You feed others. Who feeds you?

I am not afraid

2011-12-29T17:24:00.001-08:00

I must not be afraid of the lows and downs of my life.

For without giants, there are no heroes.

Without challenges, there are no challengers.

No Goliath, no David's one-stone win.

No Midanites, no Gideon and his 300 men.

In my life, I have met many moments of trials and traps.

But God turns them into tools to train me, and build my trust and tenacity.

I have faced my share of Pharaohs and Pharisees.

But God uses them to push me to my knees. And to pursue authenticity and pay attention to Him.

Yes, I must not be afraid of the lows and downs of my life.

Though I feel weak now, I shall be strong.

I see obstacles, but by His power I will overcome.

No giants, no heroes.

No challenges, no challengers.

THE NEW NORMAL

2011-11-25T15:59:00.000-08:00

"We don't have weekly date nights anymore!"

"Thanksgiving isn't Thanksgiving for us this year - no turkey (too expensive in this country)."

"I'm not a good mum - I haven't been baking lately."

This past week, I'd heard many people telling me their life isn't "perfect".

Why? Because "it ain't normal."

"What's normal?" I asked.

"Who decides what's right or perfect or normal anyway?"

Santa Claus? (he's not here anymore)

Your neighbor? (he doesn't really care if you had turkey)

The whoever-she-was who wrote that "Perfect Man" article? (she might not even be married)

What's really normal?

Look at our Lord Jesus Christ.

He defied all definitions of what's acceptable and respectable and, yes, "normal" in His time.

He touched the leper. He spoke up for the women. He cleansed the temple.

He set people free.

Look at Mary.

She didn't just break that perfume bottle. She broke all fears of pressure and prejudice and what men in her time felt wasn't "normal" for her to do.

She did what she could and not what people wanted her to do - or not do.

She did a "good thing" for her Lord.

My "new normal" husband doesn't remember to compliment me every time I have a new dress or hairdo.

And he buys pots of plants for me, not bouquet (the botany major in him finds expensive dead flowers sub-normal).

My courageously "new normal" daughter has almost blonde hair, works from home, borrows my shoes (and clothes and scarves), and reaches out to abused and abandoned children..

As mum, I try to be as "new normal" as possible.

My baking sucks.

I'd never done porridge for my baby like all "normal" Chinese mothers would.

But I held her hand through her first ear pierce, took her to a Guggenheim art exhibition, and brought her to Mongolia, China, and the Seychelles on mission trips.

I bet if we allow the "new normals" into our lives every day, we'll appreciate more, whine less, cross more boundaries, and live life to the full.

Let's not be just normal.

Let's be more than normal.

Hi HOW ARE YOU? COME BACK!

2010-12-19T16:57:00.000-08:00

I remember my first Christmas party.

Uncle Tommy, mum’s brother, had brought my siblings and me to his church youth Christmas celebration that morning. “Whoever brings the most kids wins a prize,” he announced as we packed into the bus.

We didn’t win (a huge guy with 15 tiny friends did); but we were happy enough with the games, M&Ms and agar agar.

A lady sitting next to me asked for my name. “You’re 13?” her eyes fluttered excitedly when I told her my age in my softest voice possible. “Join my Bible class! Next week come.”

Next week I didn’t come. In fact I’d completely forgotten about her until two months later when I received her card in the mail on my birthday.

On the outside, it had pink and yellow flowers drenched in glitter; on the inside, she’d written in cursive words: “Hi, how are you? Come back.”

When we were little, my family couldn’t afford birthdays. On the rare occasion when there was extra loose change, mum might boil two eggs for us on birthday mornings.

That year, that sparkling card was all I got. But it made my siblings green with envy and me feeling tall and happy.

More important, it helped me to listen better when a chapel speaker at school shared the Christmas story nine months later. That wasn’t the first time I heard the gospel though it was the only time I paid attention, and eventually received Jesus as my Savior.

Dozens of Christmases have since come and gone.

Having lived in Europe, Africa, India, the Philippines, Hong Kong, and Korea, I have observed Christmases in numerous climatic conditions, culture, and hairstyles.

I know the magic of a white Christmas with snow boots, scarves, and a sniffing runny nose; I have also sung “Silent Night” to booming Indian drum-beats, bundled up and bulky in six yards of sari.

But whatever the language or location, smell or sound, I have learned that Christmas should be exactly how it came to me 40 years ago.

Not about frantic gift buying (every year I hunt for, wrap and scotch-tape 37 presents for relatives alone), party dresses, and Christmas menus (one year I baked three turkeys; I hadn’t done turkey since).

But taking the trouble to come out of our comfort zone to go out of our way for others, because Jesus took the trouble to come down to earth and go to the cross for us.

It could mean coaxing that young one to church for the first time; asking for the name of that stranger sitting next to us every Sunday; and hunting down a card with pink and yellow flowers drenched in glitter, and sticking it in the mailbox so that we can tell that someone we haven’t seen for while:

“Hi, how are you? Come back.”

I AM FREE (Reflections from study on Galatians)

2010-11-01T18:33:00.000-07:00

I AM FREE

From judgement and judgemental spirit

to justification (Gal 2:15, 5:26).

From self and slavery

to sonship and service (Gal 4:7).

From works of the flesh

to walk by the Spirit (Gal 5:16).

From fleshly affections and affiliations

to the fruit of the Spirit (Gal 5:22-23).

From lusts and empty boastings

to love and bearing of one another's load (Gal 5:26 - 6:2).

I am free.

The only life I have left is Christ's life in me (Gal 2:20).

The only burden I carry

is the bondage to love one another (Gal 5:13).

HOW HAVE THE MIGHTY FALLEN!

2010-05-27T20:32:00.000-07:00

Second Samuel began with the death of Saul and David, ever the faithful soldier, crying out, "How have the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle!" (2 Sam 1:25)
The question I have today is "How, indeed, have the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle?"
Well, for David, "the battle" came when the trained warrior and proven strategist least expected it, as all our waterloos will be.

2 Sam 5: David was God's choice as a teen, but only at 30 years old, he became the people's choice. Didn't know it's so hard to convinse man, huh?

2 Sam 6: after almost a century (or at least 60 years), the ark came home, thanks to David. Applause. Great job.
2 Sam 7: the king in the palace offered to build God a house but God in return made a covenant to build his house forever. Applause again. What an honor.
2 Sam 8-10: seven big battles won over his enemies (well, actually two were walk-overs). Can't beat that record, can we?
2 Sam 11: anti-climax. The mighty fell.

Where? In a "safe" place: his palace.
When? At a "safe" time: "In the spring at the time when kings go out to battle" (2 Sam 11:3).
How? Through one innocent walk and one harmless peep: at a woman having her evening bath.

Term break.

This is when many student teams go out on mission trips.
Personally I have been approached by two teams to pray for them daily: one to Mongolia and one in a remote place in East Asia.
And I do, praying daily, asking God for their protection, for divine appointments, for victory over darkness.
But they are not on their most dangerous grounds. The field isn't where the mighty usually falls.

So how have the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle?
Where they feel safest: maybe in the office, our own living room at home, watching TV, surfing the net, letting their hair down, letting their guards down, downloading.
When they are most comfortable: confiding in a friend who understands, in the presence of someone they could be vulnerable with, perhaps even a stranger.
While no one's watching. While there is a fleeting moment of boredom and escape from reality and responsibility.

While everyone's off to war.

END WELL: reflections from I Samuel

2010-04-09T21:25:00.000-07:00

He started well, his name was Samuel.
Chosen by his parents,
Tasked to be God's voice to the people.

He started well, his name was Saul.
Chosen by God Himself,
Tasked to be the first king.

He started well, and he served well.
For his audience was God
And His strength the Lord's approval.
So he wasn't afraid to use harsh words
Even to the king
And make unpopular decisions.
Ah, his name was Samuel.

He started well, and he served with harshness.
For his audience was self glory
And his strength numbers and power.
So he wasn't afraid to employ ruthless measures
Even to his own son
And make stupid decisions.
His name was Saul.

He started well, and he ended well.
Even when the people rejected him
He didn't abandon his commitment.
He remained powerful in influence
For he cared not for position.

He started well, but he ended in shame.
Even after God's rejection
He refused to abandon the throne.
He had not a shred of influence
Even though he clung on to his position.

Be inspired by Samuel, learn from Saul.
One ran the race and stuck to the lanes.
The other stuck to his title, but died in shame.
Start well, why not?

But it's how we end that counts.

ORLANDO BLOOMS

2010-03-14T15:26:00.000-07:00

I flew 44 hours last week.
Spent seven days in Orlando, Florida, to attend a conference and meetings at headquarters. Highlights:

1. Having the room at Merriot all to myself for three days (room-mate decided to stay somewhere else with friends). Spent wonderful "let's talk" time with the Lord, especially when I was wild awake and home-sick in the wee hours of the morning.

2. What fascinated me at the two-and-a-half-day Synergy Conference: Judy's daughter Michelle, who's like sunshine; Scot McKnight (he inspired me to study and think), Carolyn James (I'll never look at Ruth and Boaz the same), and Judy's final message on the Holy Spirit's power (that's what we must emphasize at every conference).

3. Staying with Hugh and Joanne Roberson: my old friends from Manila GCTC days in 1978. Through them, I finally discovered what keeps people forever young: passion for simple things in life and ministry.

4. Meeting up with the Lechliters (my colleagues from EAO) again. Just imagine: Evelyn (who's ABC) and I talking at the same time very loudly in an Italian restaurant, Jerry injecting dry witty words ever once in a while, and Jennifer, their wonderful daughter, trying hard to not look amused.

5. Attending the WR team meeting where everyone was tuned into Facebook, Thai take-in, and every topic under the sun.

6. Looking out from Judy's office window and listening to her talk about alligators in the lake outside headquarters. Cool.

7. Speaking at the wives' meeting on the last morning. Everyone's been so kind with their feedback on the "One Thing" talk.

8. Laughing and being serious, talking about nothing and everything with Jennifer, my Charlie's Angel, at Park Avenue.

9. Visiting with EAST alumnus Steve Ang Moh Cole and his wonderful colleagues at the prayer center. That was like tiramisu to my banquet at Orlando.

10. Sitting next to Fay - out of all the people in this world - on the long 14-hour flight from New York to Tokyo. She's from China, received Christ in the US, is now a dentist in Orlando, knows and likes Campus Crusade. Her five-year-old was sugar and spice to an otherwise very long and exhausting trip home.

REFLECTIONS FROM 2 CORINTHIANS

2010-02-06T16:10:00.000-08:00

The only real strength we have to boast about is our weaknesses.
The only real work we should do everyday is rest in Christ.
Our glory is the Cross.
Our lessons come from our pain.
Our treasure is in earthern vessels.

We may botox, make over, and slap on the anti- potions, but the outer man is still decaying.
We may groan and grit, and be pushed and punished, but our tents are only temporal.
Our body is not naked, our approval comes not from man.
Our house is not built by hands, our home is not in this world.

For when we die daily, we truly live.
When we have nothing, we possess all things.
When we separate from the world, we are one with God.

Let us give in our deep poverty for we shall be enriched in everything.
Let us sow abundantly for God will make all grace and all sufficiency abound to us for all liberality.

2009-12-04T18:28:00.000-08:00

YOUR children are not your children.

They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.

They come through you but not from you,

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,

For they have their own thoughts.

You may house their bodies but not their souls,

For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.

For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.

The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.

Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;

For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.

(M.Scott Peck, quoting Kahlil Gibran, in The Road Less Travelled)

too many minds

2009-11-30T23:04:00.000-08:00

Tom Cruise wanted to be a samurai in "The Last Samurai."

He knew how to handle the sword.

He had the fire in him.

But he couldn't beat his opponents.

That was when his Japanese friend whispered in his ears, "Too many minds. Mind the sword. Mind people. Mind the enemy."

"Don't mind."

And so he learned.

To not let his "too many minds" distract his focus, and weaken his moves.

And he became a warrior.

In this season of celebrations, camps, and year-end commitment, let us not let the "many things" bother us and cause us to lose sight of the "one thing" that is needful, Christ Himself.

Let us not be too many minds.

Don't mind.

deadringer

2009-09-23T03:09:00.000-07:00

Last month I attended five funerals - of five men.

Two died suddenly, without warning.

One of them, in his sixties, was still jogging the week before the heart attack took him.

Two struggled with long illnesses but knew the Lord before they passed away.

The last one, the grandpa of one of my students, was the only non-believer.

But his funeral was also the most unforgettable.

It was a Hindu ceremony.

At the last rites, the deceased's three sons had to make a final journey around his coffin.

One of them, in white robes, carried a clay water-jug that was filled to the brim, on his shoulder.

The three men had to walk around the coffin three times. At the beginning of each round, the water-jug was slightly cracked by the priest to allow water to leak out.

Then at the end of the walk, the jug was suddenly dropped to the ground.

Crash!

A hundred broken pieces of clay and water splashed all over the floor spoke vividly of the fragility of life, and the finality of death.

That day I turned my mind to Eccl 12:6 where we're told that there comes a time for every man when "the pitcher by the well isshattered and "the wheel at the cistern is crushed"; and man returns to his eternalhome and faces his Creator.

But before that day arrives, which will come surely, andoften without warning, let us live and love well.

Let us enjoy the people God has blessed us with, and be faithful to the task He has called us to.

MY BABY HAS GROWN UP

2009-07-25T00:48:00.000-07:00

As I watched her walk across the stage to receive her degree, my mind raced back to the day she 'graduated' from kindergarten.
The mortar board, the robe, the 'degree', even the feelings - everything seemed familiar. My baby has graduated from University.
My baby has grown up.

I remember during her first year of uni, the night before a project was due, her computer suddenly crashed (it was 2 or 3.00 am).
She cried inconsolably. Actually she screamed.
And she had every reason to. She had worked on it for days.
My husband tried to rescue the destruction but it was futile.
It was too late.
Suddenly, she stopped crying. She walked to the kitchen, gulped down a drink, got back to her desk, and started on a new design without a word.
I remember thinking, "My baby has grown up."

One day she called home during a camp she'd volunteered for abused and abandoned kids (Royal Family). She was a counselor.
"Mum, it's tough," her voice was soft. "The kid I'm assigned to is hard to handle."
I prayed for her and told her not to give up.
When she came home three days later, she slept the entire day and didn't say much.
The following morning she announced, "Next year I'll serve with the group again."
And she did - for the next and the next years. She even recruited other counselors among her uni friends.
I remember thinking, "My baby has grown up."

Our children grow up. We never could quite predict when; but when it happens we know.
For me I knew in many unexpected moments.

Like when I said "No" to something she wanted (and my heart was so torn) and she responded, "Ok mummy."
No tantrums, no argument, just gracious acceptance.
I was surprised.

Like when once in JC she told me to my face that my remarks about so-and-so were unfair. "You don't even know her," she said calmly.
I was taken aback.
Because she was right. But more strikingly, she spoke to me like an adult. A more gracious adult.
I was pleased.

Like when she emailed me an article last year and said, "Mum, read it. You will like it." I did like it.
It was inspiring - both the article as well as the sender, who thought about feeding my mind.
I was humbled.

My baby has grown up.
I'm fortunate because I've had the privilege of being there to witness, savour, enjoy, and even learn from her maturity and individuality.
Got to be one of the most blessed things of parenthood.

HAVE A BREAK

2009-06-29T23:40:00.000-07:00

I'd been busy. But over good things.

Went to Mongolia on a ministry trip for two weeks in May.

Had the best time. Also because this time round Roland - and a colleague Jeremy who's a gentle soul - were with me.

Then we came home for a wonderful reunion with our long-suffering daughter who singlehandedly took care of the plants, fish and cats while we were gone.

The good news is none died.

And she missed us.

That was followed by a flurry of activities.

Went for a short trip to Bintan for beach, snorkling, and swimming.

Then I spoke at a youth camp.

In between (I know this sounds confusing), went to Malacca with my family.

It was a great treat getting to know my niece and nephews, and tall and handsome Brandon (mum's grandson no 1) who flew in from Vancouver.

Breaking from the routine.

Always good for the body (especially the getting out of Singapore) , refreshes the vision (teaching the Mongols was faith-stretching and rewarding), and warms the heart (the 24 kids who stood up for commitment at the youth camp encouraged my soul).

about slumdog and all that jazz

2009-04-24T18:33:00.001-07:00

Ok, those of you who watched Slumdog Millionaire, the Mumbai-based poor-boy-made-rich Hollywood flick put up your hands.
Right. Half of you.
Not to spoil it for you who haven't watched the show (where have you been, my friend?), let me take you to where the "tea boy" finally got the money and found the gal.

It was in the railway station.
He'd promised to wait for her at the railway station, for as long as it'd take, until she arrived.
And as he waited, and waited, and waited, she came.
Clad in jeans and a yellow shawl, she stood three train platforms away, breathlessly stunning.
Then their eyes locked.

And in true Hollywood Bollywood style, he ran to her. (I saw the movie twice for this part!)
Now in case you think we’re coming to a slow-mo sequence, you got to remember this is big-time director Danny Boyle.
So it was just running.
From one platform, down the track, up, across another platform, and down, up, non-stop, all the way he pushed until he reached her.
And in cinematomatic magic, as he made his way to her, his life flashed by.
The childhood. The pains. The ups. The ugly. The turning points. The learning curves.
It was as though everything in his life was culminating at this point.

And when they finally stood face to face, he kissed her (of course).
Not on the lips – not just yet.
But on the scar on her left cheek. The scar that says her life was blemished forever.
Kiss. Love. Happy ending. Healing and restoration to her wretched life.

Sigh. That's Hollywood.

But here's the catch.
Our tea boy wasn't the great rescuer.
When he loved her, and got her out of the other slum, really it was she who delivered him.
You see, she - by becoming that one meaningful focus of his miserable life - gave him a reason to be good.
Saved him from aimlessness.

Made him truly rich.

There's a lot of application here, isn't there?
I don’t know about you but for me, I was reminded to not pat myself on the back when I love and do my bit for God.
I'm not doing Him a great favor.
I'm really allowing the One I should love to save me.

Keep me focused.

Keep me from losing my way.

The Curious Case of Aging

2009-02-15T01:22:00.000-08:00

It was my birthday and I saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.

Timing's perfect as the theme is about time, growing older, younger, whatever.

The movie is 45 mins too long, if you ask me, but it has much to teach us.

Here's what I came away with:

1. When we're old, it's hard to look glamorous - not even when you have a face like Cate Blanchett.

2. When we're old, it's hard to be pretty - not even when we are Brad Pitt.

3. Growing older is not a bad thing at all. It's worse when you're growing younger (and everybody else is growing older).

4. Growing older is not such a dreadful thing. It's how God planned it to be and there's a whole lot of wisdom for it.

5. Being old isn't the most horrible state we could find ourselves in. Being foolish, lonely and with nothing to live for - albeit young and attractive - is a more painful thing.

6. Being old isn't the end of finding love and companionship. Benjamin Button was loneliest when he started to look young - really young.

ON REMEMBERING THE DEAD

2009-01-17T02:42:00.000-08:00

Today a group of us - my brother, his wife and three kids, my sister, and my daughter - went to the columborium to mark dad's ninth death anniversary.

Each year the 'ritual' is about the same.

Earnest (brother) would clean the plaque as he's the only one tall enough to reach the top level where dad's picture is placed, someone will change the plastic flowers, each person says a few words of what we remember best about dad, then we read the scriptures and pray.

Today Amy (sis) turned our attention to several passages on the hope of eternal salvation and redemption we have in Christ.

"Because there's a resurrection," Earnest said to his sons who were surprisingly very attentive despite their ages (Nat is 8 and Elliot is 5), "you will see your kong kong in heaven some day, isn't that great?"

I doubt they understood what it all meant.

But the visit each year must certainly have made an impression upon their little lives.

For one thing, it keeps alive their link with the dead .

Earnest's kids had never met dad, unfortunately; but they know through the visits that their father also has his own father, whom he doesn't forget though he's passed away.

It's a long way for us to go to the columborium.

It takes planning and effort to interrupt life just to remember the dead.

But the journey always renews us: our gratitude for the past, our ties with one another, and our resolve to live well even for the sake of those who come after us.

LET US PRESS ON TO KNOW

2008-12-23T21:57:00.000-08:00

"And here among the bracken the thought came back to me;

that it was the greatest good fortune not only to be fascinated by animals but to know about them.

Suddenly the knowing became a precious thing."

James Herriot, All Things Bright and Beautiful.

Fascination is a wonderful word.

It means there's interest, passion, bright-eyed wonder.

But 'know'?

Here's a different level of meaning: it implies commitment, going further and deeper, asking questions, probing, chasing after the passion, taking the road less traveled perhaps.

Lately I've been studying the book of Isaiah and it seems that repeatedly, God's key charge against His people is they did not know Him.

Isa 5:13 "Therefore My people go into exile for their lack of knowledge - of Him, His ways, His plans, His justice and righteousness."

Sure they were offering their sacrifices and paid their dues. But it was lip-service and practice of 'tradition learned by rote' (Isa 29:13).

You could say they had some kind of fascination with God.

But they did not know Him.

For this Christmas season, "let us know, let us press on to know the Lord. His going forth is as certain as the dawn;And He will come to us like the rain,Like the spring rain watering the earth" (Hos 6:3).

LOVE THY NEIGHBOR

2008-10-10T02:59:00.000-07:00

I LIVE in Jurong, known for the Chinese Garden, Bird Park, Science Center, factories and foreign workers.
For the past nine years, I'd seen an increasing number of 'foreigners' in my neighborhood.
I see them during my after-work grocery shopping. I'd wonder how they'd cook the vegetables or meat they chose, and which I never pick simply because I don't know how to cook them.
I queue up with them at the ATM machines, sometimes literally dozens of them during pay-day period. And feel their joy as they banter with one another, wide grins on their faces, as they claim their hard-earned cash.
At times I see some of them making long-distance calls home. From their tone of voice, I could tell the person on the other side of the line would be someone they care about, and probably live for.

MY daughter - who four years ago took the MRT to junior college in the wee dark hours of the morning - told me two weeks ago that during those days, she'd walk past groups of foreign workers on the way to the station.
When I asked how come I never heard her mention this before, her answer was matter-of-fact. "What's there to tell?" she said. "I passed them every morning for two years, they waited for their transport, that's that. It was a non-event."

IN my youth classes at church, I've had many opportunities to refer to the 'aliens' and 'strangers' in our midst.
I'd tell my wards that these are someone's sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers. That somewhere out there, there are people who worry if they ate or slept well, who pray for their well-being, who love them to bits.
We may not know or understand them, they may look and behave differently from us; but that doesn't mean we should despise or fear them.
After all, we are all created in the image of the same God, we share the same need for air, shelter, love, and kindness.
Will some of them harm our daughters? Maybe. But so will people who live in posh neighborhoods and drive big cars.
Do we need to take caution against these 'strangers'? Sure. But just the same common-sense caution we take anyway with all people we don't know.

James 2:2-10
For if a man comes into your assembly with a gold ring and dressed in fine clothes, and there also comes in a poor man in dirty clothes, and you pay special attention to the one who is wearing the fine clothes, and say, "You sit here in a good place," and you say to the poor man, "You stand over there, or sit down by my footstool," have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil motives? . . .
If, however, you are fulfilling the royal law according to the Scripture, "YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOURSELF," you are doing well. But if you show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors.

BASIC THINGS

2008-08-17T03:48:00.000-07:00

I wanted to quit teaching Sunday school at the beginning of this year.
Too busy. Too tired. Too long (I've been a teacher for close to 20 years).
And to be honest, I'd love to have an early lunch and longer fellowship with the adults on Sunday.
But God wouldn't let me. So I stayed.

Today I feel I've seen a tiny breakthrough.
The class opened up, and everyone shared about her struggles - with school work, fear of failure, loneliness issues, and parents' high expectations.
One of them thanked me for being her teacher.
One gal, who never made eye contact with me, told me she couldn't love herself.
Six months ago, I'd never imagine this could happen.
We're, after all, talking about bored, blase, and over-stuffed second, third generation believers.
So what helped?
Not better teaching skill, visual aids, program, or syllabus. Although these can help.

It's the basic things.

Like praying for the girls faithfully.
I read somewhere that if we prayed for someone for 10 mins, or even 5 mins, a day, something will change. Something's bound to change.

Loving them genuinely.
Remember birthdays; send a text message to say, "I'm praying for your test"; say, "I like your outfit."
Kids today are measured, accessed, criticised and judged constantly.
They thirst for acknowledgment, praise, and sincere compliments.

Being audience-focused, rather than syllabus-focused.
I believe in syllabus (I'm working in a seminary); but syllabus can't be a one-size-fits-all.
We must tailor, apply, and make lessons relevant to our listeners' needs. Real needs like how to face my parents when I didn't do well, how to say "No" to sexual temptations, how to love myself when I'm not tall, smart, or skinny enough.
We must teach looking at their faces, not our class notes.
We must touch hearts, not cover lessons.

Being vulnerable, honest and open about our own weaknesses and struggles.
One girl told me that when I shared with the class some time ago of my fears to go to Mongolia but went anyway by faith, she was encouraged. And she found the courage to trust God in overcoming her fear of going to a new school.

I read Howard Hendricks' Teaching To Change Lives 20 years ago.
His encouragement to teachers still rings loud and clear in my heart today.
In his opening chapter, the former professor at Dallas Theological Seminary talks about his own Sunday school teacher. This woman's ministry resulted in 84 young men going into full-time ministry.
Here's what he says:
"If you ask me the secret to this woman's impact, I'd give you a totally different answer today from what I would have said twenty years back.
"Back then I'd have credited her methodology.
"Now I believe it was because of her passion to communicate.
"My heart's concern for you is that God will give you a passion like that . . and never let it die.
"And I hope you never get over the thrill that someone will actually listen to you and learn from you."

Crouching Tigers, Hidden Dragons

2008-07-12T07:18:00.001-07:00

YOU ARE at Watsons. You see yourself in the mirror and smile.
That’s when she pounces on you.
“Hi!” Her high-pitched voice startles you. “Slimming tea for your tummy and butterfly arms?”
Meet ‘Sale-by-Insult’, one of Singapore’s illustrious crouching tigers and hidden dragons.

INSULT' has a second cousin: ‘Smooth Operator’.
Now, this tiger does not tear you to bits. He flatters, and comes bearing a gift.
And when your senses are numb with delight, he operates - on your brain - and smooth talks you into buying something to deserve that gift.

SINGAPORE

is a shoppers’ paradise.
But with our tigers and dragons breeding profusely like rabbits, we’re fast becoming paradise lost.
Seriously, how did we get here?
What happened to 22 years of courtesy campaigns? Why do the rude, bad, and ugly continue to reign in our service industry?

YOU KNOW the culprits.
The ‘Unsmiling dragons’ at check-out counters.
The ‘Circling Tigers’ who stop their taxis only for angmoh tourists.
The ‘Illusionists’ who trail you around in departmental stores like blood-hounds, then vanish like ninjas when you finally need something.
And what about the ‘What-You-See-Is-All-You-Gets’? Ask them for anything - stockings, sandals, salted fish - and they give you the same classic answer: “See lor. Got, got. Don’t have, don’t have.”
Finally, ‘The Terminators’, who disguise themselves as manicurists but are really agents with lethal weapons of precision timing.
These dragon ladies are ruthless. They only unsheathe their claws to terminate - your ego no less - only after your fingers are wet and immobilized, and your toes freshly painted and all clamped down.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” they hiss at you while you sit trembling, like some little trapped creature.
“Dry skin, enlarged pores, crow’s feet. How about a S$599.00 miracle-cure treatment?”

I FINALLY figured out why despite the good work by the Tourist Promotion people our tigers and dragons are still alive and well.
Here's the secret: Singaporeans are just too polite!
Oh we do stick out our don’t-mess-with-me ugly kiasu heads, but only when junior comes running home wailing over unfair PSLE Math questions, or when someone cuts into our Changi Village nasi-lemak queue.
Most of the time, we simply shrug and ‘take it’; or if we are very brave, ‘leave it’.

WE ARE so pathetically polite that we reciprocate freebies we don’t need by paying for stuff we don’t want.
After all, our mothers taught us to be grateful and say, “Thank you”, didn’t they?
We are so embarrassingly polite that we clean up our plates in restaurants like silenced lambs — even when they come late, cold, and, nothing like what we were promised.
Our mothers taught us that too, remember?

WITH DUE RESPECT to all our long-suffering Singaporean mothers, I say it’s time we stop being too polite.
It's time we stand as one united people, regardless of race, language or size or shape; and insist on decent manners, resist traps, and persist in saying, “No!” “Leave me alone!”
Let us resolve to report the villains, reject the insults, and refuse to pay the service charge when no service is due.
Only then can we extinguish the crouching tigers and hidden dragons from our concrete jungle.
Restore our self esteem.
And save our paradise.
Please.

THE TRANSIT - IS ALSO THE JOURNEY

2008-07-09T01:21:00.000-07:00

FLIGHT delayed. Bummer.
After 18 hours of flying from Singapore, and five hours of waiting at Chicago’s Ohare International, I was more than ready to get going.
Then the announcement came: “Flight to Orlando delayed for four hours.”
“Lord!” I cried. “This is so purposeless! I’ve a meeting to attend, people to meet, the Great Commission to fulfill!”
As I sat there leafing through my Bible, fuming, the Lord spoke to me,
“Waiting is part of the going,” He said, “the transit—is also the journey.”

THAT was a ‘moment’. One to which I’d return again and again to revise the lesson I learned that day. Like when my husband stepped down as national director two years ago.
On 1 July 2006, we left the local office of Singapore Campus Crusade and began our new assignment at EAST, the East Asia School of Theology.
We were in transition.
It wasn’t sudden. As early as two years before then, we started to prepare for the change.
It wasn’t like we were stranded. We were sought after by north (Japan), south (Australia) and EAST.
It wasn’t as though we’d missed a step. We took time to inform, announce, prepare others. Everything was thought through, and unhurried.
Yet, on moving-out day, I didn’t feel ready.

HERE’S what I learned about transitions.
I learned that even with the best preparations, transitions are hard things to do.
It’s saying “goodbye” to the familiar that’s hard.
I remember waking up in the middle of the night and thinking the strangest thought: “I won’t see so-and-so at the zerox machine anymore.” I cried.
I wasn’t even close to so-and-so.
One day, while clearing my drawers, I suddenly realized I’d be giving up my parking lot, and the tears flowed.
The emotions weren’t always logical but they were real.
I learned that though I’d said my goodbyes verbally, emotionally I was hanging in in-between for a while longer. I was where Linus was, as writer Marilyn Ferguson put it, “when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.”
It’s the indefinite waiting for things to pick up that’s hard.
The first week at EAST, my husband and I wanted to jump right in and become instant insiders. But we couldn’t.
There were boxes to unpack, emotions to sort through, and new routines to remember.
Our engine was stuck in second gear.
It’s not being able to skip any step that’s hard. Because transitions—getting out of, getting used to, getting there—take time. There’s no short cut. Whether it’s overcoming a heartbreak, or adjusting to a new culture, new job, new cell phone—it takes time.
And time won’t be rushed. Time moves at its own pace and rhythm; time keeps us humble.
So I learned that it’s wise to leave transition alone.
And while it’s working out the process, fret not but soak in all that God wants to teach us.
For me, one key lesson was a refresher course on self-worth.

WHERE do I find my self-worth? Is it from the number of people who report to me or the title that follows my name?
Or does it—as I always preach—come from Jesus and Jesus alone?
I wrestled with these questions. I asked myself if I honestly believed in my own answers. And God directed me to the life of John the Baptist.
John the Forerunner was the kid “most likely to succeed.” He had a job description and title before he was born, and he fulfilled it. So perfectly that many of his disciples left him to follow Jesus.
At the prime of his life, his term ended and he decreased, as he himself had predicted—right into Herod’s prison.
From the world’s standpoint, John’s life might be considered an anti-climax. But in God’s eyes, his was a life lived well.
During John’s dark night of the soul, he sent his disciples to ask Jesus if He was the One. And this was what our Lord said, “ . . . among those born of women there is no one greater than John" (Luke 7:28, NASV). What a compliment!
Here’s the point: John’s glory wasn’t found in what he did or where he set up his office. His glory came solely from Jesus’ nod of approval.
So where does my self-worth come from?
It does not stem from position, power, or people; but from my Lord and Master.

COMPARED to what I’ve learned, and am still learning, through the transition, what’s convenience, familiarity and a shaded car park?
While his blanket was in the dryer, Linus must have finally discovered he could survive without his false security, and grew up.
In due time, the coast will clear and my flight shall take off. Meanwhile, I’ll stay put in the transit lounge, enjoy the coffee, and smell the flowers.

HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU KID

2008-06-19T06:23:00.001-07:00

ONE OF OUR two cats is named Fiver.
He's adorable, won't hurt a fly (literally), and looks really cute.
But he's short-sighted, is a true scatty cat (jumps at the slightest noise), and eats too much.
He's so greedy that we used to think he lives to eat.
Until what happened a few years ago.

One day, Fiver swallowed a 1.5 m rope I left on the floor.
It was too late by the time we noticed it. He had to pay for it painfully.
He hid in a corner with a sorry look on his face, and didn't ask for food for two days.
Finally, we took him to the vet.
Usually he would struggle and cry a lot when we took him out.
But this time he just sat in the car, didn't move and didn't complain.
It was sad.
The vet said we needed to leave him in the hospital for 'observation'.
"If he still looked bad after two days, we'll have surgery," she said kindly.

At around 4 PM the following afternoon, I received a call from the nurse.
"You cat may be dying," he sounded urgent. "Please come."
And he added, "When an animal has given up, it has a look; ma'am, your cat has been sitting in a corner all day with that look."
It took 15 excruciatingly long minutes to race to the animal hospital which, to my horror, was a very noisy place.
There were rabbits, some cats, and a huge Alsatian barking its head off.
As the nurse brought me in, he kept saying, "Your cat has given up."
Oh Lord, don't let him die. I prayed desperately.

When I reached Fiver's cage, I cried.
He was parked in a corner, facing the wall, with his eyes closed. And shivering.
Then I called out, "Fiver . . . ."
Before I could repeat his name, he sprang around and ran to me.
And cried out his usual Fiver-wants-food cry (Fiver doesn't know how to purr or meow).
At this point, the vet and four nurses were crowding behind me.
O look, Fiver is back. He's come out of his look!
Everyone spoke at the same time.
One of the young nurses clapped her hands.

As I carried him in my arms, Fiver started to vomit strips of what-was-once-rope.
Finally, I took him home that day.
That evening, Fiver vomited the rest of the rope and was fully recovered by the following afternoon.

We learned several lessons through this episode:
1. Fiver is not a very smart cat.
2. Fiver is a very greedy cat.
3. But Fiver doesn't live for food.
4. He lives for us, his master/mistress.

We are not very different from Fiver.
Like him, we sometimes pay for our foolishness painfully.
And like him, we live - and could only live - for our Master.

TWO NIGHTS IN BEIJING

2008-06-13T06:04:00.000-07:00

AFTER Ulaanbaatar, Julienne and I spent two nights with our friends in Beijing.
Here's what we learned:

When you arrive in China, you must register yourself at a police station (unless you stay at a hotel, which will do that for you). At the police station, I chatted with a Chinese American who had a 'warning' because he registered himself only after nine days in the country.
The city is ready for the Olympics: very clean, I hadn't noticed anyone spitting, and people were very friendly to foreigners. Talk to any taxi driver about the coming Games - and you could the people's expectant spirit.
Silk Street - a popular shopping place for tourists - wasn't our thing. Julienne was actually terrified by the overly friendly sales people.
But the Great Wall was magnificient. If you go, you must not miss the cable car up and tobbagon ride down. (It felt dangerous!)
The Forbidden City was over-crowded with tourists, but Julienne and I enjoyed the dressing up in costumes. I was some famous empress and she was Mulan.
Visited a local market and bought four bags of nuts home. We were impressed that it was very organized and clean (compared to our Jurong East wet market). Shame on us.
Had a $1 wash at a hair salon. It's hard not to laugh when things are so cheap.
Sales people asked the most personal questions. Two Starbucks gals found out where I was from, whom I traveled with, why I went to Mongolia, and how old my daughter was all within seven minutes.
When people are tired, they just sat down anywhere, we noticed. I saw a man stooping down in the middle of a bridge, and another sitting on a highway - out of the blue.

YOU GIVE THEM SOMETHING TO EAT (Mk 6:37)

2008-06-11T23:38:00.001-07:00

THE MONGOL workers are hungry.

They’re hungry for reality in their walk with God. They’re hungry for transformation in their country and personal growth.

So hungry that from four mornings of training, my schedule was stretched to five-and-a-half full days of teaching, counseling and speaking.

And from writing and design skills, I also gave the devotions – on Jesus feeding the multitudes – and team building workshops to the 26 Campus Crusade workers.

I also spoke to journalism students – twice – on how they could be gatekeepers of change in their country. After my talk, a group cornered me and I ended up giving them a message on boy-girl relationship.

BECAUSE they were hungry, they absorbed everything I taught. One staff with the Teachers’ Ministry (which has 600 disciples) typed out my devotions everyday and emailed them to those who couldn’t come.

On the second day, the leaders asked, “When can you return to train us again?” (I have a date for April 2009.)

EVERY NIGHT Julienne – my faithful prayer partner, encourager and helper - and I went to bed bone tired. But God taught us afresh that when we give our five loaves and two fish to Jesus, our baskets would never be empty.

Indeed our hearts were always full.

Our joy was complete.

Highlights in Mongolia

The SKY: think sparkling blue swimming pool in the air.
Mongolian SPRING: sunshine, showers, sandstorm, and snow – all within one week!
SURVIVING Ulaanbaatar’s traffic: some cars have right-wheel drive and others left wheel drive! Go figure.
SHARING and praying with Boggii’s (staff worker) mum, a Buddhist, who served us home-made cheese, and dumplings boiled in milk tea.
STAYING in a hotel that made us feel like being in a Bourne Identity movie. But the toilet worked, the bread was great, and the room was warm (it was May but the temperature was still below 10 degrees C). We also got to play with the owner’s handsome black-and-white mongrel, which we called ‘our dog’.
SALADS – lots of it (surprise)! And we enjoyed the food (surprise!). PS: I only had two close encounters of the mutton kind.
STANDING on Ulaanbaatar’s highest point and holding an eagle (I saw a photo of that 15 years ago and always wanted a go at it). The 11 kg beauty belonged to a Kazakh nomad with a black berry in his pocket.
Mongolia was my favorite James Herriot’s STORIES come true. When a one-week-old lamb fell asleep in my arms, I looked up to heaven and prayed,“Thank you Jesus. My life feels more complete.”
SUPPORT: Your prayers and gifts made a difference to the team of laborers I trained. These people are committed to bringing the gospel of hope to their country, where 99% of the 2 million people do not know Jesus.

Thank you.

TAKING A BREAK

2008-04-06T04:14:00.000-07:00

IT IS THE rainy season, not the best time to go to the beach.
But we did it anyway.
Took two days off to Bintan to enjoy the sand and sun (well, some of it).
Had we gone snorkling, which we didn't as the sea was too choppy, it would have been perfect.
There's nothing like 'crossing to the other side'.
Away from the hustle and bustle of Singapore city life, somehow everything looked different.
Simpler.
Easier.
Less complicated.
It was calming to sit for hours on the beach (it rained some but we survived), read, take long walks, pray, with no schedule to follow, no deadlines to meet.
I particularly enjoyed watching a couple of guys fishing when the rain finally stopped.
We were all strangers on the shore but each time their lines came back with fishes, we all rejoiced.
We even discussed how each type of fish should be cooked.
It's been a long time since I woke up that early to catch the sunrise.
And played ping pong at night.
I didn't come back exactly totally rejuvenated--the lady who massaged my shoulders on the beach said I was too tensed, "Must relax more, madam," she said (good advice).
But I came back grateful.
For the chance to slow down.
Change pace.
And breathe in life--slowly.

SHEEP TALK

2008-02-17T04:15:00.000-08:00

I'M READING a book on biblical leadership by Timothy Laniak.

Entitled While Shepherds Watch Their Flocks, the book is a gem for people in ministry.

Basically the author talks about what shepherds should be, drawn from observations while living in Israel.

The first thing that strikes me is the work of the shepherd is never done!

Besides making sure his flock is well--free of disease, danger and mischief--one of his most challenging roles is to feed the sheep. All the time.

I mean these creatures eat - and drink - all day long.

The very young ones need soft and new grass. The older ones something more mature and solid.
And the shepherd needs to find safe clean water for his sheep.

And when they have grazed enough in one place, he moves them to another for the same thing, the same routine.

Grass. Water. Grass. All year long.

Shepherding is back-breaking work.

There is nothing glamorous or easy or painless about the job.

And the sheep doesn't say, "Thank you."

And sheep business doesn't pay either--not enough for that kind of labor.

You got to love the job--and the sheep, the author adds.

I asked myself many questions as I read the book:

Do I love my sheep?

Do I have passion for what I do?

Am I shepherding or am I just organizing or lording over the flock?

Am I feeding my sheep all the time?

And with the right food, making sure God's Word is simple, palatable, and delicious enough for them?

TOKYO DELIGHTS

2008-01-26T01:42:00.001-08:00

DURING THE LAST week of December, we went to Tokyo to speak at a Japan Campus Crusade retreat for more than 100 workers.

We received many blessings. Here are 10 of them, not in any order:

1. Just being in Japan is a blessing. The cleanliness, the trains that never failed to arrive on time, people in colorful scarves, boots, and mittens.

2. It was minus 3 degrees C the morning we left. But we loved the change from Singapore's heat and humidity!

3. Getting to know the Japanese workers. Their sincerity and warmth surprised me. (Confirmed. Japanese people are not all cold and reserved.)

4. Meeting Keiko Kawagami again. We met five years ago on a mission trip to Tokyo. She visited us later in Singapore and accepted the Lord. She served us a Japanese tea ceremony before we left; it was completely charming.

5. Going to Harajuku one afternoon. We felt we had landed in Manga-land.

6. Dawn, Julienne's friend who came with us. She enjoyed our worship and talks (she's a Roman Catholic), she said. That makes me very grateful.

7. Almost every restaurant and cafe we went to, there was always very nice jazz music playing. That's a treat to us.

8. The sushi and sashimi in Japan are fresh and surprisingly affordable. Our hosts took us to a place where sushi is half the price of what we get here in Singapore. Shocking, isn't it?

9. Staying with Patrick and Estella Low, Singaporeans missionaries, and their three kids. I learned from them how to extend hospitality, enjoy udon in five different ways.

10. Celebrating our daughter's 21st birthday on our final night with the Lows and Dawn. What can I say? It was an evening of good company, great Japanese food, and tons of gratitude. God is good.

MEETING GEORGE AGAIN

2007-08-23T02:10:00.000-07:00

IN JULY, we went for Campus Mission 2007 in Busan, Korea. What a wonderful conference it was.
There were 16,000 of us from more than 123 countries.
I (YK) spoke at one of the workshops to more than 1,000 women, and had many opportunities to counsel students one on one.

I enjoyed myself thoroughly.

But the highlight of CM 2007, for me, was meeting George Verwer again.

Between 1976-1978, I served on board the MV Logos (OM ministry), which brought educational and Christian books to Africa and India.

George, then the director of OM, came to the ship regularly to speak to us.
Once he announced in a public meeting, "If anyone read/listened to 100 books/taped messages within the year, come to me and ask for any book or collection of books in our exhibition and I’ll give it to you."

That--the reward--got me really excited (I was all of 21 years old).

Before the year was up, I had completed 100 books and tapes. Stott, Packer, Tozer, Elliott, you name it, I covered them all.
I even selected my ‘reward’: a multi-volume Bible Encyclopedia (yes I was young AND greedy).

One fine day, we were told George was coming to the ship to speak to us.

The night before he arrived, I stood before a mirror for two hours practicing my claim-the-reward speech.

But halfway through my rehearsal, the Lord spoke to me, "What reward are you claiming?" He asked.
"Haven’t you been blessed already?"

As usual, God was right.
That one year of getting into the lives of those men and women had blessed me richly. My life, habits, convictions, my understanding of God, they were not the same anymore.

No, I didn’t claim my reward that day. I didn’t even tell George I did it (so shy lah).
But after CM 2007, some 30 years later, I finally wrote to him (and that’s because Julienne, who’s endlessly delighted with my story, pushed me to do it).
Yes, and I finally told him his fruit has remained.

Praise God for choosing others to bear fruit in our life.

Praise Him for choosing us to, in turn, bear fruit in other people’s life.

Seven tips to visiting the sick

2007-07-18T00:25:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been visiting someone in hospital.

And I learned many things.

One of which is what to do and what not to do when visiting the sick.

1. Do visit them.

It's a great ministry.

Both to the visited and the visitor.

For me, it keeps me humble.

2. But don't rush in and out.

When we rush, people won't feel the ministry, no matter what we bring them or what we say.

I still remember a superior who came for my dad's wake seven years ago.

He looked and sounded appropriately sorry for me, but stole glances at his watch like 20 times throughout the ten long minutes he stayed.

He needn't have come, I remember thinking.

3. Be cheerful.

Don't giggle and tell jokes but don't pull a long face either.

The gal I'm visiting is all of 16 years old.

It's already very sad for her to be lying down all day for the past three weeks, and be subject to all sorts of tests every day.

She doesn't need to comfort her visitors by being extra cheerful.

4. Bring something to brighten up the day.

Flowers, huge cards, soft toys, anything.

This gal's aunt brought all her barbie dolls and decorated the room with them.

Even the visitors sqealed with delight.

5. If the patient is up to it, do something with him or her together.

I brought my MP3 player and we worshipped the Lord together to 'Heart of Worship'.

It was a quiet, joyful time together.

6. Don't talk about yourself for more than five minutes.

One visitor went straight into her own journey of sicknesses and healing the moment she arrived.

She meant well but the teenager switched off.

Clearly she had heard one 'comforting' story too many.

7. Make yourself useful.

Sometimes it means running errands for the family.

I brought my daughter to make cards with the teenager while I took her mum, who's the patient's constant caregiver, for a drive out and fresh air.

bear with me

2007-03-31T08:11:00.000-07:00

In recent days there’ve been a lot of bear buzz at the Berlin Zoo.
It’s to do with a cute and white four letter word: KNUT.

Knut is a polar bear born at the zoo on 5 December 2006.
He was raised by human hands because his mother had refused to nurse him and his brother, who later died.
The cutie, who’s now a 19-pounder, became a global sensation, after an animal activist had insisted that it be killed since its mother did not want it to live.
Raising it through humans, he claimed, is cruel.

Reminds me of the story in I Kings chapter three in the Bible about King Solomon, the wisest man on earth, and how he settled a dispute between two prostitutes.
The women gave birth to sons in the same house.
One of the babies, however, died, in the night; and the mother of the dead child claimed that her housemate’s son was hers.

After hearing their arguments, Solomon summoned for a sword.
“Cut the boy in two and give each woman half the baby,” he said to his men.
The mother of the living baby panicked, and begged the king to spare her son, and give him to the other woman.
That was when the king knew who the true mother was.

You see, the one who truly loved the child didn’t have to be right.
The animal activist, in fighting for his "child"--his cause for preservation of animals, etc., which are all good--was willing to sacrifice the cub.

Why? Because he had to be right.
He had missed the reason behind his mission.

Great stories--both this and the one from I Kings.

Timely reminder too for me:

that I should never forget the reason behind what I work hard in,

that it's easy to lose the human touch even when fighting for a GREAT cause,

that once in while, it's ok not to be right.

NOTES FROM A CAT LOVER

2007-03-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

Yesterday while hunting for a parking lot near my church, I witnessed a hit and run.
The victim was a white cat with blue eyes.
I was in time to see the car screeching off, followed by two women running out of their terrace houses to tend to the bloodied remains of the animal.

By the time I got out of my car, everyone was sobbing: the two women, a maid, two children hiding behind their gate, weeping.
The bones of the animal were broken. The car must have been in high speed. It was a residential area.

The owner, a 70-plus woman in a flowery housecoat, couldn’t bear to touch it. So the neighbor and I moved the body to the shade.
As she covered it with a towel, weeping, the lady asked me, “Could it still be alive?”
“No,” I replied. Thank God it didn’t suffer.”

Later, as I sat with the owner, she told me how everyone in the lane loved the cat.

And it had been her constant companion ever since her husband passed away and daughter married off.
“My son, who lives with me, doesn’t talk to me,” she said.

Halfway, she showed me, from an album, pictures of her husband’s young handsome face from long ago, playing the piano; and herself in dancing shoes, looking very pretty.
“I used to go for ballroom dancing every week,” she said.

Then she wept. Bitterly.
For the things she has lost: her husband, her youth, relationship with her son, her cat.

For almost 20 years, I had parked in this upper-middle-income neighborhood near my church almost every Sunday.
I would admire the picket fences and well-tendered gardens.

Sometimes the dogs would come out and look at me, wagging their tails.
Seldom would I see the people living in the houses.

But yesterday, I stepped inside one of those gates and took a peek into someone’s life.
And I was reminded that behind the high walls and well-renovated exteriors are people with memories, heartaches, husbands who left, hearts that could be lonely.

I’ll not walk in this neighborhood the same way again.

Salt of the Earth

2007-02-03T16:47:00.000-08:00

Some time ago, someone said to me, "What a round chubby face you have."
No I wasn't devastated.

And my face is fine, thank you very much.

A few days later, a friend and I were enjoying our girls' day out when we bumped into an acquaintance.

Right after the 'nice seeing you again', the person said to my friend,
"You look sick, not enough sleep is it?"

I could write a book about the unflattering things people say.

Here are some I've encountered:

"Long time no see, recognize your big face anywhere."

"You're really a very nice person although you look fierce."

Here's another half-compliment-half-insult: "Love your curls but they look good only for your age group."

Why O why O why do people say unkind, insensitive, even rude remarks to others?
After thinking about this for several weeks, here's my humble conclusion:

people who throw such remarks to others don't really care about how or why people look sick, pale, tired, or big-faced.

In fact, they probably don't think much about what they said before, during or after they said them.

Don't take them personally.

So why do people make such unkind, insensitive, even rude comments?

Here's what I think:

1) people say such things out of sheer hard training and habit;
2) they say such things because they run out of things to say;

3) putting people down is the only way they could feel better about themselves;

4) all of the above.

"When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable,
"But he who restrains his lips is wise.
"The tongue of the righteous is as choice silver, . . . .
"The lips of the righteous feed many,

"But fools die for lack of understanding." (Prov 10:19-21)

Here's what I learned from these wise words:
1) If we edit or cut down words that come out of our mouth, chances are we will hurt people less.

2) When we hurt others with uncaring words--even when 'we didn't mean to'--we can't take them back. Some hurts don't heal with time.

3) If we have nothing good to say, it's better to not say anything.

4) Hard words don't make people strong. They just make them hard. I know of marriages that died because of unpremeditated, guile-less but unkind, insensitive and rude remarks.

6) Finally, if we consciously speak words that 'feed' others--bring encouragement, healing, growth--we are wise.

And are truly salt of the earth.

Farewell, My Friend

2007-01-23T01:23:00.000-08:00

At the beginning of the week, I had resolved to talk about something light, even funny.
After all, I'm a happy and optimistic persons.

But the way things evolved, I will talk about yet another death.
My friend's death.

I got to know Lianne three, maybe four, years ago at a meeting in the US.
Her German-accented American English mesmerized me.
And her wit, intelligence, and gentleness.
They never failed to capture my attention.

Through the years, we moved from colleagues to friends.
We met a couple of times in the US, and in Singapore when she came two years ago to speak at a conference.

Lianne was ten years older than me, and several degrees more qualified.
But she was never afraid to ask for my opinion or admit she knew less of some things in life than I.
Told you she was intelligent.

She was brave too.
When the Berlin Wall came down, she--a single woman--was among the first to go in to reach out to students on the university.
She studied the language. Overcame the odds. Did what God called her to do.

After that trip to Singapore, she was suddenly diagnosed with cancer.
During her darkest hours, she wrote, "I'd conquer this.
"Don't give up."

On January 19 2006, Lianne left her body to be with the Lord Jesus.
She fought till the very end, her brother wrote.
Two days before she passed away, her mum, two sisters and brother held a communion service by her bedside.
As her mum placed a bit of bread in her mouth and touched her lips with wine, her brother said,
"You gave her her first meal and now you are giving her her last.”

Farewell my friend, my dear sweet friend.
And thank you.

For telling me shortly after we met, "You're smart and talented."
That surprised me, coming from you.
For volunteering me for that writing assignment,
even though you and I knew there were smarter and more talented writers available.
For pushing me that time to get on with that project.
And when it was a success, thank you for saying,
"I never once doubted you could do it."
And when we were having our juice in that Shenton Way cafe,
thank you for telling me right in the eye,
"Never give up.
Never stop trying, and becoming whom God wants you to be."

Lianne, my sweet Lianne,
my friend,
mentor,
co-wrestler,
thank you.

"Saying Goodbye"

2007-01-13T05:43:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, National University of Singapore's Associate Professor Ananda Rajah died of an heart attack.
Hundreds flocked to his wake to say their last goodbyes (Huang C 2007, ‘Goodbye, Professor’, http://www.straitstimes.asiaone.com/).
People remembered the popular lecturer fondly.
"I was his student, yet he was my fan," one said.

Saying goodbye. Whether it’s to the dead or dying, it's not an easy thing to do.
Yet, it's a necessary part of life.
Often, the ability to say goodbye well brings resolution, and gives us permission to move on.

My dear friend Angel lost her dad a month ago.
Mr. Koh had dementia and a host of other ailments for five years.
“When they said he might go soon,” she said to me at the wake, “I prayed that God would allow daddy to recognize me, even for one fleeting moment, so I could say goodbye.”
That moment came days before he passed away.
In one of those rare times when he would remember his loved ones, Mr. Koh suddenly recognized his youngest daughter.
And so Angel told him how much she loved him.

How she 'd never forgotten the little things he said, the places he took her to as a child.
How he would always be her daddy.
They had an hour of bonding and saying goodbye.
Then he was off again. He never recovered.
“I miss him badly,” Angel told me. “But I’ve said my farewell."
"I can move on.”

A few years ago, while shopping at IKEA,

I bumped into an old acquaintance.
First question I asked Jan, “How’s your mum-in-law? I heard she’s very ill.” Unbeknownst to me then, Jan and her husband, who's the brother of a friend, had already divorced.
In fact, she'd just come back from overseas where she lived for several years.
Two weeks later, I met Jan again. At her ex-mum-in-law's funeral.
We sat, made small talks; then out of the blue, she touched my hand and whispered, "Thank you.”
It was a god-send that she bumped into me, she said.
“When my marriage failed, I took off and left.
"I didn't say goodbye to her. She'd loved me as her own daughter."
And so for two years, Jan had carried a guilt in her heart.
Until the day we met at IKEA.
That evening, Jan contacted her ex and rushed to the hospital to see the mum-in-law.
"I went there to ask for her understanding and forgiveness.
“But when I saw her frail and kind face," she said,
"I just sat there and cried and cried."
That day, two women said goodbye to one another.
It was a time for grace and forgiveness.
It was a time for courage and healing.
A time to allow each other to move on.

“Am I My Children’s Keeper?”

2007-01-09T18:42:00.000-08:00

First there was the story about the couple who interrupted their brain-damaged child’s growth.

The reason: so she’d be more manageable (‘Pillow Angel’, TIME 2006).
Then the video clip, on CNN.com, of a 17-year-old in South Africa who has been forced to fend for five hungry kids.

The reason: her parents had died of AIDS.

There’s been much talk lately on what’s right and wrong with decisions made by parents.

It may be good to put arguments of ‘ethics’ aside and ask ourselves one simple question: what is our role as parents?
Are we not our children’s protectors, dream-keepers, dream-makers?
Are they not entrusted to us by our Maker as a stewardship—to be loved, and nurtured?

My daughter volunteered for a Royal Family Kids' Camps for abused children last Christmas.

First day, the organizers told her:

“These kids have bad memories, imprinted by their parents or care-givers.
“Your job is not to erase these memories or heal them. You can’t.
“But you can help them make positive memories.”

Let us live our lives well every day so our children won’t have to pay for our lame excuses and side-shows.
Let us not forget we are but their keepers.

Let us at least help them make some great memories.

"IT'S IN THE TIMING"

2007-01-07T18:17:00.000-08:00

I'm writing about Saddam.

This shows the man is really famous, not for how he lived—and his life was brutally evil--but the way he died.

Bad timing. That’s what it was all about, wasn’t it?

No doubt there was a 'certain sense of historic justice' to where and how he died (The Straits Times, 6 January 2007, p. 30),

but the timing sucked.

Executing the man during the Hari Raya Haji festivities reeks of insensitivity, even insanity, in this day and age.