became my closest friends here, along with some others from other countries. I miss my old friends back in Singapore, yes. I miss them very much and I can't wait to be back. But all the same, I love these people too, these new characters and personalities that have walked into my life.

He cares very much for me even though I haven't been the most obedient and pleasing of children, showing me, literally showing me how much He knows me and how much He loves and cares for me no matter my earlier tantrums and naughtiness and disagreeable-ness.
He realised I dislike being alone and feeling cut off from the world even before I could ever forsee myself actually being thrust into situations that evoke those sentiments.
And He sent me people to help ease me slowly into being more alone than ever before.. Even then, He made sure I knew that I am not entirely and absolutely alone.
AnnaBanana and her aunt stayed for another night after 12 of our floormates left.
sQuishy came to stay with me for two nights, one more after AnnaBanana.
And while I was lugging her bag down 4 storeys for her (I stay on the highest floor), I bumped into a guy who was coming up huffing under a huge bag of clean laundry! We exchanged "hello"s, why we were still here and when we were moving out. He was going to be here until the 8th. I would be in this house until the 5th when I move to another university accomodation for the summer (that house would be filled with other students staying for the summer so I will be surrounded by people again).
When I reached my room after sending sQuishy off on her way, Piki, superman, YappyYap and dae were there on MSN waiting to speak with me. They opened windows first to chat, not me.
And when it came time for them to sleep because of the time difference, Esther opened a window and we chatted the dark and windy night away, retiring only in the early morning.

And now the glorious sun is suspended high in the sky, shining its brilliance and magnificence on the Earth below to the glory of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus playing in my head. I greet the day safely holding God's hand, looking up at His face and seeing Him smile down at me before we both look forward and take a step together, embracing this next 24 hours.

Thank you, God. Thank you.

Have a look at this movie =]

... & no, I didn't watch it just because Johnny Depp's in it.

Yesterday, Cupcake and I decided to return to the lake, after a beautiful and relaxed yesterday experience there, for round two! We didn't sit long, however, because the cold and powerful wind overpowered the sun and made its warmth negligible, driving us to seek shelter at the nearby Channies, and giving us an excuse to indulge in our curly fries cravings.

But in the short while we were by the lake, I read a passage that intrigued me. A passage, or comment if you like, about humility for a Christian.

Our purpose in life is to worship, to obey, to exalt, to trust... To love God. We labour and toil out of the respect and reverence and relationship we have for and with Him, the love of our lives, and our Lover, who returns our sentiments many uncountable folds over. In so doing, we, the branches, bear fruit for His good purpose, for His glory. Our goal is to love Him, our intentions spilling over and becoming evidential in our lives: the activities we partake in, the words we utter, the creations we give birth to, the thoughts that race through our minds... All, all of it, we purpose and strive to bring Him happiness, to bring Him glory.

Most of us are taught that true humility is to bring ourselves down to a level no better than the lowest in any caste system history has ever seen. To beat ourselves the moment we feel a tinge of pride when we excel in something, produce a work of unspeakable beauty...

When Israel was a child, I loved him,
and out of Egypt I called my son.

The more they were valled, the more they went away;
they kept sacrificing to the Baals and burning offerings to idols.

Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk;
I took them up by their arms,
but they did not know that I healed them

I led them with cords of kindness,
with the bands of love,
and I became to them as one who eases the yoke on their jaws,
and I bent down to them and fed them.

They shall not return to the land of Egypt,
but Assyria shall be their king,
because they have refused to return to me.

The sword shall rage against their cities,
consume the bars of their gates,
and devour them because of their own counsels.

My people are bent on turning away from me,
and though they call out to the Most High,
he shall not raise them up at all.

How can I give you up, O Ephraim?
How can I make you like Admah?
How can I treat you like Zeboiim?

My heart recoils within me;
my compassion grows warm and tender.

I will not execute my burning anger;
I will not again destroy Ephraim;
for I am God and not a man,
the Holy One in your midst,
and I will not come in wrath.

They shall go after the LORD;
he will roar like a lion;
when he roars, his children shall come trembling from the west;
they shall come trembling like birds from Egypt, and like doves from the land of Assyria,
and I will return them to their homes,

declares the LORD.

~ Hosea 11: 1-11

Love is really a fickle-minded thing, huh?

Maybe I should qualify that: of all the different faces of love, romantic love proves to be one of the most, or perhaps even the most tricky and slippery of them all. An exciting prize calling out to be hunted and courted and gained, a warm and beautiful lense with which to view the world and all that exists once possessed and shared, yes, but also pure torture and misery when unrequited or lost.

Sometimes, we think we know someone, we think we love someone, we feel like we're already married, vows yet to be uttered though, but understood between two. When suddenly, the tablecloth is whipped from under us and all that's left are the shiny metal and glass cutlery grinding on the cold hard surface of the table of life. We feel hurt and confused, upset and frustrated.. and somewhat betrayed.

If an Earthly romance that we experience and relate in our puny intellect and finite emotions can cause so much devastation to our entire being, what is it like to an entity whose knowledge and wisdom far exceeds our ability to comprehend its vastness and wealth, to an entity whose vocabulary of feeling is so complex and unfathomable, to an entity who created word and feeling, to an entity such as God?

A creation abandoning its creator, choosing to worship other creations and looking no farther than what its bodily senses register. A beloved betraying her lover, choosing to romp the fields with another. A bride shaming her bridegroom, choosing to satisfy desires of the flesh out of wedlock.

Through our misery and joy, we are like Hosea, we are like he who was chosen by God to reveal to the world His inner turmoil and frustrations. God uses our pain to acquaint us with His pain, to acquaint us with His love.

We are Gomer, the unfaithful, the adulteress, the enlightened creation who abandoned its creator, the courted beloved who betrayed her lover, the promised bride who shamed her bridegroom. Though we have heard of and know this perfect and good love of His, we still choose to satisfy the longings of the flesh and the desires of the world. We choose to worship the senses and that which delights the senses, but forget the One who made it all. We choose to stray. And left to our own devices, the urge and temptation to stray will prove fatal to many, too many.

By instructing Hosea to buy back his wayward whore-wife, God demonstrates a prophetic act which He will and has performed:

He bought us.
Paid the ransom of a pure and blemishless lamb which He loved and still loves with all His heart,
and set us free from sin and eternal death of burning Sulphur, of gnashing teeth, of darkness and rot.

We are habitually unfaithful, serial adulterers, whores.
We are broken. We are dirty.
And yet, God demands us not to clean up our act before we may return to His side.
No.
He is ever ready to heal and to love, to redeem and to revive and to restore.

The one condition is that we return to Him. That's all he asks.
To come back and to let Him do the cleaning, let Him bring out the soap and water and sponge, let Him bring out the cloth and polish.

What kind of creator is that?
What kind of lover is that?
What kind of bridegroom is that?
To take back into His arms the wayward, the strayed, the runaway, the unfaithful?

One who truly knows how to love, who made love, who is love.
Magnanimous to forgive.
Patient to wait.
Extravagant to lavish and ransom.
Faithful to the end.