I know it's seven months too early to use the "C" word in titling a post, but bear with me.
I'm aware I've ranted several times in the last few months about being emotionally exhausted, but this week I hit an all-time low. Close friends know that I have depression tendencies, and in the more recent years, I've learnt to catch the symptoms early enough to talk myself through them and call a friend.
Well, I started spiralling down this week. So I called a friend. Two friends, actually. Janice and Kathrin basically ordered me to check in with them at certain points during the day to make sure I was still dealing healthily with things, and we made plans for me to crash at their place this week.
Sometimes, when you've hit that low-point, all you can say through the tears and wanting to hole up away and disappear is "ok" to friends who order you around to take care of you because you don't have the resolve to fight for independence anymore.
Yesterday morning, as I woke up on Janice's couch, I thought of the last time I crashed on her couch. It was the Christmas season of 2011. I was living with Kathrin and Stefan at the time, but with their family in town and Janice being back in Australia for the holidays, we decided it was easiest if I stayed at Janice's for the ten-or-so days.
In the last few years as I was finishing up seminary, I began to dream of a time when I would get to start my own Christmas traditions. Knowing that working in a church usually meant I won't get to be back with family in Singapore, I dreamt of Christmas Eve, and welcoming friends to Christmas dinner in my own place. I dreamt of Christmas morning done at my own pace, with my own tree (my last two years in Anderson, I stopped fussing over a tree because I would be spending most of Christmas season in Singapore anyway), and coffee and Christmas brunch...
And as I woke up on Janice's couch on Christmas morning back in 2011, it occurred to me my first Christmas by myself wasn't quite what I imagined it to be. I only just found out a few days prior that my visa had been approved to stay in New Zealand, so I was barely getting settled in. I didn't have my own place, much less my own tree.
Sometimes, life just doesn't go the way we think it would.
In the last month or so, I've spent a lot of time reflecting on all that has been and all that is to come. My visa expires at the end of the year, and I'd like to already have plans for what is to come after this year.
But life doesn't always work like that.
Instead, we're thrown curve-balls, and walk down paths we never quite expected.
We learn that just because we have the ability to do things doesn't always make us the right people for the job.
We go through doors and jump through hoops, wanting to run away yet willing ourselves to keep walking because of this thing called Faith.
We are challenged to speak, yet we doubt our own voice.
We discover the things that get us going, the things that make us get up every morning and decide we can do our small part to change the world.
And we find joy and sorrow, laughter and tears through the process of approaching this God that loves beyond human comprehension, and we plead for Kingdom come.
One of my favourite things about the rainy seasons in New Zealand is that we often end up experiencing all four-seasons in a day. And the beauty of the rainbows that show up between the rain and the sun. And I'm reminded of a God that is faithful through the seasons; a God that will bring beauty out of the discomfort of the in-between times.
This morning, I caught a recording of Carissa's AhMa (grandma) singing, "主耶酥爱我，因圣经告诉我" (Jesus loves me, for the Bible tells me so). And I can only say in the words of Rich Mullins, "Ok, alright, uh-huh, amen" because I no longer have the resolve to fight.
主耶酥爱我，因圣经告诉我
Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so
24 May 2013
20 May 2013
What If... ("But we have this treasure in clay jars...")
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if we strip away the smiles we hide behind
The pretence of laughter
The outer layers of a rose-coloured, picture-perfect world...
What if after all the tears have been shed
After all the nights of crying out, "God, deliver us"
After all the questioning and doubt
After all the words have been said
What if all that's left is a very raw sense of pain?
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if we all just got along
What if we never had to say goodbye
What if innocent children didn't have to suffer
What if...
What if we simply stopped pretending
No more "she'll be right"
No more "it's all good"
No more "I'm fine"
Will we get through it?
Or will we run away from that very raw sense of pain?
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if love isn't the answer
Or what if love has run out of strength to hold on
What if love no longer has patience to wait for healing
Or what if love means letting go
Will the very raw sense of pain be too much?
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if all we have left to live on is simply the prayers of a scattered community
What if we find ourselves on our knees, face to the ground
What if morning and evening, we can only cry, "Lord, have mercy"
Will we make it?
But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.
- 2 Corinthians 4:7-12
What if we simply lived on the prayers of the scattered community
What if we simply get on our knees with our face to the ground
What if we simply cried out morning and evening, "Lord, have mercy"
What if that's enough?
"For we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if we strip away the smiles we hide behind
The pretence of laughter
The outer layers of a rose-coloured, picture-perfect world...
What if after all the tears have been shed
After all the nights of crying out, "God, deliver us"
After all the questioning and doubt
After all the words have been said
What if all that's left is a very raw sense of pain?
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if we all just got along
What if we never had to say goodbye
What if innocent children didn't have to suffer
What if...
What if we simply stopped pretending
No more "she'll be right"
No more "it's all good"
No more "I'm fine"
Will we get through it?
Or will we run away from that very raw sense of pain?
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if love isn't the answer
Or what if love has run out of strength to hold on
What if love no longer has patience to wait for healing
Or what if love means letting go
Will the very raw sense of pain be too much?
"But we have this treasure in clay jars..."
What happens when the clay jars are too broken to hold the treasure?
What if one wave after another has knocked the clay jars over time and again
And there's nothing left that is strong enough to stand?
What if all we have left to live on is simply the prayers of a scattered community
What if we find ourselves on our knees, face to the ground
What if morning and evening, we can only cry, "Lord, have mercy"
Will we make it?
But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.
- 2 Corinthians 4:7-12
What if we simply lived on the prayers of the scattered community
What if we simply get on our knees with our face to the ground
What if we simply cried out morning and evening, "Lord, have mercy"
What if that's enough?
"For we have this treasure in clay jars..."
13 May 2013
Mothers' Day
Yellow and orange carnations.
That's what I think of every Mothers' Day. Because that's what I remember about every Mothers' Day growing up. Dad would wake my brother and I up early, and we'll go to the market to pick out flowers for Mum. We would try to hurry home so we'd be back in time to make breakfast for Mum.
Except for the two times that we were in the same part of the world because the family had come to Anderson for graduation, the last nine Mothers' Days have been celebrated by a text or phone-call. Anderson, Auckland and Singapore were just a little too far away to make the trip.
Maybe because I've never been too eager to be a parent myself, Mothers' Day has always been about Mum, Grandmas, and all the mums I've adopted in various parts of the world. Over the years, I've read posts about being inclusive (especially in church) when celebrating mums, and I've always nodded and agreed. But it had never been personal, maybe because I still saw myself as a little kid pretending to be a grown-up.
Until this year.
We usually do a themed family style pitch-in dinner after service each Sunday, and this week's theme was Mothers' Day. Men and kids were encouraged to be the ones to be responsible for bringing the food (we were willing to accept take-aways too) this week instead so that the lady of the house didn't have to cook.
My gut reaction, as usual, was to think about the people in our church who might have been excluded because of that demographic--those who either didn't have a husband or kids... And realised, I was the only one in our tiny community church that fit into that demographic.
Then I remembered the words a dear friend once jokingly said, "Pastors don't count, remember?" So I sucked it up and didn't feel the need to speak up for myself.
I went ahead and made my share of the pitch-in anyway (because that's what good clergywomen do). When I took it into the kitchenette at church, one of the kids came up to me and said, "Why did you make food? I thought only the men and the kids were supposed to do it?"
Usually when folks try to convince me to either find a guy or think about having kids, my usual comeback is, "I simply don't have the time, energy, or really care enough to do that." But that few seconds in the kitchenette with Hannah's innocent question, I felt like I was less than human because I didn't have a man or kids, so I had to spend the morning in the kitchen.
Before this turns into a "woe is Jael" story (because that's not the point), let's just end here with this gentle reminder to consider a bit more inclusivity, especially in our church language. I know the intention wasn't to make anyone feel left out, and we may never fully include everyone, but let's remind ourselves again each day to at least try.
Big love to you all. Oh, and if you're a mum or grandma by birth or adoption, or a spiritual or foster mum and grandma, I celebrate you. Thank you for your love.
That's what I think of every Mothers' Day. Because that's what I remember about every Mothers' Day growing up. Dad would wake my brother and I up early, and we'll go to the market to pick out flowers for Mum. We would try to hurry home so we'd be back in time to make breakfast for Mum.
Except for the two times that we were in the same part of the world because the family had come to Anderson for graduation, the last nine Mothers' Days have been celebrated by a text or phone-call. Anderson, Auckland and Singapore were just a little too far away to make the trip.
Maybe because I've never been too eager to be a parent myself, Mothers' Day has always been about Mum, Grandmas, and all the mums I've adopted in various parts of the world. Over the years, I've read posts about being inclusive (especially in church) when celebrating mums, and I've always nodded and agreed. But it had never been personal, maybe because I still saw myself as a little kid pretending to be a grown-up.
Until this year.
We usually do a themed family style pitch-in dinner after service each Sunday, and this week's theme was Mothers' Day. Men and kids were encouraged to be the ones to be responsible for bringing the food (we were willing to accept take-aways too) this week instead so that the lady of the house didn't have to cook.
My gut reaction, as usual, was to think about the people in our church who might have been excluded because of that demographic--those who either didn't have a husband or kids... And realised, I was the only one in our tiny community church that fit into that demographic.
Then I remembered the words a dear friend once jokingly said, "Pastors don't count, remember?" So I sucked it up and didn't feel the need to speak up for myself.
I went ahead and made my share of the pitch-in anyway (because that's what good clergywomen do). When I took it into the kitchenette at church, one of the kids came up to me and said, "Why did you make food? I thought only the men and the kids were supposed to do it?"
Usually when folks try to convince me to either find a guy or think about having kids, my usual comeback is, "I simply don't have the time, energy, or really care enough to do that." But that few seconds in the kitchenette with Hannah's innocent question, I felt like I was less than human because I didn't have a man or kids, so I had to spend the morning in the kitchen.
Before this turns into a "woe is Jael" story (because that's not the point), let's just end here with this gentle reminder to consider a bit more inclusivity, especially in our church language. I know the intention wasn't to make anyone feel left out, and we may never fully include everyone, but let's remind ourselves again each day to at least try.
Big love to you all. Oh, and if you're a mum or grandma by birth or adoption, or a spiritual or foster mum and grandma, I celebrate you. Thank you for your love.
02 May 2013
The Lion
She took another bite of the apple as the rain drops continued to tap against the windscreen. She had been watching the clouds all day, debating whether there would be enough of a gap between each spurt of shower for her to make it out to the water.The drive out had provided enough of the quiet she had been thirsting for, and she was ready to simply turn back and head home since she really wasn't wanting to talk. "You're already here. Just get out of the car and go."
Sighing, she grabbed her bag of sour patch kids, got out of the car and headed for the water. She got to her usual spot and plopped everything down in the sand. Her mind drifted back to the conversation she had with her BFF a while ago, where she was trying to explain that rather odd relationship she had.
"Maybe you should talk to him about it..."
"Well, he and I aren't really talking at the moment. I mean, it's kinda like, I text him to report about the job since he's the CEO, but he's also wanting to be BFF. I just don't really have time for the BFF thing at the moment."
"How can he be your CEO AND BFF at the same time? That just complicates too many things."
"Well, I don't really get it either. But I guess if I did, I would have humanized him too much."
 |
| Lion Rock, Piha |
She smiled to herself. She was used to being surprised by him now, but she wondered how she hadn't figured out the form he was going to take on today. His steps were graceful as always, and he made his way over to where she was and sat down beside her. His mane shone in the evening sun and they both sat in silence for a while--her in awe, him watching the water and waiting for her to speak.
She reached for another handful of sour patch kids as they sat watching the waves crash for a while. Finally, she tilted her chin slightly toward the water and asked, "That big?"
He gave her a sideway glance and raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right? I MADE those, obviously I'm bigger than that.""I know, show-off," she muttered quietly. "I was just trying to make conversation."
Deep inside, she knew they both knew she wasn't there to talk. They continued sitting in silence for a while, and she absent-mindedly began scooping up handfuls of sand and covering her feet with the fine grains. She wondered if he was going to speak.
"You've changed, you know..." he finally said.
Keeping her focus on the sand, she took a deep breath. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.
"Look at you. Of all places you chose to meet me here where we can be close to the ground, to the water, to the dirt."
She sighed. "If you're insinuating that I'm no longer the prissy city girl that can't get her feet dirty, yes. I've changed. Don't make a big deal of it. A little bit of dirt doesn't hurt anyone. Besides I can always take a shower later."
He was right. She had changed. Life was no longer about the pretty faces, the bright lights and keeping the distance from strangers. There was work to do to get things growing where the mud and dirt was, and she had found life to be more abundant in those places. Oh, there was plenty of work where the bright lights and the pretty faces were too, but she could no longer shrug away the realisation that when the shiny and pretty were completely stripped away, all that was left was dirt--the same dirt she had gotten used to digging her hands into, the same dirt that she had found beauty and life in.
She leaned over and rested her head on his back. That was when she noticed the coffee cup in his paws that was obviously too small for him to drink out of. He simply had it perfectly balanced on his paw.
As if reading her thoughts, he stated very matter-of-factly, "I don't drink coffee. I only have that cup because you asked if we could have coffee. I had to pretend so you didn't feel awkward."
She smiled to herself, grateful for the friend that was also father, mother, boss and protector of her life.
They sat in silence for another few minutes; silence that she found to be so comforting.
"Where to from here, Raiona**?" she finally asked. When she finally realised he wasn't going to answer, she smiled, packing up her things and walking back to the car. She already had her answer.
“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
** Maori for lion
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