A lovely week

Term break at last.

I forfeited my previous term break and taught throughout (that was in March) because I wanted to save up some holidays for more crucial times of the year. Most of my students didn't go anywhere that week because it was only one week of holidays, and so their parents agreed to bring them for classes. Looking back, while it was certainly a fruitful week, I don't think it was kind - at least to myself, the teacher. By April, especially towards the recital and beyond, I was burning out fast. I was growing very resentful towards the kids who habitually do not practise (and parents who think that it's the teacher's responsibility to keep them on track regardless of their commitment). Hyperventilating out of great annoyance has been a common phenomena of late. Good grief! It is a wonder that my hairs haven't turned white yet.

And then May arrived.

I am so thankful that the term break has begun, for my sanity's sake. It began with a lot of meet-ups with good friends from near and afar; it will conclude with a family vacation. Needless to say, time will fly past because we're having fun and soon, the term break will be over. But I hope to make every moment count and so, I am even blogging - which I haven't done in a while.

Anyway, a side-note...

The other day, an ex-student of mine texted; said that she was moving house and she had two boxes of piano repertoire for lower grades up to ATCL; wouldn't be needing those books ever again, so would I please have them?

Those of you who read my previous post know that I might be resigning from my job at the music school end of this year; this happened right after I informed my bosses. (By God's grace, they were open about it despite our short-handed situation.) My ex-student's offer seemed to point me to the fact that I will always be a music teacher somehow, and ultimately, God's musician. So, don't feel like the world will leave you behind even if you have to step out of the teaching scene again, for a while... "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways...for as the Heavens are higher than the Earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts..." (Isa. 55:8, 9). I was struck by the irony of my situation; here I was worrying about the practical aspects of my resignation: will I be OK as a stay-at-home-mom again? Where will the money come from? How will my portfolio look? Will I be able to work from home? Will my employers be furious? Etc. But God, who has all the answers, only acknowledged so very kindly the fear deep down inside my subconscious - the fear that I would be a nobody... forgotten, left behind, and looked down upon.

Indeed, to obey God is better than well-meaning and even pious-looking acts that ultimately serve self.

Sophie's diaries : Easter 2017 and her Not-so-Infant Baptism

After wrestling with the idea of infant baptism for 3 years, we finally decided to baptise our firstborn today.

Now of course, by this time, she isn't an infant anymore. She is also able to confess on her own that Jesus Christ died on the cross for all our sins - hers, mummy's, daddy's, gong-gong's, ah-ee's, etc - whatever her understanding of sin is - and yet, He is alive. She requests prayers; prays over the little hurdles she meets in life (like "God, please put all the bad guys in the world in the naughty corner..." or "God, please give us an empty parking lot..."); looks forward to the eschaton where she will meet especially that older brother who died in mummy's tummy and returned Home to God; and is able to reason much more than an infant. She manifests faith to a certain extent. Her baptism was not-so-infant. But, I am glad that I thought through the whole infant baptism thing... and I am not too ashamed to admit that my previous understanding of it could have been incomplete.

Here are the points I thoroughly considered:

First, while it is essential that a person confesses with his mouth that Jesus is Lord and believes in his heart that God raised Him from the dead (Rom. 10:9), where in the Bible does it say that baptism can only be administered for one who has reached the age of reason to do so with full conviction prior to baptism? While repentant converts were certainly baptised as the impetus for discipleship, we also read in the Book of Acts that their families were baptised with them, e.g. Lydia (16:15) and the Philippian jailer (16:33). Among the families/households must have been children of all ages, infants included. Furthermore, the Apostle Paul notes that baptism has replaced conventional circumcision; it is to be a "circumcision made without hands" (Col. 2:11-12). As we know, circumcision under the Old Covenant was for Jewish infants as much as it was for older boys and men among God's chosen people. Such unaware infants were circumcised in anticipation of the faith and community in which they would be raised. Would Paul have chosen such a metaphor for baptism if he had meant to exclude infants? And what about the mentally disabled who can never fully reason on their own?

Secondly, one is admitted to Holy Communion on the basis of his/her baptism. In other words, baptism initiates one into the life of the church community, beginning with the Lord's table. If we expect our children to participate in corporate worship, get serious about God, commit to discipleship, and make disciples (Matt. 28:18-20), they should first have a sense of belonging to the community. Holy Communion, I believe, should then be an important part of a child's early experiences of church because it nourishes this sense of belonging. (Of course, teaching children not to take it in vain is just as important.) Furthermore, the Holy Communion and its liturgy speak so much of God's grace - past, present, and future. Holy Communion is in fact, a sacrament that strengthens, affirms and conveys the grace it symbolises. Must a child/infant, by virtue of his/her baptism, only have access to it when he/she reaches the age of reason? What is the age of reason anyway? Can we, adults, say that we are fully reasonable at our age?

Thirdly, what is baptism? Is it just a public manifestation of a person's conversion or is it more? Is it necessary for salvation? For those who can be baptised, "...Baptism... saves you... not as a removal of dirt from the body but as an appeal to God for a clear conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ" (1 Pet. 3:21). Baptism joins us to Christ's death by which we are set free from the power of sin - because he/she who dies finally escapes the grip of sin (Rom. 6:7). Just as God's people were no longer slaves in Egypt through the water, we are no longer slaves to sin - and we can finally obey God if we wanted to. We can now say NO to sin and say YES to God - a lifelong responsibility and journey. Which parent, given the opportunity and their authority over their children's lives, would not want to avail this grace to them - the ability to say no to sin and say yes to God? "Permit the children to come to Me," Jesus said as His disciples rebuked the mothers bringing their brepha (Greek: infants) to Him so that He might touch them; "and do not hinder them for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these" (Lk. 18:15-16). One day, they must decide for themselves to follow Jesus wholeheartedly. But until then (and who knows what tomorrow might bring), is it not right for parents to bring their brepha through the exodus waters of freedom so that the brepha grow up in a new kingdom?

I am sure that I would be more open to baptising the next infant I have (if ever).

Sophie's Diaries : Graduation from a Parenting Course

We did it. As a family.

Yup, Sophie sat through the parenting course with us. She wouldn't have had it any other way. She refused to go off to the creche for babysitting services without us (duh). We told her that she could stay if she kept very quiet throughout (two-and-a-half-hours each session) - and she mostly did, which was amazing, I thought. Win win.

Of course, she needed some help to stay quiet. Her own little chair to sit on, lots of snacks, some toys, some trips to the bathroom, a pillow to nap (she'd hug me when she was tired and fall asleep on my lap), and lots of reassuring hugs (and kisses) as well as shushes. Also, ehem... some warnings that she might have to go to the creche after all whenever she got a little bit noisy. That part was inevitable. Nevertheless, she was generally well-behaved - God be praised - and it was such joy to have her with us throughout the DVD sessions, discussion group and etc. I am so, so proud of my grown-up baby.

Our group (sans one more couple who arrived late yesterday) and our facilitators (first 2 from left to right)

The parenting course was aimed at parents or caretakers of 0 to 10-year-olds. Together, we explored the building of strong foundations in our children's lives, their needs, boundaries that have to be set, healthy relationships that have to be modelled and encouraged, as well as our long-term aims in parenting. It was tremendously helpful to have our group facilitators share their parenting experiences with us; we also discussed our common struggles, especially in disciplining our children (and disciplining them while their grandparents try valiantly to come to their "rescue"). Very encouraging, definitely.

I think the course also helped me as a teacher to children, a majority of whom are below 10. After all, teachers are said to be acting "in loco parentis" while the kids are in their care i.e. "in place of a parent" (latin). While I believe that "in loco parentis" is in the professional context of educating the kids (as in, teachers are educating the kids in place of their parents back home) rather than a parental relationship (which often requires one to provide assistance to the kids beyond professional boundaries that might be inappropriate), we have to be yet mindful of the values they catch from us, the image of God as Shepherd that we portray, their needs, their self-worth, and the boundaries we need to set. Throughout the course, I was reminded of how ripe my mission field of teaching music is for harvest - and how lucky I was to have been equipped with the tools to reap.

The Ethiopian Eunuch

26 Now an angel of the Lord said to Philip, “Rise and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza.” This is a desert place. 27 And he rose and went. And there was an Ethiopian, a eunuch, a court official of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, who was in charge of all her treasure. He had come to Jerusalem to worship 28 and was returning, seated in his chariot, and he was reading the prophet Isaiah. 29 And the Spirit said to Philip, “Go over and join this chariot.”30 So Philip ran to him and heard him reading Isaiah the prophet and asked, “Do you understand what you are reading?” 31 And he said, “How can I, unless someone guides me?” And he invited Philip to come up and sit with him. 32 Now the passage of the Scripture that he was reading was this:

“Like a sheep he was led to the slaughter
    and like a lamb before its shearer is silent,
    so he opens not his mouth.
33 In his humiliation justice was denied him.
    Who can describe his generation?
For his life is taken away from the earth.”

34 And the eunuch said to Philip, “About whom, I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?” 35 Then Philip opened his mouth, and beginning with this Scripture he told him the good news about Jesus. 36 And as they were going along the road they came to some water, and the eunuch said, “See, here is water! What prevents me from being baptized?” 38 And he commanded the chariot to stop, and they both went down into the water, Philip and the eunuch, and he baptized him. 39 And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord carried Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. 40 But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he passed through he preached the gospel to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.

This mysterious story amazes me to no end. Some reflections:

Firstly, an African Gentile's unlikely and not-very-successful (I imagine) pilgrimage into the desert to worship none other than Israel's God... concludes with the gospel in his heart and his baptism. He sought understanding and was enlightened. He desired to repent and a pool of water appeared for that purpose (v.37, c.f. Matt. 3:11). When we seek God humbly, whoever we are, He allows Himself to be found and rewards our persistence extravagantly.

Secondly, the story highlights God's impeccable timing and sovereign providence. He makes everything fall beautifully into place. The coincidences in the story are too many to be merely accidental: the angel's prompting of Philip, the chariot meeting Philip on the eunuch's way home, the passage of Scripture the eunuch had decided to read, Philip's expertise in guiding him to the truth, the pool of water, etc. A child of God must therefore be comforted that nothing can ever happen to him/her which God has not planned or prepared in such great detail so that His goodness shines. God is yet bigger than any difficulty we should face, even death. I think then, that Abraham's attitude toward his bleak circumstances should be our inspiration and goal: "In hope, he believed against hope, that he should become the father of many nations, as he had been told, "So shall your offspring be". He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was as good as dead (since he was about a hundred years old), or when he considered the barrenness of Sarah's womb. No unbelief made him waver concerning the promise of God, but he grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God." (Rom. 4:18-20, ESV, emphasis mine)

Thirdly, the sense of urgency in the story (regarding the eunuch as well as Philip) jolts me to think: do we respond to Scripture as if we might drop dead any moment thereafter and fall short of fulfilling it? For example, Philip could have put the angel on hold until it was convenient for him to journey to Samaria, not to mention a dusty desert. After all, he wasn't told why he had to show up there. The eunuch could have ignored that pool of water: "Oopsie, I didn't wear the right clothes." No. He commanded the chariot to stop and went down into the water at once. I can only imagine that he continued the journey back home drenched but overjoyed (v.39).

Finally, evangelism in this story began with Scripture (v.30). Of course, I'm not saying that Philip's approach is a one-size-fits-all sort of thing (not every unbeliever is reading Scripture when we appear at the scene!) - but I think the story emphasises the centrality of reading Scripture in the whole process. Philip used Scripture to get the gospel message across to the eunuch. Do we, in our well-meaning efforts, tend to skip the reading (and exegesis) of Scripture because we are afraid that those whom we evangelise to might get bored? Would we rather just briefly paraphrase? The Bible must tell its story on its own terms.

"Are you happy now?"

Thanks to my busy schedule on my side of the island, I've had no choice but to stop teaching on the other side.

A particular 11-year-old (well, the only one actually) was very sad about losing her piano teacher, and despite my efforts to find her a suitable replacement, wouldn't give up hoping that I would change my mind. Her dad even asked if he could send her to my side of the island - on which I wasn't too keen because my home piano isn't a very good one to teach on. In the end, impressed by her persistence and encouraged by her enthusiasm, I decided to go the extra mile (literally) just for her. 

When I appeared at her doorstep this afternoon, she leapt up in glee. Later, her mom asked, "So... are you happy now?"

I was so blessed that she said yes. 

The other side of the island

Around this time last year, I blogged about the five blessings that made my year (2015) worth remembering.

It's again, ten days to the end of the year. Has it been a better year, like I hoped in this post?

How do you define "better" anyway? (What was I thinking?) More happiness, less troubles, less emotional exhaustion? I am not sure if my year 2016 was any "better" in that sense. However, something in me has changed. I used to cry out to God to take me Home (while I slept in the night) because I couldn't stand living anymore - and I didn't feel like I mattered that much to anybody. Life would go on without me and perhaps, for certain people, life would be even better. That was the way I was. I realise now, a year later, that I have stopped praying such prayers. Not because God didn't answer them, but because He already did.

He didn't take me Home, of course. No, not yet. But He showed me how hungry I unknowingly was (for the reassurance that He hadn't forsaken me) and filled me good things.

I am still on this other side of the island. I hated it when I moved here 2 years back - and I won't say that I am fond of it now. I miss my friends, the community that I belonged to, the air, the peace and quiet, the sea, the malls, and my freedom to make home home. It is very humbling to live with my in-laws too - in so many ways. However, moving to this other side of the island also meant seeing God's glory shine upon the backdrop of mundane things, the seeming directionlessness, my languishing will to live, and near-mid-life crisis.

And I changed.

The psalmist says that "He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul; He guides in me the paths of righteousness for His name's sake" (Ps. 23:1-3). I think we often think of sheep as passive, dumb, and peaceful followers of the shepherd. How hard can a shepherd's job be? But would God raise a king out of a shepherd boy if his job had been that simple? Some basic facts about sheep that I gleaned from a lifestock management blog today:

1. Sheep run away from perceived danger.
2. Sheep follow other sheep and conform because they find security in numbers.
3. Sheep find it hard to trust.

For a sheep to not run away from perceived danger, to not merely follow the crowd, to let itself be led and to trust the guidance of the Shepherd in an unfamiliar path, it has to see the Shepherd as a friend who has its best interest at heart. A less-than-fully-committed Shepherd would soon lose its sheep. The psalmist both implies that God is fully committed to shepherding and that he is therefore committed to obeying His lead, despite the temptations to go astray. He believes in God's care - that he will lack nothing. Furthermore, goodness and lovingkindness will follow him all the days of his life (Ps. 23:6). There is a sort of boldness in the psalmist's words that I truly admired all these while. It took a move into an uncomfortable zone to show me that the words of the psalmist could be mine too.

If God has shown Himself time after time to be a Friend - a committed one too - why shouldn't I lie down in the pasture He has brought me to? Why should I look down at the waters of sustenance? Or disdain the path because it is rocky, mundane, and seemingly hopeless? I was confronted with these questions at the beginning of the year. It dawned upon me that at the heart of my struggles was not my resentment and disappointment with my hubby's plan to move us in with his parents. Rather, I had allowed my unmet desires and broken dreams to shake my faith in God - that He loved me. The more I envied those who had what I wanted and couldn't have, the more unloved I felt. I let myself think He had conveniently abandoned me. But when I counted my blessings, I knew He hadn't. And doesn't. The cross has sealed the promise. 

So I decided to seize the days I would spend on this other side of the island. I began working out at the condo gym, took on more writing assignments, went on refreshing momcations (while I still had babysitting help from my in-laws), went back to work as a music teacher (my job was a miracle and the favour I continue to receive is a testimony of God's grace), made new friends and signed Sophie up for playschool among other things. God provided for us in ways we never imagined. I don't just hope that 2017 will be a "better" year. Rather, I am actually excited about 2017 because I can't wait to see how certain things unfold - particularly my ever-deepening work with the children, my music, Sophie's growth and development, my friendships, my prayer list, and so on.

We may never return to the other side of the island. I will continue to struggle in various areas and be emotionally exhausted. But I think I could live with these now.

The joy of the Lord is my strength.

Goodbye, 2016. 

The church creche

I must have written something about the church creche before. After all, we sit in there every Sunday.

And so, I find it necessary to write about it again.

To some, it is the most distracting place in the world. Toddlers who must release their pent-up energies (even more so when they are tired) walk around and can never seem to keep their voices down to a whisper... or drag chairs. Babies cry for attention right in the middle of a time of confession. Mothers (and fathers) go SSSSSSHHHHHH at regular intervals and make darting movements to snatch their little ones out of disasters waiting to happen - like hymnals waiting to be scribbled on with felt-tipped pens. Mine, the happy-go-lucky, often finds the environment conducive to do a number two during the sermon.

It is the most distracting place in the world to me indeed. (I blogged about it here.) It feels like the emergency department.

But Sophie said something yesterday that made me see the creche in a whole new light.

We were attending a guitar and drum performance a.k.a. pop music concert at the music school yesterday. I had to be there because I was part of the grand finale teachers' performance and they had asked Ben to be the event photographer. Naturally, Sophie had to come along (the grandparents are off babysitting duties on weekends). She enjoyed herself much but in the middle of all the crash, bang, and jam, she turned to me and said with a pleading voice loud enough to overcome the guitars and drums: "Mummy, I want to go to church today."

I had to reassure her, not once but twice, that we were still going to church in the evening after everything was over.

The church creche was still as distracting as before yesterday. But as I sat in there, I realised why Sophie wanted to be there of all places on a Sunday evening.

It is a plain and rather bare creche.

But it is where love (and ultimately God's love) is found.

As usual, she came to me for hugs and kisses every now and then. A reassuring hug after a fall. A bottle of milk. A biscuit. A change of diaper. Laptime. We rolled cars along the play mat. She flipped through the pages of a book while I listened to the sermon. She also scribbled in the church bulletin. More hugs and kisses. A gentle reminder from me not to drag chairs noisily across the floor. Some shushes. Aunty LC's baby cried and she comforted him. Sophie watched and ran back to me because she wanted her own mummy to hug and kiss her too. We walked to the glass door together during offering time so that she could slip some money into the offering bag. We sang hymns loudly along with the rest of the congregation outside. Finally, Sophie joined in the threefold amen. (No number two yesterday, thankfully.)

Our pastor always comes in to say hi to the creche-lings at the end of the service. I am grateful that she does.

We won't be in the creche forever. Someday, we will be out there, where Sophie will be expected to behave and participate in liturgy like a grown-up person. There will be no toys, no plastic chairs, and certainly no number twos during the sermon (if you can help it, thank you). But perhaps, it is time I appreciated the creche more. Because this is where Sophie learns about God and His people in an age-appropriate context. The God of the creche, the God whom we worship in the creche, the God who gives her parents weekly portions of gentleness, patience, self-control, and tact... is the God of Jesus Christ. The Creator, the Saviour, the mighty Redeemer. In His presence is fullness of joy, pleasures forevermore.

Reverence and love for God should be ingrained in one's heart before he/she worships outwardly with the rest. Only then, can worship be in spirit and in truth. I'm not saying that the creche is the only way - but having to sit in it with your kids must certainly be seen as a blessing and not a drag. I am learning that now.

"Thank You, God!"

Sophie's very first genuine expressions of gratitude to God were about empty parking lots. Her daddy and mummy were famished. We were going for dinner at the mall. The only problem: we had to park the car. Long weekends in Penang always means lots of people everywhere, locals and non-locals alike. And they love to hang out at the mall(s) in the evenings. Somehow.

Finding an empty parking lot in a crowded car park is such a blessing, isn't it?

Yes, thank You God. Not only for empty parking lots but also everything we have in life, including life itself. The human lifespan encompasses a lot of pain and grief, undeniably. Some suffer more than others. Yet, life is worth living because of the potentials in us - to imagine, create, relate, love, discover and grow.

And to laugh.

I thank God for Sophie. The one who makes me laugh so often over the littlest things.

Tonight, she asked me at bedtime what "parents" meant. When I told her that "mummy and daddy are your parents", she suddenly pulled me close, gave me a big hug and kissed me on the lips. I wasn't sure why, but it was certainly nice.

I am blessed to be your parent, Sophie.

G A B R I E L

There are times when I feel like I suck as a pianist. And because of that, I must suck as a piano teacher. Last week was one of those times. 

It's hard to describe why I felt that way. There were many contributing factors on which I find unnecessary to elaborate here, but perhaps, the year end school concert provided the context for my meltdown. I was stressed because some of my students were rather nervous about performing (which made me nervous too, haha), which couldn't be helped, I suppose. But there was a part of me that connected their increasingly cold feet to my inadequacies as a teacher (of course in the retrospect, I feel silly) and musician. Is it because I have failed to prepare them well? Or is it because my expectations are impossibly high and have crippled them? Have I been too hard on them? Or too lenient? Some other unfounded fears crept in too. What if, the adjudicator decides that my students lack something because I haven't taught them well enough? Perhaps, I haven't emphasized a particular technique, a performance skill, or something else that even I am unaware about. Perhaps, I am mediocre. Pianist. Teacher. Everything. 

I was miserable. Disillusioned. Discouraged.

The concert day arrived. The students of mine who were participating did their very best and I was thankful even though some made minor mistakes (no) thanks to nerves. No big deal. I was (and still am) very proud of them!

The certificate (of participation) presentation ceremony was followed by awards for the top three performers of the day. It felt like a hug from God when the name of one of my students, Gabriel, was called. 

After all, Gabriel means "God is my Strength". What a timely, prophetic reminder:

The God who has been my strength will always be my strength - and so, I can do all things, the things He has prepared for me to do. He makes me adequate even where I'm not. His grace is sufficient for me; His power is perfected in my weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). This was the message for me that day. 

To God be the glory. 

Days of exhaustion

Sometimes I wonder how is it possible for one to minister or give without getting emotionally involved. It seems that I can never walk away from any poor soul having been deeply cut myself in some way or another. And perhaps, this serves to magnify the ugliness of sin and the love of God who yet forgives. My only comfort is that the darkness in my own heart meets light through such penetrating wounds. Time heals. May I know my Redeemer, Jesus Christ, in my servanthood sufferings.

It's a friend this time.

A friend on the verge of giving up on life. A terminal illness has grown too painful to bear.

How can I tell her to hold on when she is in so much pain that I barely know? No, as heartbreaking it is for me, it is not about me. And so, I asked her to let go.

O God, be merciful and come to her rescue. Catch her when she falls.

Muse: IM

Knackered beyond words. And down with a flu.

Sophie has also been flu-ish the past week. Which added to my stress. (But it was nothing compared to the food poisoning she had during our trip to Genting Highlands, thankfully!)

In light of my recent life challenges, I am so grateful for technology and the convenience of instant messaging (IM) applications. Think WhatsApp and FB Messenger. I wasn't into IM previously, but I have come to appreciate it more since I began owning a smartphone! Being able to reach out to a kindred spirit who is just a real-time text away (assuming there is Internet connection) is such a relief when you are at your wits end. Furthermore, as a person who dips quite easily into depression, I must say that IM keeps me from swimming too far into the deep end - because it enables me to get help without feeling like I need to see anybody in person, something I truly hate when I am down. (Fine, maybe I am already fairly anti-social without the depression.) And when I say "get help", I'd hardly admit that I am depressed. Perhaps I'd whine a little, but otherwise, it's a pretty normal text conversation - with a close friend. Nevertheless, it makes me feel much better afterwards. So, to you and you and you, thank you.

And why did I bring up the subject of IM anyway?

I wasn't feeling too happy or well today - but I somehow pulled out my phone and texted a friend to check on her (because she's been going through a hard time and the last text conversation we had ended up with her saying (typing), "Sigh." (She did ask me to check on her from time to time.) So, we chatted (briefly) again and couldn't help laughing at her messy situation because it is as hilarious as it is ridiculous and distressing. (Thankfully, things are much better for her now.) Later, we discussed a Bible verse that spoke to her and suddenly, it spoke to me too - I was comforted in my struggles. It then struck me that the IM is a relevant and contemporary means of rejoicing in the Lord "always" (Phil. 4:4, 1 Thess. 5:16-18) - provided we use it the right way. The thing about rejoicing is... it is an action rather than a state of being. One has to choose to do it habitually and purposefully so that joy becomes a very natural lifestyle, wherever one is and whatever the life circumstance. How well IM fits into the picture - for people like me! Of course, I make the effort to meet up with people every now and then - and I truly enjoy doing so on good days - but when I feel like I can't and yet need to get out of my head, IM is such a brilliant tool to get me to "pray without ceasing and give thanks in everything". It helps me to do a Philippians 4:8 when I am in danger of shutting out the whole world and drowning myself in sorrow.

Having said that, I promise to try my best not to be a nuisance to any particular friend. I myself know how harassingly annoying obsessive texters can be. Haha.

30.8.2016 ~ A request and a miracle

Yesterday... I, being very human and desperate, asked God for a sign that He had heard my prayers about (and for) someone and that He's not taking it lightly. "Make it very clear," I begged, "That I might know that You are speaking to me."

I went to sleep, resisting the mocking thoughts that danced about in my head. On the other hand, another voice spoke, "Just believe." I thanked God.  

Believe it or not, something happened today. Something so unforgettably horrendous and yet so mind-blowingly miraculous. A picture of gruesome destruction... and yet God's hand had obviously been there to shield the casualty from death. It was nothing short of a miracle. Pictures of the wrecked vehicle compel one (at least me) to ask... not just HOW but why. Why was the person whom I was praying for involved in the accident? Why did the person not die? (Because it was not time for her to die, most obviously. In fact, she escaped with a mere bump on her head.) Why did the accident happen today - of all days? Of course, I don't think that it happened because I prayed for a sign. Dear me, no. Rather, God had known that I was going to eventually ask for a sign; He allowed me to ask for a sign a day before the accident; and then He used the accident (and every wondrous aspect of it) to speak to me - and probably the person involved. 

And so, this must be the sign. Whatever the message is, God has heard my prayers and He is not taking it lightly indeed.  

It was human of me to ask. But God loves humans and I am glad of that. 

Kung Fu Panda 3

Kung Fu Panda 3 is a very special movie to me.

I watched it at the beginning of my new season as a music teacher. As I mentioned before, this isn't my first teaching stint. It is just that my current job is a lot harder than my previous teaching jobs in the sense of teacher development (which includes audits and exams), time management (loads of juggling between family and work), self-consciousness, and scope. I had severe self-doubts at first. Divine intervention came in the therapeutic form of Kung Fu Panda 3.

I watched KFP3 with Ben the very first time. We loved it. It was more entertaining than anything. The second time I watched it, it spoke afresh to me. I was on a bus returning from the national Electone Festival in KL - having watched many talented youths (as young as 8) display their skills and creativity through their musical compositions for the Electone. (They were amazing!) Behind each participant was, of course, a good, devoted, and sacrificial teacher. Naturally, I was bogged down by a question throughout the Festival: what if I was never good enough to be a music teacher? What if those who had affirmed me were wrong? What if I turned out to be a failure? Why had my mentor/teacher taken me on board with so much faith when she knew so little about me and my abilities? (She's an amazing musician herself.) What if I let her down? For some reason that night, the movie stopped right at the part where Shifu was trying to encourage self-doubting Po to be the teacher Shifu believed he (Po) was to be.

Po: Whoa! What was that? (Shifu made a flower bloom by the power of chi.)

Shifu: That was chi.

Po: What is chi?

Shifu: The energy that flows through all living things.

Po: So you're saying if I teach, I'll be able to do cool stuff like that?

Shifu: No, I'm saying if you teach, I'll be able to do cool stuff like that.

Po: Oh...

Shifu: Mastering chi requires mastering of self. Oogway sat alone in a cave for 30 years asking one question, "Who am I?" Who am I? I'm lucky if I get 5 minutes before you interrupt...

Po: Aw... so now I'll have to sit alone in a cave for 30 years?

Shifu: Eventually, after you master teaching.

Po: Teaching? There's no way I'm ever gonna be like you.

Shifu: I'm not trying to turn you into me; I'm trying to turn you into you.

I could really relate to Po. Today, my "Shifu" continues to work on turning me into me - something that I am very grateful for. KFP3 turned out to be rather prophetic after all. 

After years of processing the calling God has impressed upon my heart in 2004, i.e. to walk the road unconventional to most of my classmates in med school, I have experienced enough to know that God confirms His calling by surrounding the individual with favour whenever he/she decides to be obedient and goes wherever he/she is led. Throughout the journey home that night, I couldn't help feeling that God's favour for me is in the school He has led me to teach at for the season - for reasons unknown. Today, I certainly cannot deny it.

21.8.2016

A strange, long day.

I have never been a sort-of confidant to a dying person before, and I hope that today wasn't my first time being one. As in, I hope that we are all mistaken about her death.

I pray that I ultimately led the person to put her faith and hope in God again, because really, there is nothing and nobody else that can (and should) be worthy of one's utmost surrender.

Lord, put us to shame. You can do exceedingly and abundantly more than we can ever ask or imagine.

While I was contemplating on the hopelessness of the situation (in human terms) and my utter inability to make things better, this verse came to me:

"15 For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; 16 to the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life. And who is adequate for these things? 17 For we are not like many, peddling the word of God, but as from sincerity, but as from God, we speak in Christ in the sight of God." (2 Corinthians 2:15-17)

Then let me be Your fragrance to her, Lord. An aroma from life to life. This is my humble plea.

When your prayer talks back...

They say that God's answer to our prayers is mostly a yes, no, or wait.

I think, that sometimes, the answer to one's prayer is a question: do you think your God is enough?

Specifically....

Is God's grace sufficient for the trial(s) faced?
Will God provide enough?
Is God adequately qualified to do something about your situation?
Is God's arm long enough to save?
Should God be your only hope... or would you need a back-up plan?
Are His promises enough... when all you experience is loss, grief, and disappointment?

That, I suppose, was the answer to my prayer tonight... A question that is humbling because it can be hard to feel a "yes" with conviction even while your head knows the truth or at least what the Bible says. However, it is a question that also reminisces God's consistent faithfulness and comforts at once. A divine question, certainly.

Do you think your God - the God of Abraham, the God of Jesus Christ - is enough?

Why I go to Church

The other night, someone asked me: "So why do you go to church?"

"I go only because I have to go." Meaning there are times when I don't go because I want to go, but because I need to go. 

"Shame on you!"  

I was a little embarrassed and taken aback by his reaction, so I didn't really get to explain myself. 

But I thought I'd do it here.

I don't go to church just because I want to hear from God or worship. It is not wrong to want to hear from God and worship. However, there's always the whole week to do all these things, not just through the sermons and songs which I've been too distracted to listen or participate wholeheartedly of late. You see, when you are a mother of an active, curious toddler who finds even our rather bare church creche a fascinating place; when you sit in the creche surrounded by other active toddlers and their coaxing parents; when your toddler sometimes soils her nappy in the middle of the service and then you have to go off to wash her bottom before nappy rash sets in... how can you not be distracted and worn out, not to mention over-stimulated? (I don't doubt that there are supermoms among us though.) I honestly can't imagine having more than one kid. 

Being a little anti-social by nature (OK, maybe "a little" is an understatement), I also don't go to church because I want to meet people and fellowship. I don't really want to meet people and fellowship. Just in case this gets misinterpreted, I love my friends and I get along well with most of the people at church. However, going to church on a Sunday (not to mention big, combined services events) means having to see and be seen by everybody at one go. This has never been the most restful thing for me. Sunday is often the most tiring day of the week. Sometimes, it can even be stressful. Given a choice, I would rather stay home and greet everybody via Facebook. And there's always the rest of the week to do one-on-one coffee dates with the people who won't give you well-meaning suggestions on how your life could be more well-spent ...  Yet, I still go to church. Week in, week out. Rain or shine. 

Here is why:

First, I may be anti-social, but being disconnected from my community of faith for too long does impact my personal walk with God. I become lazier, slower to hear, quick to anger, and reckless to speak. Temptations don't get resisted quite enough and I sin like there's no tomorrow. I might not agree with everything my church practices, and yet, I agree with plenty of other things. Going to church reminds me of those other things - Christians values I choose to live by - at least once a week and that keeps me on track while I live, work, and witness in the world. It is too easy to be influenced by its ways.

Secondly, I go because Sundays are about commemorating Christ's life on earth as well as anticipating His glorious, triumphal return at the end of time. We gather as His people to remember something of Christ that anchors us and then rehearse through liturgy the great eternal feast... when our differences would no longer matter; when we joyfully meet friends and family whom we've not seen in a long while, when we will worship God with one voice; when His everlasting Word will dwell in our midst and etch in our hearts the truth and nothing but the truth; and when our Lord will feast with us. It is important that we rehearse because it helps us look forward despite our personal struggles, losses, and the passing away of people dear to our hearts - not only as individuals but also as part of a community of faith. You can't rehearse if you don't come to church. Not unless the church comes to you; well, maybe when you've grown ancient enough.

Lastly, I go because the space our congregation gathers in - i.e. the building - means a lot to me. While I am certainly for the church without walls concept (meaning church is much more than the building; church is the people, who should be salt and light in our communities), the building is a sacramental space. In the Old Testament, God revealed Himself and affirmed His covenant relationship with Israel by the means of spaces - "holy grounds". Think Mount Sinai, the Tabernacle, Solomon's Temple, etc. In the New Testament, the revelation of God is tied to Jesus Christ rather than "holy grounds". However, this does not mean that spaces lose their sacramentality or potential as the loci of God-human encounters. Jesus' references to the God's Kingdom at hand suggest that Heaven has overlapped with Earth through His first coming (and going). The overlap is a flexible, invisible space in which God's presence is always accessible - yet in the world but not of the world. Those who have repented and believed receive the grace to belong in the overlap - it follows you wherever you go. What happens when a building, its architecture, interior decoration, rich symbols, music, and the weekly celebrations that take place in it become associated with Christian fellowship, worship, Communion, the hearing of God's word, and authentic encounters of God's love? The building becomes a place that embodies the overlap - rather like how a blown-up balloon gives shape to the invisible air (or gas) that fills it...or how our bodies gives shape to our invisible souls. In other words, the church building conveys to me the reality of the overlap, which I often forget about or ignore for the rest of the week. It is in the building (and not so much in my bedroom or the shopping mall) that my awareness of living in the overlap of eternity and time is refreshed and deepened - and I am comforted in my present sufferings. Besides, the building is where I used to work, where I ate a lot of humble pie (that is good for the soul), where Sophie's parents met and fell in love, where they got married in the sight of God and man, etc. How can I not feel the need to return to this place every week, even when I don't feel terribly excited about it?

There you go. I go to church because I have to go.

Like love, going to church is an act and not merely an emotion. 

Muse: A wild feast

Today, the picture of Jesus at the social gathering at Matthew's house drifted to mind.

"Then it happened that as Jesus was reclining at the table in the house, behold many tax collectors and sinners came and were dining with Jesus and His disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to His disciples, "Why is your Teacher eating with the tax collectors and sinners?"

But when Jesus heard this, He said, "It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick. But go and learn what this means: 'I desire compassion and not sacrifice,' for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners."

(Matt 9:10-12)

The Pharisees were shocked. It must not have been a goody-goody two shoes kind of party. You don't discuss the Law or sit at the head of table by virtue of your religious costume. Tsk-tsk-ing at corruption and crime would be unthinkable. Rather, think gambling, coarse jesting, vulgarities, gluttony, happily drunk men, and debauchery. Loads of debauchery perhaps. Not to mention the party guests... traitors to the nation and God, walking in the counsel of the wicked and sitting in the seat of God's mockers. In the midst of the ungodly crowd, there Jesus was making Himself comfortable - rather than getting up in disgust and leaving. He was reclining at the table - relaxed, interested, and to a certain extent, vulnerable, being at the same level as everybody else. In fact, He looked like He was one of them - the gluttons and drunkards (Matt 11:18-19), a reputation among the religious leaders He secured. I'm certainly not saying that He too indulged in the sins of those whom He fellowshipped with. Rather, their sins did not make Jesus squirm, grimace, cluck His tongue, or blush. He must have expected them before He came... and He wasn't expecting the party-goers to stop swearing in front of Him or something. What do you do as a sinner if you don't sin anyway? Be yourself.

So why still eat with them, Jesus? Bad company corrupts good character, no?

Yes, in a humanly sense. However, Jesus was God Incarnate among them, not with bolts of lightning to strike their arses. If bad company corrupts good character, what would divine company do for bad character?

Jesus was demonstrating the mind-blowing answer; sort of "The Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these..." He wasn't there to call the righteous to enter His Kingdom, He said. Rather, He was calling sinners. God's grace was to explode human expectations and principles. The picture of Jesus at the table of sinners is such a beautiful prophetic picture actually. The first act of rebellion in the history of mankind was about eating, and eating has been at the core of every human problem ever since. The struggle for survival is about eating. The survival of the fittest is about eating. Israel in the wilderness grumbled against Moses (and God) because they were hungry. Later, some of the Israelites would doubt God and hoard up Manna when they had been specifically told not to do so. Greed and self-centred cultures rob and deprive people in certain other parts of the world of food. Food (or the abstinence from food) is the obsession of a growing population of eating disordered individuals all around the world. Overeating at pity-parties, wedding banquets, and buffets is seen as therapeutic for many of us - and for some, even more therapeutic than the Bible or prayer. In the Matt 9:10-12 picture, the King Himself promises against the backdrop of a wild eating an eternal feast, with the King as the gracious host. A feast of rich food, no doubt. However, more than food and eating, the feast would be about relationships made right, first with the King who looks past your former sins and calls you by name.... then among the guests who would trust each other with such childlikeness that they might recline together and dip bread in the same bowl(s) regardless of former social standings. Those who were eligible to feast with the King would never be able to claim credit for their eligibility. Your meal has been paid for, a hefty, bloody price - believe it or not. If you believe, just come and eat, fellowship with the King Himself, and cry grateful tears with the rest of the guests.

What a marvelous, humbling picture.

Of course this passage holds many implications. However, it made me think differently of attending "wild feasts". Of course, we may not be like Jesus and we are too susceptible to temptations. I am also certainly NOT suggesting that we go sign up for an orgy. However, there are many other tamer community events that provide the Spirit-filled us opportunities to be salt and light to those who do not know God yet - parents-teachers day, school picnics, toddler play-dates, college games, study groups, road trips with non-Christian friends, tai-chi classes, fellowship at our workplaces, etc. Even if we do not join in with preaching the gospel on the agenda (haha), we could always be prayerful, patient, kind, long-suffering (when it comes to the counter-Christian things they might do or say), generous, humble, courteous, pleasant, empowering, forgiving, accommodating, interested, and supportive of all that is noble, right, pure and God-honouring. When we do so, we defy cultural expectations of what Christianity is about. It isn't supposed to be a stuck-up religion that prohibits participation in non-Christian events for fear of proselytisation or defilement. Neither is it to be self-centred, judgmental, and exclusive. Rather, Christianity is often about meeting felt needs, stepping down from high places, death to self for the sake of others, and building relationships that lead to God. We do these because God first did these things for us through Christ. He did so because He loves us. Furthermore, non-Christians get to see that Christians too are human. We have fun like everyone else (within biblical boundaries of course), laugh, and celebrate. We suffer, we make mistakes, we grieve, we lose our cool, we struggle, we sigh at our tight financial budgets. However, we do have a hope that does not perish despite our circumstances. And we may yet look forward to the feast fit for a King-dom.

So come join us?

Sophie's diaries : 2 years 2 months

A post more than one week overdue, I am aware... but better late than nevah.

I really have no idea who reads my blog nowadays after the countless blogging hiatuses I took lately. (I contemplate from time to time whether or not to stop blogging - or start another less personal one - but looks like I will tarry here a little longer for sentimental reasons.) For those who are new to my blog, "Sophie's diaries" is a monthly update I have been writing since my favourite daughter (while she's the only daughter) was born. It used to be a  general overview of her progresses, mostly for family and close friends' reading pleasure, but it has been taking on a more reflective theme of late because the progresses are way too many to record consistently - and I am a much busier woman these days thanks to a new job.

A conversation between Sophie and myself just the other evening went something like this:

Sophie: Mummy... super... super....

Me: Mummy is super? Sure, thanks.

Sophie: Mummy... superwoman. Daddy... superman.

Me: Awww....

(Then again, today she declared that mummy is a moon, daddy is a cloud, and Sophie is a woman.)

I'm not sure if she understands what "super" means... because for all we know, it could be the "super" in "supermarket" i.e. a large, self-service store selling all kinds of stuff. Food, household goods, stationery, toys, etc. But to be seen as superwoman - and the affection she shows while saying that I am one - is a testimony of God's grace in bringing me far from the depressed, distant, and detached mother of a newborn I was. I was browsing the photo gallery in Ben's phone recently, when I realised, sadly, that most of the earliest pictures of Sophie - of her smiling, arms flailing about playfully - were not taken by me. Rather, the collection consisted of those her doting grandmother took while I lay in a dark room alone, dreading the next feed (hundreds of pictures taken by MIL), those my sister took whenever she visited us in Penang, and some which Ben took with his camera phone.  The ones I took of Sophie were mostly sleeping ones. The pictures in which I was holding Sophie portrayed my exhaustion (physically and emotionally), my wistfulness, my doubts, and my low self-esteem as a mother - exacerbated by my resentment of everything that defined my circumstances back then - our move in with my in-laws, my inability to have the kind of family life I always dreamed of, Sophie's secure attachment to her grandparents, her ambiguous attachment to me, my breastfeeding difficulties, my unmet personal ambitions, the wrenching sense of dislocation from close friends, etc. A miracle must have taken place for me to eventually warm up to my own daughter and for her to warm up to me... for me to stop blaming the people in my life, and for Sophie to smile much in my presence. 

Indeed, for those who love (and trust) God, those called (and born) according to His purpose - all things work together for good. Reflecting on Romans 8:28 this evening, I was struck by a thought: God's "good" may not be the good that we envisioned for ourselves - a comfortable lifestyle, easy relationships, happy laughter, a bright future, and the end of suffering. But if we truly love and trust God, His "good" must be exactly where we are, for Proverbs 3:5-6 implies that God sovereignly and providentially makes our paths straight, for those who trust Him with all their hearts and acknowledge Him as Lord. I am thankful for the happier days, even now, but there may come a time, another stage, when I am again resentful, despairing, and discouraged. I pray that I might remember then, that I am right where God wants me to be - a good place - His place of His favour and yet blessing - because I love Him and He has called me to be Sophie's mom. He has made and is still making my paths straight.

Then perhaps, suffering might be more bearable and hope might yet prevail.

Dearest Sophie girl, thank you. Thank you for your hugs, your kisses, your affirmations, your smiles, your sunshine, your love and forgiveness of my shortcomings (even though you always claim that you don't love me - actions speak louder than words). May God help me to love you more.

Teacher's audit over

Thank God, it's over!

I passed despite messing up on my pieces out of sheer nervousness. Ugh. It's humbling when I think about it because then I know that it was God who made sure that I pass despite my unimpressive performance. (If I were the examiner, I would have totally failed me, and it's not because I am being too hard on myself.)

I think I might use beta blockers the next time I sit for a music exam though.

My examiner looked at me kindly at the very end and commented, "Surely you've been through worse moments than this in med school?"

"Yes," I said thoughtfully. "But med school was so long ago..."

We proceeded to chat about church work, because it turned out that she's a Christian too.

Anyway, the audit is done and dusted. I celebrated in the evening by going out with the hubs and Sophie for Japanese food and ice-cream.

To those who prayed for me, helped me with my pieces, and believed in me ~ thank you.

Graduation anniversary

Exactly 8 years ago, I graduated as a doctor.

5 years in medical school is definitely not a waste of time and money as I often bemoan; it's also a sort of unnecessary guilt that some others often reinforce (without meaning to, perhaps). And so I am writing this as a means of self-encouragement mainly.

 
I did get into med school thinking that I'd turn out to be a doctor - particularly, a paediatrician who puts smiles back on children's faces. Think, Patch Adams - maybe minus the clown part. (I'd make a horrible clown!) I dreamed of setting up a children's hospital that looked like a cross between a hotel and a funfair. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a doctor. Diseases and the workings of the human body fascinated me. I yearned to gain understanding, to empathize, to cure. And so, I worked hard to qualify as a medical student. I made it. To some, an enviable position, perhaps. To me, it was a dream come true, by God's grace. (From where else should my strength come?) Little did I know that the dream would grow wilder with time.

I was, however, the medical student with an illness. By the time I began first med, I had been ill with eating disorders for many years and no doctor could cure me. It was no fault of theirs, I suppose. I was the problem - resistant to treatment in so many ways. Co-morbidities, perverse incentives to remain ill (and an ego-syntonic pursuit of a malignant lifestyle), drug intolerance, distrust toward doctors, and etc. Seeing specialists was becoming too expensive for my family anyway. The only relief for my struggles, destructive as they were, was found in my grand tour of love when I joined a church who held their weekly meetings in a rented cinema hall at the Irish Film Institute. I'm not talking about mushiness, heart shapes, and showy hugs. There was often tears and rebellion (on my side) - and yet, forgiveness and acceptance. From warm picnics to serious Bible discussions, my tour packed in an incredible number of mind-boggling reasons to pursue the healing and freedom I had always rejected. There was always someone who spoke a loving word, someone who offered me a shoulder to cry on, someone who ripped the veil blinding me from the truth, someone who encouraged me to return to making music (because apparently, I was rather good at it, a diamond in the rough), and someone who rebuked me whenever I devalued the life God had given. Surprisingly, these liberating experiences (at the core of which God is) helped me most with my illness. It just goes to show how limited the medical science is in restoring a patient to wholeness. The medical science, excellent as it is in diagnosing and treating physical pain, tends to leave out the spiritual aspect of life - the very core of the human person.

If you are wondering... yes, I did recover from eating disorders. I don't qualify as an eating disordered individual anymore. Not according to the DSM-5 at least.

As for medical school, a turning point came during a down period in my second year.

There was a sudden financial crisis back home and my poor dad couldn't afford to pay for my school fees as well as the high living expenses in Dublin. I wondered if I should give everything up and return home. After all, I didn't think that medicine would miss me that much. It wasn't like I was the top student or something. Thankfully, God intervened. During a Bible study class one Saturday afternoon, our student pastor, Mike, asked: "If money wasn't an issue, where do you see yourself in 5 years or 10 years time?" He told us to pray about it. I didn't think that it was that hard a question until I sat in the dark of my room that night, trying to imagine the future. It frightened me to realise that I wasn't as attached to the idea of me being a doctor as before. I thought, perhaps it could be due to my worries over the financial crisis or the difficulties I faced studying medicine. Perhaps, I had been unconsciously searching for an escape route. I had also grown to love church work; having had many opportunities to be involved, especially in the areas of music and discipleship. I was drawn especially to people who were hurting in their hearts, disillusioned eating disordered individuals who had relapsed for the umpteenth time, and yet, children. These were the things that made (and still makes) me tick.

But why couldn't I have arrived at this point before coming to Dublin? So do I now pack up and go back now? And maybe, enroll at a (hopefully affordable) Bible college? Was the financial crisis supposed to be a signpost that pointed me away from medicine? But I couldn't bear the thought of having to leave.

While my Bible study mates (who were my classmates in med school) told Mike gleefully the next meeting that they saw themselves as full-fledged doctors, I confessed heavy-heartedly that I saw myself as a pastor. To my utmost surprise, Mike said, "Ah, I knew this was coming. I knew it!" However, Mike (and a few other leaders whom I trusted) wisely advised me not to quit medicine immediately. Moving in the new direction too hastily would lead to trouble. I needed time to pray about it, to think about it, to be sure, to be very very sure... and so, why not pray for funds first? Unless God meant to close this door, He would provide my school fees.

He did. More than funds to sustain me through the remaining years in med school, there was a lot of grace and strength to endure the psychological hurdles every medical student faces as well as the challenges of not seeing oneself as a doctor at the end of all the hard work. (Much harder than I thought.) My inclination toward the pastoral ministry continued to grow. I continued to pray and read my Bible... and by the time I graduated from med school, I was ready to pursue a second degree - a theological one - in order to transition to a less green field but only because it grows purple grass, so to speak. Dad's heart softened (he wasn't happy about me not becoming a doctor, initially, and I understand why) and he gave me his blessing to proceed. Subsequently, I studied for another 5 years in the seminary - and God provided again. Dad didn't have to pay a single cent this time.
 
There is nothing wrong (and everything right) with being a Christian physician/practitioner by the way. I know of a good many who have chosen to bring their faith in Christ and their clinical practices together as an integrated whole. My obstetrician is one of them. However, I am me, with my unique set of gifts, passions, abilities, life experiences, and personality... It was my personal conviction to walk down the more unconventional path of making my medical degree (and the myriad of skills I learned from 5 years in medical school) work for me in the so-called peripheral but no less important fields in society... so I chose to do so. An understanding of pain as well as the human body and mind helps me to be a better musician, artist, educator, writer, theologian, pastor, and mother. I would also like to think of myself as playing supporting roles to the medical practitioners whom I was to join - reaching out to people like me who are too distrustful of doctors. What I do now doesn't earn me as much money, but fulfills me all the same, especially when I still get to put smiles back on people's faces, children included.

And Dublin. What would my present and future be like if I hadn't gone there?