FORGIVEN

(As promised, another of my fav stories... Grins)

It had been three years since Lisa last opened the box. A sudden move to Boston had kept her from packing it. But now that she was back home, she took the time to look again at the memories. Fingering the corners of the box and stroking its cover, Lisa pictured in her mind what was inside. There was a photo of the family trip to the Grand Canyon, a note from her friend telling her that Nick Bicotti liked her, and the Indian arrowhead she had found while on her senior class trip.

One by one, she remembered the items in the box, lingering over the sweetest, until she came to the last and only painful memory. She knew what it looked like--a single sheet of paper upon which lines had been drawn to form boxes, 490 of them to be exact. And each box contained a check mark, one for each time.

"How many times must I forgive my brother?" the disciple Peter had asked Jesus. "Seven times?" Lisa's Sunday school teacher had read Jesus's surprise answer to the class. "Seventy times seven." Lisa had leaned over to her brother Brent as the teacher continued reading.

"How many times is that?" she whispered. Brent, though two years younger, was smarter than she was.

"Four hundred and ninety," Brent wrote on the corner of his Sunday school paper. Lisa saw the message, nodded, and sat back in her chair. She watched her brother as the lesson continued. He was small for his age, with narrow shoulders and short arms. His glasses were too large for his face, and his hair always matted in swirls. He bordered on being a nerd, but his incredible skills at everything, especially music, made him popular with his classmates.

Brent had learned to play the piano at age four, the clarinet at age seven, and had just begun to play oboe. His music teachers said he'd be a famous musician someday. There was only one thing at which Lisa was better than Brent--basketball. They played it almost every afternoon after school. Brent could have refused to play, but he knew that it was Lisa's only joy in the midst of her struggles to get C's and D's at school.

Lisa's attention came back to her Sunday school teacher as the woman finished the lesson and closed with prayer. That same Sunday afternoon found brother and sister playing basketball in the driveway. It was then that the counting had begun. Brent was guarding Lisa as she dribbled toward the basket. He had tried to bat the ball away, got his face near her elbow, and took a shot on the chin. "Ow!” he cried out and turned away. Lisa saw her opening and drove to the basket, making an easy lay-up. She gloated over her success but stopped when she saw Brent.

"You okay?", she asked. Brent shrugged his shoulders.

"Sorry," Lisa said. "Really. It was a cheap shot."

"It's all right. I forgive you," he said.

A thin smile then formed on his face. "Just 489 more times though."

"Whaddaya mean?" Lisa asked.

"You know...what we learned in Sunday school today. You're supposed to forgive someone 490 times. I just forgave you, so now you have 489 left," he kidded. The two of them laughed at the thought of keeping track of every time Lisa had done something to Brent. They were sure she had gone past 490 long ago.

The rain interrupted their game, and the two moved indoors. "Wanna play Battleship?" Lisa asked. Brent agreed, and they were soon on the floor of the living room with their game boards in front of them. Each took turns calling out a letter and number combination, hoping to hit each other's ships. Lisa knew she was in trouble as the game went on. Brent had only lost one ship out of five. Lisa had lost three. Desperate to win, she found herself leaning over the edge of Brent's barrier ever so slightly. She was thus able to see where Brent had placed two ships. She quickly evened the score. Pleased, Lisa searched once more for the location of the last two ships. She peered over the barrier again, but this time Brent caught her in the act.

"Hey, you're cheating!" He stared at her in disbelief. Lisa's face turned red. Her lips quivered. "I'm sorry," she said, staring at the floor. There was not much Brent could say. He knew Lisa sometimes did things like this. He felt sorry that Lisa found so few things she could do well. It was wrong for her to cheat, but he knew the temptation was hard for her.

"Okay, I forgive you," Brent said. Then he added with a small laugh, "I guess it's down to 488 now, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so." She returned his kindness with a weak smile and added, "Thanks for being my brother, Brent."

Brent's forgiving spirit gripped Lisa, and she wanted him to know how sorry she was. It was that evening that she had made the chart with the 490 boxes. She showed it to him before he went to bed. "We can keep track of every time I mess up and you forgive me," she said. "See, I'll put a check in each box--like this." She placed two marks in the upper left-hand boxes.

"These are for today." Brent raised his hands to protest. "You don't need to keep--"

"Yes I do!" Lisa interrupted. "You're always forgiving me, and I want to keep track. Just let me do this!" She went back to her room and tacked the chart to her bulletin board.

There were many opportunities to fill in the chart in the years that followed. She once told the kids at school that Brent talked in his sleep and called out Rhonda Hill's name, even though it wasn't true. The teasing caused Brent days and days of misery. When she realized how cruel she had been, Lisa apologized sincerely. That night she marked box number 96.

Forgiveness number 211 came in the tenth grade when Lisa failed to bring home his English book. Brent had stayed home sick that day and had asked her to bring it so he could study for a quiz. She forgot and he got a C.

Number 393 was for lost keys...418 for the extra bleach she put in the washer, which ruined his favorite polo shirt...449, the dent she had put in his car when she had borrowed it.

There was a small ceremony when Lisa checked number 490. She used a gold pen for the check mark, had Brent sign the chart, and then placed it in her memory box. "I guess that's the end," Lisa said. "No more screw-ups from me anymore!" Brent just laughed. "Yeah, right."

Number 491 was just another one of Lisa's careless mistakes, but its hurt lasted a lifetime. Brent had become all that his music teachers said he would. Few could play the oboe better than he. In his fourth year at the best music school in the United States, he received the opportunity of a lifetime--a chance to try out for New York City's great orchestra.

The tryout would be held sometime during the following two weeks. It would be the fulfillment of his young dreams. But he never got the chance. Brent had been out when the call about the tryout came to the house. Lisa was the only one home and on her way out the door, eager to get to work on time. "Two-thirty on the tenth," the secretary said on the phone. Lisa did not have a pen, but she told herself that she could remember it. "Got it. Thanks." I can remember that, she thought. But she did not. It was a week later around the dinner table that Lisa realized her mistake. "So, Brent," his mom asked him, "When do you try out?"

"Don't know yet. They're supposed to call." Lisa froze in her seat.

"Oh, no!" she blurted out loud. "What's today's date? Quick!"

"It's the twelfth," her dad answered. "Why?" A terrible pain ripped through Lisa's heart. She buried her face in her hands and started crying. "Lisa, what's the matter?" her mother asked. Through sobs Lisa explained what had happened. "It was two days ago...the tryout...two-thirty...the call came...last week."

Brent sat back in his chair, not believing Lisa. "Is this one of your jokes, sis?" he asked, though he could tell her misery was real. She shook her head, still unable to look at him. "Then I really missed it?" She nodded.

Brent ran out of the kitchen without a word. He did not come out of his room the rest of the evening. Lisa tried once to knock on the door, but she could not face him. She went to her room where she cried bitterly. Suddenly she knew that she had to do. She had ruined Brent's life. He could never forgive her for that. She had failed her family, and there was nothing to do but to leave home. Lisa packed her pickup truck in the middle of the night and left a note behind, telling her folks she'd be all right.

She began writing a note to Brent, but her words sounded empty to her. Nothing I say could make a difference anyway, she thought.

Two days later she got a job as a waitress in Boston. She found an apartment not too far from the restaurant. Her parents tried many times to reach her, but Lisa ignored their letters. “It’s too late," she wrote them once. "I've ruined Brent's life, and I'm not coming back." Lisa did not think she would ever see home again. But one day in the restaurant where she worked she saw a face she knew.

"Lisa!" said Mrs. Nelson, looking up from her plate. "What a surprise."

The woman was a friend of Lisa's family from back home. “I was so sorry to hear about your brother," Mrs. Nelson said softly.

"Such a terrible accident. But we can be thankful that he died quickly. He didn't suffer." Lisa stared at the woman in shock.

"Wh-hat," she finally stammered. It couldn't be! Her brother? Dead? The woman quickly saw that Lisa did not know about the accident. She told the girl the sad story of the speeding car, the rush to the hospital, the doctors working over Brent. But all they could do was not enough to save him.

Lisa returned home that afternoon.
********

Now she found herself in her room thinking about her brother as she held the small box that held some of her memories of him. Sadly, she opened the box and peered inside. It was as she remembered, except for one item--Brent's chart. It was not there. In its place, at the bottom of the box, was an envelope. Her hands shook as she tore it open and removed a letter. The first page read:

Dear Lisa,
It was you who kept count, not me. But if you're stubborn enough to keep count, use the new chart I've made for you.
Love,Brent

Lisa turned to the second page where she found a chart just like the one she had made as a child, but on this one the lines were drawn in perfect precision. And unlike the chart she had kept, there was but one check mark in the upper left- hand corner. Written in red felt tip pen over the entire page were the words:

"NUMBER 491. Forgiven, FOREVER."

My Prodigious Life

Just watched Batman Begins this afternoon with Jingliang. I guess of all the Batman series I've watched, I liked this the best. Its by far the darkest and therefore probably one of the most faithful to the original productions I've watched.

Plagued by guilt, anger, doubts and more guilt, he was always the caped crusader with no super-powers, but was truly a mere mortal trying to seek redemption for society, in order to find redemption for himself.

Lots of things inside the show triggered thoughts in me, of what I liked about Batman when I first started watching and reading about him. The most obvious being the mask he wears to hide his identity, and what he tells the cop in the movie "I don't have the luxury of friends". His chronic pessimism that no one would understand if he ever reveals himself, and his resulting polemic nature by day and by night. I remember just smiling to myself when twice Alfred and Bruce Wayne exchanged the same lines of how Alfred never did give up on him. The reiteration was especially poignant for me, in a very pesonal way.

I guess in many ways I'm still looking for my Alfred, that one person that hopes against reason, and even hopes against hope, in me. And if that person turns out to be a girl, I'd marry her right away. Grins. But seriously, I'm someone who thrives on trust and faith. Keep faith in me and I'm motivated to do better. But if I get a hint that some have withdrawn their trust, I let go too easily.

Perhaps that's one thing that has served as a profound anchor in my walk with God. Despite all my periods of spiritual wilderness, through all the darkest moments of my last few years, despite the sense that God has remained silent towards me for the longest time, I don't feel abandoned. There's still a deep abiding sense that God is still there.

And mebbe that's why if ever anyone asks me what my favorite story is, its the story of the prodigal son. The ne'er do good son who has just about exhausted all the patience he deserves, and then some. He probably has already used up the seventy times seven forgiveness Jesus said we're each entitled to. There have been moments when my meditation on that parable reduces me to tears at the lavishness of God's grace, and the depth of His love. That ever abiding faith and love in me, that everytime I come back to Him again after having failed Him, I hear Him telling me that His going up the cross for me was worth it. That He's never regretted doing it.

And as I search for my Alfred here on earth, I guess I'm also reminded that I haver to learn to be one. And I think that's why I place such a fierce premium on loyalty and trust on my friendships. That I never judge a friend as "not being worth my time anymore till he/she learns the folly of his/her ways". Cos I've been there before, on that path of self destruction, and I know what it feels like to have been the one trampled on, or at least the one being judged.

I think of Bruce Wayne, and how people judge him by day, not knowing of the struggles he has inside of him. And again I'm reminded of my favorite quote, that we all live lives of quiet desperation. And I'm again humbled by how profound it can be when Jesus reminds us not to judge the speck in another's eyes. That very often when we privately tag a value on a person based on our own values, it is nothing short of sheer arrogance because a look inside very often reveals we have the same thing in us, and probably more.

Yes, I'm having a wierd epiphany-ish sort of night as I let my thoughts drift. Lotsa verses keep coming to mind, and somehow tagging themselves to the random thoughts I'm having.

I'm going to the gym early tmr, so I better go sleep now. I'm gonna post another story after this, that pretty much is the theme of my thoughts tonight, on forgiveness, and how it is synonymous with grace, faithfulness and abiding trust.

Also, this song "Jennifer", is obviously based on the parable of the prodigal son. Only, this time a daughter. I felt that the song so very well captured the kind of lavishness and value placed upon us by God Himself.

The Price Of Love

(One of my fav articles from Readers Digest, a long long time ago...)

If only I could keep the kids from naming him. That would be the trick.
“No family needs two dogs,” I began dogmatically. And so I invoked the Bauer Anonymity Rule, which prohibits the naming of any animal not on the endangered species list. That includes anything that walks or squawks, sings or swims, hops, crawls, flies or yodels, because at our place a pet named is a pet claimed.
“But we gotta call him something,” our four children protested.
“All right, then, call him Dog X,” I suggested. They frowned, but I thought it the perfect handle for something I hoped would float away like a generic soap powder.
My no-name strategy proved a dismal failure, however. Long before the pup was weaned, the kids secretly began calling him Scampy, and before I knew it he had become as much a fixture as the fireplace. And just as immovable.
All of this could have been avoided, I fumed, if Andy, a neighborhood mutt, had only stayed on his side of the street. But at age 14, this scruffy, arthritic mongrel hobbled into our yard for a tête-à-tête with our blue-blooded schnauzer, Baroness Heidi on her AKC papers, who was a ten-year Old Maid. Before one could say “safe-sex,” we had a miracle. We were unaware that Andy left his calling card until the middle of one night during our spring vacation at the beach. I thought the moaning sounds was the ocean. But investigation revealed it was from Heidi, whom Shirley, my wife, pronounced in labour. “I thought she was getting fat,” I mumbled sleepily.
When morning brought no relief or delivery, we found a vet who informed us that a big pup was blocking the birth canal, which could be fatal to Heidi. We wrung our hands for the rest of the day, phoning every couple of hours for an update. Not until evening was our dog pronounced out of danger.
“She was carrying three,” the doctor reported, “but only one survived.” The kids took one look at the male pup, a ragamuffin ball of string - red string, brown string, black string, tan string, gray string - and exclaimed, “Andy! He looks just like Andy.” And there was no mistaking the father. Heidi’s only genetic contribution seemed to be his schnauzer beard. Otherwise, he was an eclectic mix of terrier, collie, beagle and setter.
“Have you ever seen anything so homely?” I asked Shirley.
“He’s adorable,” she answered admiringly. Too admiringly.
“I only hope someone else thinks so. His days with us are numbered.” But I might as well have saved my breath. By the time Dog X reached ten weeks, our kids were more attached to him than barnacles to a boat’s bottom. I tried to ignore him.
“Look at how good he is catching a ball, Dad,” Christopher pointed out. I grunted noncommittally. And when Andy’s folly performed his tricks - sit, fetch, roll over, play dead - and the kids touted his smarts, I hid behind a newspaper.
One thing I could not deny: he had the ears of a watchdog, detecting every sound that came from the driveway or yard. Heidi, his aging mother, heard nothing but his barking, which interrupted her frequent naps. He, on the other hand, was in perpetual motion. When the kids went off on their bikes or I put on my jogging shoes, he wanted to go along. If left behind, he chased squirrels. Occasionally, by now, I slipped and called him Scampy.

Then in the autumn, after six months of family nurture and adoration, Scampy suffered a setback. Squealing tires and brakes announced that he had chased one too many squirrels into the street. The accident fractured his left hind leg, which the vet put in a splint. We were all relieved to hear his prognosis: complete recovery. But then a week later the second shoe dropped.
“Gangrene,” Shirley told me one evening. “The vet says amputate or he’ll have to be put to sleep.” I slumped down in a chair.
“There’s little choice,” I said. “It’s not fair to make an active dog like Scampy struggle around on three legs the rest of his life.” Suddenly the kids, who had been eavesdropping, flew into the room.
“They don’t kill a person who has a bad leg," Steve and Laraine argued.
Buying time, I told them, “We’ll decide tomorrow.” After the kids were in bed, Shirley and I talked.
“It will be hard for them to give up Scampy,” she sympathized.
“Especially Christopher,” I replied. “I was about his age when I lost Queenie.” Then I told her about my favorite dog, a statuesque white spitz whose fluffy coat rolled like ocean waves when she ran. But Queenie developed a crippling problem with her back legs, and finally my dad said she would have to be put down.
“But she can get well, “ I pleaded. I prayed with all my might that God would help her walk again. But she got worse.
One night after dinner I went to the basement, where she slept beside the furnace. At the bottom of the stairs, I met Dad. His face was drained of color, and he carried a strange, strong-smelling rag in his hand.
“I’m sorry, but Queenie’s dead,” he told me gently. I broke into tears and threw myself into his arms. I don’t know how long I sobbed, but after a while I became aware he was crying too. I remember how pleased I was to learn he felt the same way.
Between eye wiping and nose blowing, I told him, “I don’t ever want another dog. It hurts too much when they die.”
“You’re right about the hurt, son,” he answered, “but that’s the price of love.”

The next day, after conferring with the vet and the family, I reluctantly agreed to have Scampy’s leg amputated. “If a child’s faith can make him well, “ I remarked to Shirley, “then he’ll recover four times over.” And he did. Miraculously.
If I needed any poof that he was his old self, it came a short time after his operation. Watching from the kitchen window, I saw a fat grey squirrel creep toward the bird feeder. Slowly the sunning dog pulled himself into attack position. When the squirrel got to within a dozen feet, Scampy launched himself. Using his hind leg like a pogo stick, he rocketed into the yard and gave one bushy tail the scare of its life.
Soon Scampy was back catching balls, tagging along with the kids, running with me as I jogged. The remarkable thing was the way he compensated for his missing appendage. He invented a new stroke for his lone rear leg, moving it piston-like from side to side to achieve both power and stability.
His enthusiasm and energy suffered no loss. “The best thing about Scampy,” a neighbor said, “ is that he doesn’t know he has a handicap. Either that or he ignores it, which is the best way for all of us to deal with such things.”
Not that everyone saw him in a positive light. On the playground, some youngsters reacted as if he were a prime candidate for a Stephen King horror flick. “Look out,” shouted one boy, “here comes Monster Dog!” Tripod and Hopalong were other tags. Our kids laughed off his detractors and introduced him as “Scampy, the greatest three-legged dog in the world.”

For better than five years, Scampy gave us an object lesson in courage, demonstrating what it means to do your best with what you’ve got. On our daily runs I often carried on conversations with him as if he understood every single word. “I almost shipped you out as a pup,” I’d recount to him, “but the kids wouldn’t let me. They knew how wonderful you were.” It was obvious from the way he studied my face and wagged his tail that he liked to hear how special he was.
He probably would have continued to strut his stuff for a lot longer had he been less combative. In scraps in which he was clearly overmatched, he lacked two essentials for longevity – discretion and, partly because of his surgery, an effective reverse gear.
One warm August night he didn’t return at his normal time, and the next morning he showed up, gasping for air and bloody around the neck. He obviously had been in a fight, and I suspected a badly punctured windpipe or lung.
“Scampy, when will you learn?” I asked as I patted his head. He looked at me with those trusting eyes and licked my hand, but he was too weak to wag his tail. Christopher and Daniel helped me sponge him down and get him to the vet, but my diagnosis proved too accurate. By midday, “the greatest three legged dog in the world” as gone.
That evening Christopher and I drove up to the vet’s office, gathered up the black plastic bag that held Scampy and headed home. Scampy’s mother had died at 15 a few months before; now we would bury him next to her in the woods by the garden.
As we drove, I tried to engage Christopher in conversation, but he was silent, apparently sorting through his feelings. “I’ve seen lots of dogs, Christopher,” I said, “but Scampy was something special.”
“Yep,” he answered, staring into the darkness.
“He was certainly one of the smartest.” Christopher didn’t answer. From flashes of light that passed through the car I could see him dabbing his eyes. Finally he looked at me and spoke.
“There’s only one thing I’m sure of, Dad,” he choked out through tears. “I don’t want another dog. It feels so bad to lose them.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. Then, drawing on a voice and words that were not my own, I added, “But that’s the price of love.”
Now his sobs were audible, and I was having trouble seeing the road myself. I pulled off at a service station and stopped the car. There, I put my arms around him and with my tears let him know – just as my father had shown me – that his loss was my loss too.

If Only Life Were A Game...

So its monday again. How quickly time flies. Its been a pretty eventful weekend, one that nearly threatened to end my life through a lack of sleep. Had a really packed friday night, where after ARPC (when John Ting delivered not a sermon, but a lecture on "Parenting"), I went to grab a drink with Simon, Charlotte & Jingliang - driving Jingliang's car (at Jln Kayu), then to the airport to pick up my aunt. By the time I reached home, it was 1:30am. By the time I finished with worship prep and packing my stuff for a badminton game the next morning, it was 4. Got woken up at 7:30 the next morning by someone who asked if he could borrow an iron. Ugh!! Then was the game, then lunch, then worship prac, then DM bible study, then KTV with the cell. First time I managed to crash inside a KTV, with all the music that's blaring. I mean, go try falling asleep in a pub man.

Next day was worship, which went really well. I was really amazed that the songs I chose in my semi-conscious state ended up being so apt in light of the content of the message. I guess it IS true that God works best in my moments of weaknesses. After that, had lunch with the cell, and then off to Zhang Mu Shi's house for our month Bible Study. Had dinner then, and had a really really good time catching up with Yenn Chuen, who's back again. Met Paul after that for a short drink, and went home. Caleb called to talk to me abt some ministry stuff, and we ended up talking till abt 3.

Hehz.

Sometimes, I really wonder how I'm still alive.

Today met up with Simon to DotA for a while, then had a really good chat with him abt ministry. He shared with me a lotta stuff that's happening btw him and Char, and the struggles he's facing in the relationship. So it turned out to be a really good afternoon.

After that, had dinner with Paul and went to night classes with him. New term, new lecturer. My Sociology lecturer was the probverbial woman from hell, man. She was awesome. I was a little late, and by the time I came to class, she was introducing the 18th century. And she started to tell us how it was the age of the Enlightenment, that gave birth to great artists such as Leonardo... DiCaprio. She even paused, thought about it, then affirmed what she just said. It took her another 5 seconds to take stock again what she just did, before she corrected herself.

Sigh.

How sad is that man? And barely 5 mins later, she misrepresented Marx when she tried to introduce his name to the class. Man...

Anyway, the weater's been glorious the past few days. I love the temperature. I'm still having my mood swings, and its not helped by my chronic lack of sleep, self-induced as they may be. Have a few pple to meet this week, and a few things to get done. Spoke to Di just now, and was raising the possibility of just working for KC on a more permanent basis. Perks include the ability to tag a nice job title to my resume and more flexi working hours. So lets see how that works out. I dun mind, actually.

Someone recently said I'm very very hard to fathom. It got me thinking - am I really that hard to know? I mean, I hide things very well, but by and large I'm a pretty obvious person... I wear my emotions on my sleeve all the time. Can't help it. Anyone who's just a little sharper would be able to see my initial reaction to anything, and notice that at best I recover from my initial reaction pretty fast, and cover up what I really feel abt anything.

When I'm really upset abt something, you won't hear me complaining abt it, or sharing it as a prayer request. So most of the time when I list a lotta things to people, asking that they pray for me abt it, it prob is a legitimate request, but not what's really on my mind. I have this little habit of always trying to correct people's sentences before they finish them. I behave differently towards different people, based on how I perceive they would expect me to behave. I tend to be very negative in my thoughts, and always differential towards others at the expense of myself. Mebbe that's cos of my low self-confidence. And I'm usually very good at deflecting questions before they're even asked, thus not requiring me to avoid them. Humour's my fav tool to keep a certain mood around me, either to cover myself, or to turn a situation around.

And that's pretty much me in a nutshell. Ain't all that difficult to understand or complicated, am I? At least, I always thought I was really a very simple person. Not much in the way of ambition, aspirations, or drive. Pretty much a passive and boring person.

Sigh. Well, at least for tonight, I'm very honest in saying how troubled I am by so many questions. About ministry, and what I need to lay down for the next three years. About my own spiritual walk and how I lately seem to be hovering on the edge of the wilderness again. Of my own personal life and wondering if I'll ever dare again to tell a girl how I feel about her. Of my studies, and if I'll be able to do well. Of my family, and the fact that everydaqy I have more and more reason to be pissed at my dad. Of my overall disciplines and how I need to develop myself in different aspects.

Or even of how I can't seem to stop worrying, and seeing my whole life, or even life itself in such bleak terms. I'm actually pretty tired, and have been tired for some time now already. In a game, you just press the re-start button and things will be fine. I guess you can't do that with life.

Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can come to any good.

- W.H. Auden

夜里梦多

不知道你曾否有过这种感觉，在你觉得你一整天过得很顺畅的时候 - 当你见了许多朋友，充分地利用了一天的时候 - 回到家时，却充满了一种非常低潮的感觉，觉得自己生活太单调和没有意思了。我今天去了朋友的一个俱乐部，做了运动，游了泳，跟他们有了一段相当有意义的分享时间。过后还去了查经小组。所以应该是过得很充分的一天。

但是我踏入家门之后，却又再次地有了一个很无奈的感觉，不知道我自己现在活着是为了什么。因为有时候活着为了一个看不见又经常听不见的上帝是很难的。而在我生命中，我也什么真正让我有激情要活下去的。这个星期内，就有三位朋友问了我同样一个问题了 - 他们问我为什么我会这么渴望爱情呢？难道爱情那么重要吗？

我想，我的回答就是在这个时候，对我来说是很明显了。当我回到家之后，发现我又再次是自己一个人了。朋友归朋友，但是我还是没有一个特别让我能够拥有的一个人，让我能够去疼她，去爱她，和依靠她。就在这个时候，自己才会感到，若有一个伴，那就会多好。一个让我能够看得见，听得见的理由，叫我要好好地活下去。勉励我，鼓励我，激发我每一天都要好好地去做人，好让她开心，以我为荣。

咳。我看，还是去睡觉吧。

There And Back Again

So I'm finally back after a pretty hectic... erm... retreat.

Hehz...

Tanjong Puteri is exactly the same as it was 3 or 4 yrs ago, when I last went. Food... decorations, the whole looks of the place. But extraordinarily, nothing else was the same. My state of life, the ministry partners I went with, the focus and intent of being there, even the mood I brought to the camp.

I went with a pretty heavy heart this time round, with a lot of things on my heart. Lot of questions I was asking myself, struggles with what I wanted and what I thought would be a wise decision. Meeting up with so many people from my past in the last 2 weeks also raised a lot of thoughts about the person I was then, and who I have become today. What had gone wrong, and what had turned out right. Wondering abt what I would be like another 5 years down the road.

With my present having been so drastically unforeseen and unexpected from just 5 years ago, it seems so arrogantly presumptious and sheer arrogance that I hope to be able to plan for the next 10 to 20 years down the road. Why not start living for the now, I ask myself. Why not act upon the present, and not be bound by any projections I have about the rest of my life?

Worries about ministry had also been on my mind. I don't see how I would be able to offer the present commitment when school and work swings into full force. And of course, singlehood for the next three years remains an unbearable prospect (Rather like how 2.5 yrs in NS seemed like I was cursed to live in the final stages of cancer, yet never die.), and I shudder everytime I think of the solitude that I seem doomed to endure... made the more unpalatable in light of how the next three years are gonna be so very tough.

Sadly, the retreat only raised more questions, increased the struggles, and left me with a heavier heart than when I went... didn't get to spend time alone with God, and it turned out to be just as hectic a camp... only for the fact that I didn't have too many things to be in charge of. That proved to be the greatest factor for me in labelling my time there as "relaxing". Hehz...

Still, it was an enjoyable time nonetheless. Caught up with people, had a good time bowling and all, and more or less managed to have fun. My villa turned out to be a really good grouping, and many were sharing very openly. The service today turned out pretty well all in all, and the worship went pretty smoothly despite how we hardly practiced at all. Its hard to not see that God has really been there for me, and helped me through these few days, as difficult as they might have been.

Growing up is always a scary prospect. As Bernice shared, going into the unknown is always a rather scary prospect. Last night we took a boat out along a river to see fireflies. The boat was almost travelling blind along the river, and it was very very dark. So naturally, there was a fear of whether or not we were gonna hit anything or anyone. And when I'm venturing further and further out into the unknown, and unable to see beyond even my next half a year, my tendency is always to run and hide. To avoid having to face the difficult questions that begs to be asked about myself.

On the bigger front, I think it was really really amazing seeing the congregation in the second service turn out like this for a retreat. I mean, it was like back to fellowship again. And I get the feeling even Grace's or Ruth's fellowship didn't enjoy the same kind of unity and spirit of acceptance that we've had at this retreat. By and large, I mean. Cos on the whole, I hardly saw any very noticeable cliques. Everyone participated in different activities and engaged with different sets of people. Obviously there were no deep sharings, save for mebbe a handful. I think the retreat achieved the aim of tearing down a lot of walls of unfamiliarity between many of us whom we only see on sunday, and hardly ever go anywhere beyond a "hi' and "bye". Zhang Mu Shi and Pastor Lijuan interracting with us at that level was unheard of during my days in fellowship, where they were always just so out of reach. And I think its great that we seem to be getting it right so far in our search for a formula that is distinctly suited for ministering to our community.

Did I enjoy myself and have a good time at the retreat? Yes and no, I guess. A lot of good things came out of it, even thought I didn't do what I had primarily set out to do.

Before I start school the following week, I probably should go do my retreat some time this week.

Also, a lot of movies I wanna catch. Batman Begins, A Lot Like Love, War Of The Worlds, Narnia... man...

Of course, it might be a little tricky to watch them all, since I need to pay my phone bills, which would leave me flat broke. Hehz... Hope I get a job really really soon...

Going Off Soon

Had lunch with my family at abt eleven, then popped down to Raffles Place to meet Weimin for a drink, and catch up a little with her. I realised its really been quite a while since we even sat down to chat, and I'm pretty out-dated on her life. Hehz... Guess we've both been pretty busy with our own lives. She's also had a lot happen to her lately, so I didn't wanna bug her to meet up with me. Figured there'll be a time eventually.

Amazingly enough, I bumped into Adelina at Raffles Place. I'd been meaning to call her and ask her out for the better part of the year already, but always procrastinated. Fancy bumping into her at Raffles Place now, of all the places. Seems like she's left the theatre scene, and is now in the corporate world. I guess eventually we all have to put down our dreams and hobbies, and grow up to the realities of the real world.

Went to Seletar Country Club with Jingliang and Simon (yes, he's finally finally back... picked him up from the airport last night). We worked out in the gym, had a couple of rounds of bowling, played pool and table-tennis. Then I met up with Paul for dinner and a round of DotA. Finally, caught Star Wars with Serene at night, who still hadn't caught it yet. What surprised me was the fact that Simon hadn't caught it too. Mebbe he just was never into the Star Wars thing. But catching it the second time was good... realised that there were a lotta details that I over-looked the first time round. It especially helped since I re-watched episodes 4,5 and 6 after my first time of watching episode 3.

So there it goes... a long long day of doing everything except some productive work. I tell myself this will stop once school re-opens again. When my actual syllabus begins, I'll have to pay more attention, and play less. When I met Gerald on tue, it really really hit me that we're all not young anymore. So on top of the fact that I'll prob have to step up my quest for a soul-mate, and decide when I should get attached again, there's the more pertinent question to be asked of myself - When do I intend to grow up and start taking a greater responsibility for my own life. Sigh. Mebbe once I do, I'll be able to convince a girl that she can trust me to take care of her...

In the meantime, I'm just SO looking forward to fri... and off to Tanjong Puteri. Hehz...

Haven't packed tho. Hope I remember to bring just about everything...

And by the way, Merv... I really can't help you with the song thing. I had to adopt a brat to help me sort out my blog, and do these things like add a song into the template... I guess I could try to dig up some of the instructions she tried to send me, and see if it makes an ounce of sense to you.

Grins.

Okie, its three in the morning, and my brain just isn't functioning anymore.

Heck, it hasn't functioned in just about 7 years already... Muahahahahaha...

I'm Like A Bird, I Can Fly Away...

Its been a pretty packed weekend. I'm actually more or less all zonked out now... and I have a pretty fun week to look forward to as well, so I guess I dun have anything abt myself to complain for now...

Saturday was a pretty light day. Went down to Henry's CF class since my own was cancelled. Had a pretty good time just sitting down with Elim, William, Gabriel... etc. Was nice to see also how Henry led his class... and feel a little ashamed at how little preparations I seem to put into my own. Hehz...

After that, was the PCk Musical. Honestly, it was nothing impressive. A tad of pride at the idea that this is a local production, (and full of the local flavour it had indeed...) and the fact that tho they weren't magnificent in any way at least they didn't screw up or suck... and more or less it was a pretty fun evening. I enjoyed myself!! Would have felt cheated if I was forced to cough up the 100 bucks to catch it, but since it was all FOC... Hehz...

Today was an absolute nightmare... We have abt 14 people altogether who are either getting baptized or confirmed, so there was supposed to be a live telecast of the main sanctuary where all the action was taking place. But only when it was about to start did we realise that NONE of the AVA people were around, so there was no setup of the system!! No live telecast!!! By the time we managed to rectify the situation (which involved me running up and down the church to look for the caretaker, an AVA member of the main sanctuary, and also Jackie who holds my key to the cupboard...), the baptism was over oredi. Only the confirmation and infant baptism left... Such a bummer...

Then I realised that of all days, Eng Kiat chose to come down today with Angelina. My cousin, who received Christ without my knowing. Well, he seemed to not have minded the chaos as much, so at least for that I could be thankful. Am really glad to see him come down to church, esp since he's doing this only to persuade Angelina to start attending church again...

Then at the Ai Yan, I realised that Yuanming is back again!!!! Was really really glad to have a chance to catch up with him once again. Never really did manage to have a good chat with him since I broke up with Grace, and always thought it was a pity. We used to have our time of sharing, and I did enjoy his company. So after more than 2 yrs, I was glad that we could do some catching up. He even attended cell group!

Which brings us to my next trauma of the day... we had someone visiting from Guangzhou who attended our cell today, who doesn't understand a word of english. So Weiqi had to lead the session in chinese!!! Absolute diasaster man... Its always very very wierd when you have to translate and lead an english material in chinese... and the fact that it was Weiqi doing it only made it all the more harder... hehz... she was trying so hard to do a verbatim translation, and it all came out so wrong...

Sigh.

We had our customary jogging session at Serene's place after that, and Gabriel joined us!!! Hee hee... He's always been a really really great encouragement to me, with his honesty in relating, and his earnestness in everything he does. So am pretty glad that he's now slowly entering into the "clique", and getting to spend more time with us. Hehz...

We stayed back to watch "Iron Ladies", a really really disgusting show abt Thai transvestites who won the National Tournament in volleyball. Its apparently based on a true story. Serene was saying how so many of these people claim that its built into their genes and they can't help it... and I couldn' help thinking abt how many men guilty of infidelity also claim that its all in their blood... and how they can't help it. Funny how little wives seem to be able to buy into that story, but when some women wanna be lesbians, they all stand by these claims.

Sigh.

We all seem to be so good at deceiving ourselves sometimes. I think of two quotes that Ravi Zacharias usually gives... how "We have educated ourselves into imbecility", and how "there is now nothing so vulgar left in human existence, that we cannot fly in some professor from somewhere to justify it."

This upcoming week I'll be meeting Gerald, another long lost friend who suddenly popped back into my life. Also Simon's finally coming home after half a yr in the States... Fri I'll be off to Tanjong Puteri with the church oredi. Whoo hoo!!!!!

WHat's In A Life?

So I'm finally up and about, after more than a week of being bed-ridden. Its good to finally be up and about again...

The last 2 days have been nothing short of sheer irony, as I helped out KC with another of his projects. I was told it simply involved setting up of PCs, and had no clue till I reached the place, that I was gonna be helping set up PCs for a LAN shop. Grins. Still, things were being held up all the time due to one reason or another, and I think in the end I really did very very little. Was pretty interesting tho, seeing how it worked out.

I think I've more or less resigned myself to one fact - I'm really a very boring person. From my taste in songs, to the type of games I play, to the fact that I tend to repeat twenty times the things I say, that I tend to repeat what I say, repeat what I say, I guess I can only conclude that I'm pretty boring.

Sigh.... mebbe that explains why I'm always so bored.

Also why I'm looking forward so much to PCK tmr. One of the few highlights in my life right now. Dammit. You know, if I actually was born rich, filthy rich, I'd be out asking someone out already. As it stands, I dun have the guts nor the cash to ask any girl out, so I'm resigned to looking forward to things like PCK, to fill my life with meaning.

Hehz....

Cancelling my CF tmr cos almost all my girls can't make it, so there's no point in having the session. Kindda glad for the break, cos I haven't really had time to prepare for it much.

Went to this place called "Coq N Bull" for dinner, cos its my mom's birthday. I guess the best part of the whole meal was the bread. Fabtastic walnut bread man. But aside from that, I had a really terrible rack of lamb, tho my parents had some pretty good beef.

Sigh.

Even my dinner conspired to expose my sad life for what it is.

I'm really really bored.

Bored.

Bored.

I'm boring.

Boring.

Bored.

Bored of being boring.

Hehehehe...

Man, how much more sad can I get?

Feverish Nonsense...

So here I have been, the past week almost, the sick invalid that I am, unable to do much, eat much, or even talk much. Yeah, heaven is suddenly awash with thanksgiving prayers from Singapore. Heaven's also been innundated with the persistent prayers of a guy with a racking cough and wheezing breath, just whining that God heal him from this terrible viral infection.

Hehz.

Anyway, have spent a little while now, every now and then thinking back to the chapter where Jacob wrestles with God. Was always very fascinated by the notion as a kid. How in the world do you fight with God? And pin Him down till He has to ask you to let go, no less... What's that about man? Aside from the metaphorical lesson in store, I was wondering about wrestling with God myself.

If I couldn't have the things that I want, and if I also can't stop wanting them, why can't I at least pray the prayer of Job, asking to meet with God, that I might speak with Him. To wrestle with Him, and to come to a very very tangible conclusion of my struggles. Enough of the never-ending sagas of conquering my desires, only to have them surface all over again two weeks later.

Yet is it really possible to really wrestle with the Almighty? What happens? I threaten to do something silly to myself until He grants me a wish, or a vision where He speaks clearly to me... then it becomes a tussle of the will, to see who caves in first? That's just silly. But I've tried. And failed. Sheer foolishness to think you can out-will God Himself.

So what's next? Keep praying? I've tried that too. Nag at Him till He relents. God's known to relent, you know? But guess what, that doesn't work too. Who is more patient than God? How do you out-wait the infinite?

So what comes after that? The silent treatment. Stop praying. Sulk at God. Harbour bitter thoughts against Him. Like a child throwing a tantrum at his parents, or a lover throwing a tantrum, hoping that the other party would relent and give in. After all, if they really love us, they ought to be unable to withstand the cold treatment, and give in, right? Of course then, failure to give in only indicates that He doesn't really love me. Hehz... guess what, I've tried that too, but it also doesn't work. All I do is end up again being just a backslidden Christian, who after a while realizes that if God ever turns around, that's when He's really facing His back to me, for I've been the one who turned away, and so it is I who needs to turn around.

Just how does a man wrestle with God? Fight Him?

Its not like I'm asking for a hundred million bucks (tho I have tried praying for that before), or the cutest girl in the class (again, something I also have tried asking for before...), but I'm asking for some really normal things, or at least... good things... sensible things... things that make for good biblical advice on what to ask God for... so why is it still so hard to see things God's way? Why still so hard to understand why God continues to withhold His hand?

I used to wonder... If reality itself were a construct of God, why not a construct where life is so much easier? Where we dun have to go through so much pain just to learn so little about life. Where we don't have to lose everything in order to gain Christ. Where prayer is something a lot more tangible... like an email where you could ask that a reply be sent back when read. Wouldn't that be cool? So why the mystery of the intangible faith? Why the neccessity for the cruelty of the cross in order to save us? Couldn't He have died without the forty lashes minus one?

Lots of things have been happening to frens around me lately. Breakups, crushes, getting back togethers, marriages... Just to name the more common stuff that happens. Some just aren't convenient to pen down. The Bible wasn't kidding. Life is hard, And complicated. And unfair. Some get the lucky breaks, others only have eternity to look forward to.

Darn. I need to get out more. I mean, I like Marvin... but I just dun wanna end up like him. Well, I know I'll never have a brain like his... just hope I dun end up with his bad stuff without the good...

It Is Well With My Soul... Well, Almost...

Ah well. If only they had a song "It Is Well With My Health". Then I could queue it to be played the day I'm recovered from this horrendous viral fever that seems to plague me once a year. Yes, since tue night its been 39-40 degrees, relentlessly. Only this morning it seemed to have gone down, and I joyfully bounded out of the house, breathing in the fresh air of the outside... only to slink back home by 5 something, dizzy and nauseaus, and my fever back up to 39.4 degrees.

Sheesh.

Its been an absolute hell, locked up at home the past 2 days. Actually, no one locked me up. Was just too weak to get up. Sigh.

Did I also mention flu, throat infection, headache and stomachache? As well as bodyache? *Moan*

Tho in the short space that I was out, I managed to meet Serene for lunch, and then Paul for a movie... we caught Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. Fantastic show... not really. Most say the book's better. Tho... I would have thought that to be expected. All in all, it was pretty hilarious. I LOVED Marvin the robot... saw a cut-out of him outside the cinema, and was really really tempted to bring it home. Hehz...

But you know, for all its satire, I found it pretty amusing that they still copped out. Can't speak for the book, but at least in the show it still boiled down to the Boy-Meets-Girl scenario... and the all important question that the universe seeks is in the end still "Is She The One?".

Sigh. Well, for a romantic like me, that was really sweet. Darn it. Another one liner I can't use on my future dates. I really need to get a girl who doesn't watch movies at all man. Wuahahahahaha... Wait a minute... I had one just like that.

Grins.

Blame the fried brain. Why else am I still sprouting trash at 1am here?

Sigh.

Can't wait for PCK next saturday... Still thinking of them yellow boots...

Grins.

Lord, Thy Will Is Hard

Henry remarked to me on saturday that I seem to be reading a lot of books on brokenness lately, and I guess he's right. Hadn't even really noticed. But when I tried to do a count, I dun really think its so much books ON brokenness, as its more how the brokenness that the author mentions seems to just leap out at me. Still, that being said, the fact of the matter is that the latest book I just finished readings titled "A Tale Of Three King", by Gene Edwards.

This book, at least, is indeed about brokenness... the subtitle reads "A study in brokenness"... Hehz...

And I thought it was a really really interesting read. It was a basically a tale based upon three kings in the Bible, namely Saul, David and Absalom. The dedication reads:

To the brokenhearted Christians coming out of authoritarian groups, seeking solace, healing and hope. May you somehow recover and go on with Him who is liberty.

And to all brokenhearted Christians:

May you be so utterly healed that you can still answer the call of Him who asks for all because He is all.

And on the first page of the intro, he says this: "I utterly underestimated the number of devastated Christians out there."

And I guess that really was exactly something I told Henry a couple of weeks ago over lunch, that it seems that so many more authors lately are coming out to write about brokenness and despair... as though we are finally acknowledging the fact that the church's attempts in the past decade to sound the false trumpet of the victorious life we are called to live has utterly failed, and that there needs to be a re-look into what exactly is the victory that the Bible tells us we already have in Christ.

A staff recently sent a newsletter, sharing with us her problems at home, and how she feels very defeated. Somehow I empathized with everything she said right up till she declared that she knew she already had victory in Christ, and that God will surely answer her prayers about her family. I wonder how she explains to the many out there who pray the same prayer of victory, only to watch their loved ones still succumb to SARS or cancer. Don't get me wrong - I have a lot of respect for her faith, and how she is determined to trust in God's faithfulness. But being more anal with words, I can't help but wonder if this has been one of the main sources of brokenness in brokenhearted Christians... those who actually see the hypocrisy of such sweeping statements that has such a hollow ring in view of reality... or else those who have been burnt by the expectations that are imposed on members of a church that makes such a claim.

The book basically calls attention to David's many mishaps in life - from the time when Saul was persecuting him, and he refused to raise a hand against Saul, till much later in life when Absalom raised a rebellion against him, and he again refused to put a stop of Absalom's plotting... Edwards wanted to raise the point that its often in the surrender and acknowledgement that the injustice we face in life is a deliberate act of God to break us, to humble us, that we might be better used by Him. That many times, those with the pseudo authority in church, that publicly wield authority, are often the very ones who God judges, much like the pharisees.

I quote a few paragraphs from his book. This was written from the perspective of an old soldier who was interviewed abt David's rule, who was around in the cave when David had the chance to kill Saul but chose to spare him.

I will tell you of my king and his greatness. My never threatened me as yours does. Your new king has begun his reign with laws, rules, regulations and fear. The clearest memory I have of my king, when we lived in the caves, is that his was a life of submission. Yes, David showed me submission, not authority. He taught me not the quick cures of rules and laws, but the art of patience. This is what changed my life. Legalism is nothing but a leader's way of avoiding suffering.

Rules were invented by elders so they could get to bed early! Men who speak endlessly on authority only prove they have none. And kings who make speeches about submission only betray twin fears in their hearts. They are not certain they are really true leaders, sent of God. And they live in mortal fear of a rebellion.
.
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He taught me that authority yields to rebellion, especially when that rebellion is nothing more dangerous than immaturity, or perhaps stupidity.

No... authority from God is not afraid of challengers, makes no defense, and cares not one whit if it must be dethroned.
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Men who don't have authority talk about it all the time. Submit! Submit! That's all you hear. David had authority, but I don't think that fact ever occured to him at all. We were six hundred no-goods with a leader who cried a lot. That's all we were!

I thought it was a very powerful picture that he painted... doubly poignant since I'm one who recovered from such authoritarian treatment... but more so because only on sunday, at Zhang Mu Shi's place, Henry raised the point about how important it is that as our ministry grows, we must not lose our greatest strength that started it all: our bottom-up mode of leadership, where everyone matters, and its never the leaders who decide everything. Only not too long ago I was thinking to myself how much easier it would be to be able to decide things without the concensus of the majority, and the need to educate them. "Just do it, and let them fall in line!!!" used to be my policy. And so reading this book, and the remarks made on sunday just seemed to be a stinging rebuke to me, that I'm in danger of doing unto others that which I wished had not been done unto me.

I once told myself that if I had caused one person to stumble in order to prosper a whole ministry, and benefit a lot more, it would still not be worth that one person falling away... and to think barely half a year into ministry, I already was so close to joining the dark side...

Hehz...

Anyway, I think I'm breaking out into a fever... been having pretty bad bodyaches, and a really bad headache... Sigh.

Today was a really really uneventful day, given just how hot it was, and I stayed at home nearly all day long. But ah well. Went out for supper with Daoxing.

Today's Jingliang's birthday, and he had a really hot dinner date!!! Whoo hoo!!! Grins. Good for him man...

Ah well. Need to go rest this tired old body of mine... Its been one of those imexplicable days where I just feel very very down, very very depressed. On days like these, I just entertain really irrational thoughts, being pissed at my family and thinking of suicide.

Sigh. Lord, Your will can be so hard some days... You know the things that I desire, the things that I have been asking for... even one of which would make this life a whole lot more bearable... yet You persist to withhold them all from me, asking that I continue to trust in Your faithfulness in spite of what I see right before me...