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.

Saturday nights and Sunday mornings

I work a full day on Saturdays.

My first class begins at 9am. My final class concludes at 6.15pm. Lunch break is at 2.15pm for an hour (or less).

Saturdays are when many Teacher-I-had-no-time-to-practise-the-whole-week students struggle with the aforementioned Teacher. They find her very naggy, unsympathetic, rigid, and utterly resentful to be back in square one after a whole week. And they persist in coming for classes.

In other words, Saturday is the craziest day of my work week - in terms of nature, duration, patience required, and the challenges encountered. When I am feeling particularly positive, I relate to the Israelites gathering manna on the 6th day. "Now on the sixth day, they gathered twice as much bread, two omers for each one..." (Exod. 16:22) Twice as much work done, but twice as much blessings to last me till Monday. However, more often than not, I am not that positive. If I am perfectly honest, I'd say that my motivation to endure the first half of the day is eating lunch... and the second half, eating curry mee at dinner (that's my comfort food). I'm not as angelic a teacher as you think!

As you can probably imagine, I am knackered every Saturday evening. I am so freaking exhausted - physically, emotionally, mentally, etc. - that sleep just doesn't relieve the exhaustion fully, although I savour it. One can never have enough of sleep, I think.

I am always grouchy when I wake up on Sunday mornings. I am wondering what I could do about it.

Sophie's diaries : The forgiveness of a child

I got back late from work tonight. Every Tuesday night. Period.

Honestly, I don't like working past 6pm... but I do, twice a week, just to suit that handful of students who just can't make it on any other day or at any other time thanks to their ludicrously packed weekly schedules (I am thankful that they are good students though).

Anyway.  

It was near my toddler's bedtime. She was getting all kiasu, bossy and cranky. We tried to read; she was angry when her dad read the words on the page before she could. And then, I had to brush her teeth. All hell broke loose. There was the sound of her cries, my exasperated "say AHHHHH"s or "say EEEEEEEE"s, more crying... and then her dad tried to be helpful but got in my way, resulting in my scolding voice rising above the din. Etcetera. There you go, very dramatic.

In the end, it was a very miserable (and tired) little girl who buried her face into my shoulder during bedtime prayer. The weight of remorse and guilt bore down on me much more than that of my daughter as I carried her, pacing the room.

I knew that I had to apologise somehow. And I did. I told her that I loved her.

"Will you please forgive mummy?"

She nodded.

No words can express how beautiful a child's forgiveness is. In it, there is no malice, no secret grudge, and no pretense.

"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. 

Being Mom @ Christmas

It has been an intense 5 days for me.

Let's see...

Having packed up a busy month in my work year, we went away for a family trip during my Christmas break.

Traveling with a toddler can be nice and interesting but also very stressful. I think it's because I am such an anxious perfectionist. It doesn't help when your hubby is a perfectionist too in many other ways. And the toddler... is at the age of mini tantrums, battles of independence, picky eating, repetitive questions, and parental preference. ("Go away, daddy!" is the most heard phrase, I think.)

Toddler fell sick on the first day of our trip. When she's sick, she's fussy... about who wipes her nose (it has to be mummy), the kind of material we use to wipe her nose (it has to be wet wipes), the texture of her food (she spat a lot during meal times), the height of her pillow, her naps, her medicines, etc. Which made traveling even more stressful than usual. I was so worried that our hotel neighbours would complain at the noise emanating from our room, especially when it was time for Sophie to take her medicine. From her cries to our threats and bribes - we must have been audible from miles away.

We met up with my side of the family and spent Christmas with them in KL. Lovely, but I felt bad for having to chase my sister out of our hotel every night so that I could wind down. Recharging was challenging in our tiny (budget) hotel room. (At least, the hotel at Cameron's was better. We just had to pay lots more!) Washing milk bottles took forever in that tiny bathroom sink, there was no refrigerator to cool down my Coke Zero, the one and only ceiling-mounted (rainfall) shower was determined to test my water-resistance whenever I had to clean up my toddler, and the lighting was awkward so that the room was either too dark or bright. Well, I suppose that it could have been worse. I was however very thankful that my dad and sister entertained my active, inquisitive, and talkative toddler so well. She sure looked forward to spending time with them every day.

A Coxsackie epidemic broke out amongst the kids at Sophie's soon-to-be playschool and daycare. I am currently in a dilemma. Should I send Sophie, who's recovering from her flu, to school on the 3rd of January? (Edit: After discussing the situation with her principal, we are postponing her first day to February. Phew!)

I fell sick on our last day in KL. Caught Sophie's flu, I suppose. I return to work today with the dripping faucet of a nose. Of Rudolph.

Etc.

Those 5 days were a microcosm of motherhood for me. Motherhood is full of intense moments that drive me to my knees in desperation. They say that a motherhood is a blessing. I do not disagree, especially having had a miscarriage some years ago. Motherhood is a blessing indeed. But its daily costs are great. One often denies her privacy, her solitude, her dignity, her dreams, her career, her reputation, and even her health for the sake of her children. (Just think sleep.) If one continues to ask "What's in it for me?" she will be more likely than not disappointed. Sometimes, you even regret during fleeting moments of self-pity that you embarked on this journey. Even more so when you realise how inadequate you are to wear this hat. Christmas 2016 reminded me of why motherhood is yet a blessing. Consider Mary's Magnificat in the Advent passage of Luke 1:46-55 (NASB):

46 And Mary said:

“My soul exalts the Lord,
47 And my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior.
48 “For He has had regard for the humble state of His bondslave;
For behold, from this time on all generations will count me blessed.
49 “For the Mighty One has done great things for me;
And holy is His name.
50 “And His mercy is upon generation after generation
Toward those who fear Him.
51 “He has done mighty deeds with His arm;
He has scattered those who were proud in the thoughts of their heart.
52 “He has brought down rulers from their thrones,
And has exalted those who were humble.
53 “He has filled the hungry with good things;
And sent away the rich empty-handed.
54 “He has given help to Israel His servant,
In remembrance of His mercy,
55 As He spoke to our fathers,
To Abraham and his descendants forever.”

Motherhood is a blessing because "God has..."

Note how many times this particular phrase is repeated throughout Mary's praise for God. She underscored God's mercy in granting her the favour of (virginal) conception. She would deny her self in accepting God's call and face potential humiliation, grief, and pain. But being able to taste God's mercy was a much greater thing. God's mercy was not only for herself, the humble bondslave (v.48) - but also for the future generations who would fear Him (v.50), the humble and hungry (vv.52-53), and Abraham's descendants who had the promise of a Messiah (v.55). Of course, it's difficult for most of us to relate to the favour Mary received because there was only one Jesus Christ. Yet in similar vein, mothers can take comfort in the fact that our God-given mission is a blessing. It is a blessing because God has... shown mercy.

God's mercy is for the mother who conceives (or adopts) and offers the fullness of her gifts in service of Christ as well as the future generation(s) her children belong to.

God's mercy is for the imperfect, inadequate mother who messes up often and badly... whom He yet chose to mother the souls He entrusted to her care.

God's mercy is for the undeserving, unworthy woman - lovingly respecting her need for the meaningful bond that can only be formed with her child and her need to nurture. Yes, scientists debate on whether "maternal instincts" are due to genetic hardwiring or learned gender behaviours; but my daughter's inclination to baby her stuffed animals even while she engages in sporty activities and plays many boyish toys suggests to me that a majority of women are wired (at least emotionally) to be maternal. Please feel free to disagree.

God's mercy is for the struggling mother, the depressed mother, the exasperated mother, the sacrificial mother, the sleep-deprived mother, the single mother, the sickly mother, the I-have-no-time-to-shower mother, etc. Those who trust Him will taste and see that He is good - yesterday, today and forevermore.

God's mercy is for the society her children will enter having been raised in a home that values love, joy, and peace. Being the emotional backbone of the family, the mother empathises in ways the father often can't. Her emotional responsiveness (tears and laughter), availability and dependability enable her children to grow up into adults who likewise empathise, express, manage their own emotions, build relationships, and keep them.

God's mercy is for the generation her children will lead... for the nation(s) they will build, rebuild and disciple. One of the greatest legacies a mother can pass down to her children is the passion of prayer. It is in praying that a child knows God, His gospel, His miracles, and His heartbeat for the nation.

God's mercy is for the harvest field her children will work in (Lk. 10:2), for the earth they will salt, and for the world they will light.

God's mercy is for the community and workforce graced by the presence of mothers. Having been a music teacher for many years now, I must say that motherhood made me a gentler, wiser, more sensitive, and more nurturing teacher somehow.

God's mercy is when "from the mouths of infants and nursing babes You have established strength... to make the enemy and revengeful cease" (Ps. 8:2).


And so, dear mother, take heart and rejoice. For God has shown mercy.

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.

Writing for Lent 2017 over

Less than a month ago, I was asked to be part of a team project requiring me to write for an annual Lent publication for the English Methodist convention. (And so, Lent 2017 came early for me.) Since I have written a few times in the past few years, I thought... hey, no problem! After I said yes to the delightful assignment, I realised that perhaps, I had overestimated my commitment juggling skills. I had forgotten about my music teacher job... and how much it occupies my days like never before - planning, teaching, reevaluating lesson plans, preparing students for the year-end piano concert, learning myself, and practising the piano. Also, I will be traveling around the time my 8 essays are due. Eeeks.

Thus began 2 weeks of frantic I'd-better-begin-this-early-or-I'll-be-in-big-trouble work. It was my job and Sophie that occupied me during the days and my essays in the nights. Exhausting, but well worth it. How satisfying it was to return to this part of my mission on Earth; I could certainly feel God's pleasure while I wrestled away with the sentences and words. How wonderful it is that I finished well before the deadline too - and even had a week to edit my drafts! God be praised.

I, of course, had the best prayer warriors joining me on my writing adventure - including my daughter! To all who prayed, 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?

Meeting Mrs. D

For many years, I was a piano teacher before Sophie was born. 

I taught in homes, and in 2012, my best friend who is a brilliant piano teacher herself got me a teaching job at the music school where she used to teach. (She is now a missionary in a jungle-village kind of place.) It was a fun season for me while it lasted. My pre-schooling students were adorable; our boss was like-minded in so many ways; my best friend (who was now my colleague) and I went out on Wednesday night dinner dates after we were done teaching in the evenings; and I had many opportunities to explore a facet of music I had never known. Season came and like every other season, it ended. 

With a baby and by virtue of our nomadic lifestyle (we kept moving bases between our own place and my in-laws' place due to a tough first year and more), it was difficult to resume teaching. Or to even think of teaching. I just didn't have the energy for either. Physical, mental, emotional, social, and often, spiritual tiredness often kept me from wanting to have anything to do with the piano. And so, Sophie never saw me playing much. Eventually, I stopped playing - even for church. 

But.... like I blogged some posts ago, I am going back to teaching. I am not sure what the future holds or what my road-map looks like - but I thought I'd trust God with the circumstances that brought me to this point and just do it. I begin next week.

And God is a good God indeed. I was richly blessed when Mrs. D, my first music teacher (who taught me between the ages of 4 and 10), suddenly wrote and asked if we could meet up for coffee this week since she was going to be an examiner in Penang for a few days. I was very surprised because coincidentally, I was going to write to her about my employment. It was also kinda freaky because I have not met her since I was 10 and it was unusual for her to ask me out for coffee. (It is pretty unusual for me to have coffee with any of my teachers anyway.) Nobody had told her that I was going to teach as an alumni and she was equally surprised when I told her. And overjoyed. 

So we met yesterday afternoon and had a good, long chat... because God knew that I needed her encouragement. I felt so deeply ministered to, because here was a well-seasoned music teacher who could relate to my struggles of being a musician/teacher and a mother, a musician before a mother, and a mother who yearned to return to her first love, so to speak, (music) without neglecting her family or herself. It's actually much harder than I'd like to think. Mrs. D is a wife and mother herself - a God-fearing one - and so hearing her speak so honestly yet encouragingly about her own struggles from many years back helped me much. She also gave me the advice I needed pertaining teaching methods and overcoming the weaknesses of the education system under which I would teach and operate for the next few years at least.

Well, I did pray for peace some days back - even though it was about a different matter.

Today, I thank God for peace. 

Why dis-comfort zones are uncomfortable

I went for an orientation session at my new workplace today. 

The key teacher, who is to be my mentor while I work here, ran through the syllabus with me. She also demonstrated some teaching methods - which are very different from what I am used to - and we talked about lesson plans. 

While there was something soothingly familiar about the new (after all, I have been a student here before, albeit not in the last two decades), my heart or whatever that was urged me desperately to run away. I smiled as politely as I could at the key teacher, but deep down inside, I was terrified.

"You can't do this!" it screamed. "What if you don't meet the standards?"

What a horrible thought. And then a further thought...

"You don't have to do this!" 

Perhaps. But if anything, I have to be supermom. I want to show my little girl that it is OK to risk failing so that life grows bigger, better, and richer. I want her to know that it is even OK to fail as long as you are doing your best diligently. After all, as Dr. Martin Seligman, the founder of Positive Psychology, once said, "It's not our failures that determine our future success, but how we explain them to ourselves." Given that I can, by God's grace, deal with whatever failures I might arrive at and overcome, why not "do this"?

Work begins next week. Dear God, please go with me and help me to be a good teacher.

A new season

After a fermata on a rest from teaching music, I am returning to the vocation.

I know. I was surprised myself.

It was all very unexpected. I think I made it pretty clear to many that I shouldn't be doing this anytime soon. But there was this open door, which aroused my curiosity the moment I chanced upon it. (Or, did it, by God's divine appointment, chance upon me?) I don't know what made me do it... but I took a step of faith, entered the world I had almost sworn never to re-enter since I left... and that world, where the musical I was born and bred at least for the first 11 years, it rejoiced to take me back in.

Until now, I still don't know if I should returned. I've heard enough about the systems, its weaknesses, and its falling out of favour with the conventional crowd. But honestly, it did feel a bit like homecoming. Perhaps, then, I should give it a second chance. I would also like to believe that there are two sides to every coin. After all, music is music. As long as one strives to respect its history and classical traditions while making it tastefully relevant to the rapidly evolving conventions of today, I don't think there is a "right world" for it to flourish. Rather, we can make our respective worlds, wherever we are, the right worlds for music to thrive and inspire, teach and nurture, sow and reap. With the maturity I (hopefully) gained in the past 17 years of exploring foreign worlds, I look forward to learn, teach, and resume the journey back here. I thank God for making everything fall into place so frightfully well.

Having said that, the new season implies a lot more work than my previous stint. Exams to sit for. Priorities to juggle. Working on weekends. Plans to rethink. Please, if you will, pray with me. I worry too much. I worry myself.

Divine appointments

Eve of Christmas eve.

Had coffee with a friend at the mall this afternoon. Apparently, something I said turned out to be a much needed bit of affirmation for her (from God) with regard to a major, life-changing decision she had been praying about the whole of Advent. Phew. What a privilege!

And then I was blessed with the opportunity to bump into the very person that I have wanted to bump into for some weeks now. Yes, I actually prayed that God would let this person appear somehow... so that I could be certain that I had not been an offense to him (and that this person would forgive me if I had offended him with my words and actions during our last encounter). A case of too much introspection on my part? Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, God answered my prayer. While it was a little awkward at first, we ended up chatting about life. Our kids. Our careers. We moved toward the topic of Christianity because I had to divulge my theological training and work. And I got to share why there was no turning back for me after I'd believed in Jesus. (He is not a Christian although he would really like Jesus to speak to him.) While the R&B songs blaring in the background were a terrible distraction - I kept losing my train of thought while I spoke - I thank God that this person did listen and take an interest in what I said. It is also nice to have a new person to pray for.

One of the best afternoons of the year for me.

A pianist's rant

I haven't really played for more than a year now.

Apart from those few instances when divine intervention (and a friend's kind initiative - I'm so honoured and grateful) had me playing for my Immortal King in a graduation banquet and a seminar, I haven't been practising. Or even playing for fun. The dust on my piano and books lie about 3 inches thick. Despite the fact that I always feel ashamed about it.

To be fair, when we moved in with my in-laws last November, my piano didn't come along. When we finally moved it into my in-laws' place, I couldn't really connect with it anymore, for some reason. Environmental, mostly. And partially due to the internal conflicts I didn't know how to deal with. Making music just made me hurt even more. It reminded me of what I had left behind. The losses and goodbyes. I actually felt sad whenever I played.

My husband says that I feel too much - and perhaps, he is right.

I didn't feel like playing and so I didn't play. Yet, when I listen to music or watch pianists on the YouTube, I ache to play like I used to. I miss being a musician - for the sheer pleasure and delight of playing as well as the identity. Maybe, even, I am lost now, because I can't really identify myself as a musician anymore. Yes, I should ascertain my identity in Christ and anchor myself in that - and I guess this is what the season is about. Learning that ultimately, being a child of God is what matters most. But when you are wired the way I am, and music has always been your world and playground, bread and butter, it feels odd when you part ways with it and see yourself as a separate entity. Perhaps, my mistake is that I lumped being a musician together with being a performer. Now that I am not a performer, I don't feel like a musician anymore. It shouldn't have to be that way. Music does not need an audience. A musician doesn't need to play just to entertain. Rather, one was made to play in order to live and thus, lives to play. One who lives not is dead.

While the solution seems simple enough, I don't know how to begin playing again.

I don't know why I am ranting. Even I want to slap myself now.

6 July 2008

7 years ago from today, I graduated as a medical doctor.

A section out of the Hippocratic Oath I took instructs the doctor to treat his/her teachers as his/her parents, and to pass on the art of medicine to the next generation of healers. I am not sure if I lived up to that part. Or where exactly I stand as a healer.

Surely, joining God in His work of healing hearts and lives counts?

Extra Advent writing assignments

One of our team of writers suddenly fell very ill and his assignments were distributed amongst the rest of us.

I suddenly have 3 more Advent articles to write. Well, 2 now, since I just completed one today. An exhilarating work. I will never look at the genealogies of Jesus the same way again. Not sure how well my reflection will sit with readers though...

Work, a preaching service last Saturday, and meet-ups with friends aside... I have been feeling a little down and worn out lately. Heavy-hearted and disappointed by the randomest things and people. Envious of those who have the things that I want so much and yet, do not have. Resentful and vulnerable. Escape beckons. It promises greener pastures - which is why He has to MAKE me lie down in green pastures (Ps 23:2). These green pastures - they do not look green to my eyes for now. I hope that I would see them differently some day. Perhaps, I need a change of perspective. Those eyes of faith - have they grown dim? Open - no, reopen the eyes of my heart, Lord. 

Well, I guess it's human. And it's OK not to be OK. 

But how long, O Lord? Come, Thou long expected Jesus.

On a blogging hiatus and some updates

Oh wow. So I haven't been blogging for a week. On some kind of blogging hiatus, I am... what with Sophie recovering from a cold, my milk supply depleting fast (I have been pumping more frequently but it doesn't seem to help - maybe it's a bit too late), and my work taking up a huge chunk of my awake-and-free hours.

Having written 6 out of 7 articles for the Advent publication which I said I would write for, I decided that I will only blog Advent when it's Advent, in order to avoid confusion to those who go along with the liturgical calendar.

Well, like a dear friend said, Christmas comes early for me this year. Meditating and writing on the meaning of Christmas so early in the year is strange - but I appreciate it, especially while I am being tried in every sense of the word. Christmas is not just about reminiscing the crib in the manger, angels we have heard on high, and jubilant shepherds. Neither is it merely an affair of Christmas trees, giving presents, and singing carols. Rather, it points us toward a coming reality - when the Heavenly Christmas Celebrity returns to vindicate God's sons and daughters of whom He is the firstborn, no longer as the baby in the manger but a victorious warrior, glorious and exalted. In light of that eternal Christmas Day, we brave our storms, rejoice in our exile, and remember to love even when it is the hardest. People say that Christmas should be every day. I know what they mean, but I don't really agree. I honestly don't want every day of the year to be like the 25th of December (or Christmas Day would cease to be special). However, I would like my anticipation of Christmas to not only encompass the festivities and ambience but also something more eternal. I would like to anticipate less passively and more actively in the sense of rejoicing in the turmoils of life. It's really hard - and I am more down than up nowadays - but yeah. God help me.

Anyway, I am wondering if I should start a new blog where I would be able to blog more specifically about Sophie and motherhood. Or if I should continue with what I'm doing here on Woollylifestock. What do you think?

New assignments for May-July

As I am part of a team of writers who are writing devotional articles for an Advent publication this year, my blog will feature my musings/studies on Luke 1 in the coming weeks. This would help me sharpen my perspectives, translate my academic work for a non-academic audience (if needed), and write more succinctly in light and context of a broader readership. As usual, any feedback and every prayer will be appreciated much.

Well then... I've got 7 articles due in mid-July. Wish me luck, folks! 

Future assignments

After a short maternity break from ministry (with my baby is reaching 10 months soon).....

... I am returning to my writing and preaching.

Our pastor spoke to me yesterday (with my hubby grinning in the background) and we explored the possibility of me standing in the pulpit more often in the future. Yikes. The thought of it both excites and terrifies me. I've got to admit that I'm a little bored and restless after having not worked my brains to a mush for so long.

Without a doubt, this does mean that I will have to be more disciplined in Word study, journaling and prayer from now onward. Your prayers are appreciated much. <3

Reblogging this: Old Insecurities (by Adeline Oh Velarde)

Reading the blog post of a missionary and fellow blogger today brought such a flood of emotions that I totally had to reblog it. 

Such encouragement, Adeline. Thanks for sharing your heart; I could truly relate... especially to this part:

"In comparing myself, I was actually belittling the Lord. I pray and ask Him to give me His creativity and ideas every time before I start working because on my own, I don’t have much to offer. So, when I wonder if I am good enough, if I make the cut in comparison to others, I am actually telling the Lord that the creative ideas He has put in me is not as good as those of the people to whom I compare myself. And I am looking for the approval of men/women instead of realizing that the Lord has strengthened me to do this creative work..."

Missions project ends

A picture from the last batch 

I am so relieved that we are completing work on our missions project soon. Thank You, Lord!

Exhausted, I am.

Drawing in this very season of my life has been challenging, due to my state of mind as I wrestle with inner conflicts, mood swings, shifting priorities and stuff. I really don't know what could have kept me going if it weren't for the strength that the Author of our project availed me as I chugged through His Word (I am still in the Gospel of Matthew after 5 months, haha). I wonder if I will ever move on from being so jaded, and I guess I will, but I am thankful that He has enabled me to finish working on the project, in order that there could be a closure to this remnant of the previous season that has complicated my moving on in so many ways. No doubt, it has been a good experience while it lasted and I am comforted that my sacrifices would benefit the beloved little children who read the books that my team worked on - but boy am I glad that I am done, just when I was getting restless!

About half a year has gone by since our little sweetheart was born. In 4 days time, Sophie celebrates 6 months over. I, as her often-clueless, way-to-hard-on-myself mom am excited for a break from the stressful unease of pending assignments so that I can experiment with offering her solid food in the coming month.

Ok, maybe not what you see on the plate...