Stumbling toward God

Lonely Blindness

2010-07-30T18:21:00.001+08:00

A good read from the Henri Nouwen Society

In the spiritual life we have to make a distinction between two kinds of loneliness.

In the first loneliness, we are out of touch with God and experience ourselves as anxiously looking for someone or something that can give us a sense of belonging, intimacy, and home.

The second loneliness comes from an intimacy with God that is deeper and greater than our feelings and thoughts can capture.

We might think of these two kinds of loneliness as two forms of blindness.

The first blindness comes from the absence of light, the second from too much light.

The first loneliness we must try to outgrow with faith and hope.

The second we must be willing to embrace in love.

the fool for Christ

Bruised Reeds

2010-03-22T22:19:00.006+08:00

Everyday, I get an email reflection from the Henri Nouwen Society. Reading these reflections help me keep God in mind at the start of each manic work day. Here's a reflection from last week which I found particularly striking.

Not Breaking the Bruised Reeds

Some of us tend to do away with things that are slightly damaged. Instead of repairing them we say: "Well, I don't have time to fix it, I might as well throw it in the garbage can and buy a new one." Often we also treat people this way. We say: "Well, he has a problem with drinking; well, she is quite depressed; well, they have mismanaged their business...we'd better not take the risk of working with them." When we dismiss people out of hand because of their apparent woundedness, we stunt their lives by ignoring their gifts, which are often buried in their wounds.

We all are bruised reeds, whether our bruises are visible or not. The compassionate life is the life in which we believe that strength is hidden in weakness and that true community is a fellowship of the weak.

I find that sometimes very unconsciously, I dismiss people too. It's not so much a snobbery thing as it is a genetically encoded impatience with things that don't work or which I deem are illogical. I don't know why but it is just second nature to click my heels and walk away to avoid the confrontation which will ensue when I speak my mind or put it to them.

When people at work have a track record of screwing things up or being unreliable, I don't bellyache but instinctively avoid asking them to do anything again. Where someone has a track record of being rude/pompous/difficult/irritating, I just avoid talking to them as far as practicable so I won't risk losing my temper or waste my time getting locked in conflict.

Seldom do I make the effort to brush aside the annoyance and dig deeper to see if their behaviour is the result of woundedness and attempt to draw them out or help them improve. Too often, I am too busy whizzing about to dash to meet someone/ do something else.

It's given me something to think about this Lent.

the fool for Christ

You give and take away

2009-08-16T10:25:00.002+08:00

A few years ago, my friends Leonard and Cassilda presented me with a beautiful hardcover book as a gift. It was entitled The Misery of Job and the Mercy of God. In it was poetry written by John Piper based on the Book of Job. The book was illustrated by the God-inspired photographs of Ric Ergenbright. I found it beautiful to behold and of course admired the scintillating images as I poured over the poetry of John Piper. But my life then was one of indulgence from God, so the message of Job’s misery and the mercy of God had limited impact on my ability to grasp the mercy of God. My appreciation of the book was primarily aesthetic, hardly profoundly spiritual.

Much time has passed and I have entered a new season of life where spiritual isolation and loneliness are more commonplace in the daily struggles. I found myself enmeshed in a state of cognitive dissonance. As the demands of worldly living fast encroached upon my personal space and prayer life, I looked within to humanly resolve the problems instead. The pain of people in need wrought my heart and I tried to reach out, on my own ability even if they weren’t mine to reach out to. Less and less of my waking hours became my own. Their clutter and noise became competing voices vying for my attention. Involuntarily, I sought to rely on my intellect and human ability to quell disquiet within. My prayer life became more and more diluted as I sought to cut corners so that I could humanly have enough time to complete my chores.

Then the silence began. I started to hear less and less of Him in prayer, until one fine day, I couldn’t hear Him anymore. I was reduced to more and more bouts of silence because my spiritual ears had to strain harder and harder, hoping for even the faintest whisper from Him – a consolation that I hadn’t completely slid down the slippery slope of caving in to worldly living. People I put my faith in, let me down. Then my health started to take a beating. I fell sick more and more easily. I grew physically tired more and more quickly despite the temporary bursts of energy that I was able to summon up by sheer will power. The strength of my mind failed me too because I was tired out of my mind. Once I was down, I was no longer as useful.

So this is what the bottom looks like - a great void of emptiness amidst the Babel of working life’s daily demands. People closest to me couldn’t hear what I was really saying and I struggled to understand what their responses really meant. The pain of misunderstanding feels like the affliction of dreadful boils, whilst seated in ashes and scraping the skin with broken pottery. The silence I drown in feels like the silence of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar as they sat around Job (in Chapter 32).

I wonder if deep within I have not already succumbed to “cursing the day I was born”. I would sincerely like to think not but I have come to the edge of the city gates and the wilderness yet again. Lost in the harsh, biting sands of uncertainty and fear of the 40 years it may take me to return to the comfort of the city gates. Feeling lost could eventually lead me to “abandon and forget myself, leaving my cares forgotten amongst the lilies” or it could send me spiraling into the abyss. I hope with all my heart and soul that it is the former that will be my destination.

I cling desperately to these 4 lines:-

He is not poor but much enticed
He who loses everything but Christ
It won’t be long before the rod
Becomes the tender kiss of God

The Lord gaveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 1:21b

the fool for Christ

Fidélité

2009-06-12T02:58:00.002+08:00

In school, I learned plenty about theory, very little about practical application. In University, I learned even more about theory (an overwhelming amount in fact) and it was left to me to take the initiative to discover the practical applications myself.

At work, I discovered my own hubris as to how much practical application I had really grasped – and just how much it fell under the mark of what was really required. That’s not even talking about developing the ability to draw the essential links between practical application and all that theory, by myself or how to manage upwards, downwards, forwards and sideways. Nobody taught me that being a competent craftsman was not enough, you had to be a good manager and business person too.

What did I do with my steep learning curve? Like any good Singaporean, I whinged and felt persecuted.

When I was going through the Family Law course in University, my professor taught me that marriage is really a partnership. She entreated us to consider it quasi-contractual relationship (as a starting point assumption) in order to assist our understanding of the legal rights that flow from this union.

Divine law is not completely different, marriage is also a sacramental covenant. The difference between a covenant and contract is of course that making a covenant involves the party to the covenant more intimately than it does a party to a regular contract.

By the world’s definition there is not a distinction between the two. They both can mean to “enter into an agreement between 2 or more parties for the doing or not doing of something specified.” When contracts are signed, something is expected from both sides. If one side fails, then the contract can be null and void.

A covenant, on the other hand, whether made between two individuals, or between a person and God, is sealed by the making of a vow or an oath in God's name. That's why when a person takes a vow or oath, even in today's society, it is ended with "so help me God."

We often hear married couples and counselors telling us (as a matter of head knowledge) that in a partnership like marriage, you will never find perfection, only the constant call to renew the cycle of forgiveness, in good times and in bad. Once you put your hand to the plough, you don't look back anymore. You keep your eyes forward, then you love, honour and obey.

I have a (supremely ironic) theory; that Theory whilst wonderful to examine under a microscope and place in a glass case, is completely useless without practical application – i.e. chewing on it, spitting out, and then re-chewing it (the way you would a betel nut) for the rest of your life. There’s no point standing around theorizing, as someone I know puts it, “Don’t talk so much, just do what is right, stay the course”, regardless of pretty much everything.

Working relationships, I have come to discover are exactly like marriages. Why do I say this? Firstly, you need a good fit; you need chemistry, fidelity and a willingness to rough it out as a unit, come what may. You take turns to back off when the situation calls for it, to comfort the other, to assert yourself at the right juncture, to lash out and then at the end of it all, keep going back for more…to repeat the cycle, over and over again…..sometimes, till death do you part. Fidelity cannot be divorced from the elements of repetition and longevity.

At some point, the pretty, attractive parts of theory fade into the background and what you are left with is just the stark, unadorned cognitive will to exercise fidelity. It is a kind of commitment ever mindful of the ties that bind and the unspoken essence of faithfulness. It gives me a whole new perspective on why Christ chooses to call us (the Church), His bride. We people of little faith, who fail Him again and again with our weakness and infidelities against His spirit. There is not more much to be said 2000 years later compared to what was said (through His actions) when He walked the earth.

“I have loved you with an everlasting love. I know you are going to keep failing, hurting and rejecting me from time immemorial, right until the last day. But I’m still going to do this. I’m still going to purchase your redemption. I’m still going to Calvary to lay down my life for you in spite of how many more times you have and are going to continue to let me down.”

That’s what the covenant of marriage really means, that’s the bar which has been set. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel like an absolute whinger to contemplate walking away (from the various associations and situations in my life) everytime I think about the fidelity I already enjoy from Him.

the fool for Christ

Come down from your fences, open the gate

2009-05-01T19:37:00.005+08:00

Driving past the Novena Church one weekend, I could not help but wonder what has become of my former mathematics tutor who used to live near the church. The only time I ever had private tuition lessons was in Secondary 4 for Additional Mathematics.

My elder brother and I shared the same mathematics tutor. She used to be his form teacher when he was in Secondary school. Then one day in the late nineties, her husband who was a pastor had a terrible car accident and was rendered a paraplegic. So she quit her job as a teacher under the Ministry of Education and became a private tutor operating out of her own home so that she could look after her husband. She had two adolascent sons a few years older than I. She put them through school and paid for her husband's medical needs through her earnings as a private tutor.

I remember that the old automated bed in the living room was always the first thing I saw whenever I would go over to her house for lessons after school. She had bought it second-hand from a hospital to make his life a little bit easier.

Sometimes, my tuition mate (another girl from my school) would be late so I'd have to wait for her to arrive before we could start the lesson proper. Every now and then, there'd be pockets of fifteen minutes wherein I would sit and watch my tutor give her husband a sponge bath or help him with some physiotherapic exercises on that automated bed in the living room. Sometimes I chatted with the pastor. But I always took care not to bring up his paralysis.

I knew then with my head that it was a tragic thing that had happened to the pastor, but I never dared to ask how she was doing or enquire about her daily burdens. I only ever talked about Additional Mathematics with her. At fifteen and a half, I assumed immediately that I did not have the mental or emotional capacity to offer any kind of relief or comfort.

Why would a weathered woman in her forties care to share the heartbreak of caring for a paralysed spouse with her teenage student? Looking back, I realise that I was utterly mistaken. Even if I did not have the emotional maturity to be a shoulder she could cry on, my attitude of avoidance of the tragedy was no Christian way to handle it either.

Too often we assume that others will be offended if we offer a helping hand and dismiss it as sanctimonious pity. But really, would anyone really turn down earnest concern when they recognise it? Apathy is a slow, insidious poison just as the opposite of love is indifference, not hate. Assumptions are often sorely misguided. The older I get, the more I realise how emotional and spiritual loneliness are an affliction to many people who have not yet reached the level of spiritual maturity wherein loneliness is instead a sanctifying/purifying experience granted by God (i.e. the dark night of the soul).

Most of us yearn so deeply to be communicated with at the level of the soul, how many of us desire to be fully seen, cherished and protected? Yet, the false requirement of worthiness inevitably stops us from taking that active step toward piercing the force field of negative assumption. Sometimes, the answer is not to think up some elaborate plan, but just to step up and be.

Many many times in the year, I do not understand my own mother. Often the words that escape her lips make me want to tear my hair out in frustration. She loves me unconditionally but often chooses the queerest ways to show it. She is incredibly proud of my success and yet inevitably apprehends a widening gulf between us intellectually whenever it hits her that I have exceeded the limits of her Primary School classroom. As a teacher and a mother, she finds it hard to grapple with the realisation that she may no longer be tangibly relevant in my learning process. I have the luxury of being the one soaring and lackadaisically reassuring her that there is no issue.

Every Labour Day is my father's death anniversary. It has been eight years already today, can you believe that? Every anniversary, she is always a little on the edge; moody, slightly reclusive, irrational and temperamental. We are built so differently, I am built just like my father....forthright and driven, the complete opposite of her....their marriage worked because of how their polarities complemented each other but in this case, I am her daughter rather than her spouse. I cannot be my father for her. Our mother-daughter relationship has been fraught with its fair share of quarrels, tears, hurtful barbs and then the perpetual commitment to forgiveness.

At the end of this month, she will end a 40 year career in teaching and finally retire to enjoy the golden years she has so rightfully earned. It is her first and last job. She has had a very respectable career in educating the young minds of this country. Yet I sense, my mother clings onto her Primary Two students as the last bastion of simple, pure-hearted souls who allow her to be that ultimate paragon of wisdom and learning to them. She does not get that awe at home as often as we would all like.

I love my mother with all my heart though I struggle to give her the assurance she craves. A not so insubstantial part of the past 3 years has been a challenge betwixt us relationally because of my directness (an occupational hazard) whilst she prefers the more meandering venacular. And so, in my own imperfect way, I have to rely on hits and misses when trying to assure her of my love and fidelity as a child.

I have discovered that my decision to scale down on social and ministry activities the past two years to spend more time at home has borne fruit I did not envisage. She doesn't need to talk to me all the time. I could be in one room reading and she could be in another listening to music or watching the telly but she feels happy just knowing I am under the same roof as her.

My act of fidelity is to belong to her and our mother-daughter relationship unconditionally, regardless of the foibles and idiosyncrasies. I want to say to and do for her NOW (not just on Mother's Day) whatever I mean to, even if it will mean more hits and misses when it comes to showing love and embracing our thoroughly imperfect relationship.

I've been stumbling through some dark places;
Now I'm following the plow.

The phases of the moon;
The chambers of the heart;
The ebb and dart of small gray
Spiders spinning in the dark
In spite of all the times the web is torn apart

the fool for Christ

Just keep swimming

2009-04-19T01:11:00.006+08:00

I think I must have written at least a few times on this blog how I was born with severe hydraphobia. It's genetic, my whole family has hydraphobia. We get hysterical in water. Phobias are irrational fears afterall. However, I am the only one in our family who can swim.....albeit badly. It is likely due to the fact that I almost drowned twice as a child.

During one of these two incidences, I almost got swept out to open sea at high tide during a picnic at the beach my uncle's family had taken me on. I was four then, so I don't have graphic memories of getting swept out and but I have heard all the stories about that incident from my cousins. Hence, those stories have probably underscored my hydraphobia.

The other incident, I was eight. I got sucked under a mini waterfall at a country club my cousin's boyfriend brought us to (those were the days when couples brought little cousins as chaperones to make sure they didn't get up to any 'mischief').

My parents sent me for swimming lessons when I was nine, because they thought it was an invaluable skill. My fears from the almost drowning incident when I was eight were still pretty fresh. So I faked ear aches to get out of swimming classes. I hated being in the water. The scariest parts for me were when we were being tested on how well we could tread water.

In Junior College, our PE teachers were utterly draconian. I can still remember how despite my protests that I had hydraphobia, I got pushed into the pool by my teacher. "Swim! You already know the strokes!" he shouted. So swam I did. Albeit slowly and badly.

For some strange reason, I seem to produce unexpected results only when I am being pushed hard by Nazi-esque people in my life.

So the long and short of it is, I can swim. However, the first fifteen minutes in the water are always incredibly uncomfortable for me and it will be a good twenty minutes before I can bring myself to submerge my head underwater. The feeling of being underwater unleashes unbridled panic in me. My ability to swim stems from the application of head knowledge about breast strokes.

Recently, a colleague was sharing with me too how he conquered childhood hydraphobia. "It's easy. Just keep swimming," - ala Dory in Finding Nemo.

My colleague swims for 2 hours every single Sunday and on 2 weekdays a week if he can manage the time - talk about sheer determination and the application of mind over body! "There's no secret to it, you just keep trying until you can, especially at the points where you don't feel like it."

It struck me tonight, how applicable that advice is to the quest of searching for God. If we were to base our attempts on just emotions and feelings, no one would ever find God. The process would be too hard, too discouraging and too disappointing. 8 years into my spiritual conversion, I have run out of words to describe the gamut of experiences on the journey. There are too many things He wants to impart and communicate to me. Hence the silence. I find it easier to just go for the ride, instead of attempting to provide a running comementary.

I have found that persistence is vital. It is not rocket science, but it doesn't mean that it's easy to master.

I remember how after my first year of University, I wanted to quit. I felt like a fish out of the water and grossly inadequate. I asked friends, family, professors for their opinions. Everyone had something to say. Most felt it wasn't worth the pain. Afterall, reading law is not for everyone. In the end, it was my own home tutor at the faculty that persuaded me to give it another year before quitting. And after my second year was over, he persuaded me to stay on another year. By my third year, I started to score A's.

8 years on, I can't imagine doing anything else. I didn't know immediately or even 4 years into the race whether this would be for me. However much I initially grappled with feelings of inadequacy and being overwhelmed, consolations did eventually come my way. All of them arrived at unexpected junctures, all of them exceeding my own expectations.

I honestly can't remember the last tangible spiritual consolation I humanly felt.

I may have been cheered by smaller consolations along the way, but all of these consolations were the result of decisions. Cognitive decisions to be happy, contented and upbeat. None of the pipe dreams I initially harboured came to fruition. Instead, I pretty much fly by the seat of my pants when tuning into God FM. The instructions come in, and I move. The amazing thing is that everyday, I find reason to be joyful. I guess that IS the beauty of searching for God because in searching for my true self, I find Him too.

So to quote my inadvertently wise colleague (who by the way is an aethist), "There's no secret to it, you just keep trying until you can, especially at the points where you don't feel like it."

the fool for Christ

Blessed Easter

2009-04-12T17:28:00.003+08:00

This Holy Weekend has been decidedly quotidian. Instead of the usual augustness of the Easter Vigil Mass, I elected to welcome the first light of Easter by myself and then with my family. It was quiet, dignified but nonetheless euphoric - a great release.

Leading up from the sombreness of the Good Friday service, I found that I would rather savour the fullness and richness of the Liturgy of Light slowly, pondering word by word in the readings and letting their profundity and the magnificence of our salvation history sink in, instead of the usual logistical nightmare that jostling with 1000 other parishioners often involves.

This was a uniquely peaceful and succoring experience. Humanly formed thoughts and words as between God and I were unecessary.

So this is what redemption really feels like.

Blessed Easter to one and all!

the fool for Christ

At first light

2009-04-11T14:07:00.008+08:00

And so tonight, 6 weeks of waiting in spiritual darkness will draw to a close, with the promised joining in of Christ’s resurrection at first light of Easter dawn.

This Lent, save for a few consolatory meet ups with beloved friends on occasions like birthdays, I have been trudging on in darkness by myself. It was a personal resolution; to resist taking steps to get myself out of the circumstances of being overwhelmed by spiritual darkness and aphasia - in order to restore comfort - and instead let the bone-stripping desert experience wash over.

This has been a very challenging Lent, and I am very tired. So is the lemming. It never fails to amaze me how much our spiritual walks parallel the church’s liturgical calendar.

One of the great cinematic moments for me as a movie buff was that of Uma Thurman being buried alive in Kill Bill II by Bud (James Madsen’s character). The 6-foot tall woman is shoved into a pine box just large enough to cram her Amazonian frame into and lowered into the lonely grave of Paula Schultz. She is given a sole torchlight, very cruelly, so she can see herself panic in her last breathable minutes.

She has to experience the skin-crawling sound of earth being shoveled on top of the box and then hear the truck (the only mode of escape) drive away. Next, she has to find it within herself to calm her pounding heart down, conquer her fear of being buried alive and recall her training under Pai-mei - and the lead up to mastering his five-point palm exploding heart technique. Finally, she busts her way out of the pine box using just her knuckles and tunnels up to the surface for fresh air at last.

Though I have not literally been trapped in a pine box the past 6 weeks, there has been a significant amount of spiritual isolation and discomfort from having to sit quietly in darkness, in that tight space (brought on by the closing walls of deadlines and unhappy incidences with ungrateful clients), waiting and trying to gather my wits about me before light and air are restored, though it often feels like I will surely remain trapped forever.

I have come to realize how despite all that boot-camp training, I am more soft-hearted than I care to let on. I bleed red and warm, not icicles when you cut me. Well-intentioned friends say “You care and give too much” and advocate a dispassionate attitude toward what is “just a job”. Perhaps, but I am not ready to go down the path of divorcing my faith or my personal core values from my work just yet. I’m not ready to stop believing that the mission field is everywhere, even in one’s own backyard. I am not ready for the cockles of my heart to coagulate into the cold hard cement of indifference.

One product of this experience though, has been a surge of determination as to how I will not allow defeat, darkness or negativity to overcome me. I will not go down without a fight and I will not allow my personal integrity to be impinged by another person’s callous remarks or unjustified rebukes. I will allow the Holy Spirit who dwells within me to guide me toward the direction He charts, regardless of the bevy of naysayers, prophets of doom and misanthropes who rain down their negative and disparaging comments.

I long for the warmth of the Son’s rays upon my face. I long for His victory to wash over the wounds I bear. I believe that by His stripes I am healed. I know He gave me a heart of flesh, not of stone – I am His servant.

Isaiah 49: 2-4

He made my mouth like a sharpened sword,
in the shadow of his hand he hid me;
he made me into a polished arrow
and concealed me in his quiver.

He said to me, "You are my servant,
Israel, in whom I will display my splendor."

But I said, "I have labored to no purpose;
I have spent my strength in vain and for nothing.
Yet what is due me is in the LORD's hand,
and my reward is with my God."

the fool for Christ

Diary of an Old Soul

2009-03-29T21:30:00.005+08:00

How many helps thou giv'st to those who would learn!
To some sore pain, to others a sinking heart;
To some a weariness worse than any smart;
To some a haunting, fearing, blind concern;
Madness to some; to some the shaking dart
Of hideous death still following as they turn;
To some a hunger that will not depart.

To some thou giv'st a deep unrest -- a scorn
Of all they are or see upon the earth;
A gaze, at dusky night and clearing morn,
As on a land of emptiness and dearth;
To some a bitter sorrow; to some the sting
Of love misprized -- of sick abandoning;
To some a frozen heart, oh, worse than anything!

The messengers of Satan think to mar,
But make -- driving the soul from false to feal --
To thee, the reconciler, the one real,
In whom alone the would be and the is are met.

George MacDonald

the fool for Christ

Spiritual Aphasia

2009-03-18T14:34:00.002+08:00

Lately, I have been feeling more and more bouts of silence overcome me.

There is not much I have to say.

I still speak audibly when I have to; to do my job as an advocate, to give sonant praise to God, to break of myself and comfort those whom God sends my way. There is no way that what is actually uttered sufficiently conveys all that is going on in me. They resonate only in the realm of decibels not in the spiritual.

Beyond accomplishing human function, I am practically mute.

It has been 20 months since I have returned from Rome and yet, true articulation still evades me in spite of the many movements of the Spirit in my life. It is almost as if I am spiritually autistic. During a sharing last week, the lemming commented, “You seem to have been struck dumb by God”.

The first person I thought of was Zachariah, the father of John the Baptist and husband of Elizabeth. He was a priest belonging to the order of Abijah. While he was offering incense in the Temple, the angel Gabriel appeared to him, and told him that his wife Elizabeth who had been barren for many years would give birth to a son, and the son's name would be John. Zechariah, who was an old man, did not believe the angel, and because of his disbelief, was struck dumb, thenceforth unable to speak.

When the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, she did bear a son. On the eighth day when the child was circumcised, they were going to name him Zechariah, after his father, but Elizabeth said "No, he is going to be called John." This surprised everybody because none of their relatives had this name. They then asked Zechariah, who was still mute, what name he wanted to give his son. He asked for a writing tablet and wrote, "His name is John." Immediately Zechariah's mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God. (Luke 1:5-79).

And it hit me that perhaps I am going through my own Zachariah experience, waiting for God’s prophecy to me to be fulfilled. Perhaps in my disobedient own way, I have not single-mindedly clung to His promises or His prophecy over my life and the legacy He has willed for me.

In this time of being silenced, my tongue is tied but my eyes have been opened. I have witnessed beautiful daily little miracles amidst the awful pain of humanity that my soul recognizes but neither my tongue nor puny human mind have the ability to piece together the profundity of.

I shall wait, not just because there is nothing else I can do, but because I desire to obey. I shall wait for the fulfillment of His prophecy so that when He finally loosens my tongue, I can witness without reserve.

the fool for Christ

Greyer, and perhaps better in Time

2009-02-15T14:37:00.003+08:00

One of my personal resolutions for 2009 has been to slow down more and avoid whizzing around the way I used to for the past 2 years. There’s a saying that haste makes waste, but it’s wisdom that’s often lost on Singaporeans, especially us young uns'. We seem to be genetically encoded to demand for and embody instant everything. Not only that, we want everything. What we don’t often think about is what happens next after you’ve “finished” accomplishing or accumulating that long list of ‘everything’. Will it all have meant anything at all in the larger scheme of things? I wonder.

The frequency of blog entries in 2008 has been lower compared to 2007 in part because my commitments at work have increased significantly and because I didn’t think there was a point in posting if I did not have anything new to say. There has been in 2008, a lot of routine and continuity with lessons already learnt in the preceding 2 years. I look back on 2008 and it was anything but vapid, just that old lessons continued to ring true and had to be re-learned over and over again. Moreover, I wanted to spend more of my neurons on living real life…and I have!

There is something about the rhythm of a routine and walking with Him that go hand in hand; like tea and sympathy. I feel a change within that prefers to avoid melodrama or the overstatement of issues. I favour positivity and optimism over the soliloquy of a defeated and broken warrior. The will to succeed and rise from the mud like an untainted lily blossom drives me. Life really doesn’t have to be so complicated; simple can be meaningful too. Tragedy and the triumph of the human spirit which it draws out can be beautiful as well.

Funny how when I was still a student, I always thought the camaraderie forged in a convent education was the gold standard of a shield to Life’s blows. “Frenz4eva” we used to write on little friendship cards to each other. I thought things would and had to be this way forever because “only the friends you meet in an environment like school wouldn’t have as high a likelihood of doing you in” (silly goose that I was). It was “the new people you met outside of school that you had to be wary of” was the mantra back in the day. But of course, we were wrong. Some friendships ended, others waned and a few survived; through sheer will and mutual effort.

Oddly, some of my closest friends at this stage of the walk are in between their late thirties and early fifties. People I met in time and through chance. Ordinarily, an unmarried twenty-six year old with no children would not share that many commonalities with people who bear the burdens of the other vagaries of advanced life. Yet such is Life; there is no formulaic way for people to meet, bond or share crosses. Second marriages, step children, extra-marital affairs, children with learning disabilities. So this is what life on the other side of thirty potentially holds! They joke I have positively aged (vicariously) through my friendships with them.

When we are younger, there is always the promise of tomorrow. “The world is your oyster” as they say. Black and white are separated by clean sharp lines. We entertain grandiose illusions of the largess Life MUST bestow upon us by sheer dint of our youth and fierce potential. Then Time breaches those previously impenetrable 'clean sharp lines'; impervious to our violent objections and giving rise to a chiaroscuro of soft greys. Then we spend the rest of our time ruing the grey days, longing for the austerity of black and white once more. I say this with a chuckle because it applies to myself most of all; that youth can be moronic and yet strangely so restorative.

At this juncture, I find the willingness and generosity of heart to accept all that God deals me with open arms, (however much I balk at first) is the most genuine form of fidelity I can offer him. My sacrifice is to be pliant. Loving the God who has loved me first, since I was in my mother’s womb is not rocket science. It takes an act of will to submit without struggling, qualifying, defending or scheming to dissuade Him. It is simple, but monumentally difficult.

the fool for Christ

Mea Culpa

2009-01-26T23:54:00.011+08:00

Recently I got to thinking about the flawed human state and how so many of us either foolishly think we are immune to it and/or somehow find it inexcusable in others. Upon closer self-examination, I’ve come to realise that I am unconsciously guilty of this too.

Looking into a mirror isn’t always easy. Sometimes we are absolutely blinkered and so enamoured with what we see; the way Narcissus loved his own reflection. Sometimes the tiniest flaws we are most ashamed of immediately jump out at us even though others barely notice. Sometimes we only have shards of glass that barely reflect more than splintered or distorted images. It’s not easy to have a proportionate and crystal-clear appreciation of the real image staring back, sans the romantic lighting or air-brushing.

How many of us have the benefit of full-length gulided mirrors with us all the time? Sometimes what it takes is to meet a direct reflection of ourselves in the flesh. It’s a fundamental sociological principle that people always gravitate towards others that will accept them. I’ve found that I tend to gravitate towards people who are very similar to me in various ways. They run the whole gamut of character traits but each of them shares at least one or two core commonalities with me.

Some time ago, a good friend pointed out how I always seem to pick men incredibly similar to me (at least based on my perceptions). I’d always thought it’s something natural to gravitate towards potentials who share a similar interests, it never hit me before though that this could be some progeny of narcissism.

Take the current example of someone in my life right now. Right off the bat, I had maintained my distance because of his reputation for being somewhat of a rude and offensive ogre. Circumstances forced us to have to associate much more closely and frequently than I had been prepared for. It turned up an unexpected surprise in the discovery of how much we really had in common that resided beneath the veneer of all that misanthropic behavior.

I discovered an enigma that I have yet to solve the riddle to. For some reason, guardedness and misgivings gave way to us becoming strange and unlikely bedfellows (not literally of course). And that led to an accidental discovery akin to the story of The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde.

Beneath the conscious effort to procure apprehension is a rather misunderstood person filled with compassion and a sense of justice. It’s much like a durian; prickly and pungent on the outside, but if you crack open that uncongenial husk; inside it is soft, golden and generally, the good stuff. I say that I have yet to solve the riddle because this is anything but a fairytale.

Sure, he's whip sharp and fiendishly funny but some days he makes me so angry with his oafish bulldozing and snap judgments, I just want to gut him. Some days, when he thinks absolutely nobody else is paying attention, he says these beautiful, meaningful and deeply philosophical things, you scarce can believe they are coming out of the same mouth of someone who would take a bloodthirsty chunk of enemy flesh off without a second thought.

In struggling to bind the wounds he has inflicted with his barbs, I had a recent revelation; I see a reflection of myself in him. I had no idea how much flesh my own barbs could take off until now. Instead of sympathizing with these poor souls, I can offer empathy now. I know this is God’s way of teaching me meekness and obedience, subjecting me to situation where circumstantially and emotionally, I cannot and will not seek and eye for an eye. If I expect to be forgiven for my shortcomings and flaws then I cannot withhold one mite of my forgiveness to those who have wounded me regardless of degree and frequency.

It has changed my understanding of what the submission of Christ to the authority of Pontius Pilate (especially when he declared "Ecce Homo") really means. It gives a brand new spin to the words in the Nicene Creed, “Born of the Virgin Mary and became man”. For the Son of God to wear the yoke of our flawed and fallen human state was the biggest cross of all.

the fool for Christ

We'll take a cup of kindness yet for auld lang syne

2009-01-01T19:17:00.018+08:00

And so 2008 has come and gone, with 2009 already upon us.

Though the year past may have been very eventful and woeful for many in the global arena, there is not much about 2008 that I have complaints about. It has been a very fortunate and enriching year for me in terms of travel.

Beth and I went to visit the lemming in Tokyo in late March. Though the time we were there is supposed to be a week earlier than the traditional cherry blossom viewing week, we still managed to see beautiful cherry blossoms at Ueno Park and even more of them (loads more to be exact) at Nijō Castle (二条城, Ninja Castle) in Kyoto. I absolutely loved the feeling of being uncontactable except for when I wanted to be (which is when I would pop my SIM card into Beth’s 3G phone). For once, my bosses were unable to contact me during a vacation (as opposed to being called up at 3am in London by Madame last month) Viva la CD-MA networks! And thank goodness O2 Atom Exec phones don’t have 3G capability. Japan is a beautiful and fascinating country, I’d love to go back, in spite of the horrible bout food poisoning I had on the last day in Kyoto. I was so weak that I literally crawled through Customs and the security checks on my hands and knees. I filled 5 air sick bags to the brim during the 7 hour flight. The upside of that was that I lost about 4kg after the whole ordeal. Haha!

Despite falling so very ill in Melbourne in July during Days in the Diocese, and our ghastly 14 hour bus ride from Melbourne to Sydney for WYD (where our luggage got lost), the week of staying with our host family in the diocese of Oak Park in the beautiful State of Victoria was one of the most special and heartwarming experiences I’ve ever had. It has completely changed my understanding of Christian charity and generosity. I must get off my behind and write to our hosts soon. Meeting the Pope is an experience that is in a class of its own. Despite the wheezing and constant hacking from the winter flu bug I picked up in Melbourne, I remember my heart being overwhelmed and feeling so full of patristic awe as I stood on the docks of Barangaroo screaming what was left of my lungs out in anticipation of the arrival of Benedict XVI. I had never met him in my life before that, but somehow just the thought that the Vicar of Christ was on his way to meet us, filled me with a familiar anticipation of the paternal love I’ve only ever received from my earthly and heavenly father. All the discomforts and irritations of our travelling nightmare were momentarily forgotten, as I suddenly remembered so clearly why I had made this pilgrimage.

Going to Bangkok with the girls for Sheryl’s hen vacation in November was one of the best holidays I’ve ever been on (in terms of our shopping haul and the company) but the kind of relief and deep sense of the protection of God which enveloped me when I opened the morning papers the morning after we’d landed back in Singapore will be forever impressed in my consciousness. Nothing says more about how much God loves me than the many close calls I’ve experienced.

London in December is still fresh in my mind and the unparalleled importance of family to me is cemented by the really touching moments I’ve witnessed between my Aunty and my cousin during their reunion. I am totally enamoured of my adorable little half-French niece. I vow to spoil her rotten during my next trip in June 2009 and return her to her parents only for poops and baths. Hahah. Not all the shopping opportunity in Tokyo, Sydney, Bangkok and London could come close to comparing with these experiences.

Despite the many irritations and flashes of anger with asinine people that I’ve experienced in the office over the course of 2008, there is not much about this admittedly imperfect working environment or job scope that I would change. I thrive in its intensity and challenge; it makes me feel completely alive and unapologetic to be as assertive as God made me to be. The job comes with its satisfactions and ermm…little perks/rewards too; meals at posh restaurants from grateful epicurean clients, exotic dried deer genitalia and powdered bear paw from clients from the mainland who didn’t bother to enquire if I was married and trying to conceive, but I prefer the hand-made 'thank you' cards, drawings from children of clients and cheap coffee thermal flasks (because they know how important piping hot coffee is to me).

My favourite gift was a box of doughnuts from a client who happened to be a school servant. She could not believe that I had drafted her Will for her for free and refused to accept payment. I could not contain my surprise when she subsequently returned to the reception area with a box of 12 premium doughnuts from The Donut Factory (this was during the height of the doughnut frenzy when you would have to queue for almost 30minutes just to get your hands on one box) and forced me to accept. It wasn’t so much the deliciousness of the doughnuts per se that gave me such satisfaction as it was the satisfaction of being able to put into action, that which I read law for to begin with.

In 2008, I have run the whole gamut of human emotions from warmth and elation to irritation to rage to nonchalant zen-ness to confusion and crushing disappointment. And it is this varied experience that has made me feel complete as a human being than ever before. My biggest resolution for 2009 is to slow down some more. Though my life is considerably less beset with a long list of activities and commitments than before, there is room to clear out more of the clutter. I would rather do 5 things excellently than 10 things only passably or 15 things atrociously. The greatest gift that I can give is to tap into the power of “now” and be 100% present to the people around me whenever we have the good fortune to meet or converse.

The second most important resolution of 2009 for me is to be more submissive and obedient, especially by holding my tongue on the lightning bolts of thoughts and judgments that streak through my brain especially after someone has said/done something I strongly disagree with. Though the nature of my vocation as a lawyer requires me to be able to not shy from a fight, gentleness is not necessarily weakness in the right circumstances. One of the best imageries of how this is accomplished is that of Our Lady crushing the head of the serpent. She crushed the enemy without losing any of her softness and womanhood. That is the ultimate Catholic teaching on feminity is it not?

Through my Spiritual Director’s guidance I have come to realize that submission isn’t necessarily some kind of conceding to inferiority. It is obedience to the will of God for me, however much His mind diverges from my notions of how things should be/turn out. Christ was the King of Kings and the Lion of Judah, but He submitted to the authority of Pontius Pilate because He knew what His obedience to the Father would accomplish in the larger scheme of things. I know that my own innate rebelliousness causes me to be particularly resistant to masculine authority that I do not respect. The quiet and unassuming strength of the Blessed Mother is for me, a point of reference.

And so, despite all these pessimistic forecasts which augur so poorly for the future of our global economy, I welcome 2009 with an open embrace. It may not turn out to be a year of events that I want to hear about, nonetheless it would still be a blessing to be able to wake up each morning to welcome every new day of 2009. Imperfect but God-given? I’ll take it…with a side of fries and ketchup too thank you very much.

Happy New Year everyone!

the fool for Christ

O come O come Emmanuel

2008-12-22T00:09:00.005+08:00

Unlike the previous 2 years, this Advent, the Christmas spirit is very strongly felt in my family. In fact, Christmas came early for us during the time we spent in England with my extended family. There is something absolutely magical about Christmas in London, especially when you are there with people you love and care about. I am immensely grateful for the experience.

There is genuine rejoicing in my heart.

The best part of Advent this year wasn’t the shopping (even though shopping in London is really quite fabulous) but the Carols, especially those about Christ, our Emmanuel. Caroling with the department this Friday (after so many years of putting away my sheet music) was immensely uplifting.

I could feel my heart so undeniably full of joy and pride as I sang those words:-

One small child in a land of a thousand.
One small dream of a savior tonight.
One small hand reaching out to the starlight.
One small savior of life. Ooh.

One king bringing his gold and riches.
One king ruling an army of might.
One king kneeling with incense and candlelight.
One king bringing us life. Ooh.

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel.

More than anything, this Advent has been about quiet but ardent anticipation. It’s strange in a way because I am not in want of anything or anyone. There is really no cause for complaint. Life is not perfect but very good nonetheless and I feel incredibly blessed every day. I liken it to waiting for something, someone or some event that I have absolutely no idea about but I just know I am waiting for.

The biggest lesson I have learned this Advent is contentment – to choose to maintain an attitude and disposition of gratitude every day for every little blessing I have received (including every inconvenience or annoyance I put up with) - to embrace the ugly and painful parts as much as I covet the consolations of His generosity.

The more time passes, the more I am convinced that Christian love (whether familial, platonic or romantic) is so much more than about the ecstasies of feeling warm and fuzzy toward each other. It is about the overlooking of faults and the blind eye you have to turn to the hurtful things the person you love says/does to you on a daily basis, whether it be intentional or unconscious. It is about digging deeper within and allowing every day to be a new beginning for the rest of your relationship/friendship. Without the willingness to forgive and re-embrace the prodigal elements of our lives, there is no real love.

The three most powerful lines that have ministered to me this Christmas are:-

And ransom captive Israel

That mourns in lonely exile here

Until the Son of God appear

I am a captive of my humanity; my weaknesses and foibles. Without His presence in it, this life that I lead is a foolish and lonely exile (even if there are 6 billion other human beings on earth with me and I have a family to go home to everyday).

This theme of 'exile' in my spiritual journey has begun to evolve in ways that are still beyond my limited comprehension. The desert experience of purification and sanctification interiorly remains a harsh and intensely lonely one, and the frequency of consolations dispensed, sporadic. Yet I cannot imagine any other alternative that the World offers, satisfying me more. For small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to eternal life.

Because my heart is restless Lord, until it finds rest in You.

the fool for Christ

Climb every mountain

2008-12-14T03:27:00.011+08:00

I have happy memories from my childhood.

Many of them pertain to games I’d played with my brothers , cousins and neighbours, books I’d spent hours lying on my back reading and hours I spent in front of the screen, enraptured by the plethora of movies my parents exposed us to. My mother grew up in the fifties and sixties, so many of the movies I started off watching were made by Rodgers & Hammerstein. One of my early favourites was 'The Sound of Music' – which had been (loosely) based on the life story of Maria Von Trapp. It was one of the closest real life examples to a Cinderella story that had ever been captured of film for easy viewing - which of course appealed to a little girl.

Watching the movie in my teens and late twenties allowed me to draw completely different lessons from each viewing. One of the most profound scenes that eluded me most completely in the early years was when Maria (the novitiate) first discovered she had developed feelings for Captain Von Trapp (whose children she was sent to be governess to) and fled back to the abbey to hide from her feelings. She asked to take her vows immediately. Mother Superior knew of course that Maria was using the abbey walls to hide from life and her real destiny outside of the religious vocation. Her advice to Maria was to “Climb every mountain”.

Mother Superior: Are you in love with him?

Maria: I don't know! I don't know. I--The baroness said I was. She said that he was in love with me. But I didn't want to believe it. There were times we looked at each other. I could hardly breathe.

Mother Superior: Did you let him see your feelings?

Maria: I don't know. That's what's torturing me. I was on God's errand. To have asked for his love would have been wrong. I just couldn't stay. I'm ready at this moment to take my vows. -Please help me.

Mother Superior: Maria. The love of a man and a woman is holy. You have a great capacity to love. You must find out how God wants you to spend your love.

Maria: But I pledged my life to God. I pledged my life to his service.

Mother Superior: My daughter, if you love this man, it doesn't mean you love God less.

Maria: No.

Mother Superior: You must find out. You must go back.

Maria: You can't ask me to do that. Please let me stay. I beg—

Mother Superior: Maria. These walls were not built to shut out problems. You have to face them. You have to live the life you were born to live.

One of the challenges that I have faced in my own journey has been that of reconciling the secular with the religious elements in my life. For the first 19 years, I led an incredibly secular life. For the next 6, my life had been intensely religious. The friends who grew up with me will attest to the dramatic change. In the past one year, I’ve sought to reconcile the two within me more actively.

The religious vocation is not for me, I’ve been blessed enough to have known that very early on in the discernment process. Hence I’ve always felt strongly drawn to the marriage vocation. I decided very early in my spiritual conversion, that I could not envision my helpmate as someone who was not able to labour side by side with me in the Lord’s vineyard. It gave me pretty set views on the checklist of characteristics I wanted in a partner – hence certain choices I have made in my own personal life which would not make any sense to persons outside the actively serving circuit.

In the past one year, a certain equilibrium has come to pass within me. I’ve stopped fighting my vocation as a lawyer, more specifically, as a litigator. The reward has been a deep sense of peace and rest internally despite the physical enervation and odd irritation here and there, although the reconciliation of the “secular” and “religious” within me (and I’m using these terms very loosely) has been anything but smooth. I’ve struggled with being wrought with feelings of guilt when I’ve found myself immensely enjoying the “high-powered” lifestyle my job affords me or feeling increasingly drawn to the secular alternatives to the "set views" of what a helpmate should be.

To say that one does not enjoy the perks and purchasing power of private practice is a patent lie. Similarly, to claim that one does not enjoy the passions of an unbridled association outside the traditional checklist is denial. Yet it’d never struck me before that unconsciously I really was guilty of a certain degree of self mortification each time I afforded myself a little comfort or tenderness. It took a few conversations with a rather astute friend – who incidentally is an atheist and a Goth musician – before I realized that I had drawn artificial lines between both “secular” and “religious” in my own personal life despite having been searching so ardently for the longest time, what it means to “be in this World, but not be of this World.”

I’ve suffered because I’ve struggled with the realization that my time in youth ministry is coming to an end. (To type it out is as difficult as it is to utter it on my lips.) Yet my spiritual roots, so much of what I am today drew their nutrients from rich soil of corporate youth ministry. Even now, some of the closest friends I have who aren’t former schoolmates are people I met in youth ministry. I still enjoy their company immensely, yet I don’t feel called or drawn to certain traditional roles within the construct of classic corporate ministry anymore. This is despite the fact that I don’t have any clear answers as to what God is calling me to next. I’ve flogged myself in horror (metaphorically speaking of course) as these seemingly “heretical” thoughts crossed my mind. I wondered if my own moral compass had been tainted by the whore of Babylon. (Ok, that's abit of an exaggeration). If there's one thing I've never had trouble with, it's been moderation.

Though it has been a somewhat lonely journey interiorly because most of the people around me are either blooming late right about now or have caught their second wind and are riding high, whereas I am nowhere near losing my faith, but I seem to be caught in a classic black hole of abeyance. It is a protracted season of waiting amidst the question marks and allowing the state of abeyance to persist until He gives me a nudge back into the next momentum.

The lemming has been an immense comfort in the process of journeying through what initially appeared to be an undoing. Most ships need to know what their next port of call is before they leave the harbor they are docked at. It’s necessary to know just how far they are travelling so they can determine how much water and supplies to load before raising the anchor. It seems sometimes like I am being asked to raise the anchor and sail into the sunset towards quite literally, "only God knows where" and for "only God knows how long".

I’ve reached a stage where “asking to take my vows now” by plying on more “religious” and “spiritual” elements is not the solution to a destiny that is waiting “outside the abbey walls” despite the fact that I have no idea what really lies outside the abbey walls. To pass through the gates that give security, belonging and a sense of identity – into the unknown outside and on to the mountain which must be climbed - is a rite of passage in itself. Beyond the walls of security and on the mountains that are to come, could lurk danger in treacherous slopes or a burning bush experience where one comes face to face with God and ultimately rewarded with the greatest mission He has ever issued in one’s life.

On hind sight, I do realize that God allows me to struggle with this immense fear of failure and the unknown because it is the basis for real empathy in future - when others who go through the same struggles walk certain stretches of the same path with me. Without having drank from the same cup of suffering, how can one have any moral authority to urge others to drink from the cup?

the fool for Christ

Make us know the shortness of our life

2008-11-25T23:24:00.006+08:00

Touching down in Singapore late last night after a 4-day vacation with some of the friends I love most rendered me in a content, well-rested and rather oblivious state. I didn’t feel homesick because it was a short trip, these girls are like my own sisters and we had oodles of fun. It wasn’t till No. 5 texted to ask if I was ok that the first inklings of the direful situation in Bangkok started to portend.

You can imagine the mixed feelings of gratitude and sobriety that coursed through me when before I could even pick up the morning paper in the office, certain partners whom I bumped into at reception were already exclaiming “Thank goodness you are back safe and sound!” or “Didn’t stay to join in the riots I see…” (Well, you can’t be everyone’s best friend after all).
What sealed the revelation of how my guardian angel must be working overtime was reading the following:-

Thai protests turn violent, 10 hurt
Posted: 25 November 2008 1934 hrs

Early on Monday some 10,000 protesters surrounded Bangkok's old Don Mueang international airport where Somchai is temporarily based. Protesters have occupied the prime minister's official office in Bangkok since August. Riot police largely withdrew on Monday amid fears of a repeat of clashes between protesters and police on October 7 that left two people dead and 500 injured, the worst political violence in Thailand for 16 years. The PAD, which launched huge street protests in 2006 that led to the Thaksin coup, called this week's rallies in response to a grenade attack on Thursday that killed one protester.

Bangkok airport closed after protesters stormed terminal
Posted: 25 November 2008 2230 hrs

BANGKOK - Thai authorities closed Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi international airport indefinitely on Tuesday after anti-government protesters stormed the terminal, officials and police said. "Airports of Thailand (AOL) decided to shut down Suvarnabhumi after protesters stormed the terminal.

All these developments took place within less than 24 hours of my return to Singapore. During the last 96 hours before returning home, I’d been totally oblivious as to the political turmoil that was raging in Bangkok because we were so happy for Sheryl. Perhaps it was because we did not stray from the touristy areas and stayed in the heavily guarded expatriate area.

Still, there was a lump in my throat whilst reading the reports as I suddenly recalled how a week after our return from a scuba trip with Wendy and Fiona in Phuket last January, the papers ran a story about the scuba diving accident my ex-classmate had in Perth.

I remember going to see her in the hospital and how Val’s heart and mine broke as her boyfriend told us that he’d intended to propose to her on that trip. He even had the ring all prepared, he was going to be her fiancé and perhaps husband. She was smart, funny, feisty and full of verve. In 12 minutes beneath the deep, it was all taken from her and the people who loved her.

These “close calls” always give me chills. Yet at the same time, they are such a firm reminder of how fragile life is. All these granaries of things I am working hard to prove or accumulate, they would mean nothing if a demand is made for my life tonight.

And one prays with the psalmist, 'Make us know the shortness of our life that we may gain wisdom of heart.'

the fool for Christ

Equilibrium

2008-11-19T22:05:00.004+08:00

This Friday will be the first time in 4 months that I’ll have a real break (keeping my fingers crossed) since I returned from World Youth Day – which was as I have said before, no vacation but a pilgrimage in all sense of the word – and rightly so. It is Sheryl’s hen-vacation and as one of the beneficiaries of her amazing friendship, I would be a terrible excuse of a buddy if I did not make the time to be present during such an exciting time, despite the fact that I shall be leaving for London within 6 days of my return from Bangkok and the backlog of work between and after each trip shall be monstrous.

A part of me is longing for the break, and another part of me wonders how I will sufficiently tear myself away from my files; in that if I don’t continue to keep tabs on them whilst I am away, something is bound to screw up and I’ll have to mop up messes when I get back. The logic is simple; no one will be as prudent about or committed to your responsibilities as you are and these “live” files are as good as time bombs. It is not so much about an ego trip as it is that I genuinely see the people whose matters I handle, as my mission field. I wouldn’t have put up with all the rubbish that I have, if I didn’t see this job as my vocation.

The silence on the blog in past weeks has to do with the total and overwhelming inundation of the fool for Christ. I am not defeated or discouraged; just rendered without the luxury of time to stop and smell the roses save for the few oases of meals with treasured friends. At this constant pace of flurry and whizzing, I can meet deadlines with a reasonable amount of speed and quality. But once I stop to do anything but, it’ll fall like a tower of cards – that is the sheer volume of the work I am toggling everyday.

Hence, I have reached some measure of equilibrium.

Strictly speaking, I am functioning at maximum operating capacity. I realize too of course, that in theory, maximum operating capacity is not satisfactory. What I should be gunning for is optimum operating capacity - where this optimum level lies only God knows the specifics of insofar as my personal life is concerned. In fact, to be terribly honest, I’d like to find out too.

I know that I am changing radically. I find my core characteristics becoming more and more pronounced. In tandem with that is a growing rebelliousness and conviction that I will not capitulate on these non-negotiables unless He tells me to. I cannot control the perceptions that others will have of even the most innocuous words/gestures/omissions but I can control how I respond to the expression of these perceptions – however skewed/misplaced/disproportionate/erroneous they be.

In a word, I am mastering (oftentimes painfully), the fine art of “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Friends I respect keep reminding me that there is more to life than work. My spiritual director says, it’s time to look into my social life abit more seriously. This is something I totally acknowledge (and desire), but must qualify is something that one does not quite have the luxury of indulging too early in the day. That is not to say I will only allow myself respite when I have made partner or bought my first boat.

At least from my point of view, I’ll hang up my gloves (and scale down the tempo) when I know that I am done fighting the good fight, as best as I can, for as long as I can at the maximum pace that I am humanly capable of. There are currently no sufficiently potent stimuli to persuade me to hit the brakes. It probably has to do with my choleric personality – if there is a better way to do something I want to take it, if there is a ceiling I have not reached, I want to break through it. Andy Lau’s CYMA watch ads say it best; “The closest to perfection that one can ever get to, is one’s best.”

The price of this drive and insatiable passion for life is the sacrifice of sleep, some measure of health and very obviously my personal/play time. But I take the view that although I am clear I will not abide by such a schedule for the rest of my natural life, I can take intermittent short spurts of such intensity. In fact, I thrive and perform best under such intensity and adrenaline. It is the paradox of stress I suppose. My difficulty lies in setting out these "milestones” in linear format, and ascertaining where to draw the line as to when enough is enough for me – whereupon I will kick off my shoes and whet my whistle (metaphorically speaking of course).

The only litmus test I have is my gut, which is fueled by prayer and the Spirit. The exercise of self-discovery has continued long into sudden death. I am cognizant of the fact that this is a pilgrimage through the arduous journey of Life. But I trust God enough to know that when He sends me a sign telling me to change course, I won’t be able to miss it. For now, the gut says, my time here (with this) is not done yet.

Hence I must bravely and obediently remain in the trenches, slinging my M16 on my back, with dirt across my face till my Commander in Chief raises the battle cry.

the fool for Christ

Lessons in home improvement

2008-10-27T21:59:00.010+08:00

I have been coveting the Barang Barang Papasan chair for a long time. I first laid eyes on this glorious piece of furniture in Val’s room when I popped by her place for a chat one afternoon. It was wonderful to behold, I could so totally imagine myself lounging in it for hours with a book on my lap whilst nursing a hot piping latte in my own reading sanctuary.

I figured I needed new bookshelves for my ever burgeoning book collection, a new espresso machine so I could get the steamed milk just right with the froth that I love, a new table for which to place the espresso machine, gourmet coffee service and consumables, a new rug so the table wouldn’t scratch the parquet, new curtains to complete the look….and come to think of it, the walls looked like they needed a new lick of paint. And so began a somewhat crazed and unrequited love affair with home improvement in my head.

For the past few months, every time I entered a shopping centre, I’d head straight for the home furnishing section first rather than the ladies fashion section like before. I’d trawl the internet for possible items for furniture that might prove a more attractive AND value buy than the Papasan chair and silently cheered when none compared (to my mind). I desperately wanted to buy it but I need to convince myself the $398 and $57 for delivery was worth it, especially since I have other financial commitments/drains like my car loan, my student loan and my current voracious appetite for travel. I was surfing apartmentth erapy.com (and all the other lovely furniture and lifestyle blog links Cheryl sent me) during my breaks and all weekend. Only my family knows how ridiculously dotty I became about home improvement every weekend.

Thankfully I’ve been so busy with work that I never managed to make it to the Barang Barang store a second time to place my order. Thankfully, the chair is expensive for a piece of rattan furniture and the additional delivery surcharge is awfully pricey…because I started to come down from the crazed home improvement fever and see that:-

there are many other alternatives (with varying price tags) to the Papasan chair,
that doing a mini-extreme makeover in the room that I intend to set up the reading sanctuary involves so much work (sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, mopping) and physical labour (to rearrange the existing furniture and clear out the things that ought to be tossed); and
that a good espresso machine is incredibly expensive!

In fact now that I think about it, I spend so much time at work, I should be doing a makeover of my room in the office instead!

The moral to the story has a little to do with what I regularly handle at work – the illusory simplicity of marriage in real life and the backbreaking amounts of work/sacrifice/heartache it entails (especially when kids come into the picture). Many things in life seem at first blush, more roseate and deceptively manageable than they truly are. Three years ago, I actually came close to thinking I was ready for taking the plunge - the arrogant little shit that I was at the grand age of 23. Ironically, that was also the precipice from which I descended and started to spiral into a manic realisation that I was so unprepared on so many levels, it was way out of the ball park.

Much of the past 3 years has been a roller coaster ride of self-discovery and experimentation (within the teachings of the Church!). Since my wings were given to me, I’ve been able to push the envelope (viz myself) and had so many experiences that I had never in my wildest dreams imagined I would engage in. Deconstruction of the old fool has been a daily occurrence in the walk. The fool of today is so radically different (in a good way I’d like to think) from the fool 3 years ago, I can’t even recognize myself. In fact, I’m still not done clearing the corkscrews, camelbacks and diving loops. The fact that I actually want to go harder and faster says something about the appetite for adrenaline that I never knew I had before. My Spiritual Director has assured me that it’s growth, in a good kinda way.

Going back to my sharing about home improvement, I made the trip to Ikea today and discovered a functional and rather attractive alternative to the Papasan. Meet the Lillberg rocking chair with Ikea’s fabulous Froarp fabrics!

Structurally, it’s not quite as 'alternative' but its covers are terribly pretty. Not quite what I had in mind, but much better value for money ($205) and there’s no need for me to fork out a delivery charge because I can just pop the un-assembled chair into the trunk of my car. Assuming I manage to put the whole chair together myself, I’ll have the bonus of the satisfaction too.

That is not to say that I’ve decided to get the Lillberg rocking chair already. I like it a lot but I am not ready to part with my hard earned cash or give up the search (for the chair that screams foolishness) just yet. There is no real hurry or life and death need to set up the reading sanctuary before this Christmas (even if that would be swell), or next Christmas (even though that would be swell too). In fact, there is no hurry to commit to an overhaul of this room (especially its fixtures) because I may not live in this house more than a few years more.

In the same vein, I’ve discovered many attractive alternatives to what I gave up 3 years ago. They’ve been starkly varied and all terribly attractive in their own right. In fact, they’ve helped me to discover my own womanhood in more ways than one but I’m not ready to throw down my chips just yet. I’d like to see if I can find and conquer my/the 4th dimension first.

the fool for Christ

The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, rests and expatiates in a life to come.

2008-10-26T04:07:00.004+08:00

Come late November, I will be heading to London with my mum, brothers and aunty to visit my cousin whom I have not seen for more almost 10 years. His French wife has given birth to a beautiful baby girl and we figured, if not this year then my aunty may never get another chance to see him. She has not seen him in 20 years since he left for his studies. Much has happened in these 20 years and our family has reasons why this reunion hasn’t taken place earlier, but that is not as important as the fact that after 2 decades of tears, prayers and worries, my 73 year old aunt will finally reunite with her own flesh and blood. As thrilled as I am about returning to a charming city like London (which is one of my favourite places in the world), it is not the shopping or the sight-seeing that I look forward to the most. Something beautiful this way comes, and I am grateful to be able to be part of it.

Lately, a recurring theme in my own walk has been that of brokenness in the human condition. I have no interest in turning this post into an exposé on my family’s dirty laundry or a lamentation about all the heart wrenching things I’ve witnessed and experienced. Rather, I am increasingly convinced of how redemption is still to be found amidst the broken shards of someone's life, for hope springs eternal in the human breast. I am inspired by the people who bravely accept the crosses they are given and silently cling even more tightly to their crosses when its weight threatens to break their spirit and their back. Some of these people I am related to, some I happen to meet or serve in my line of work. The triumph of the human spirit never fails to amaze me and take my breath away.

Sometimes I still am haunted by images of these people weeping, as their world crashes down around them like the walls of Jericho. It is the silence of their broken despair that often guts me the most. Sometimes, I feel like a paramedic. Certain calls I get, I succeed at reviving those who are down; others I am really just there to “bring out the dead”. I want to help, I fully desire it, but I also know exactly what my limitations are. Some parts of me still feel ill-equipped for the situations I often find myself in even if my superiors have assessed that I have “the constitution” for it.

As much as I fought it in the beginning, this facet of my personal vocation seems to be firmly in place. Certain talents I have been given, I daren’t bury them in the ground anymore. For it was the servant who buried his one talent in the ground that drew the ire the Master. The Master found this servant to be a wicked, lazy one. So much of this process has been struggling and wrestling like mad (with Him). Of late, I have started to develop a sense ‘just knowing in my heart and in my soul’.

And yet, I cannot describe it or give a method statement for it in any human language. It’s almost as if another transponder within that taps into a soul frequency is the only part of me that can pick up His signals; the clues to which are often so easy to miss. I wish I could tell you that the answers I have found (thus far) came one historic day when the heavens opened up and a great booming voice from above read out His will, but that’s not how He’s chosen to speak.

I have written about the dry spell of in-articulation I was plunged into when I returned from Rome last year. I still have employ of the words in the human language but they are empty without His spirit in them. So really, I am able to express little or nothing of what God is doing. Amidst this exile from truly demonstrative and effective articulation, I have continued the daily living in “muted tones”; trudging on without the ecstatic joys of being able to communicate fully all what one feels or apprehends. To give an analogy, it feels like being an autistic child. To force the resumption of that expression which I lost would only result in spewing of verbiage.

I find it a great suffering to not be able to give vent to the vicissitudes of the journey and thereby effectively bear it alone. Yet I know what suffering achieves/creates in people, both the good and the bad effects. I search for answers but am respectful of the evocative lessons to be learnt; hidden in these bittersweet symphonies. All that can be said is that my duty of the moment is to serve the remainder of this ‘exile’ in obedience.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Alexander Pope,
An Essay on Man, Epistle I, 1733

the fool for Christ

The only way is forwards

2008-10-20T22:43:00.006+08:00

In slightly over an hour, I shall enter a new season of life. Therefore I reckon it warrants more effort to do a little self-examination in the advent of my late twenties.

Like the 3months before, the past 2 weeks have whizzed by in yet another flurry of activity with barely a moment to stop and smell the roses. I’ve managed to get passable amounts of physical rest but there’s been no opportunity to sit and reflect as often as I’d like. Beloved friends and family are still met up with on weekends whenever my body can spare the rest time. Deadlines have been issued, met and yet there are more that keep pouring in. It is the “cut and thrust” nature of this field of practice I suppose. The demands are physically strenuous and mentally exacting, yet I inexplicably almost “need” the adrenaline rush. Complaining and moaning about aching bodies and eyelids that feel like lead don’t help at all.

There is not one day when I don’t feel fully alive.

It is a feeling I would not trade for anything in the world. At no point have I come to regret certain tough decisions I made at the beginning of practice – taken in tandem with the personal resolution to pursue litigation. I have taken my lumps along the way and often earned my stripes with gritting of teeth. It has been painful like I’ve never imagined, but the personal victory has been sweet to the last drop. I find myself refusing to languish in the inconsummations and tribulations of this earthly life. I want to live life passionately in the now, like each breath I take will be my absolute last. I need the intensity of that kind of abundant living.

The temptation to leave this rather difficult field – that is very much like running a cross country marathon - for better paying and more “glamourous” alternatives has always been there, especially when the carrots they dangle are so attractive. In being able to find it within myself to remain faithful to my own passion and admit that it is my passion (for now), I have found a new level of self-awareness and acceptance of the non-linear vectors in which Life runs.

Deconstruction is an aspect of my life I finally consider a constant. Pride, is so often misplaced when one lacks the perspective to see that teachability is not the same as being a pushover or one who capitulates. I don't have low self-esteem, but I don't think I am so infallible such that I cannot be corrected by someone else. In fact, I can now take a tongue-lashing or a ticking off like never before.

Three-miles into a thirty-mile run, the crisp lines between the dramatic blacks and blinding whites I had often seen in my earlier assessment of situations fade into the chiaroscuro of light and dark betwixt the greys that characterize life as I see it now. I know as time passes, more shades of that surly grey will surface and confound.

At various points of the marathon, I shall feel like I am hitting the wall, the dreaded point in the race when your muscle glycogen stores are depleted and a feeling of overwhelming fatigue engulfs you and you almost cannot take another step. Yet I know I must soldier on, regardless of what may seem like an impasse. The only way is forwards.

I accept that I will not always obtain approval or affirmation for the difficult choices I make, particularly if I follow my heart and His promptings. I accept that even the good people He permits me to cross paths with (are susceptible to) lapse in their judgment and wound those they do not mean to; but they deserve to be forgiven nonetheless, multiple times if necessary. I accept that (often painful) sacrifices are part and parcel of pursuing a passion and a vocation, whilst no consolations are necessarily extended or guarantees proffered for one to draw down on.

I accept that much beauty and freedom are to be found in such surrender, when I embrace that my life is not my own, but really His. I accept that hidden in every disappointment, banal happening of the day and rapturous consolation that I experience, the same God is to be found. I accept that tangible consolations may be far and few between from now till I meet Him again when my time is done. I accept that the desires of my heart may never be fully met or satisfied in this lifetime, by anyone, anything or any set of circumstances I seek whilst on earth.

And in that personal breakthrough comes a decision from within my core, a deeper, more profound understanding of God despite the dryness, and quiet ease in our relationship that I have never ever experienced till now.

the fool for Christ

Clignotants

2008-10-05T23:18:00.005+08:00

Watching Alain Resnais’ 1980 film Mon Oncle d’Amérique (based on the writings of French biologist Henri Laborit) at the French Film Festival this weekend was quite a unique experience (definitely not advisable for arthouse lightweights). The movie examines what it means to be human; to think, have memories and be creative. Endowed with these higher-level brain functions that place humanity on a level above mere animals, human actions and behaviour are nonetheless influenced by many other inhibition factors such as upbringing, the promise of punishment or reward and by the influence or reaction to other people.

One of the lines in Mon Oncle d’Amérique which struck me deepest was, “In order to travel to the moon we must first understand gravity. Understanding gravity doesn’t free us from it, but it does allow us to utilise it.” In the same vein, to enter the Kingdom of God, we need to understand ourselves in His grand design and His will in allowing suffering. Understanding suffering doesn’t free us from it, but it does allow us to utilize it – for purification. Striving to understand this faith better doesn’t free us from the cups we must drink from but we learn how to desire His will regardless of whether the cup will pass from us.

In being denied what we thought we wanted, we end up having to find satisfaction in other things. Things we would not have given a second look otherwise; the right things. I look back on the things I have been denied in this lifetime. I remember clearly the absolute grief that gripped me and the despair as I felt certain dreams slip right through my fingers then, forever pierced. Yet here I am today, still alive and remarkably happy with whatever I HAVE been given. Something changes inside, profoundly.

Youth is a strange thing; we are somehow always on the wrong side of it. When we are young, we despise its limitations and when we are old, we crave its vibrancy. Before I could not see as much with the blinkers of youth obscuring my line of sight and now that I am older, the eyes still struggle to adjust as light steals in whilst these blinkers are slowly peeled off. I acknowledge that I will continue to cringe at my younger self for as long as I grow older. There is no sense in humanly fighting the past or the future. NOW is a more powerful agent of change.

In that regard I’ve discovered why it’s important not to despise the plebian; for excitement is a fickle child, temperamental in when it dispenses pleasure. In fidelity toward the humdrum of a daily routine and committing to openness to the experience of simple/common pleasures, discipline and (good) character are borne. They act as an antidote to the poison of a raging tempest on seas of uncertainty. I have had my big dreams, they were wonderful to behold but I have also been brought back down to earth, where my feet ought to remain. Perhaps one day I shall live all of them out, perhaps one day none of this will seem like a grind but meanwhile:-

Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.
William Shakespeare's 'As You Like It'
Act 2, Scene 1, Verse 12

the fool for Christ

The good fight

2008-10-01T02:42:00.007+08:00

Reading about two incredibly different people in the media today sealed for me (a recent reflection on) the message of the importance of courageously continuing to fight the good fight (in following one’s heart) regardless of the wet blankets waiting in line to discourage and condemn for whatever reasons.

I am speaking of JBJ and Britney Spears. This is not a political or entertainment driven blog so I do not propose into comment on their lives save that their stories have somewhat inspired me. For Ms Spears, I laud her determination to finally clean up her act and (at least attempt to) stage a comeback despite the roller coaster year she’s had in the public eye.

As for JBJ, I truly respect his fighter spirit viz his passionate beliefs. I have met him personally only twice in my life. Once when I shook his hand at Christmas outside City Hall MRT station when he was selling his book and another time in the Bar room this year where we exchanged nods when we crossed paths in the narrow corridor leading to the adjourning washrooms. My political proclivities may or may not be in consonant with his but the immense passion he embodied regarding his beliefs deserved respect. I don’t know many people who would go as far for or make monumental sacrifices for their beliefs as he had.

Since time immemorial, there have been and will always be people who will unceremoniously impose their reasons why ‘you can’t or shouldn’t’ even if it is totally unsolicited, unwarranted or unkind. Just because a lot of other people say so doesn’t necessarily mean it is true or right. The measure of a man/woman can certainly be gleaned from how he/she responds to such discouragement. When you rise from your ashes and restore yourself to the heights of success, you can bet your boots many of these detractors will be standing in line, ready to sing a totally different tune. It's just human behaviour.

It's easy to forget the importance of giving people second (or third) chances and the recollection that our Church exists for sinners. I fall prey too. Admittedly, it is not always an involuntary reflex for one to extend others the opportunity to redeem themselves, to forgive them even when there is a shortfall in their ability to deliver, much less to remember to encourage them when they have taken small steps toward emulating Christ. Sometimes we all need real life empirical examples for the message to hit home.

But if we say we love Christ, then surely we must take seriously the call to authentically live out His commission of forgiveness and love. Whilst the specifics of how we can apply our daily lives to this may not have been spelled out for us in the Bible, the essence of Christ's teaching remains the same. It is a message of hope, redemption and salvation. The World is already so harsh, demanding and unkind. Everyone needs a break, for someone to cut them slack and to respond in the way Christ would have, rather than to be discouraged, debased and derided further. No amount of piety and observance of dogma could come close to an exercise of charity of the heart.

the fool for Christ

Submission

2008-09-28T19:00:00.006+08:00

This weekend, the lemming and I attended a workshop on embracing womanhood. It gave an introduction to the Catholic Church’s teaching on female sexuality, famously condensed in an apostolic letter written by John Paul the Great 20 years ago - Mulieris Dignitatem.

Not a lot of the content covered was new to me (which I suspect is the same case for the lemming as well), however the workshop did serve as a springboard for more personal reflection that is relevant to my own spiritual journey. In fact, I would say that last week’s retreat on self-integration prompted the necessary self-examination to make this week’s workshop a more fruitful experience.

The fecundity of my mind (and the rest of the gifts He has generously given me) can (without Him) sometimes rage like feral waters along a treacherous coast line. Recently the lemming mused that whilst I am a lot of things (she was generous in her observations and as I have always said, is one much more pliant than I am) I am not definitely meek. I suppose, depending on the individual’s interpretation and whom I am responding to, I could be wild, spirited and quite possibly, terrible (Hopefully not like Ivan). I can’t say that I am disappointed she hasn’t observed me to be a meek person. In fact, it would not sit very well with the fact that I am training as a litigator.

I find the circumstantial demands of my vocation as a litigation lawyer often at odds with the call to be as meek as a lamb before its shearer. I remember a talk given once by a rather devout Christian professor that we ought really to be as ‘fanged lambs’ among the wolves. Even fanged lambs have to bare those fangs at some point when accosted by wolves. When does such a fanged lamb lose its meekness? Obviously I know better than to deal with life in caricatures, but it doesn’t diminish any of the difficulty involved in straddling life in the world with Christian values.

I realize though that I have not had a very good track record of submitting willingly to men. I have all these years nickered, bitten, kicked and snorted my way (figuratively of course) through fending off the bit and reins of the bridle. Of course, I know now that submission is part of love; particularly because in God’s design for men and women, the wife must submit to her husband the way the Church submits (as His bride) to Christ.

I am not and have never been a bra-burning feminist but it admittedly takes me awhile to process this behest of God in Ephesians 5:22-24. I suppose it is pride that leads me to qualify myself by saying that I do want to be led, but only by the right man, whom I would obviously have to respect first. The reflection has been that the recognition of my own rather untamed character ought to lead me to resolve to submit willingly – to His authority and perhaps one day, the beloved He wills for me, even if this beloved ultimately turns out to be a fool - for I am the fool for Christ after all.

the fool for Christ

That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ

2008-09-21T23:11:00.003+08:00

It is funny how in life, we always unconsciously assume the same state of affairs will persist forever and ever. Change in the daily living doesn’t register with us as quickly as it would when it transpires in others we see only once in a blue moon. Hence the propensity for us to take luxuries like the presence of familial relationships for granted. Very often, it is only when the change has become exponential that we finally sit up with a start and gasp at the difference.

I’ve always known that God created me with a soft spot for old people, more so than for children. That is not to say that I despise youth or innocence. We all have our charisms and mine has always rested with the geriatric segment of the demographics. I say it’s funny that we always unconsciously assume the same state of affairs will persist because in tiny, incremental revelations, it has slowly dawned on me only very recently that my mother is growing old. Old, as in what images come to mind when I say bent over and toothless. Perhaps it is because she has aged rather well (i.e. she looks much younger than she really is) that I have never thought of her as someone who is going to be a sextagenarian next year.

For some strange reason, the unconscious image of my parents in my mind remains that of them in their mid forties (the actual age of most of my cousins on my mum’s side of the family now). My father passed on young; he still had a full head of black hair with only a few silver hairs when we laid him to rest 7 years ago. Perhaps that accounts for the mental image I’ve maintained. With age comes physical frailty, and often the whole gamut of related depressive problems.

My mother’s adoptive sister is someone I consider a second mother to me – I was raised by her the first 6 years of my childhood. She is 73 this year and has in the past 2 years experienced a steady decline in her physical strength and health; this was in tandem with my grandmother falling gravely ill. Before she was 71, my aunt was still such a fighter cock, pottering about and fussing over my 95 year old grandmother, who passed about 4 months ago. My mum’s own depressive and anxious state about her impending retirement worsened after my aunt started to get more and more frail.

It’s almost as if they all caught an antediluvian contagion.

Taking care of these 3 ladies has been one of the chief reasons I decided to reduce my commitment in Church the past year or so. The time spent has been fruitful and meaningful, but it doesn’t diminish any of the quiet despair I sometimes catch myself feeling as I apprehend that they are each slipping (or have slipped) away from me in varying degrees of accroach by someone/something else larger and more powerful than me. It makes me feel weak and overwhelmed - almost impuissant. The active cognition of losing people you love, in real time is more terrifying than recalling it as an afterthought on hindsight.

Life’s stranger than fiction as they say.

At a retreat conducted by the Franciscan Missionary Sisters today, I took an Enneagram test and discovered (not so surprisingly) that I score very highly as an “8” i.e. I am a challenger. In fact, whilst waiting for my elder brother to come pick us up, Ah Pun related how certain people find me verbally intimidating and hence dangerous. Being the classic “8” that I am, I gave him an alternative viewpoint that the aforesaid perception could possibly have arisen out of the person's own deep insecurity and hang-ups regarding God knows what.

Of course, I couldn’t resist the temptation to vicariously take a few swipes at him in the car after that. They say the messenger often gets shot after all. I am fully aware of the force of my character and it arises out of a combination of intrinsic and circumstantial factors. As to whether I am apologetic about it in any way, the answer is a resounding “no”. And as Sister Patricia related today, perception is often a dangerous thing because of how misconceived and erroneous it can be. She cautioned us multiple times to be wary of putting labels on others.

From my point of view, it’s supremely ironic to really feel weak, despaired and infirm inside, yet still manage to give off the impression that I am so strident in my thoughts, opinions and words such that intimidation becomes the involuntary reflex on the other side. I suppose I belong to a category of human beings that are a different kettle of fish from most other clown fish. In yet another act of supreme irony, it was Ah Pun himself who had first discussed with me the intense loneliness that Christ must have felt not to be fully seen/got (whilst in His human form) even by the disciples/apostles closest to Him (whom He spent almost every waking moment with during His 3 year public ministry).

Spiritual loneliness is much more devastating than emotional loneliness of the heart.

2 years ago in reflection, I realized that “Man is lonely without God”. God is lonely too, waiting for the day Man can finally (with His grace) see and be harmoniously united with Him in the communion He planned in the beginning. The heart wrenching I experience when I see the people I love start to fade and evanesce is but a teardrop in the valley of tears that we send God into when we reject Him daily. The sufferings I have experienced, I have always found them to be a bridge over the troubled waters of this exile. And on this bridge, I poor banished daughter of Eve have always found a new understanding of the mercy and compassion of God.

the fool for Christ

Open Palms

2008-09-16T22:11:00.002+08:00

I was just thinking this morning, about a certain secretary in her mid forties who left my firm early this year to join Lehman Brothers on contract. She’s a really nice Catholic lady who does her bit in Church but for some reason seemed perpetually beleaguered by monetary woes. I don’t mean she is poor, I mean she frets about money all the time even though she’s done alright for herself. She used to always complain that local employers don't pay enough and can’t match the bonuses offered by off shore organizations. She always felt she deserved more given her seniority and experience.

The poor lady, she must have been so stunned by this morning’s news since it’s only been about 6-7 months since she left. She’d mentioned that she was hoping to become permanent staff at Lehman Brothers. I have no doubt that she’ll find alternative employment. Secretarial services are needed everywhere, not just in 158 year old investment banks. I sent her a message shortly after to find out if she was ok and needed to come out for a cup of coffee together soon.

It made me reflect about the human tendency to puff up disproportionately or develop grandiose illusions about one’s real net worth when God gets generous with us. In the midst of the absolute buffeting experienced in the past month, it did cross my mind that perhaps if I am going to put up with this shite that is characteristic of my industry and field of practice, I might as well move upwards and get paid obscene amounts for enduring the same amount of shite. I have the experience anyway, I thought to myself.

I was lucky in that I’ve been given sufficient training and have enough people interceding for me to know that decisions on issues like that cannot be made in periods of desolation and over a period of just one quarter. So despite the more than regular crapulous situations I’ve found myself mired in so many times these past few weeks, I’ve soldiered on; fiercely resolving to stick it out until I cannot anymore. It flowed from my personal motto not to leave a difficult job situation until I had conquered my environment. I wanted to leave on my own terms, not because the going got tough.

The knowledge that as an objective fact, there are certain other institutions that will definitely pay me much more for the same amount of work wasn’t easy to reconcile with any form of loyalty I retain toward my current employers. What is supremely ironic is that each of these superiors had separately mentioned to me that insofar as one’s career is concerned, loyalty is overrated. And they aren’t wrong, from a purely utilitarian point of view. So you can probably surmise that the loyalty (that I currently still extend) is weighted by other considerations based on spiritual values rather than secular ones. And being the pragmatist that I usually am, it hasn’t always been easy to square this with myself, particularly when the very people the loyalty and diligence is extended to don’t always fully appreciate it, or worse, take it for granted.

I found today’s experience to be a timely reminder of how important it is to have a disposition of gratefulness to God for every single thing in my life. Everything is gift. It is not my place to question the quantity or quality of what I have received because I “think” or “feel” I deserve more as of right. It doesn’t mean that I think that any area of my life is currently perfect. On the contrary, every new day presents its own toils and struggles which do not necessarily abate with the morning after. I just know, nothing ought to be assumed and I will give thanks for whatever God gives me, with open palms.

the fool for Christ

Exile

2008-09-13T15:39:00.006+08:00

It dawned on me in the pews one morning when Fr Luke was midway through his homily that the words which have been eluding me, the 2 words that give expression to my current season of life are “in exile”.

Fr Rolheiser puts it so succinctly, “All of us live in exile in a real way. As St. Paul puts it, we see as 'through a glass darkly', (1 Corinthians 13:12) through an enigma, separated always partially from God and each other".

It accounts for the burgeoning desire within for solitude, particularly pronounced in (and perhaps in coincidence with) the last 3 months that I’ve been put through the mill on so many fronts. I find that as I delve deeper within through prayer and contemplation, more and more of the disquiet that was buried beneath starts to surface. Not necessarily in a purgative way per se, rather more so in acknowledgment of the complexity of the human condition as the quest for self knowledge advances.

For almost 18 months prior, God has spared me the hardship that I labored under in previous difficult seasons. He permitted me a long season of consolation in full wisdom that I would need the recollection and assurance of this consolatory season to get past this instant season. Moses was permitted 30 years of life as the Prince of Egypt before the catalytic event leading up to his being cast into exile in the desert began. From then on, God’s mission(s) – it could be singular or plural depending on how you look at it - to him came fast and furious. It did not let up till the end.

And Moses, like Aaron, never made it into the Promised Land.

In Chapter 34 of Deuteronomy, God shows Moses the promised land but he is not allowed to enter there because he didn't sanctify Him in the midst of the children of Israel at the waters of Meribah-Kadesh (Deut 32:51, Nu 20:1-13). After wandering in the wilderness for forty years Moses dies in the land of Moab and God buries him.

I love God but I don’t even presume that I will ever be able to fully understand Him and the punishment/discipline He metes out. Nor do I try.

The silence I observe viz the hardships I have experienced (real and perhaps perceived) are my way of according reverence to the will of God for me. It is in a way, akin to why Jewish people eat bitter herbs on Passover; to remember the afflictions of slavery upon their ancestors in Egypt thousands of years before. My only quantum of solace comes in the form of a select few fellow pilgrims He permits me to share the burden of my cross with, if and when our paths converge. They are oases in the harsh and arid conditions of the desert experience which sanctifies and purifies so painfully. But otherwise, the (interior state of) exile is alienating and soul wrenching. There is nothing but the mercy and providence of God for one to confront oneself with out there.

There is almost a paradox in the human desire to be (humanly) known as one is known (by God).

Yet the condition from which the paradox arises, persists. In my own experience of seeking understanding, desiring to be fully seen and got, I have been fortunate to discover the importance of the never-ending cycle of forgiveness, overlooking of shortcomings and imperfections and not taking things (or worse, people) for granted. Yet my search is rendered fruitless by the brutal truth that in this life, all symphonies remain unfinished. Hence the truth of how this life as we know it, is temporal and but a pilgrimage.

Moreover, whilst walking the course of the path on borrowed time, I am called to a life of holiness, through chastity. Fr Rolheiser clarifies that what is taught by St Therese of Lisieux's The Little Way (noticing the unnoticed drops of blood on the face of Christ) is that chastity means two interprenetrating things:-

a) reverence
b) willingness and capacity to accept unresolved tension.

To live chastity as an adult is to be willing, in the name of faith and love of Christ, to hold things in, to carry tension, to live in inconsummation, to not demand from God that we have a full and final symphony right here in this life. Chastity in St Therese’s view, means living the incompleteness of this world and carrying faithfully the tensions this creates in our life.

Chastity is important because there can be nothing sublime unless there is first sublimation. There can be nothing wonderful unless there is first some wonder. There can be no profound coming together in unity unless the tensions that keep us apart are respected and carried unresolved for a long long time.

In exile, I am given the space and opportunity to dig deep within and accept (as painful and stripping as it is to experience) that love is ultimately fidelity and respect. Fidelity in that even if I do not obtain that which I seek or desire (or see the Promised Land), I shall continue to faithfully stay the course and never walk away regardless of whether God will proffer me any guarantees as to whether my symphony will be completed.

That the gumption to promise I can do these things is lacking, underscores my own weakness and humanity. I acknowledge that it could take decades and perhaps the rest of my life, before I finally utter those words of obedience to God and mean it with every fiber of my being. God knows this, and gives me the inordinate amount of time I need in exile to pledge my fiat to Him.

As the Psalmist writes, “According to the words of Your lips, I have pursued difficult paths.”

the fool for Christ

Stuff I wish they'd told me before Graduation

2008-08-26T23:36:00.003+08:00

Recent reflections and/or observations in brief:-

1. Always know the reason why you do something (in fact anything) and make sure it’s your own reason. Or at the very least, make decisions that you arrived at after giving it personal and unfettered consideration and which you have tested in prayer. (This presupposes one actually prays regularly and understands what is involved in discernment). Never superimpose someone else’s circumstances upon your own wholesale. The worst thing that could happen is to make decisions based on someone else’s reasons and end up in an unnecessary quandary because you didn’t have the guts to think for yourself.

2. First impressions should never be relied on completely even if you think you are spot on at reading people. There will always be some extenuating factor or supervening variable that you didn’t and couldn’t have known about which materially changes the complexion of your understanding. Instead, allow time and a pattern of consistency to guide your impressions. Even so, always allow people to explain themselves.

3. Intelligence is not to be confused with wisdom or good old fashioned experience.

4. The real masters in any field don’t need to stand on someone else’s shoulders, ride on someone else’s coat tails or get up on any soap box in order to be giants. Good products, real talent and Truth all have the ability to sell/propagate/proliferate themselves.

5. When in doubt, elect brevity and humility. Mouthing off and shooting from the hips is for the brash and insecure.

6. Show, don’t tell. Ask, don’t demand.

7. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.

8. It’s ok to be wrong, to make mistakes and to apologise for making them. Nobody’s perfect. In fact, it takes a greater person to acknowledge a mistake and say they’re sorry, sincerely.

9. Figure out what your core values are and stick with them, don’t prevaricate or recapitulate – it will only serve to discredit you. Similarly, do whatever you can today. Don’t procrastinate on things you can resolve now or else it will surely come back to bite you in the rump with a vengeance.

10. A vacuum cleaner does not solve the problem of things swept under the carpet. You can always count on a bad penny to turn up. Step into the light.

11. Being truly vulnerable is about as enticing and easy as doing a Lady Godiva in the Central Business District when you are a noted CEO. But try anyway; authenticity and freedom are the grand prizes.

12. Stop thinking about how you can project the best image possible and how to keep up with the appearances that you’ve managed to managed to maintain so far. There will always be someone else who has the ability to ferret out your BS. Just be yourself in the best way you know how and don’t apologise for it. But stay open to guidance (from people with moral authority) and constructive criticism.

13. Always tell it like it is. Feel free to exercise situation awareness and sensitivity though.

14. Existing is not the same as living, much less abundant living.

15. Don’t settle for the silver or bronze medal if you know you were made for the gold.

16. Just because people say you probably won’t doesn’t mean you can’t.

17. Victories won in blood, sweat and tears are always sweeter and infinitely more rewarding than walkovers and rigged matches. Certainty has its downsides too.

18. Imperfection can be endearing too. But it shouldn’t be used as an excuse for reprehensible behavior.

the fool for Christ

Of Love and Rage

2008-08-23T13:45:00.003+08:00

Every now and then, I do get reminders of how much I am loved.

I admit that I do have a tendency to be very brusque on the phone when people call me on the phone in the office for non-urgent or frivolous things especially whilst I am in the middle of fighting a fire or biting someone’s head off. Sometimes I give a curt response and don’t even realize I’ve said something terse until I am told much later. Although my job is very stressful, I acknowledge it’s still not a good enough reason to be brusque with innocent parties. I really need to get a handle on my impatience.

Two regular recipients of these brush-offs during the day are my mum and elder brother. I suppose it is because they are both teachers that they are much more patient than I am. My elder brother usually takes the car 80% of the time because he gets free parking on the school compound and there is no point for me to pay a small fortune to leave the car sitting in my office car park for the whole day since it’s usually 10 or 11 at night when I leave the office and the car won’t be able to be used for anything else otherwise. So my elder brother has to go through the process of calling me every evening to find out when I can knock off. A good measure of the time, he will get an irritated or harried “This is not a good time. Call me back later.”

Yesterday was the first time in my practice that I had actually fully lost my temper with a dunderhead of a client and absolutely blew my top. After months of putting up with his gross stupidity, sexist comments, unreasonable demands, wrong instructions and being left to deal with him on my own (because the boss doesn’t want to speak to him either and his business partner refuses to have anything to do with him) the straw that broke the camel’s back was when 25 min before the affidavit in support of his appeal was due, he refused to affirm the affidavit because he was afraid of drawing personal liability.

This is in spite of the fact that he was the one who had insisted on the appeal even though we had advised him that the net effect of the appeal was not worth the cost and his business partner had been dead against it. In fact, the said dunderhead got angry when I said that neither my boss nor I could affirm it for him and that we could not in good conscience pressurize his accountant to affirm it for him or allow him to affirm it under his business partner’s name instead. He refused to believe me because I am a woman and I am below 40. Who the heck affirms sworn statements on someone else’s behalf? Clearly even the concept of what swearing is eludes him. I swear I have a renewed understanding of the axiom that the limits of human stupidity are not to be underestimated.

In the end, the dunderhead affirmed the affidavit but not before putting a lot of people through an incredible amount of inconvenience and I had to apologise to all these people on said dunderhead’s behalf. It was close to 9pm by the time we were able to file and serve the affidavit (even though the deadline had been 5pm) and I still had to put up with attitude from him because he felt aggrieved. Such unbelievable ungratefulness especially after making your lawyer needlessly stay in for you on a Friday night.

Somewhere along the way, my elder brother had called and gotten yet another terse response from me when asking when I could leave the office. It must have been just after I had bellowed at the dunderhead because I have no recollection of speaking to my brother. So my mum and elder brother drove to my office to wait for me and take me out to a big seafood dinner (at their expense) as soon as I was ready to leave. It was so late by the time we ate and I was still livid when I got into the car but what the heck, no amount of rudeness, blatant sexism, unbelievable stupidity or difficult human behavior can rob me of the fact that I am loved by my family and my God.

the fool for Christ

Damage

2008-08-21T21:52:00.004+08:00

Of late, I seem to have slipped into a very adversarial and sentinel mode. I can feel a certain harshness and impatience (with blinking idiots) rising within that I have never felt before. My daily activities seem to have been trimmed into forcefully compartmentalized units. I won’t be rude or profane but I’ll generally be cuttingly direct because I don’t have time to beat around the bush. Again, this is very much related to being tired out of my mind everyday and still having to continually put out multiple fires by the skin of my teeth. Ironically, at the close of every day, I can’t help but feel so defeated by my body’s physical limitations.

Sometimes the aggression that comes out startles even me (just after the utterances have escaped my lips). What is strange is that I am being affirmed for it. Well, I suppose the bosses see it as growing competence and the development of a stomach for the fight that is necessary in any litigator. I know they genuinely care and are trying to make something of my miry clay but some days, I feel so absolutely bruised and battered by their expectations at this level of the training. I don’t get scolded or walloped anymore but let’s just say it doesn’t get any better in terms of what I am expected to deliver. Sometimes the guilt trips/pep talks about their mounting hopes for me take even more out of me than a regular walloping/tongue lashing. I’m not even allowed to hover anywhere near a weak/defeated thought/reaction.

I do want to succeed and I do want to allow the experience to change me into a better, faster, stronger and more accurate professional. But some days, I just want to be allowed to be weak. If only for a little while. Being the introspective person that I am, these changes within me are things that I still grapple with, especially how they have baring upon my spiritual and personal life. I am fully aware that a simplistic notion of “career bad, holy moley good” simply will not do. Most of my bosses are Christian/Catholic and they seem to have struck that balance between the Christian mercy/compassion the Bible speaks of and not holding back on a sucker punch when the situation calls for it. But no one really says anything or can give comprehensive guidance on when the bridge between the two is built. Everyone gives the same enigmatic “you’ll come into your own and know when you do.” And so I accept these answers must be reaped through a combination of struggling and surrender that only I can glean for myself.

I can feel the calluses forming on my palms already as previously new skin of youthful folly/idealism starts to encounter more and more of the abrasive friction of growing pains. I remember blogging a couple of weeks ago about this resolution I had made not to give over to bitterness and emptiness, not without a good, hard fight. I don’t think this is bitterness and emptiness per se that I am careening toward, more a low-grade weariness and inadvertent jadedness with all that is seemingly taken for granted by my generation.

Sometimes though, I want to throw eggs at the sanctimony of platitudes that generation before is often fond of launching into. They are usually well-intentioned and perhaps they think they earned it because their seniors did it to them anyway (such a mother-in-law-daughter-in-law syndrome) but I refuse to allow my sensibilities to be honed by someone else’s hang ups. Again, the aggression rears its (not always ugly) head.

Yet I acknowledge that sometimes it is motivated by more than sanctimony. Sometimes it comes from the heart of someone damaged, who doesn’t want to see a disagreeable part of history repeat. Damage, it seems it happens to us all at some point. Will assessing damage change anything? Is compensation or mitigation for certain?

Sometimes the process of understanding (other) people is so incredibly difficult; even if one thinks one is such a “people” person. Hindsight can be such a b*tch. The path toward the mastery of human relations in a bid to conquer the complex human condition and discover the depths of the human spirit can oft be so treacherous and/or strangely rewarding. I cannot help but feel that this process of growing has "damaged" me (in a manner of speaking). I can't remember the last time I felt that (for want of a better word) lost innocence.

I realize more so than ever, there is much I don’t know about Life.

the fool for Christ

Naked intent and blind love

2008-08-17T01:52:00.007+08:00

Watching Malos Hábitos (Bad Habits) this evening was a rather disturbing experience (more in a sobering sense). The movie was a dark and creepy examination of one of the major facets of the human condition – our fixation with all things seemingly beautiful and superficially perfect, most commonly exemplified in prevailing societal attitudes toward eating habits.

What I took from the movie was a renewed understanding of how no measure of supplications and self-mortification will ever come close to forcing the hand of God to do what one thinks God should do; however well intentioned one is in one’s motivations. God is God and we are not.

In the movie, one of the major protagonists, Matilde leaves the medical profession and becomes a nun. She is motivated by how patients with faith get cured and those with none die. To her, faith is more powerful than science. This is something she takes to extremes.

Her aunt has a stroke and goes into a coma. Being the good Catholic nun that she is, Matilde begins to perform acts of penance like drinking vinegar on an empty stomach, lacing her paella with large amounts of salt and eating rotting garbage from the dustbin in the dead of night. She is encouraged when soon after her final act of eating garbage, her aunt begins to recover from the stroke. It seems her mystic fasting and mortification is efficacious.

Soon, she is filled with pity and moved with compassion when Mexico starts to “drown” in what seems to be the next great flood. Again, (very presumptuously) in consideration of her mentally commanding God to “make the rain stop” – a thought she pounds into her mind and (in a futile attempt) into that of God, she takes it upon herself to pile on the prayer and supplication. In time, Matilde collapses as her body is unable to handle the critical anemia that she spirals into. She refuses treatment, so afraid that once she ingests food, all the hard work of her sacrifice for the suffering in Mexico will be thwarted. In the throes of her delirium, the rain abates and the sun shines again. Matilde recovers and returns to the convent, once more filled with faith and hope in the efficacy of prayer and supplication. As she basks in the warm rays of the sun she has prayed back into the skies, it starts to pour once again.

I felt this particular portion of the movie captured a really relevant issue most of us are confronted with on the Christian journey. God owes us nothing to do what we bid/command. Most of us are well-intentioned and desire to please God, but in our zeal to abide, we inadvertently stop actively listening to the God who speaks most clearly when we are truly silent (in mind and heart). In our enthusiasm to be do-good-troupers and heal humanity of all its ails, we foist our idea of salvation onto the author of salvation history.

Increasingly, I find myself very much circumspect about great ostensible shows of piety, oblation and suffering. Not that I question the institution of these “inroads to God”. Rather, in prayer I always get a deeper sense of how what God wants is not burnt offerings of frankincense and myrrh, an altar with stones that are laid perfectly or a great hue and cry before slaying the sacrificial lamb. Instead, He is interested in the heart of worship. The heart of worship cannot be without a real transformation taking place first. It presupposes openness to His ways (even if they befuddle us) and the generosity of heart to allow His way to be had in us. And sometimes, God says things to us that we don’t expect Him to, like "Take now your son, your only son, whom you love, Isaac, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering on one of the mountains of which I will tell you."

I find myself going through a new season where I am very much confronted with own my darkness and that darkness which is present in the greyest areas of life – it is clearest where the shades of black collide with the immaculate whites. That this darkness was always present, is often obscured by the work of the Spirit in granting me strength to do what is necessary. I say this with no ounce of intended political correctness; I am a disobedient rebel of a child who is loved by God more than she deserves.

The struggle between good and evil within me takes place every day. But of late, the tempest rages even more so than before. Even if history attests that through His grace, I have had a good measure of success in staving off acts of evil, it does not diminish that I am infirm of will without Him. I suppose, the best allegory that would represent this is how little girls take that first step in crossing over into womanhood when they stop believing in unicorns and rainbows.

Where the accumulation of human knowledge has always served me well before, I find it to be a poor armour for the onslaught of the cloud of unknowing which seems to be descending upon me. I take comfort in these next few lines wherein I am called to pursue God with naked intent and blind love.

"Our intense need to understand will always be a powerful stumbling block to our attempts to reach God in simple love [...] and must always be overcome. For if you do not overcome this need to understand, it will undermine your quest. It will replace the darkness which you have pierced to reach God with clear images of something which, however good, however beautiful, however Godlike, is not God."

the fool for Christ

The abstruse mind of God

2008-08-11T21:12:00.004+08:00

Lately, a certain economy of (audible) words seems to have overtaken the usually garrulous me.

Perhaps it is because the past 7 weeks, I’ve been tired out of my mind. World Youth Day itself was no walk in the park physically. Falling sick made it even more arduous. The 2 weeks before Australia and the last 3 weeks since my return have been physically draining to say the least. The phone is perpetually ringing off the hook with clients wanting this or that NOW. Oh I rue the day the commercial world went ‘real time’!

Partners are continually dragging me into meetings for new matters (or worse leaving me to go front meetings on my own) and I am perpetually rushing to hit deadlines by the skin of my teeth. I haven’t been this tired since I started Practice. I’m still finding the work interesting and I still l enjoy the challenge but some days I am so bloody tired I could cry.

I’m not sure why, but I just feel increasingly anti-social. To even work up the energy to make small talk exhausts me. I am ashamed to admit that my prayer life has become rather cursory the past few weeks. I barely have enough RAM left to manage brushing my teeth when I get home, much less have deep, earth shaking conversations with the Lord in Spirit. Although I know, being tired or busy are not good excuses for missing prayer. I still pray every day, but the fire in prayer isn’t what it used to be. I listened with envy last week when Ah Pun talked about his sudden burst of enthusiasm for prayer after WYD.

Most of what I felt after WYD was harassed because of the deadlines and preparations for hearings that consumed me after my return. I spent my whole National Day in the office drafting urgent affidavits for clients. It was the 3^rd weekend in a row I’d been working since I returned from Australia. I still know who I work hard for and why I would fight hard for those I love but some days, I am tempted to just hie off and become a vegetable farmer in some unknown village. Everyday, there are easily fifty reasons why I feel exsanguinated by human stupidity/sloth/defensiveness/craftiness.

It still seems that this path is for me and I know that I am doing well but often the physical and mental enervation that Practice exacts makes me wonder if I could last another 5 years like that. There is no time for much else at the rate the work demands commitment. Yet at the same time, I almost need the adrenaline from its cut and thrust. More than anything else, I still want to help people; to contribute tangibly in making a difference to someone’s miserable plight.

Everyday I am reminded that this “crusade” for truth, fairness and justice is not mine but His and He’ll wage it in His own way. Usually in a manner that befuddles me. There is no room for a pulpit in this “crusade”. I still get little assurances here and there that I am doing something right but it’s all panned out rather differently from how I’d initially envisaged. Sometimes it seems like the will of God is given in Delphic utterances. The mission field isn’t always marked out with clear linear boundaries. There’s been no ceremonious whipping out of the Bible and having the opportunity to share scripture or give a testimony like how it was in youth ministry. No, this “crusade” has so far been waged with the gritting of teeth through languorous late nights, holding of tongues in the face of platitudes and obedience to authorities one does not necessarily agree with or respect.

These boundary walls of obedience, they keep closing in. It's all quite incommodious really. There are days when I manage a stray rebellious thought, “Must everything be so difficult Lord? It's positively abstruse!" Then I hold the thought there because of a lack of desire to be smote. Just kidding, I’m tired.

the fool for Christ

Calling a spade, a spade

2008-08-06T20:13:00.006+08:00

Lately, I have started to realize on a completely new paradigm, the force of my character and the extent of my obstinance. I refuse to take something at face value unless I am satisfactorily convinced of its tenability. Sometimes this gets construed as obnoxiousness, other times it is construed as pertinacity.

Where once I did concern myself more regularly with wondering if I had crossed over to “the dark side” and become a horribly insensitive/inflexible person, these days due to the fact that I lack time to waste, I tend to be much more unapologetic about the propensity for such changes (it’s arguable whether they be for the better or worse). Call a spade a spade I say! In my observation, diffidence (as a futile attempt to be everything to everyone) and hesitation (in an attempt to err on the side of caution) tend to backfire. Many take it as a sign of weakness and an open invitation to take advantage of you.

I have definitely changed oodles since the last personality test I took. Where once, being “nice” (for the sake of it) was important to me viz how to treat people, I have come to the conclusion that ultimately what is more important is to be “fair and just” in the treatment and handling of Life’s issues. What is the point of seeming supremely nice whilst you pull the wool over someone’s eyes or plant a dagger into their back? Admittedly there is more than one way to skin a cat when saying the hard word but ultimately the meat of the issue cannot be compromised for the sake of elegance in delivery.

I realize that a huge deterrent in saying/doing what needs to be said/done tends to be a fear of the backlash (and attendant malicious gossip) when others don’t necessarily recognize the noble intent/motivations in a seemingly harsh statement or admonishment. Sometimes it is a real struggle for me to reconcile the standards I set for myself and the minimum standards I know are acceptable to ask of others. Excellence and consistency are values cardinal to my belief system but the single-minded pursuit of them often leave many an unhappy party in its wake.

The pragmatist and realist in me tend to look with great circumspection upon those who use Christ’s name and our Christian call to emulate His mercifulness, to excuse themselves from a slipshod attitude toward excellence/professionalism/their basic duty or a blatant refusal to snap out of an illusion. I find it appalling how some (nominal) Christians think that having been baptized is a blank cheque or a “get out of jail free card” for them to avoid all form of censure when they screw up or neglect to carry out their basic duty.

So what if you and I profess to believe in and praise the same Risen Lord? The fact in itself does not in any way exonerate you from the culpability of your wrongdoing. My biggest pet peeve is the suggestion or expectation that I ought to turn a blind eye since it involves a fellow Christian. I’m not interested in judging the health of your eternal soul but I am interested in kicking your butt if you don’t deliver on your promises without good reason.

I’ve not forgotten the pain of the boot camp that initiation into any season of life is and I stand by the principle that unkindness and cruelty should have no place in any censure. In coming full circle, I look upon the frustration I used to feel at my superiors (when I was getting walloped during the initial months of training), with a wry smile on my face. Whatever loyalty I extend to them comes from a renewed and fuller understanding of them as persons that could not have come without staying the course.

Staying the course in prayer even when I didn't feel like it has revealed much to me about the importance of and the hows of becoming comfortable with having views that buck the trend (as far as the mob is concerned), but that is a sharing for another post.

the fool for Christ

Running the Gauntlet

2008-08-01T22:04:00.005+08:00

Sometimes, I am so ambivalent about the effects of reality.

It's clear that building the most lavish, romantic castles in the air and living the perfect life in one's mind do not real living make. Reality bites have a habit of inoculating us with sensibleness and if we are lucky, wisdom. As the saying goes, experience is a dear teacher, but fools will learn at no other. However, the ill-effects of prolonged exposure to cold hard reality (kind of like the wind burn you get in the cold biting wind as opposed to a playful breeze) are the other side of the coin; disenchantment, cynicism and melancholy.

The vagaries of cold hard reality are something that I'm still learning so much about everyday, as a consequence of age/experience and the line of work I am involved in. People I wouldn't speak to or who would never divulge such details to me under normal circumstances often end up telling me more than they would their confessor. (Of course I am bound to secrecy and take this obligation seriously.) And it is a strange burden to bear. I'm happy to do whatever I can to help someone with his/her cross, but like Simon of Cyrene there come points enroute to Calvary where I seriously question why I allowed myself to become a fellow cross-bearer.

I've often wondered how the Pie Maker Ned in Pushing Daisies feels every time he goes through the process of resurrecting and sending the dead back on their way. His experience is much more literal than mine. There is an inexplicable stirring within when you deal with (the) death (of things/relationships/associations gone sour) ever so often. Although I am adamant that I will not give over to bitterness and emptiness without a good hard fight, admittedly getting older and more experienced changes me in ways I don't always understand.

More so now than ever in the past 7 years since my spiritual conversion, I feel the force of the current in the undertow of my emotions/humanity/capacity for introspection. I see things/situations in much darker hues these days. My propensity for identifying the cute baby shades of pastels in Life has significantly diminished. But then again, it's not as if I seriously bemoan the loss of such "baby fat". I actually like myself more than I ever have in the past 25 years (as narcissistic as that sounds) and I am more myself now than I have ever been.....even more so than my awkward teenage years or the attendant pain that University life brought aside from its thrills and freedom.

It seems that most of God's deconstruction process in me is done and this new season is one of building brand new foundations from scratch. The piling process has been painful. Each pile God drives into the bowels of my foundations always hurts like mad. (So many construction terms that I've picked up in the past 2 years come to mind.) I always find it supremely ironic that I can't put into words the experiences God pours into me despite the vocabulary that He gave me but I'm very comfortable with the 'inarticulate nature' of this season already.

Sometimes it seems that despite the amounts of quiet time I invest, the most these reflections do is skirt the periphery of 'God At Work'. And in a way, I am very painfully learning to stop fighting with Him on the inordinate amount of time He seems to be taking to grant me "Temporary Occupational Permit" or give me my "Certificate of Statutory Completion". No TOP for the house that God has built for me in heaven just yet. Sometimes I think that God, as Developer (of my eternal soul), has such a hard time dealing with such a persistent tenant/subsidiary proprietor like me and has to seriously resist the temptation to just refund me my Option to Purchase (i.e. my baptismal rights).

I'm still learning even now, how pitifully little I know about Life at all and why brevity is the most sensible way of concealing one's foolishness. That the empty vessels make the most noise is of course axiomatic. It seems this is going to be hallmark of the pilgrimage of Life.....that each level of my profound foolishness is revealed by the incremental illuminations He will permit me when I finally run the gauntlet for each season.

the fool for Christ

Nice Catholics finish last

2008-07-29T22:28:00.005+08:00

Growing up, I remember clearly how members of my parents' and grandparents' generation were always more outspoken (bordering on being terse and insensitive by my reckoning) as regards all manner of everyday living; ranging from the issues of paramount importance to the mundane. It seemed to me then that they felt they had earned their right to shoot their mouths off by sheer dint of their age/seniority/physical frailty and everyone else was expected to just tow the line. Most families and societies do not take too kindly to impertinence toward the geriatric segment of the demographics. In my family, anyone who deigned to veer anywhere close to that kind of irreverence would be sharply rebuked.

Such is the moronic folly of youth, when we are young and the future shines so brightly ahead of us, our propensity for candy-coloured illusions and grandiose day dreams laced with self-righteousness are always that much higher. Possibility is such a powerful and seductive doubled edged sword. The other side of the blade leads to an impossible to manage number of alternatives; they stunt our ability for decisiveness.

I have this theory that most of the unhappiness people find themselves saddled with in life, whether it be in the office, at school or in marriage and unfulfilled family life has to do with an inflated ego (whether they are conscious of it or not). Every one secretly thinks they deserve better than they are getting. Bruised egos and crushed bravado tend to elicit the more prickly responses; whether they be commensurate or not. Age and painful experience have this strange gravitational quality of making our feet touch the ground again, even if we scream and protest all the way down to earth.

During lunch time Mass today, Fr David gave a superb and succinct homily on the Gospel text on the sisters, Mary and Martha. Traditionally, we are taught that the said passage is teaching us how we must learn how to sit at the feet of the Lord and "be" more so than "do". Another angle to today's Gospel reading is this: If you examine Jesus' response to Martha's plea that He get Mary to help her with the serving, Jesus' response could easily be interpreted as terse and insensitive in today's modern day context.

Surely He could see that what she wanted was to throw a nice, respectable party to welcome the beloved rabbi into her home? After all, wasn't she being a nice hostess with the mostest by ensuring that everyone's wine goblet was full and their tummies filled? But then she missed the point, what God wants of us is not to be "nice" but to be "good"; good to one another. These two adjectives cannot be confused as being synonymous. Sometimes being good to someone means to sharply/tersely tell it to them like it is.

Truth often is brutal and painful to bear when it is put to us. Being good to someone sometimes means issuing a sharp rebuke or slapping them to their senses so that they can finally really "see". It could involve taking them by the shoulders (metaphorically speaking) to shake away the topor of illusion and the insatiable nature of human flippancy. As much as we can deny it, all of us cringe when we examine our past selves. The error and folly of our ways usually makes us shift uncomfortably in our seats. Some hope it goes away as soon as possible, some brave the humiliation/discomfort and confront the reality.

A few days ago, I was having a chat with my supervising partner. We've come a long way in our working relationship to the point where we freely discuss what is on our mind, be it about work, people we know and even life in general. I admitted that when I first found out I was assigned to his supervision, I was apprehensive. Yes, he does have a notorious reputation for being very aggressive and highly demanding, freely issuing terse insults without blinking. He laughed for awhile and then said, "Good! I want people to be apprehensive about me. It works in my favour."

After working with him for awhile and seeing how he handles the truly deserving cases with surprising compassion, I know for a fact that he is a good person. Kind and definitely whip sharp but he doesn't care to be seen as nice. In fact, he sees people who care a lot about keeping up with appearances or what others perceive of them, as being weak and insecure. It's something that's somewhat befuddled me because I know him to be quite a devout Christian and very doting parent. I don't think it's as simple as being weathered/jaded by years of practice.

Rather a fine-tuning process happens along the way of seeking God. It is the same case with Madame. (She's kind and motherly in a social setting but she doesn't hold back on her punches when it comes to work.) They become heat-seeking missiles; zooming in for the crux of the matter where the real hotbed of discussion is. Both are disinterested in frolicking or fannying around with niceties. Neither cares about "what everyone else thinks", rather they select their inner circle to whom they give a damn about whilst the rest can go fly a kite. And yes, I respect them both. My respect is something I do not give easily.

The process of arriving at these revelations without either of them trying to do anything to remedy/rescue my initial (more bleak) opinion of them has reinforced for me how it is so important to arrive at one's own conclusions and personalise one's own experiences, giving limited weight to hearsay and being patient enough to observe real consistency (or the lack thereof) rather than make snap judgments.

I suppose the best way to put it is that ultimately, it is not about form, but about substance. Every action taken, fiat pledged and call to arms (in the spiritual sense) must be able to withstand the scrutiny of the peeling and weeding out process. When all that is peripheral and inauthentic is stripped away, then one can finally stand naked before God and go eyeball to eyeball with Him. Lucky few persist long enough to survive the excortication process.

the fool for Christ

A pilgrim's tale

2008-07-25T19:30:00.005+08:00

And so the fool has returned from the Great Southland of the Holy Spirit, with many a tale to tell. I've decided that I shall not attempt to put everything I've learnt during the past fortnight (whether by Catechesis or revelation) during the World Youth Day pilgrimage to Sydney in one post. Rather, like my Roman experience last year, I will leave it to the Spirit to prompt, which experiences to share, when.

The past week back home (more like the past week back at the office; where I have been spending most of my waking hours) has been no surprise; I'm paying dearly, my dues for taking 2 weeks of leave. It's not something I really feel the need to gripe about, rather I've come to accept that the 2 weeks before and after each tranche of annual leave I go on will always be, hellish. I'm already lucky that I actually enjoy the challenge - makes the hours go by that much more quickly.

The 2 weeks in Australia were not peaches and cream; in fact they were a pilgrimage in all senses of the word. I was sick 6 out of the 14 days and our luggage got lost enroute from Melbourne to Sydney. Falling sick during winter in a foreign country whilst on a pilgrimage is not something terribly enjoyable. I spent a good amount of phone credit calling home because I was so homesick and miserable.

At one point during the delirium of my fevers I wondered to myself, "How the blazers did Our Lady survive the trip to Bethlehem 2000 years ago when she was heavily pregnant and could find nary a place to rest her head and (probably) swollen feet?" Just thinking about it made my head throb and feet ache.

The immense hassle involved in traveling to the specified locations and the hours of waiting to for the arrival of the Pope during the WYD events has given me a new perspective on the kind of anticipation and preparation we are all called to each Advent when waiting to welcome the birth our Saviour.

In the same vein, the season of waiting that I have been led into for the longest time, now takes on a new light and is bathed in a new glow of hopeful anticipation viz the things He has been storing in my heart. WYD has opened up for me a whole new vista of patience with and hope toward all the things that can go awry in life through absolutely no fault of one's own as well as God's seemingly inexplicable directives to wait for events, things, people we have seen neither hide nor hair of.

Once again, I find myself at a new level of peace (that I never envisaged possible) with the nature of how my God works; never letting me see beyond the length of my arm what He intends for me. It makes for a whole new level of trust between us each time I renew my commitment to surrendering my will. More and more I am starting to get an inkling of the real reward to be received when one takes the leap of faith toward allowing God's miracles to materialise in one's life, irrespective of the human factors that scream to the contrary.

What's changed about me is that I welcome the "not knowing" more so now and am much more comfortable with the purification/sanctification of the waiting process. I am more myself now than I have ever been, simply because my God lives more exuberantly in the larger spaces of my heart that I have finally vacated for Him.

the fool for Christ

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste

2008-07-03T21:40:00.008+08:00

Lately, I have started to feel love again. I'm not referring to romantic love, but a passionate love for what I do everyday. Not just work (although admittedly my job eats into a large chunk of my waking hours) but also the process of being a daughter, sister, friend, Catholic and person. Where for the longest time, I bit my tongue in times of hardship and (more grudgingly then) resolved to ride out the roughest waves, led only by the head knowledge that Jesus is (and has always been) behind me. In the slowest, most soil-creep of ways…I’m finally lovin’ it.

Three years into working life, I can finally say that I’ve really found my footing. Working life connotes not just the hours that I clock in the office everyday but also the work-life balance (of work and leisure) which everyone seeks to strike. I enjoy the simple pleasures in life like laid-back weekends with my family and I relish meaningful conversations with those who reflect too upon God, life and love. I consciously feed my voracious appetite for reading and travel and I tell those whom I love, immediately. I trim fat from associations/friendships that aren't authentic because I'd rather utilise that time/those resources toward forging deeper friendships/relationships with those who really matter and whom I actually give a damn about.

At one point, I admit that I had a semi-Messiah, semi-Ivana Trump complex - ala "Don't get mad, get everything!". I earnestly wanted the nobility associated with wanting to emulate Christ in every way possible but at the same time I wanted "everything else" (including the darker propensities of desideration and appetency) – whether I could handle it or not. Essentially, I wanted to be everything to everyone. Inevitably the whole gamut of my desires, commitments and their attendant consequences caused a hundred tiny implosions which erupted every so often.

Incrementally, God has taught me so much about life as I know it – never in a pillar of fire or a great flood that consumes, but always in His usual quiet and unassuming manner of handling me; silence and delayed action. 2 things I had griped to Him about at the beginning were a) being made to do matrimonial work and b) having to communicate with clients in Chinese (which I wasn’t so keen on because it entailed a lot of additional inconvenience). I studied Higher Chinese all the way through school but if you want my honest opinion, I’m rubbish at it.

Preachers always say “You never know how far the ripples of your choices go”. It sounds so clichéd but it’s true. Recently, I received a thank you card and a bottle of wine from a former client and her children regarding a matter than had passed through my hands. She wrote, “I felt you really understood the immense pain I was going through and were rooting so hard for me to pick the pieces of my life up again”. Another Chinese widow whom I had helped through a particularly sticky inheritance matter brought me exotic fertility gifts from yonder because she said I should have more children and pass my own gifts on. (These things have an expiry date!) She forgot or perhaps doesn’t realize I am not married and very Catholic.

It wasn’t so much the gifts as it is the genuine appreciation you feel when you have made a real difference in someone’s life, whether he/she is Catholic/Christian or not and whether the only thing you did was to make the person feel more understood and less alone by going down to his/her level and making the effort to speak his/her lingo (albeit haltingly in my case). Increasingly, I find God leading me in the direction of empathizing more deeply with the difficulties of migrants who are alone in a foreign country and the feelings of devastating loneliness they go through, especially when they are rendered helpless in one way or another.

Before I entered University and before my dad left, I was so adamant that I wanted to go to the US to study film or to do liberal arts in England. The arrogant little shit that I was. All I knew in my impetuousness at the grand age of 18 was that my dreams were dashed through no fault of my own and I had to live with my sad lot. But 7 years later, I realize now that I really had no idea how tough it is to live alone overseas and the kind of incapacitation (limited or otherwise) you are plunged into when you don’t have a network of family/friends close by to support you.

Instead, He gave me the opportunity to be the one, stretching my hand out to others, whilst comfortably leaning on the support network I have here at home. I have the luxury drawing a solicitor's salary, of staying close to family and enjoying the warmth of my relationships with them whilst attending to my duty of the moment. It’s not exactly what I had in mind during the moronic romanticism of my youth but I’ll take it. All the profound contemplation in the world is not worth as much as an ounce of willing obedience to the yoke God places on our shoulders.

This is a mission field I did not expect to be sent to – helping the everyday Joe Blows in the comfort of an air-conditioned office and in the Courtrooms (ok, that sounds slightly more glamourous at least :p) I had more grandiose visions of handing out emergency supplies in refugee camps and trudging through mine fields with kevlar strapped onto my chest in mind. But on hindsight, if He had given me the real deal hardship, I doubt I’d survive.

So yes, in a way I did not expect, God allowed me the opportunity and the avenue to still make a difference in other people’s lives. Perhaps I will not make a difference in the lives of millions of Christians the way JPII did but doing so deeply in the lives of a handful of people is good enough for me. I still have my big dreams and I still want to lead a life less ordinary but what is different about me now is that I know I don’t want to create a fuss or begrudge God when He takes my plans and dashes them upon the rocks.

It’s taught me that the inadequacies, complexities and idiosyncrasies madly swirling within the personhood of the fool for Christ, all that muck amidst the ambient noise in my mind and heart still please Him. Not because I've done anything remotely worthy but because He loved me first, unconditionally. And I lay no claim to unusual favours but only hope to eat the crumbs that fall from the divine table.

the fool for Christ

Reactivity

2008-06-21T03:14:00.010+08:00

I distinctly remember Chemistry lessons back in school where we were taught about the noble gases in the periodic table. Group 18 elements are known to be very stable because they have the maximum number of valence electrons that their outer shell can hold, causing them to rarely react with other elements. They are called noble gases or inert gases because the stability in their outer shell of electrons seldom does away with the need for them to react with the gazillion other electrons whizzing about their reactive sphere in an environment where atoms and electrons are so highly reactive.

For some reason (whether good or bad I am as yet undecided), I have become increasingly more and more like a Group 18 element. (I will explain shortly.)

I enjoy a generous measure of stability in my life right now; financially, emotionally and socially. The cocoon of stability which God provides (that I enjoy) also shields me from much of the volatility, deficiency and destitution that is a characteristic (and integral part) of “real life”. My outermost electrons are not severely ravaged by valency.

I don’t really like the word "inert" because inertia connotes a “sitting about on one’s butt” quality yet I identify very much with the lack of propensity to react much these days, at least not in a melodramatic fashion. Of course I recognize that melodrama is rarely an admirable quality. However, the other end of the spectrum is apathy and that is a slippery slope in as far as the human condition is concerned.

One of the first things I learnt in Practice is that hysteria, panic and distress are emotions you never want to wear on your sleeve, especially not in front of your boss, clients and the people you want to respect you. Things go pear shaped every other minute and crappy situations precipitate more quickly than you can say “pollywoppus”. The real measure of a person generally lies in how you respond when things fall apart.

The most efficient way to handle a knotty affair is to zero in on the solution rather than to cry over spilt milk – and I do that, very often automatically, without even flinching, sometimes without even blinking. The quasi-cyborg part of my thought processes and reflexes sometimes scare me because humanity is not a circuit-board - though most times they serve me well. It causes me to sometimes be much less sensitive to an undertow of others' insecurities and hang ups than I am generally capable of.

Desensitization (for lack of a better word) is something I am still ambivalent about.

It stems from a desire not to be a Don Quixote but I don't much fancy mutating into a miscreant with a heart of asphalt as well. I don’t like ignoring or perpetuating injustice but I don’t much fancy suffering fools either. The problem is, the deserving cases aren’t always easy to identify and the application of principles to real life situations very often isn’t something as straightforward as coordinate geometry. (It’s abit more like 3-D trigonometry!) Yet it will not do to just sit around complaining that Life is hard and ultimately, do nothing. To say, “Oh just do what Jesus would do” is easy but to really execute that mayn’t be as easy as rolling adages off one’s tongue.

To be fair, very few situations in life warrant tearing of the beard and ripping of one’s outer tunic. Hence, an almost perpetual state of the unfazed isn’t an entirely bad thing. For one, it gives me an uncanny ability to read people. I can’t imagine Jesus to be a skittish leader or having the disposition of a patient with Tourette syndrome.

A part of me still desperately wants to make a difference in making the world a better place (and humanity a more loving race…..I’m for real here!), yet another part of me is acutely of the limitless bounds of human greed, envy, wrath and cunning (as well as the multi-dimensional vectors Life runs in). Perhaps the truth is that as much as I love God deeply, (I daren’t say with ‘every fiber of my being’ yet because if I really were able to, I’d be cannonised by now) I am clearly (and painfully – painful to acknowledge) still not ready to practice my Christian faith purely on (and fully surrendered to) His terms - the way St Francis of Assisi was.

How Christ could pray so passionately and ardently for the Pharisees and the Roman soldiers who crucified Him, asking the Father to forgive them - still genuinely befuddles me. My impetuousness and indignation block out my ability to be joined with Him in His divine consciousness and lucidity as to why forgiveness of even the most odious persons and most heinous of acts is as natural as breathing. It causes me to become very aware of the huge chasm that exists between God’s standard and the best standard I can muster purely on my own strength.

Yes, I am very much aware of my wretched human iniquity but I don't want to put up a fancy song and dance number about it, valiantly (or rather...idealistically and foolishly) promising to reach Sainthood by x-number of years. The struggle continues, and I refuse to palliate the incompleteness that is within because I remain, a work in progress. Be patient with me Lord, please.

the fool for Christ

If you pass through raging waters

2008-06-17T00:19:00.003+08:00

The past week or so, a certain calm and peace has descended upon me even in the midst of all the scurrying about to hit deadlines – this is in spite of a continuously very intense two months at work. The pressure is real and significant but somehow manageable. I can only credit it to the discipline of a set place and time for prayer which my Spiritual Director has held me to. God has been faithful in honouring the fixed slots of quiet time which I set aside for Him. I must admit that before this, I really had not appreciated as deeply the discipline of a fixed routine in prayer.

For some reason unbeknownst to me, a deep-seated and almost perpetual state of the unfazed has characterized my daily dealings with even the most remarkable dunces and the most contemptible characters this side of the northern hemisphere. I was reminded of the lines in the hymn Be Not Afraid:-

If you pass through raging waters
In the sea, you shall not drown
If you walk amidst the burning flames
You shall not be harmed.

If you stand before the pow'r of hell
And death is at your side
Know that I am with you, through it all.

The travails of the daily grind slide like water off a duck’s back when I come to a state of prayer with Him. I can’t control every aspect of my life, much less save the whole of humanity or bring global warming to a grinding halt. So I do whatever I can, whenever I can – the rest I leave to His providence and try not to lose clumps of my hair over what I cannot do or change on my own strength. There is a peculiar sense of freedom and release in embracing that truth.

I am relearning what sweet surrender to Him means. So many nefarious forces work together to rob us of happiness and contentment during the day and the sanctuary of time alone with Him at the close of the day is when those stolen moments are returned to me. I still don’t know what the future holds - not even my immediate future beyond the week. I am still in “darkness” of waiting for Him to reveal the fullness of the inklings He gave me in Rome. Why He would have me wait so long, I still haven’t the foggiest idea but it doesn’t really matter anymore. I’ll just be all that I can be in the gift of each moment that I am allowed to breathe. Many the hearts that yearn to belong - and they do, to You Lord.

the fool for Christ

Silent confessions

2008-06-08T16:48:00.004+08:00

These past 2 weeks, God and I have been sitting together in silence a lot; in the car on a late night drive, with my bible whilst I am on the throne, at the consecration of the Eucharist when the earth moves under my feet. I’ve learnt not to fear the silence, for it is in silence that we grow after all.

The easy garrulousness of the past season is something I want to leave at the threshold of the world outside for now. Apart from attending to the duty of the moment, I want nothing more than to retreat and reclaim my lost space – space that was previously given to others too prodigally. I don’t despise the friendship or the precious gift of openness from those who let me in; I just need to do this for myself for now – to shed the deadweight of attendant chores. You cannot give when you are spent.

Perhaps it is the whole gamut of activities, obligations and mandatory functionality that forms a canopy over me; clouding out what should be unfettered and unbroken rays of clarity. I need a torrential downpour of Him, perhaps even a tsunami wave of Him, not just a light drizzle.

I never wanted anything so much than to drown in Your love and not feel Your rain.
I live here on my knees as I see that You're everything I need here on the ground.

the fool for Christ

In times when we don't know

2008-05-26T23:41:00.004+08:00

At a retreat I attended recently, our retreat master taught us about 2 stages of Church which go beyond the visible Church – the Church of the Heart and the Church Within. I’ve not heard of these terms before and I shall go find out more. My immediate interpretation is that the difficult but indispensable visible church which we know today is but only the most basic level of the Body of Christ which the Father contemplated.

God’s Church exists and thrives not just in the physical/material world but also at the level of the heart and soul – that the formation of an interior life is the gateway to. The gate to a deeper and more authentic relationship with God is one through which silence, prayer and a generous disposition of openness are the only keys.

I have learnt that craving/observing silence is not merely related to decibels. The empowering silence which opens the gate to a more authentic and abundant relationship with God as personal saviour is also a silence of the mind, heart and inner being. It is impossible to fully receive what God has to pour into us without first completely emptying ourselves.

This retreat, I received a silent harangue from God.

I tend to wince before each quarter I resolve to give to God is handed over to Him. I confess that a part of me secretly hopes He will let me off the hook and discontinue His “request” when He sees my discomfort. It is a part of my genetically encoded rebellion – that I am still discovering the various facets of. The lemming is infinitely more pliant than I am; I tend to be more hard-headed even if the mode in which I rebel isn’t patently obvious to others.

It became apparent that I had lacked discipline in guarding the sanctity of silence in my life. Somewhere along the way, I had allowed the clutter of everyday living and its attendant duties/desires to crowd out the purpose why they were given to me in the first place – to foster a discipline of always finding God amidst the mayhem. The interstices between each well-meaning thought are a minefield of distractions that compete with God for our attention and love. Fortunately, God is a pragmatist and always uses the sources of our distraction to gain our focus.

Increasingly the struggle of my humanity to catch up with the divine standards set by Christ become more and more real to me. The indubitable weakness of my flesh and fallen nature underscore my inherent brokenness and the constant running I do because I fractiously doubt the ability of His arms to embrace all the splinters and shards that are a part of me. It is a lie to say that I completely understand God, because I don’t – and yet He continually gives me the freedom to keep searching till I am satisfied the search is over.

There is a longing only You can fill
A raging tempest only You can still
My soul is thirsty Lord
To know You as I'm known

I believe in the kingdom come
Then all the colors will bleed into one, bleed into one
Well yes, I'm still running
You broke the bonds and you loosed the chains
Carried the cross of my shame, of my shame
You know I believed it

the fool for Christ

Love is not glamourous or exciting

2008-05-19T00:21:00.012+08:00

As early back as October 2006, I started to covet an iBook. I got creative on the reasons why I needed a new one in spite of the 1.5 years of faithful performance I had received from my Dell Inspiron 700m. No. 7 talked me out of it with plain old vanilla pragmatism and I increased the RAM on my Dell instead.

Almost 2 years later, I still covet laptops from Mac. It doesn’t help that Mac has now dropped the price of its basic Macbook laptops by so much, they now cost even less than I what I paid for my old Toshiba Satellite and the dear old Inspiron herself.

To add salt to injury, laptops which run on Windows operating systems can now retail for as low as $1000 and No. 5 has been going on and on about how much he loves his Macbook. There are even more sources of temptation to crowd the years of faithful service from my Inspiron 700m out of my mind. But for reasons, which do not even relate to the tenure of my anti-virus software licence, I am unable to bring myself to replace the dear old dame known as my Dell laptop (even though she is the instrument through which I spy on the latest Macbooks).

I’m not done with her yet and I have resolved that I am not going to purchase myself a new one until my current Dell gives up on me. In fact, I have promised myself that even after the Dell gives up on me, I shall give all her cheaper cousins due consideration before I give in to the Mac mania. This is very much in spite of the fact that the interim period between my Dell rebooting her last and my obtaining a new laptop shall be very troublesome.

I guess you could say that my attitude towards my laptops mirror my attitude towards other aspects of Life. I am by nature a sentimental and fiercely loyal person. I value steadfastness and fidelity as much as I value my kidneys. Part of the reason I am still at the same firm after so long is because I didn't/don't believe in leaving a difficult work environment until I have conquered it. I wanted/want to leave on my terms, rather than because I am trying to escape hardship.

Of course now there is no need for me to leave because (through the grace of God) I have conquered my workplace environment and built credibility with my superiors. But this more agreeable state of affairs was not always so, as No. 7 and the lemming will attest to. Whatever calm and relaxed state I now enjoy, was fought and paid for with endurance and gnashing of teeth. Likewise, when the temptation of “better offers” arise I am entreated to resolve whether to apply the same attitude I have viz laptops, to this job and other aspects of my life. There are no absolutes in determining when loyalty is misplaced or well founded.

Let’s face it, completely dismissing a “better offer” without even giving cursory consideration because you are so convinced of the efficacy/performance of what you currently have is more than sufficient, is never an easy thing. Everyone secretly indulges the notion that they are worth even more than they had previously dared to admit/entertain. Giving over feeds one’s vanity and in a way, would seem to be a respectably utilitarian way of handling prospect. The most difficult part about such fealty is that you have no guarantee that your devotion will be recognized or reciprocated.

Part of what I struggle with when it comes to relationships is my fear of the (ominously) almost certain havoc that the elusiveness of longevity i.e. “too much time passing, such that moss starts to grow on the rocks” and boredom will wreak on even the most stable of relationships; that’s why all the love gurus chime the same chorus line; relationships and marriage are so much hard work. Even if you resolve to pledge your fiat to someone mortal, it does not in any way guarantee that your sacrifice (of exploring alternative prospect) will be honoured. Some people surrender to this basic truth, and a few fight it.

As an aside, the reason why the artist known as Madonna – who incidentally reminds me of a cyborg – has managed to survive longer than most of her pop compatriots from the 1980’s is because she understood the value of reinvention and the efficacy of “doing anything and everything”. Whilst she may no longer be the most talented artist on popular radio, what she lacks in talent, youth, looks and uniformly spaced teeth, she makes up for with grit, calculated maneuvering and a purging of misplaced coltish pride. In a word, she is a survivor. She has proved that religiousness toward outrageously (and unnaturally) toned limbs can make up for old age in a modern culture that spits on anything that is no longer taut, perky or that is over 14 years of age.

Applying that same reasoning toward the cruel reality of relationships gone pear-shaped, there is no limit to the creativity that people exhibit when thinking of ways to counter the ravages of time and boredom. Some people hem and haw for as long as they can (hoping that a miracle solving the problem will fall into their lap whilst stalling), some embark on a (very utilitarian) hedonistic rampage to obtain as much pleasure as they can first before the beginning of the end and some just give up on love.

I consider myself somewhat of a UFO. I hover, undecided where my inchoate position should crystallize. I have these vague notions of what I am not (for example, I refuse to choose bitterness and emptiness) but unable to concretely say where I plant my flag on the spectrum. I am generally a pragmatist, albeit a very flawed and oftentimes romantically idealistic one.

The pragmatist in me recognizes that goal posts in life change all the time. People, desires, circumstances change as easily and frequently as the weather vane. Yet the romantic idealist is me refuses to remain in an unsatisfactory state of the perpetually jaded and disenchanted. My own relationships, especially that with God have taught me that love and excitement seldom co-exist peacefully. Love is not glamourous, it is quiet and real; right down to the last saggy tissue, flaccid appendage and fried motherboard.

Every once in awhile, I still hear lilting melodies from the violin bows that play on the strings of my heart and for that one shining moment, I don’t want the music to stop.

the fool for Christ

Love is a state of grace

2008-05-10T16:17:00.011+08:00

Lately, God has been teaching me about forgiveness and how little of it I have really grasped in spite of my ability to rattle off Church doctrinal definitions and give a seemingly respectable discourse on it. Catholicism and love are experiences after all, not clinical theses. I consider myself a good person, albeit a very imperfect one at that. I try to abide by the law (secular and spiritual ones) and I genuinely try to give action to what Mother Church teaches, but I continue to struggle with the call to emulate my saviour, especially when it comes to granting forgiveness generously.

Yesterday, resolution arrived on a wrangle that has been dogging me for almost 2 weeks. It didn’t arrive in the way I expected but I decided that I was tired of being angry and not interested in raking up the details of who was right or wrong. It’s a big step for me; force of habit would usually galvanise me go through everything with a fine tooth comb to ascribe fault or liability to the parties involved right down to the last millimeter with the calipers of analysis. I found myself wanting to just let bygones be bygones and committing to forgetting the uncongenial. It’s not a perfect state of circumstances but the penultimate decision taken was that I don’t want to walk away.

Sometimes familiarity breeds contempt. For as time passes and the violins stop playing, your feet touch the ground and the universe around you (that has always existed) starts becoming perceivable to your sense-abilities again; where once before, at the first flush of infatuation, the rest of the universe had faded into the candy-coloured haze of “theia mania”.

Together they had overcome the daily incomprehension, the instantaneous hatred, the reciprocal nastiness, and fabulous flashes of glory in the conjugal conspiracy. It was time when they both loved each other best, without hurry or excess, when both were most conscious of and grateful for their incredible victories over adversity. Life would still present them with other moral trials, of course, but that no longer mattered: they were on the other shore.

Gabriel Gárcia Márquez
Love in the Time of Cholera

Perhaps that is when you realize love starts to be able to seep in, when you don’t want to walk away in spite of idiosyncrasy and infirmity. For love is blind but friendship closes its eyes as they say.

"Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say our spirits are as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not a means to anything, but the alpha and omega, an end in itself."

Gabriel Gárcia Márquez
Love in the Time of Cholera

The lemming was telling me once, how increasingly, she finds popular notions of love rather bunkum and overly dramatized. Second chances and the restorative power of a decision to love are definitely forces of nature I believe in but it's usually not as simple as adding carriages to a train. Love remains a mystery to me and as usual, I cannot find the words for the current emotion. Even after the healer has done His job and health is restored, scars remain. A necessary reminder of my ambivalence to pain and the reality that things that can always fall apart. What is love really? Who would really know except He who is love?

Hard for you I've fallen, but you can't break my fall.
I'm broken, don't break me when I hit the ground.

the fool for Christ

Noblesse oblige

2008-05-04T17:06:00.007+08:00

This week I realised something about myself; that I am more selfish than I care to admit to myself, much less others. Noblesse oblige does not run through my veins, especially when I am physically and mentally tired. In fact, I’ll admit that I am quite a miserable grouch when I am low on sleep and food. I don’t like to see injustice take place but I am no Mother Teresa of Calcutta. When you cut me I bleed and when you attack me, I rage against you.

In an act of supreme irony, I was angry with someone for his/her passive aggressive way of handling conflict the past week. The irritation and frustration ate me and yet I myself have elected to respond with passive aggressive rebellion, by “sticking it to the man” when I unconsciously begrudged my lot. Here it is, sometimes when my mum wants to go to the toilet for the n-th time at 4am, I roll over on my side and let her call out for another 30 seconds before I scream into my pillow, get up and help her. There I’ve said it, told you I wasn’t Mother Teresa of Calcutta.

Sometimes when we are in pain or a time of testing, we expect others (who aren’t the source of our trial) to defer to us because we are suffering or in turmoil; even if sometimes these expectations are not just or disregard the fact that they might be hurting too. Encounter enough of these trials and the expectations you have of those others who are supposed to be closest to you, proliferate the way tumour cells metastasize.

Unresolved resentment and cumulative passive aggressive rage that does not get enunciated for long periods develops into a cancer, which one day only responds to radical and invasive treatment. Sometimes the tide of the resentment pulls back from the shore so much that it builds up like a tsunami covering the sky – creating massive blind spots – and perhaps blocking out even the patently obvious.

Sometimes all that sound and fury under the full moon really points to something else sitting at the bottom of the cauldron. And in chugging back my witch’s brew to finally discover what lies beneath, I have invariably given myself an upset stomach; which no one should have to pay for, except myself. Learning to love oneself (which let’s face is easy peasy for some and like scaling Mt Everest for others) and to love God (who is perfect) is already hard enough but learning to love another imperfect person (idiosyncrasies, warts, et al….yes like a critter!) is twice is hard.

I realize now that I need to take a more pregnant pause before I open my mouth to pronounce that I do indeed love someone, because my will may be there but the will does not immediately obliterate the challenges of giving action to loving an imperfect soul.

the fool for Christ

Imperfect ruminations

2008-04-29T22:05:00.005+08:00

This morning, as I was about to leave the house, my mother suddenly said, “You know, I really appreciate what you do for me everyday. I’m sorry to be such a burden especially when you are having such a hard time at work.” I stopped in my tracks for awhile, then turned and said, “You’re very welcome Mum. It’s my duty as your daughter to ensure that you are never in want. I’m sorry for the times I’ve been kinda brusque with you when I’m so tired after a day at work.”

It is the truth. I generally am not so great with exhibiting saintly forbearance when I am physically maxed out. Her last line in response, gave me much to think about amidst the mayhem of a mountain of urgent court applications to prepare for. “You’re not perfect, that’s for sure. But I love you and you are very far from the other end of the spectrum. Love is what makes the imperfection sufficient and takes people through the years of imperfection.”

I think that I still have so much to learn about the human condition and the profundities of Life that spew forth from the lips of the people God places in my life, at the most unexpected of moments, never cease to amaze me. I find being a Christian so very hard. I find being a Christian in the World exponentially harder. Increasingly, I find myself becoming more and more aware of my imperfections as I identify similar traits in the people that I cross paths with.

My stubbornness of sticking to a taken course of view until effective and logical persuasion succeeds at changing my mind and the harshness of my expectations (which I peg to a reasonable standard of rationality) often cause me great frustration when others cannot comprehend at the scope and speed at which I am accustomed to. It jams my radars when people won’t see reason or act in a dishonourable fashion. But the truth is, rationality and reasonableness are insufficient in order for one to lead an abundant life in Christ. Humanity (for want of a better word) is the coefficient that has to be factored into the equation and must necessarily be given due weight in the balancing of the equation of Life. Just as the perfect marriage of humanity and divinity are found in Jesus, an elusively Spirit-guided grasp of the symbiotic relationship between worldliness and Christianity is the only way one can really scale the mountain of being in the World but not of the World.

The discipline of law chiefly seeks to set out in clear and unequivocal terms, and as exhaustively as possible, general formulae that is applicable to life which subjects of the law can adhere to, with as few deviations as possible. The skill of the draftsman and the legislature lies in the total grasp and conceptualization of the scope of the field and the erudite articulation of the appropriate general formulae which addresses the mischief. Yet no area of law is without its exceptions. In Criminal law, we study general exceptions and special exceptions to the codified laws found in the Penal Code.

Therein lies the point really; Life is so fluid, so preciously nuanced and dynamic that it cannot possibly adhere to the austere straight lines of any humanly conceived rule or sophisticated formulae. A (nominally) Christian life is an even taller order and the pursuit of an authentic, abundant life in Christ whilst located here on earth, that I can tell you is virtually impossible (without the grace and assistance of God).

I find being human nauseatingly difficult to the point that it can be hellish at times and yet at other times, so paradoxically paradisiacal – for as Mother Church teaches; this life we know on earth is a foretaste of what is to come when we receive Eternal Life with Him in Paradise.

Pardon me mine gross imperfection, oh would thee Lord?

the fool for Christ

Otherwise, the moment just passes you by

2008-04-26T19:27:00.008+08:00

During supper last night, one of my best mates announced, “I’m having a mid life crisis, I booked a plane ticket 3 days ago. I’m going to NYC to disappear for a week starting next Tuesday.”

“Get out of here”, I said, “you’re not even 40, that doesn’t count as mid-life!”

After I realized she wasn’t kidding, I felt like a right pillock. Subsequently it came to light, she’d stayed best friends with an ex-love-of her-life from her University days in England all these years and he had come to her with a dilemma recently about whether he should propose to his current girlfriend because “it’s about time” and “it’s the right thing to do instead of making her wait forever”.

“Why the heck is he coming to you with something like that given all that water under the bridge?” I asked incredulously.

“Because I’m his bloody best friend.” she said.

“Then maybe you need to think about whether you can still be his best friend (let’s just call her Julia Roberts) Julia Roberts, this is so My Best Friend’s Wedding!”

“I know, that’s why I am heading to NYC to get lost for awhile.”

I’m not sure why the ex-love-of-her-life hasn’t realized what he’d given up – someone incredibly smart, funny, sexy and driven - when they decided to end their long distance relationship but then again, you could say that I’m biased, she is one of my best mates after all. In a way, I can’t say I don’t empathise with why she didn’t want to lose one of her best friends just because the relationship had ended.

On the one hand, the friendship never returns to the same place once you call it off with someone who used to be your best friend. On the other hand, I understand why people take that risk anyway. It is such a natural progression to end up dating someone whom you already share such a deep connection and kindred of spirits with. It’s something as natural as slipping into a warm bath. The jury is still out for me, on whether the risk one assumes in dating one’s best friend is worth it.

I think it stings Julia Roberts much more because of the number of years she’s invested in the friendship. 15 years. Some people can do that, hold someone in their heart for years on end, whether they start out meaning to or not. Sometimes your mind says one thing and your heart does another thing. Slipping into hatred and anger is the cheater's way out instead of bravely choosing to admit and give over to what is clearly love.

It’s easier to pull an 'Alanis' and sing along with great gusto to a gung-ho male-bashing anthem when you are still young, attractive and the future ahead shines so brightly. But the chorus lines gradually grow softer and softer as the youth slips out of your grasp like air slowly being let out through a tiny pin prick in a balloon.

Lost youth and what to make of its loss, that’s what stings Julia Roberts so much. Her Dermott Mulroney never asked her to put her life on hold all this time. I don’t think she consciously did it but it just happened anyway because “I’m still in love with the memory/idea of him and he set the bar so high, no one else seems to measure up when stacked next to that memory/idea”. I don’t think she’s bitter about having held him in her heart all these years. Rather what eats her is the question of “What do I do next now that it’s clear I need to move on?” That’s the real motherload of a question that requires so much courage to face.

Sometimes I wonder if the final decision to make a bittersweet parting is the only way for a memory to remain beautiful, undefiled by the ravages time and of a lack of destiny. Time stops in that ethereal cocoon where girl loves boy and boy loves girl and feet don’t touch the ground.

Sometimes it is so hard to live with “doing the right and civilly responsible thing” because every fiber of your being that is humanly passionate wants to do the exact opposite. In a way, I admire people with the guts to do what is often considered unpopular and ‘take the bull by the horns’, consequences of judgment be damned.

I have no answers myself. I’m 10 years too young to give the empathetic (instead of sympathetic) and effective advice Julia Roberts could use right now but I’ll be at the airport when she returns from NYC.

Those violins, they must go.
So no careless hand with a bow,
May play on the strings of my heart
And make me remember how lovers part.

the fool for Christ

Weave in faith and God will find the thread

2008-04-19T23:50:00.005+08:00

The week has come and gone. I have broken my discipline of not exceeding 2 cups of coffee/tea a day. The past 6 days back from urgent leave have been incredibly taxing work wise and when I get home, I take over the relay baton from my aunt viz my mother. She needs assistance with pretty much everything and there are a number of activities that my brothers can’t really assist her with. I love my mum with all my heart but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t physically exhausted.

It’s just coincidental that the first week after her fall coincides with so many of my Court deadlines and contentious hearings. Love fuels the bursts of energy I have to muster when she gets up several times in the night to pee but at this point, the thought of waking up 3-4 times a night (because she has a weak bladder) for the next 3 months makes me cringe just a little. My new secretary said, “Gosh, that’s exactly what I do every night when I have to breastfeed my baby.”

Egad!

Today I said to him, “Dear, I love my mother, but I suck at waking up 3-4 times a night, every night. I am convinced after this experience of having to feed, clean and wash someone else everyday and night....that I am far from ready for kids.” To which he responded with an unexpected pearl of wisdom, “Come on love, you and babies, certainly an experience not to miss when it comes about! It’ll catch up with you. It's a certainty rather than a choice. I've learnt that from me mates. You tend to love more when you sacrifice more.”

I think he’s been attending too many weddings and baby showers of late. I like children (best when they are other people’s children) but none of my maternal instincts are kicking in just yet. In fact, the lemming has way more maternal instinct than I do. I reckon I’m still quite a space cadet when it comes to issues of marriage and children. But his last line resonated with me. Are love and sacrifice directly proportional? Does sacrifice have a multiplier effect on love? Love hurts sometimes when you do it right. Since sacrifice usually involves some kind of pain/discomfort, does it follow then that sacrificial love results in a deeper, fuller love?

There are sacrifices I could make for him, for others I love but what if the objects of some of these possible sacrifices are at odds with what I ardently desire, or worse...each other? What then? That’s probably why some part of me feels like a space cadet of Life, especially with regard to eternity – some issues I just space out on because I don’t feel ready to make a decision on just yet. I’m happy now even if it’s not perfect. I’m here now and I don’t want to overthink it because I’d rather have a disposition of gratefulness toward what I have already been given. I will give and be until I can’t. It’s not willfulness. I daren’t give guarantees beyond that because I honestly don’t know.

I can’t give any definite time frames on the future because I can't even tell where they are. Because I myself am learning how I must give over to where the wind (the breath of God) blows. I haven’t experienced concrete certainty in years and even then I’ve come to discover how much of that certainty was false and foolish. All I can do is to be faithful to the now that I have been entrusted with. Sometimes we don’t get to choose because there isn’t a choice to be made in that situation, only for nature to take its course; as authored by the finger of God.

The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too.

St Teresa of Avila

the fool for Christ

Lessons in love of a different kind

2008-04-13T04:15:00.005+08:00

In the book of Judges, a notoriously cruel king named Adoni Bezek used to cut off the thumbs and big toes of his enemies. Judges 1:6-7 most famously noted.:-

Adoni-Bezek fled, but they chased him and caught him, and cut off his thumbs and big toes. Then Adoni-Bezek said, "Seventy kings with their thumbs and big toes cut off have picked up scraps under my table. Now God has paid me back for what I did to them.

I always used to wonder why the warriors of the Old Testament had such a strange practice of taking off only a small piece of their enemies – why not decapitation or disembowelment? Subsequently I was taught that removal of the thumbs meant that a warrior could no longer bear his sword for war and the removal of his big toes meant that he would never walk stably again and therefore not be able to assume a sufficiently effective defensive stance in battle. He was, in 4 deft slices of the blade, stripped of all ability to soldier and protect himself.

It’s strange how such small and seemingly unobtrusive parts of an entire piece of machinery (like opposable thumbs) could turn out to be such pivots or axes upon which the total function of the entire machinery hinges upon. This week, I have come to learn 2 rather seminal lessons. First of all, I have learnt how important one’s wrists are. Most of us don’t even realize how essential our wrists are to the most mundane actions like typing at the keyboard, dressing or feeding ourselves. Secondly, I have come to realize how much I would be willing to sacrifice, endure or do for those I love.

On Thursday, my mother had a very bad fall in school. She missed a step whilst descending the steps of her school stage and landed head first. Her face and hands broke the fall. Both her wrists were fractured instantly upon impact and she narrowly missed breaking her nose as well. She suffered very severe contusions and wounds to her forehead, nose and lips. Her face was in such bad shape that I could barely recognize her at the Accident and Emergency department when I rushed down.

It took them 3 hours to re-set her bones and put them in casts. By the time she emerged from the resuscitation room, the bruising had become so advanced, almost her entire face was dark purple and swollen beyond recognition. The soft tissue over her eyes was so badly bruised they had swelled to the size of hard-boiled eggs, such that she could not see at all. The first night she was warded was a sleepless one because we had to wait for the results of a head CT scan. She had landed with such force on her head that the doctors were worried about internal hemorrhaging or clotting in her brain.

I consider myself a gutsy person but I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid in my life. She was slated to take the CT scan at 2am and the doctor said if she required immediate surgery, they would call us by 3am. I spent almost the entire night wide awake by the phone waiting for the hospital to call. It is through the intercession of an armada of intercessors (who just happen to be family and friends) including Our Lady that my mum’s head scan results came back clear at 7.30am.

The doctors discharged her on Saturday but she still requires help with everything, from meals to baths to going to the toilet and washing up. 2 fractured wrists almost entirely affect her daily mobility and functions. It’s really tiring to be on call because she cannot be left alone but there is nothing I would do more gladly. The process has been immensely difficult for her too, apart from the physical pain. It’s not easy for a dignified teacher pushing 60 to have to require people to assist her in all the basic daily functions.

The first time I helped assist her with the call of nature, she cried and kept apologizing about making me do something like that. She was so affected that she was trembling and I worried about her hands hitting the safety bars in the handicapped toilet. It was an emotional moment as I struggled to tell her that I was only too happy to be able to care for her in any way possible. It sounds so clichéd but it’s true that you never really realize just how much you love someone until you almost lose them and when they are totally helpless; reliant on you for even the most basic of daily necessities and functions.

The entire experience has filled me with such a deep sense of sobriety as to the raw and coarsely primitive feelings of fear and humility that grip you hard when you come face to face with the grim prospect of imminent danger. It is in the unadulterated throes of an onslaught of cold hard reality that you discover just how close to God you can feel in one’s darkest moments of fear and despair and how much you love Him for giving you those He has given you to love.

the fool for Christ

Wrestling forward

2008-04-05T17:57:00.009+08:00

In his autobiography, Nikos Kazantzakis shares a wonderful anecdote: As a young man, he used to visit various monasteries on Mount Athos, interviewing the monks who lived there. In one rather memorable interview he engaged an old monk who had a great reputation for holiness: He asked this monk:

"Do you still struggle with the devil?"

"Oh, no," the old man replied, "I used to struggle with him, when I was young, but now I've grown old and tired and the devil has grown old and tired with me. We leave each other alone!"

"So it's easy for you now?" asked the young Kazantzakis.

"Oh no," replied the old man, "it's worse, far worse! Now I wrestle with God!"

"You wrestle with God," said the surprised young Kazantzakis, "and hope to win?"

"No," replied the old monk, "I wrestle with God and I hope to lose!"

For a believer, struggling with his or her complexities at a certain stage of the spiritual life, there are few definitions of prayer that are more helpful. In fact, this anecdote spoke very much to one of the struggles I currently face in this season of life – wrestling with God as I try to re-learn (yet again!) the lesson of relinquishing full control of my life to Him, particularly in the face of panic alarms going off when I realize God has been dulling my neural sensors for some time now.

“Why won’t you let me see beyond the length of my arm Lord?” I often ask in bewilderment.

I end up feeling like a blind mole rat; furiously digging through tunnels in darkness using my teeth, not knowing if I will ever see the light at the end of the tunnel no matter how much I burrow away with my teeth. (Yes, blind mole rats burrow with their teeth). Recently I read an article in National Geographic about how Israel's blind mole rat (Spalax ehrenbergi) uses the Earth's magnetic field on long journeys, much like a compass, to continuously monitor and maintain its course. (Organic GPS!)

But that's not where the burrowing rodent's abilities end. The mole rat also has an uncanny habit of burrowing around obstacles—such as ditches or concrete blocks—without ever coming in to physical contact with them. In the most unexpected way, I felt rather comforted by the article because it dawned on me that the Holy Spirit is the natural electromagnetic force from the core that provides Spiritual GPS for those of us stuck at 'the blind mole rat stage'.

According to scientists, making navigational mistakes underground is expensive business too. Excavating soil uses between 360 and 3,400 times as much energy as moving the same distance above ground. Israel's blind mole rats live most of their lives underground in pitch-black, complex tunnel systems. They have to dig over great distances when foraging for bulbs and roots, and then have to find their way home again.

So if a blind mole rat doesn’t make use of its ability to detect the Earth’s magnetic field as a compass, then foraging for food could end up being lethal. It reminds me of what is at stake for believers when we make rash or blind-sided choices in life and how digging underground without (spiritual) GPS could cost us more than we realize. (As an aside, how uncanny that the first mole rats to develop organic GPS come from Israel!)

The human struggle involved in acknowledging that we poor believers of little faith are often like the blind mole rat doesn’t come without its toils. Yet the wrestling that we engage in with God mayn’t necessarily be without its purpose. Every caterpillar needs to first go through some measure of struggle during the transition from chrysalis to butterfly before it can spread its wings. The wrestling to break free it experiences during the final stage of chrysalis allows it to build up a resilience that helps it to survive the adversities lying in wait outside the safety of its cocoon.

Kazantzakis wrote, "Every man partakes of the divine nature in both his spirit and his flesh. That is why the mystery of Christ is not simply a mystery of a particular creed: it is universal. The struggle between God and man breaks out in everyone, together with the longing for reconciliation. Most often this struggle is unconscious and short-lived. A weak soul does not have the endurance to resist the flesh for long. It grows heavy, becomes flesh itself, and the contest ends. But among responsible men, men who keep their eyes riveted day and night upon the Supreme Duty, the conflict between flesh and spirit breaks out mercilessly and may last until death.

"The stronger the soul and the flesh, the more fruitful the struggle and the richer the final harmony. God does not love weak souls and flabby flesh. The Spirit wants to have to wrestle with flesh which is strong and full of resistance. It is a carnivorous bird which is incessantly hungry; it eats flesh and, by assimilating it, makes it disappear. Struggle between flesh and spirit, rebellion and resistance, reconciliation and submission, and finally - the supreme purpose of the struggle - union with God: this was the ascent taken by Christ, the ascent which he invites us to take as well, following in his bloody tracks."

Father Rolheiser sums it up very nicely, “Coming to peace with God and ourselves once we reach a certain level in the spiritual quest, ultimately involves wrestling with God and putting up the proper resistance so that, when we finally do come to peace, the final synthesis may be rich, life-giving, and properly respect both God and our own complexity.”

the fool for Christ

Be Here Now

2008-03-29T13:12:00.016+08:00

For some time now, the lemming has been talking about the advent of her thirties. She hasn’t reached that age bracket yet but she ponders and prays about it. Human beings, we do that a lot; we talk about the impending future. We forecast, we strategise and for (hopefully all) Catholics, we pray about the future. A cab driver and I were just discussing it yesterday. We always talk about some other age bracket of our lives with greater fondness or longing than the one we are firmly placed in. When we are young, we talk about the future and how it will be when we are older or old. When we are old(er), we reminisce about days gone by and the folly/prime of our youth. Everyone lives in some other space time continuum except the ‘NOW spatio-temporal continuum’.

One of my best friends, Wendy, has the habit of reminding me close to her birthday each year, how she’s getting old. I always throw my arms up at her because she is only months older than me. When we were teenagers and adolescents, it was all just poppycock because we were so very young and the future shone brightly ahead of us. 10 years later, there is some hesitation before I raise my arms and mockingly yell, “Balderdash!” at her when she says it. I don’t think one’s late twenties is anything to start pulling out the elixirs of youth out over but as much as my much older colleagues may poopoo and call me “the baby of the pack” I often feel older than I really am – age is a state of mind as they say. Forging ahead into the unknown future brings me to a crossroad but I can't really tell where each bifurcating path leads because there's isn't enough light for me to decipher what lies beyond each path.

I realize now that it is due to the moral loneliness of waiting; for something He hasn’t exactly revealed to me fully, something which I cannot articulate yet (but of course!) and which tires me out without my even realizing it…..until I read Father Rolheiser’s column:-

Some years ago, I was participating in a forum debating a book on chastity. The book, written by a woman still in her early twenties, was a very idealistic one and it urged young people to not have sex before marriage, but to keep their virginity as a special gift for their partners in marriage.

One of the panellists, a very sincere woman, had this reaction: "I like what this young woman says and when my daughters are in their teens I’ll have them read this book, but what she says makes a lot more sense when you are 20 years old and know what you’re waiting than when your 39 years old and no longer know what you’re waiting for!"

Jesus’ sacrifice was so special because, long after the clock had run out on everything and there seemed no reason left to wait for anything, He still held on, to His ideals, His balance, His gracious, His forgiveness, and His love. The struggle to do that, to remain faithful, is the real drama inside the death of Jesus and in the end it is a struggle of the heart, not the body.

Some time back, the lemming sent me an article on the 'Spirituality of Waiting' written by Father Henri Nuowen. Waiting can be a fearful exercise because we generally don't do well with uncertainty. The fear that we may not like what comes to pass cripples us. Many of our destructive acts come from fear that something harmful will be done to us; that we will sustain hurt or loss. The more fearful we are, the harder waiting becomes. What struck me most about the teaching was that waiting is active, open-ended and hopeful. Waiting actively is based on the presupposition that something has already begun.

For alot of us, (myself included) our waiting is not open-ended. It is just another way we try to control the future. We want the future to go in a specific direction (even more so the older we get and the less time we envisage we have left) and when it doesn't, we are heavily disappointed and sometimes even slip into despair. To wait open-endedly is an enormously radical attitude toward Life, so too is having to trust that something far beyond our imagination will happen to us. Not to be in control is part of the human condition. When Jesus said, "It is accomplished" on the cross, He didn't just mean "I have done all the things I want to do," He also means, "I have allowed things to be done to me that need to be done in order to fulfill my vocation." Christ's vocation was fulfilled not just in action, but also in Passion.

Passion is a kind of waiting - waiting for what other people are going to do. Jesus' agony in the Garden of Gethsemane was not just about the agony of approaching death, but also about the agony of having to wait. It is the agony of a God who depends on us for how God is going to live out the divine presence amongst us. It is the agony of a God who in a very mysterious way, allows us to decide how God will be God. All action ends in Passion because the response to our action is out of our hands. That is the mystery of friendship and community, they always involve waiting and that is the mystery of Jesus' love.

Sometimes waiting is the most loving thing we can do and true love waits. Having to wait for things we desire/crave builds character; the process moulds something in us that could not have precipitated with instant gratification. But the most difficult thing of all is to not know what one is waiting for even though the signs from Him to wait are clear. The confusion and frustration it causes can be very isolating. The most profound revelation of all is that God is waiting for us too. We are waiting for a God who has already come. It is in waiting for the glory of God to be revealed that our new life becomes visible.

I myself am still struggling to comprehend the magnitude of such profundity. In this life ultimately, we wait to be united with our heart’s greatest desire, Him. Whatever our age bracket, the wait continues with varying levels of illumination granted to us. Our vocation is fulfilled not just with action, but with Passion too. The story of Jesus' suffering reveals how resurrection is breaking through, even in the midst of Passion. It is in the Passion that the love of God shines through. It is supremely a waiting love, a love that does not seek to control. The largest part of our human existence involves waiting in the sense of being acted upon. The spirituality of waiting isn't just in waiting for God but in participating in God's own waiting for us and in that way, coming to share more deeply in the deepest purity of love; His love.

There is much I do not understand or see but I reckon that for now, the most faithful and loving thing to do is to "Be Here Now".

the fool for Christ

Answered

2008-03-26T23:43:00.009+08:00

When my elder brother and I were kids, we absolutely hated each others guts. But things changed after my dad passed on and we were undergraduates at the same University for 4 years. We’ve been really close the last 7 years. Today something really touching happened. It’s my first day back at work after the vacation in Japan and return from medical leave after the bout of food poisoning. Naturally it was an intensely busy day for me, at some point there were so many emails, faxes and phone calls flying around, there were files strewn all over the floor of my room.

I was so disoriented (from the meds and because my recovery isn’t entirely complete yet) that it totally didn’t register in my head that somewhere in the day my brother had called to say he’d pass me the car at half past six because he was going to attend a Cathecists’ meeting from 7.45pm till quite late. I vaguely recall bargaining with him to give me till at least 7 to get more stuff sorted before I pulled myself away from my computer but inadvertently got sucked into a long drawn meeting with my Japanese colleagues and forgot to take my mobile phone with me. It wasn’t till 8pm that I remembered I was supposed to get the car keys from my brother.

I ran back to my room only to hear my mobile phone ringing off the hook. It had been ringing so many times the battery was almost flat and the sound of the ring tone was deflated. 14 missed calls from my brother. “Arrgh I thought, he’s so going to give me a shelling this time!” The moment my call to his mobile phone was connected, he screamed, “Where have you been? Are you ok? Did you faint? Are you in pain? I thought you’d collapsed in some deserted corner of the office!” At the same moment, I walked out to the lobby of the firm and saw my very distraught brother peering through the locked glass doors, his faced pressed up on the glass because he was craning to look into the reception area. The reception doors were locked so I motioned for him to head to the corporate department door so I could buzz him in.

The corporate department door is made of heavy wood and the moment I buzzed him in, my brother threw his arms around me, hugging me tightly. “Did you know that my heart almost stopped beating? I’ve been ringing you for an hour. I thought you’d collapsed from some complication of your food poisoning, I was imagining the worst after the reports of those kids dying of flu in Hong Kong! A 16 year old boy from my school collapsed and died last year for no apparent reason. Did you know I was so anxious that my gastric started acting up and on my way to buy antacid from the pharmacy I almost fell? I kept looking out for signs of an ambulance in the taxi stand area! Mum kept telling me to go for my meeting and that she would text you to take a cab home yourself but I couldn’t leave for the meeting without knowing you were safe. I thought you collapsed from complications!”

Then I realized that my elder brother had imagined the worst because of how I was in such bad shape when they picked me up at the airport on Sunday morning. I felt really horrible because just before I’d left my elder brother had been given anti-depressants and tranquilizers by the doctor to treat his unusually high blood pressure levels (brought on from stress in teaching). The weeks prior to that his face and ears had been unusually flushed. It’s an early sign of high blood pressure as a medical condition. My mum had the same symptoms before her condition was diagnosed. I apologized profusely of course but felt so terrible that I told him to take the car to his cathecists’ meeting and offered to cab home on my own expense after I was done with work. When he finally got back from his cathecists’ meeting, my elder brother came into my room and kept stroking my head just to make sure I was alive and that he wasn’t dreaming.

I suppose to some, my elder brother might seem overly melodramatic but this experience has really made me realize how blessed I am to have such a caring and protective older sibling who looks out for me like that and would be so distressed at the thought that something bad might have happened to me. Lately God has been giving me a couple of very clear signs to prayers I’ve been praying for a very long time. One of which is with respect to whether to move overseas for job opportunities that beckon and leave my family back here whilst I forge a career for myself and live out those dreams lest I resent them for holding me back.

Getting homesick in Japan after only one week (even though I really enjoyed myself and think it’s a lovely country), was a good primer to the revelation that I can’t bear to be parted from my family; not for a long time if I can help it. They are very much imperfect but my family is the one constant that has seen me through the multitude of ups and downs, and stood by me way beyond all those people I’d pin my hopes on who let me down and cut me with disappointment.

Thank you for illumination Lord,
thank you that it's come in Your own time.

the fool for Christ

Octave of the Rising Son

2008-03-25T00:01:00.004+08:00

The week in Japan has come and gone. It has been a good week on many counts, save for the bout of severe food poisoning I came down with on the last day of the trip. The last 2 days have been the most miserable and physically wretched I’ve experienced in a long time. Still, I am grateful for a week of quality time with two of my closest friends, Beth and the lemming. I’m really delighted they hit it off so well.

I didn’t get as much hermit time as I’d liked because our schedules were packed so tight. This was largely due to the fact that Japan is so big, it takes copious amounts of time to get from Point A to Point B. There was also the 2km hike each way from the lemming’s place to the nearest train station. I’ve never walked this much in my life! They say that in LA, nobody walks but in Japan everybody walks (or cycles).

A lot of our time was spent packed like sardines on the crowded JR lines or Tokyo metro subway. It takes 1-2 hours to get anywhere within greater Tokyo whilst jostling with the 10 million other people who are also trying to get to their destination at the same time. Traveling during peak hour is a particularly big ordeal.

However one thing I did enjoy is the anonymity of getting lost in the throng of 10 million others I didn’t know; just blending into the faceless crowd. It was an unusual kind of respite. For a whole week, I didn’t think beyond the parameters of what I was going to have for my next meal, just how much I enjoyed the coolness of spring breeze and what a picturesque country Japan is. I used to read a lot of Yukio Mishima Samurai novels but I don’t think I fully grasped the beauty he wrote about until I went to Kyoto for myself.

Save for the lemming and Beth as room/house mates, I was mainly bereft of human contact during this trip. I had dinner and lunch with 2 of my Japanese counterparts for a couple of hours during the trip and I received the odd messages from home when I borrowed Beth’s mobile phone (because my PDA phone didn’t work in Japan). I made sure I let the people who cared know I was safe, but other than that, I didn’t reply any messages or answer any calls and it was great.

On the day I left, my mum waited up with me till 3.30am in the morning, when it was time to call the cab to the airport, even though she was dead sleepy. She gave me a squeeze on the shoulder before I left and said, "Be safe ok?". When I arrived back home at almost 2am on Sunday, my whole family was there waiting for me at the arrival hall to bustle me home because they knew what pain I was in after the most uncomfortable flight ever.

The first message I received in Japan was from him, checking in on me to make sure I’d landed safely. To hear about his day even though I was so far away made him feel that much closer. Even Madame was understanding when I couldn’t attend a Court hearing this morning because of my illness and persuaded another partner to go in my stead. “Glad that you are back, you just rest well and let me know if you need a referral for a second medical opinion” she said, instead of railing her head off at me as I’d expect any efficiency driven boss who’d just endured a week without assistance she had paid for would do so.

Sometimes people need to go away before others realize how much they are missed. Sometimes we don’t realize how much we miss people till we are parted from them. I didn’t realize how much I missed the stillness of mind and soul (without intellectual thought fighting with Him for space to speak) with God until the morning hikes to and evening hikes from the Minami Kashiwa station. Whilst trudging in the spring cold, I could feel Him closer than ever before amidst the sound of my own breathing. I felt Him tangibly once more in waves I cannot muster the words to describe. “Hello there again Lord,” I thought. “It’s been awhile hasn’t it?”

And we made our peaceful reunion in tears no one saw, not even Beth or the lemming.

the fool for Christ

The brusied reed and the smouldering wick

2008-03-10T22:22:00.005+08:00

Innocence - when was it first bestowed upon us and when did we start losing it? Over-simplicity and overt idealism make fools of us in the real world yet we are called to espouse child-like meekness and treat our fellow men with the love that God has lavished upon us. Time and experience continually grant new levels of sight to us all. We start to see things that previously we were oblivious to. We develop the ability to read between the lines what nobody will spell out for us anymore.

Sometimes I am unsure how to react when I realize that there is no more shock or horror that I can muster up anymore when certain circumstances present themselves. I am undecided as to whether the dwindling of innocence is as natural as the loss of baby fat or something to be bemoaned. It becomes a knee jerk reaction to just suck it up and fix it when things go awry. Not everyone lives by Christian values. But as followers of Christ, we are called to live side by side with those who would do us harm, to witness by offering our right cheek to them whence they strike our left cheek.

Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight; I will put my Spirit on him and he will bring justice to the nations. A bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out. In faithfulness he will bring forth justice"

Isaiah 42:1

I’m not sure how you did it Lord, I don’t know if I’d even be able to muster up the strength/gumption to try and emulate Your meekness.

the fool for Christ

Admissions and Confessions

2008-03-02T03:29:00.006+08:00

A friend and I caught Persepolis this evening. It’s not your typical animated feature. The history student in me was able to follow the historical backdrop of the movie because I had studied the Iranian Revolution back in college. Yet Persepolis spoke more to the human being in me.

Marjane Satrapi grew up wearing sneakers and beating up boys. She wanted to grow up to be a Prophetess. When she was ten years old, her world changed overnight. Girls and boys had to use different doors to enter the school. She had to cover herself with a long dark robe. Grownups around her began to disappear.

Marjane has several close encounters with the country's morality police and her teachers at school. Iraqi bombs fall on the street where she lives. Eventually her parents send her to Vienna to receive a European education, but she is miserable: she loves her family and country, despite their flaws, too much to stay away for long. After a brief return and a failed marriage, Marjane leaves Iran for good.

The one scene I found most memorable was when Marjean was having a meltdown in her grandmother’s kitchen about the failure of her first marriage to a boy she had hastily married at 21. It was no surprise to her grandmother that the marriage lasted barely a year and Grandma Satrapi coolly lights her pipe whilst Marjean struggles with admitting to herself that the little girl who wanted to grow up into a saintly prophetess had botched it up big time. Grandma Satrapi then very evenly says to Marjean, “The first marriage is practice for the next one”.

I don’t propose to get into a Catholic discourse on the theological accurateness of the aforementioned line. Rather, I see how the process of admitting truths to oneself, about oneself, probably catalyses the process of coming of age. Particularly in instances where we have to admit to ourselves that we messed up or that we haven’t been as saintly or wonderful as we hoped to be. Not all of us find that the discomfort of full disclosure or that the blinding glare of cold judgment sits well with us. Irony creeps in when you realise how Marjean survived wars, revolutions and fascist regimes without wincing yet she is undone by 2 failed relationships and a hasty marriage.

I like that the movie doesn’t presumptuously conclude with a Hollywood template happy ending, ala Disney’s Enchanted. Rather, Marjean takes her lumps and picks herself up to try again in Paris, without soliciting any guarantee from Life that her next attempt at doing it is going to work out. Sometimes we don’t like to admit things to ourselves because we fear the ramifications of admitting that things have gone awry or that our illusions have been pierced by the awful needle of reality.

As the wise cracking Grandma Satrapi said, “Fear lulls our minds to sleep”. Sometimes it seems easier to just fall into a constant state of 'sleepwalking' because somehow, the trance of somnambulism seems to have an anesthetic effect which masks the sheer pain that sears when reality stabs right through. We might physically be in a state of constant movement and we might be able to go through the perfunctory motions of Everyday but the lights in our soul and seat of consciousness are out, by our own hand.

Lately, I have had to admit certain things to myself and then to Him. Some I have been more willing to than others. The process has been and still is rather excorticating. I can’t help my humanity. I am only as I have been created to be. It’s not an easy feeling to grapple with when you realize what hit you between the eyes was always right smack in front of you the whole time, just that you didn’t want to see it until circumstances overtook the lack of courage for admissions and confessions.

The lemming and I joke about how, even after so many years of running after and stumbling toward Him, we probably still appear so comical in the eyes of God when we finally come around, one lesson of His at a time.

the fool for Christ

Leaving my cares forgotten among the lilies

2008-02-24T14:22:00.012+08:00

After 4 months of attending to our travel preparations in a rather desultory fashion, Beth finally managed to drag me by the scruff of my collar yesterday and sit me down to put a dent in our distance planning. Last year I had 3 of the SAF’s finest to help me out when we were backpacking in Europe. This year, it’s just 2 rather overloaded lawyers procrastinating till kingdom come because we are so tired after work everyday.

I’m excited to see the lemming again after a whole year. However for some reason, though Japan is 3 weeks away, I haven’t had the opportunity to get hyped up about the trip. It seems like there are always people around me; partners dictating how they want something done, clients yabbering in my ears, someone wanting this or that errand/favour run/done, people (not that unreasonably) wanting quality time with me and the list goes on. Not that I am unhappy to carry out my duty of the moment with a cheerful disposition or that I don’t appreciate having people in my life, it’s just that there is so much clang and clutter all around.

It makes me desperately crave solitude, to retreat from all the people that need me or whom I am beholden to, if only just for a little while. To that end, I am looking forward to the hour long train rides on the Shinkansen to and from Chiba and Tokyo on which Beth and I will have commute between the lemming’s place and our adventures in the City. We have decided that the morning and evening rides on the Shinkansen will be for us to be silent, do our reading, to reflect, to listen to our mp3’s or to just pray and be still with Him.

I recall a chapter of Father Ronald Rolheiser’s book, “Forgotten Among The Lilies” which Father Luke had read to me one morning in his office after hearing my confession. It was about the "Friday Night Syndrome" – a phenomenon which reflects our society’s need for constant excitement and contact. In our modern age of "quick-fix everything", we are plagued by an inability to just be still and silent by ourselves – most of us feel like we HAVE to be out on a Friday night partying or socializing and that we’re socially inapt if for some reason we’re at home doing nothing on a Friday night. It’s almost as if we are ashamed to be caught in moments where we have nothing to fuss over and no one to talk to. It’s easy to develop a misconception that if we have loads of time on our hands where we aren’t obligated to perform a task, something is probably wrong.

Recently, Wilfred sent out an email about how he usually fasts from MSN during Lent. It struck me as an unusual but very meaningful sacrifice to make. I thought about whether I could do likewise but then realized it mayn’t be practical (as fallacious as that sounds) and that I might lack the gumption to see it through (this is probably more true). MSN has become a convenient mode by which I assuage my guilt viz the friends I barely have time for because of work, ministry or the various other activities I bide my time with. I go online in the office (because it’s easier to get a quick answer to legal questions online from other lawyers rather than do the research myself, especially where time is of the essence) or for awhile when I reach home from work because I can save time and multi-task by clearing personal email, surfing and listening to music while catching up with them (as is part of what a good friend should do).

One of the partners in my firm uses MSN to discuss cases with me because it gives us the flexibility to work beyond office hours and on weekends without both of us having to be in the office at the same time. He favours it because it means he can spend time with his son whilst multi-tasking. I admit it’s an unhealthy habit because home is supposed to be a sanctuary where work should not trespass into. At times the nature of our line of work is such that things move in real time. Hence even I find the convenience MSN offers difficult to pass up on; especially if I can skip going back to the office on weekends. It is generally much easier to just attend to something while it’s fresh, rather than deal with a backlog/pile up the next time I step into the office. I balk when No. 5 refers to me as a workaholic but in all honesty, there is some truth to what he says. I know this is one of my challenges for Lent, to stop making excuses for perpetuating this vice.

In this week’s Gospel reading, the Samaritan woman at the well was trying to slake her physiological thirst with earthly water from Jacob’s well and attempted to divert Jesus’ pointed observation about her 5 husbands with discourse on where worship should take place. Yet Jesus turned her foolishness on its head and accomplished not only explaining what kind of thirst was more important to quench but also illuminated for humanity, the true heart of worship which God looks out for. The lesson I have taken from this is how jealously we are called to guard the sanctity of the time we offer to Him in worship.

Apart from its obvious function through connecting people in real time for the purposes of work/ministry/various other organizational commitments and saving money for good friends who are separated by large bodies of water (like for the lemming and myself), MSN can and easily does become a vice because of how it is a slippery slope from which we come to demand more and more attention/regard/esteem/companionship from those around us. MSN potentially becomes a convenient method by which we attempt to fill up the empty spaces of loneliness with the wrong thing.

I felt a stirring in my heart (but le mot juste eludes me) when Father Janakin reminded us during the Homily this morning that our souls have to and do (even though we mayn’t realize it) long for Him the way the deer pants for water. There is a deep-seated restlessness; a longing and a thirst for love, companionship and a desire to be got/to be seen fully within each of us that cannot be slaked except by God. As St Augustine pointed out in his confessions, “Our hearts are restless until they find rest in you O Lord.”

Yet being painfully human, we cannot help but still stubbornly attempt to fill the gaping holes of our loneliness through a myriad of conduits including but not limited to MSN. As part of the IT savvy (and dangerously dependent) generation, to give up MSN during the season of Lent would mean to give up precious human contact and the serendipity of advancing our friendships/relationships (potential and crystallised). Doing so creates the opportunity and occasion for us to give more undiluted attention to Him during this season of preparation.

It’s already the 3^rd Sunday of Lent, but I reckon it’s never too late to bring one’s sacrifice to the altar of God. I may not crave to have loneliness assuaged (because I currently find there’s too much noise going on in my life), but for the next 4 weeks, I shall attempt to meet friends in person or at least call them if I want them to know I care about them. I will do my own research even when it’s a small point and it’s more convenient to get a quick answer from someone who has already researched it. Most importantly, God and I have more regular dates by ourselves without the interference of my mobile phone or computer, lined up.

I remained, lost in oblivion;
My face I reclined on the Beloved.
All ceased and I abandoned myself,
Leaving my cares
forgotten among the lilies.

the fool for Christ

Random thought

2008-02-21T12:08:00.001+08:00

Happiness and contentment are decisions, not destinations.

the fool for Christ

What's testosterone got to do with it?

2008-02-14T22:51:00.010+08:00

Recently, Madame has put me under the charge of a new partner who is much more senior than my previous supervising partner. They are both very able lawyers in their own right, but as different as chalk and cheese. She felt I had mastered a certain level of competence in solicitors work and decided it was time to train me other respects (I’ll get to the elaboration of which ones later).

If there is one member of the animal kingdom I would liken this new supervising partner to, it would be the Rottweiler. Prior to meeting the lemming, all I knew about Rottweilers was that they were famed to be ferocious guard dogs with a deathly grip in their jaws. I remember an urban legend I was told in school about how a Rottweiler once attacked a child by targeting its jaws toward the child’s jugular.

The urban legend goes that even after they had shot the Rottweiler, it wasn’t till 3 days later before they could pry its jaws from the child’s neck. That image gave me nightmares despite my innate love for dogs. Of course, after meeting the lemming, I came to learn that in the hands of a responsible owner, a well-trained and socialized Rottweiler can be a reliable, alert dog and a loving companion.

Part of my initial apprehension about working for this new partner was due to the very bad experience a former colleague and good friend had with him. She got caught in his teeth. Naturally I was not doing cartwheels when Madame first announced he would take over mentoring me. It’s been a couple of months since I’ve been placed under his wing and I have yet to get caught in his teeth. He is fair to me in his appraisal of my work and I seem to be rather favoured but witnessing him bite chunks out of people in Court and through letters does keep me on my toes.

It is a natural part of social dynamics that when you spend a lot of time working with a person, you start to pick up their traits. I can feel the natural aggression in me being drawn out in waves that sometimes surprises me. I still believe in professionalism through the conduit of civilly couched language but I don’t shy from a fight (the way I used to at some point). Neither do I flinch when I twist arms where circumstances necessitate it.

Justice isn’t always pretty, she is blind.

It is also rather useful in getting clients to pay my bill because they wouldn't dare to try to shamelessly wheedle freebies. From a purely factual point of view, it makes me very competent in what I do. I’ve always known I have fire in my belly but much of it has been mellowed out over the years. For some strange reason, when I experienced my spiritual conversion and began on a journey to learn how to emulate the humility of Christ more actively through active ministry, the pacifist streak started to kick in. To be honest, a predisposition of diffidence or pacifism is perilous viz what I do for a living. One may live by Christian principles of temperance and forbearance but the world is made up of religious, fence sitters and pagans alike – this isn’t unique to just my industry.

I find the balance between not being a pushover who allows all and sundry to step on him/her and not being some unleashed rabid Rottweiler, tricky. There is no prescribed general formulae which addresses all the specifics in the vicissitudes of Life. I don’t see this newfound honing of my aggression as patently evil but at the same time, I am conscious of the thin red line between not letting people step all over you and mutating into a bloodthirsty Ares.

Sometimes when certain neophytes go into tirades about why people shouldn’t do this or that because of how in the Bible Jesus says you cannot do x, y or z; I find myself involuntarily switching off and rolling my eyes at their simplistic and very literal application of Christ’s teachings.

Being a Christian does not mean that you must give others a free license to pull a Judas on you, or that you must necessarily be a cretinous chump. Jesus Himself was no poltroon, I am pretty sure He exhibited Latino-esque passion and intensity when He took some chords to make a whip and drive the merchants that were turning His Father's house into a market place out of the temple. The truth is, quoting scripture and singing psalms does not mean that no one will sell you down the river when you aren’t looking. No one consciously wants to suffer fools, yet accomplishing the aforesaid balance with aplomb is no walk in the park.

I don’t have all the answers as to how to this translates into my own situation or the practice of my faith but I am not ready to dismiss the growing aggression as necessarily abominable. That would be too simplistic. The lemming knows that her own Rottweiler, Bouncer could theoretically turn on her and she could inadvertently find her hand caught in Bouncer's teeth without his meaning to (which has happened once before) yet she continues to shower Bouncer with constant love and affection.

Our God knows that because He has given us free will, there is always a chance we may not be rightfully grateful for all that He has showered upon us and even turn against Him. How often have we bitten the hand that feeds us? Yet He continues to give and love so unconditionally. Love really does conquer all. I trust that if I maintain a disposition of obedience and openness to His will, the love I receive from Him can overcome whatever theoretical possibility of my aggression mutating.

the fool for Christ

There is a way to be good again

2008-02-10T13:27:00.000+08:00

The past week has been an intense one for me, though not necessarily in a bad way. I had a marathon of meetings, the usual paper work to clear and was on call during the Chinese New Year holiday to amend pleadings which are due on Monday. Yet I managed to find time for the usual Chinese New Year festivities, visiting, gatherings with close friends and even the time to watch The Kite Runner.

Watching the movie was such a powerful experience for me, I bought the book afterward and finished it in one sitting too. All that clang and clatter from the week has only served to fuel the jealousness with which I guard my solitude in books or music these days.

I am comforted by the message in The Kite Runner, “there is a way to be good again”. The road to perdition may be wide and seemingly ineludible but exits leading to the road to redemption abound on that long stretch known as the highway of Life. It sits well with the message of the redemption that is promised when our waiting in the darkness of Lent is over and Christ our light is given to us at Easter.

It has been a long time since I cried whilst reading a book. I felt a sense of release as I wept those hot tears, leaving behind the burdens I carry for myself, the people I love and the people God has entrusted me with.

Val: Why is life so painful?

The fool: I suppose, it is God's way of teaching us patience and giving us a larger sense of why we need a whole life time to even begin to comprehend the mysteries of love, lest we get pig headed and think we've got it all figured out at the grand age of 25.

Sometimes, I find weeping hot tears draws me into a place in the inner sanctum of my soul that has no direct/uniform mode of excess to yet when we are there, in the inner sanctum, it's like we've reached the chamber that stored the Holy Grail in the Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

Val: But why does He break us so completely?

The fool: You gotta admit we can be rather arrogant little shits at times.

Val: Haha, that is true.

For the few hours that I was lost in the spellbinding storytelling of Khaled Hosseini, I was truly unfettered and free to be a child again. It was almost as if the hot tears were waters for my baptism into the first innocence and purity of childhood again. New life flows from those hot tears wept, in tranches and in waves I can't immediately see the effects of or understand the portions of. I don’t fight the pain of life or wrestle with human struggle the way I used to in my adolescence anymore. Not that I enjoy the pain, rather there is deep inside, a growing acknowledgment and acceptance of how suffering purifies.

As Pope Benedict XXVI wrote,

“We can try to limit suffering, to fight against it, but we cannot eliminate it. It is when we attempt to avoid suffering by withdrawing from anything that might involve hurt, when we try to spare ourselves the effort and pain of pursuing truth, love, and goodness that we drift into a life of emptiness, in which there may be almost no pain, but the dark sensation of meaninglessness and abandonment is all the greater. It is not by sidestepping or fleeing from suffering that we are healed, but rather by our capacity for accepting it, maturing through it and finding meaning through union with Christ, who suffered with infinite love.”

I am haunted by the elected silence and loyal obedience of Hassan in The Kite Runner even after he was forcibly ravished by Asef because he chose loyalty to Amir instead of the easy way out by surrendering the prize kite Asef asked for in return for his “forgiveness”. Hassan loved Amir with a fierce and steadfast loyalty of a servant to his master and so chose sacrifice of his dignity and innocence. It made me recall immediately the way Christ is described in Isaiah 53, “though he was harshly treated, he submitted and opened not his mouth; like a lamb led to the slaughter or a sheep before the shearers, he was silent and opened not his mouth.”

Every part of the silent obedience Christ personified rankles in the face of the proclivity for fierce indignation in me that comes to the fore when injustice prevails. It is so much easier to be a fearless warrior sustaining innumerable cuts and gashes than it is to be weak, submissive and naked. I am still not holy enough to give over completely to the weakness that Christ asks of me when He beckons me to be united with Him in His crucifixion.

I know He bids me to unite myself with the abject suffering, rejection and humiliation He bore on my account yet I involuntarily recoil so forcefully when He extends His arms. It made me realize how even the loyalty I know I give Him (fierce and passionate as it is) remains qualified because I am unwilling to be completely stripped the way Jesus was by the Roman soldiers.

That is my Lentern meditation this year; to ponder more deeply the obedient servanthood of my Saviour, who submitted so totally to suffering even though He was and is God.

By your stripes Lord, we are healed.

the fool for Christ

In Your breath and shadow, I will come close and abide

2008-02-04T00:02:00.000+08:00

This week’s Gospel message has addressed some of the haze I experience in the current stage of my walk with God. It is funny how even though I have read the bare words of Christ’s Sermon on the Mount more than countless times, I have never experienced its message with such clarity until today. I understand it fully in my soul, yet I cannot articulate it linguistically.

There is no point fighting His decision to dull my ability at articulating, hence I shall not belabour the point. For now, I take what I can get, when He gives it. Who am I to clumsily attempt at demystifying the mystery of God the way a vegetable farmer attempts to build a time machine?

I like how Father Luke described the gist of today’s message, “These Beatitudes are the keys God gives us to unlocking/unraveling the mystery of the pursuit of happiness”. It was almost as if someone had just told me my own name after years of being nameless.

I, the fool for Christ, am (and have for the longest time been) searching most ardently for true happiness. This perennial search and unsatisfied thirst which emanates from the bowels of my soul and being, has a name I already know of intellectually but never quite appreciated the significance of accurately tagging and saying out loud. The pursuit of happiness, it would seem is genetically encoded in us all, nolens volens.

I have always known the name of this pursuit as a mere factoid (and even watched the movie) and I have had many happy experiences in life but the thirst within has never been completely slaked. I know as textbook knowledge, macro concepts like how the Church points the only route to Salvation – Christ, I know He is my portion, my cup and the source of my happiness yet the micro details of what to do, when to do it to get there elude the best of us without His assistance.

I am searching for what has previously seemed to be a ghost in the wind because of the despondency experienced when one compares bleak reality with the lofty notion. I desire to be fully seen, got, understood, appreciated and treasured for all that I have been created as and as authentically and freely as can be. I do not want to spend a lifetime accumulating things and hitting milestones that seem to only hint at happiness. Neither do I want to suffer fools or look for excuses to justify inaction.

It is not so much intellectually registering the truth that God is the source of my happiness and joy that precipitates it. Rather, it is in embracing and surrendering to the mysteries of our hidden God that He is found, tasted and savoured. As Ruth Burrows famously wrote, "God is hidden from the intellect."

But the infinite simplicity and eminence of divine being remains hidden from our intellect, so that we know, without understanding how, that wisdom, goodness and the other perfections are taken up in the unity of the divine being. Thus our concepts and the names we use become analogous when applied to God; they do not die “the death of a thousand qualifications” but touch the mystery of divine transcendence.

The Theological Philosophy of St Thomas Aquinas by Leo Elders

Our God, in His classic sense of humour gives us only broad canons of construction, not an exhaustively itemized spreadsheet of “to do’s" and "not to do’s” to balance in order to attain happiness – which probably suggests that He is more of a jurist than an accountant. For now, I am sate with the joy of knowing that the hunger which fuels this pursuit is a necessary means to achieving the end of greater closeness between my soul and Him.

Paradoxically, I feel His presence amidst the mental mayhem of not knowing, not seeing or making sense of much of what He is doing. In darkness, every touch is heightened. In the darkness of waiting, I submit and wait with great expectation for my God to draw closer still.

Your voice is powerful
And Your words are radiant bright
In Your breath and shadow
I will come close and abide
You whisper love and life divine
And Your fellowship is free
Draw me closer O my Lord
Draw me closer Lord to Thee

the fool for Christ

To burden Your mouth for what You say

2008-01-27T00:13:00.000+08:00

A major catalyst in the growth of my personal relationship with Christ in the past few years has been articulation on both our sides. After a very dramatic beginning to my spiritual conversion, I was allowed to hear God more clearly in prayer, the various instances and mediums He chose to speak in.

He generously granted me the ability to dialogue with Him, whether in the opportunities to respond with action or my thoughts via the conduit of limited human language. As I learned to speak to Him, I felt my heart start to burgeon – with gratitude, affection, excitement, reciprocity and overwhelmed with a host of other emotions I currently don’t have the words for.

Sometimes when people find their proficiency in a tongue, they get so excited about practicing this new tongue that they forget to actively listen anymore even though they can still audibly hear the person on the other side. They hear the words but no longer the message.

Sometimes we find so much comfort getting lost in the humdrum of noise (which might humanly sound like praise and worship or superb catechetical teaching) that we don’t realize we just aren’t listening anymore, only masquerading ostensible doing as being.

Sometimes we don’t start to sit up and resume active listening until articulation and the ability to hear are taken away from us.

Recently I have been in a state of waiting. I continue to wait even though I don’t know the specifics of why or for what because somewhere deep inside I know that in His divine discretion, God is removing my ability to articulate fully anymore what I experience.

An extensive vocabulary is not the same as the ability to articulate fully. A series of cleverly chosen words strung together would just be like a kitchen maid clumsily thumping her digits at a keyboard, attempting to play a concerto written by Beethoven without the expression or feeling that the composer intended when he wrote it.

What is supremely ironic is that Beethoven himself was stone deaf. In the silence of his world, Beethoven composed some of the most beautiful music that the human ear has ever known. In silence he wrote and transcribed the deepest recesses of his mind and heart onto his manuscripts. It is not in a plain sight-reading of the quavers, accidentals and rests that one receives the music of the composer’s heart. Rather it is stepping into another level of listening – the getting lost in the throes of the composer’s pain and giving over to wild abandon of the love he gave that his notes take on a life of their own – leaving the vulgar patches of blacks and whites on musical scores far behind – that is where real listening begins.

The author/composer of the unfinished symphony that is my life, is none but God Himself. I could foolishly attempt to burden God’s mouth for what He says by pressing Him like a petulant brat or I could back off and learn to listen through silence what is between the lines.

Because sometimes what is left unsaid and unspoken is more powerful in the concentrated doses of silence.

the fool for Christ

For whom the bell tolls

2008-01-21T21:39:00.000+08:00

During a discussion led by Father Luke a few days ago, I was reminded of lesson once taught to me. Communion is the nature of God, as evident from the unity of love between the Holy Trinity. Our Christian call to community echoes this example set by God. Despite the losses and bumps I have sustained along the way, I consider myself very blessed in that I have always had the benefit of family and community to help buffer much of the turbulence.

Indeed as John Donne wrote,

"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated...As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions, Meditation XVII

I’ve never really been subjected to the sheer hardship of circumstantially imposed solitude for protracted periods, of always having to look over my shoulder to fend off daggers in the back (because no one will watch it for me) or of tasting the gall of going it alone in every aspect. Whilst I am perfectly capable of being independent and would make that leap into hermitage (eventually) if He asked it of me, as of now, I nestle very comfortably in the warm cocoon of God’s generosity to me. I surmise that half of my proclivity toward the communitarian psyche has to with my upbringing and the other half to do with my ardent belief in the faith that I profess.

I struggle much with identifying and articulating the appropriate response to the inherently self-sufficient and sui juris advocating nature of someone important to me. It is not so much of judgment as it is a genuine struggle with adjustment and acceptance of what is different from my value system.

You don’t fault an alley cat that once had its right eye put out by cruel and sadistic school boys for hissing every time one someone goes near it. It has good reason to be on the offensive and exert itself to keep everyone away. I want to understand why the cat hisses and yet I lack the courage to put myself in a position where I can empathise instead of sympathise.

Coming to terms with the possibility that perhaps God picked me to help the alley cat learn how to stop hissing isn’t easy or simple. To retort, “Why me Lord? Shouldn’t someone else stronger/holier/better be more appropriate?” instead of embracing it with arms wide open is usually the involuntary reflex because of all that work/risk/sacrifice involved. Therein lies the lesson of what it means to be charitable and give back as generously as one has received from His providence.

I consider myself as having a relatively healthy risk appetite but the road ahead doesn’t wash too well with how I am generally programmed by my superiors to secure certainty in whatever I handle. Often, divorcing the lawyer from the Catholic is a tricky affair. I treat my call to witness with reverence and trepidation at the same time. The lifestyle evangelization we are each called to partake of is an exceedingly tall order and yet, there are no 2 two ways about it. If I call Him my master then I must do as He bids, even if it means overcoming the agoraphobia I have when it comes to leaving the confines of my comfort zone and venturing out into the wide open spaces of the big unknown.

I am so weak without Him.

the fool for Christ

Reaching foward

2008-01-16T23:29:00.000+08:00

Some months ago, I was challenged to really look deep within myself and decide if I could resist the allure of a much higher salary, sexier perks and better mobility by copping out and moving into the realm of corporate law. For the uninitiated, corporate law positions tend to be the gateway for local lawyers wanting to go in-house or make the move into off-shore firms here and overseas. It appeals to every notoriously Sarong Party fiber of the discontented demographics on this crispy island. I’ve never really resented corporate work, neither have I ever taken a shine to it despite my stint in Corporate Finance when I was a novice. I just knew from Day 1 that I was interested in litigation work i.e. dispute resolution. I loved the thrill of the hunt in the document trail and the satisfaction of pinning inconsistent liars down.

Part of my personal struggle, which has never surfaced on this blog is that with whether or not in my pursuit of my personal interest in advocacy (or God forbid, a lust for assuaging my vanity), I might make decisions that discount the welfare of those I love/care about - through my ability (or rather inability) to provide for them and give them my time. For one, the nature of the litigation business is intense, all-consuming and terribly stressful. Madame once said, “It is precisely the nature of this business that makes litigators such strange creatures.” On the other hand, the lack of mobility in litigation skills might mean you are less likely to be able to follow your family/other half to other jurisdictions without huge pay cuts involved; when you have to start from scratch in another field. The barriers to exit are as great as the barriers to entry. Moreover our corporate counterparts receive much better remuneration than us in their kind of transactional work.

It calls for value judgment, which tends to the largest question of how you balance the rigours of career with practice of the Faith. I consider it overly simplistic to just say, “If you call yourself Catholic then give up your shot at success in career and trust God to take care of everything else.” In response I say to you, “God helps those who help themselves.” I very much doubt He asks of us to be oafishly clumsy technicians of translating the tenets of His teaching into real life. It very seldom is about black and white. I myself am confounded, because where the real nubs of issues in life are concerned - an IQ of 149 doesn’t necessarily mean automatic answers.

Close friends will recall the journey it has been for me from my very rough initiation into Practice to finally riding out the trough to get to where I am today – enjoying my boss’ trust. Yet I am not free of my own interdictions either. I shared in my last entry how I struggle with developing a good sense of proportion as regards my abilities. It is a difficult balance to strike; not denouncing your gifts, yet not overrating them either. I have been very fortunate in the course of the last 2 years. Despite the predicaments He had me ride out, God has sent me guidance in various forms, one of whom is a mentor/senior lawyer I deeply respect.

We were having a chat this evening and I shared with him some of the aforementioned struggles. He looked me in the eye and said, “Was there ever any doubt that you are born to be an advocate? It is your destiny. You have razor sharp wit young lady, and one of the fastest minds I’ve ever come across in 30 years at the Bar. If you continue to work really hard then in time to come you will be in the same category as xyz - a very famous trial lawyer.” It was the first time anyone of his standing had ever directly affirmed my calling in advocacy. For some reason, Madame has the habit of praising people only behind their back, never to their face. I only ever know if she’s happy with me when colleagues tell me she praised me in front of them. So while I know I’m not exactly a dolt, I have never been sure of where I stand in the industry.

Sometimes we are so used to placing people on pedestals; watching the swans idyllically and gracefully coast across the surface of the lake with nary a wave on that sheet of water that we cannot imagine them to be struggling or peddling furiously beneath the water. It’s taught me a great deal about the helplessness we are all cast into but for the grace and generosity of God. Without His illumination, so much of my life would be a bleak cauldron of tempest and complexity.

the fool for Christ

To be truly free...

2008-01-14T16:24:00.000+08:00

And so Christmastide ends. Today marks the first day where the Church returns to 'Ordinary time'.

My Christmas of 2007 was incredibly good. In solitude, silence and waiting -amid the uneventful work and rest days (and the suspense of jobhunting) -I prepared myself during the 4 weeks of Advent. Christmas Day came round, it gently unfolded without fanfare and the Octave was intensely joyous. In fact, the 12 days running up to the Epiphany and thereafter to the Lord's Baptism yesterday were all very, very good. Despite being away from family and friends, I never felt more needed, wanted and loved in all the exchanges we had over Advent and Christmas.

The Lord also illuminated my path this recent Christmas, telling me which direction I am to walk in. I had been yearning for years for more settledness, enough of this wandering academic mendicancy. Being torn between places and people for (in my opinion) far too long, there has finally been the green light to choose. And choose I did. Amazingly enough, I didn't feel regret at letting the other options go. It was a fully satisfied choice.

I shared this point of ecstatic liberation (cos this was what it really felt like) with close friends and my former SD. It was really chuffing -as well as surprising -when my SD (one of the wisest and holiest priests I know) called me 'the wise woman of the East'. High praise indeed --and seriously, it is the Lord's clarity shone within me. I'm glad I stuck it out with Him and He with me --and that He cleared enough of the dust so that the glory that He means me to be (as with all of his creatures) could be revealed. (Obviously, more divine springcleaning is underway...)

It did seem like years of darkness had just miraculously slipped away and finally I could grasp with my human rationality God's Reason. When the created meets Divine, there can be the 'Cloud of Unknowing' -which probably happens most times; but at certain points, God does illuminate the darkness enough, and the joy of this experience -to finally see and understand part of the gruelling process... Simply indescribable. As the fool wrote previously re John of the Cross how prose is insufficient --there is simply no explaining God, the illumination just is.

On the last day of Christmas (last evening), I went over to my friend's place in Tokyo for dinner. It was a delightful time. God gave me a final gift to round up Christmastide -the precious gift of freedom and the knowledge that He is indeed becoming increasingly my all.

How this came about was when my 2 friends, both high-flying executives with strong earning power (financier and offshore lawyer) were discussing the rat race and worrying about job stability and how much they needed to retire with. They quoted another banker friend's estimate -an amount which is nothing to be ashamed about, not fancy but totally more and comfortable objectively -and said they really couldn't survive on that.

It struck me by surprise, really, cos both my friends are unpretentious and never ever snob it, and while our religious views don't coincide much, we share many intrinsic life values. And so I asked, "How much do you really need to live on?" They were like, "Ummm... Well, without mortgage, then what about holidays, cars, yachts,..." They said that they expected that their living standards must continue to climb and would forecast accordingly. To be sure, both my friends rent swish apartments in jazzy neighbourhoods of Tokyo (read: next to embassies) and buy posh stuff. But to imagine really expensive cars and all the other costly paraphernalia like clothes and shoes, as well as regular meals at top-yen restaurants, that is beyond me.

They are nice to have, to be sure, but to factor these as "must haves", it seems like the system has gone a bit wonky. And as I looked puzzled, my friend said, "You know, it's this darned competition. You see others having, so you must be as 'good' as your peers. The neverending race." Then he added, "It also ties in with the job, the industry. We can't go out to meet clients in the same old suit, and how we look must also reflect the smartness and lucrativeness of the company's profile to have credibility."

That is true, I very much agree. One has to 'look the job', so to speak. Yet, there is a fine line to be drawn. Just because we are 'servicing clients' (how i hate this phrase!) who are mindblowingly rich business persons, and we are generally earning a good income, we very often start to associate ourselves with big amounts of clients' money we work with and not our own. We can also lose respect for other people who earn less than we do (hence that totally obnoxious phrase --that amount of money is 'peanuts') and we can lose respect for small amounts of money which is in fact the value of someone's time and labour.

We can forget ourselves too easily, what our real needs are and what our wants are. For the life of me, I cannot imagine a yacht or two swish annual holidays with 6-star accommodation as a need. I guess perhaps if one is an avid sailor, and would be morose without a boat, then a yacht's maybe an okay choice? I really don't know.

Last night's conversation really stuck with me how free I am from social, financial and career situations, and how much freer I have grown in the Lord. Praise be to Him! I don't say this with any smugness re my freedom -it is pure gift (and obviously needs human cooperation and sacrifice too). To be sure, life's survival issues and tough situations continue to mess me up -that's just a fact of mortality. But what was surprising to myself was how far I have come -when I used to be rocked so easily, torn between answering God's prompting and the obvious dictates of the world; now, I am completely unfazed. I really am surprised!

I have no hint of ever wanting the lifestyles my friends enjoy, nor am I secretly envious. I am happy and content -not in a self-satisfied fashion -but in an open and liberated way. I know what makes me happy -not an 'It' bag, not holidays in the Mediterranean, not a posh car, not fine-dining. All the above and the like are fine and good, but I seriously could take it or leave it.

People make me happy -to love and to be loved in a life-giving manner. I am rabidly environmentally-friendly and am not too keen on automobiles except for the function of getting me to my destination. I like good food, but I also like to cook for myself. Generally, I like the visible fruit of my labour given that my work vocation is so painstaking and invisible... I'd say off the top of my head, the material things I'd like to have in my life always are a house and garden, a bicycle and a Rottweiler. I'd be hardpressed to call these needs, even if I feel I need them.

I have come to realise that the baseline of basic human living is really very simple and unfettered, and by having not very much, I can open my hands to God and receive gratefully. Deep and sincere gratitude is something I have discovered growing more and more in myself. Sounds crazy, but I don't drink a cup of water or eating a simple dinner of veg, rice and miso soup without throughly relishing it, and then stopping midway to give thanks again (even when grace was said earlier) because I am really enjoying myself and am happy and grateful for these things, especially when others have much, much less.

Many of us can spout sweetly and piously that God is our everything. But seriously, when God takes away a prized possession, gift, etc., we whinge and pout. We obviously aren't as free as we imagine ourselves to be. The human tendencies are most insidious -until God shows us up for the wretched, selfish and egotistical creatures we are, we can (to our best knowledge and judgment) believe that we are unbiased and charitable. It can take years for us to learn how unhumble we are, how shackled by pride. And then, there still isn't the guarantee that we will acknowledge and repent.

That's how tough conversion really is. Action, not words. If we love God, we will live as He does, and do what He says. His standard, not ours. The commitment to live right has to be renewed daily, catching ourselves the moment we slip. Constant vigilance is called for, no way otherwise.

lemming.

A life less ordinary

2008-01-13T13:16:00.000+08:00

During a spring cleaning exercise recently, I discovered my old copy of 'The Well-tempered Clavier' by J.S. Bach. It is one of my favourite compilations of works, every serious pianist has played at least one piece from 'The Well-tempered Clavier'. My teacher’s pencil markings (where she’d remind me which bars to place emphasis on) were all over the manuscript. I rather miss her, but not so much her long wooden ruler that she used to rap my knuckles when I slacked off on finger exercises.

I very much like what Alicia Keys has done for classical piano. A track she performed on her first album called 'Harlem’s Nocturne' was on repeat mode on my iTunes player for a long time. Part of what distinguishes her from many other competent pianists is her ability for creative interpretation and reinvention. Where others merely reproduce ad nauseum or do a Frankenstein cut and paste job of piecing various portions of others’ masterpieces together, this girl writes from her heart and soul.

It takes a lot of courage to reveal that kind of vulnerability so generously. I was reading some of the material from her book, 'Tears for Water' – a combination of poems and lyrics inspired by her life experiences. In one of her interviews, she said the title of her book comes from one of her poems, "Love and Chains," that has a line: "I don't mind drinking my tears for water.

“And when I read that, it resonated in me because I said, 'Wow, I realized at that moment that all of the songs I write, all of the poetry that I write, every way that I express myself comes from some form of my tears, my pain, my happiness, my joy, my frustration, my confusion.' And I drink them for water to be nourished and to survive, in a way."

She says she battles with low self-esteem.

"There's plenty of times I've written a song just to encourage myself and say, 'You're worth it, and you're incredible, and you're a woman, and you deserve it,' you know?"

How a girl as beautiful and talented as her can have low-self esteem truly befuddles me. Then all of a sudden I was reminded of the self-effacing responses I usually give whenever friends/colleagues tell me I am good, talented or brilliant. It is not false modesty. I genuinely don’t see it that way. Whilst I know I am not depriving some village of its idiot, I constantly eat humble pie in the course of meeting the many people God sends my way.

One recognizes the importance of a good sense of proportion and eschewing an inflated sense of self-worth. I reckon it is part of every real musician, (not including technicians of music i.e. the people who merely copy or do Frankenstein jobs) – for that matter, every artist(e). Unlike other kinds of professionals who lead the pack in their fields of expertise, neutral markers of excellence are farther and fewer between where artistic talent is concerned. This is further complicated when defensiveness rears its ugly head where the receiver of the work is unable to appreciate the heart and soul of the musician that went into the work. That is generally the case where films, art, music and literature are concerned, you either get it or you don’t.

Few of us are pure artists per se, most of us are blends. I have my inner geek, gung-ho and sensitive sides. There is in me the fearless defender, the growing Catholic and even the hopeless romantic — all of different dimensions, yet all me. These dimensions come to the fore at various points, each adding a new facet to the person of the fool for Christ. There are things I can say to God in the midst of a hymn or while speaking in tongues that I am unable to express the same way in just dialogue or formulated prayer.

Similarly there are experiences with Him I can articulate only in music or wordless sobs, not prose. I read once that the ecstasies experienced by St John of the Cross in the process of being illuminated about the love of God were so intense that only in poetry could any justice be done in his attempting to give expression to the mastery of soul craft taking place in him – prose did not have the capacity to contain such passion.

Where before I did not have the ability to see how I allowed myself to be blindsided by over-emphasis on issues of commercial viability and opportunity cost, I acknowledge the reality of escalation of commitment when it comes earning money and getting ahead. The more you put your back into amassing a fortune, the harder it is to pull yourself away to give yourself to the other areas of life where a reasonable rate of return isn’t immediately clear. That is not to say that I have forgotten that I am too young to poopoo money. Rather a balance is in order, however difficult it might be to obtain equilibrium. I have a clearer idea of what area I might choose to do as part of my further postgraduate studies.

I want a life less ordinary, I want a life that is true, authentic and full however much fog and grey stands between me and discovering/realising that in Christ.

the fool for Christ

If darkness blinds you while you are waiting

2008-01-08T21:21:00.000+08:00

Just this afternoon, the lemming was sharing with me some of her reflections about exercising patience in waiting upon the Lord to reveal His plans. Let it be said now rather than later, the lemming is one of the most patient and obedient people I know; not in a Ghandi way but in a truly Pauline way. Perhaps one day when circumstances permit I shall be able to testify more fully why she has my deepest and most profound respect. I consider myself far more fortunate than her in as far as waiting upon Him is concerned. Perhaps it is because the Lord knows that I am less gifted in obedience and patience.

Recently in our quiet time together, the Lord has allowed me the grace and inkling to acknowledge the poetry of what He is doing in my life through making me wait upon Him, particularly in instances where I cannot for the life of me understand why He won’t give me a straight answer. Foot stomping does not work, neither does subconscious emotional blackmail. With God there is no other way than His way – there is no bulldozing Him.

This week, God has thrown me a few bones which I asked for ages ago. Patience actually paid off! It's not that I am particularly charmed, rather obedience to Him is always rewarded. Ever the blunt instrument, I have slowly and finally come to accept on a newfound level, that unlike the way I favour drafting my opinions (short, sharp and swift), God answers prayers/questions in His own time, style and measure. One thing is for certain, He is definitely an artist through and through. Of late I have started to gain small glimpses of the beauty of my having to wait – why it is better that certain things I crave are withheld from me until a later date – what I receive is deeper meaning and a greater sense of the symmetry in His poetry, told through the verses of my life.

He uses people and arrangements I’d normally run from and forces me through necessity to stay on confronting reality instead of hightailing it. In the process of being forced to stay on, I start to discover perspectives/blind alleys I would not have had I wriggled free earlier. This has been a recurring theme in various aspects of my life ranging from the personal to career – to soldier on in the dark, waiting for the sun to rise without any clear indicators of first light dawning and resisting the temptation to humanly short-circuit the process.

I suppose that’s character building for you.

Yet for the first time in a really long time, I feel completely free even though the specifics of my own future are unbeknownst to me – it’s as if regardless of what the future holds, I know that I am free from the weight of obligation, societal expectations and political correctness. As Scripture puts it, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom”. I am poor in so many ways, yet my riches lie in my friendship with Christ and the promise of Salvation.

I feel free to love, give and sacrifice without need of desiring reciprocity or of obtaining collaterals because I know in my heart of hearts that my needs are already met by someone greater. Somehow these same words have a deeper, more profound resonance as I type them out even though humanly they’ve been used to frame lesser thoughts/reflections before. Perhaps that is what it is like to experience (instead of proselytize about) what St Paul meant by Faith in Hebrews 11: 1 - Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

You are Loved (Don't give up)

by Josh Groban

Because you want to be heard
If silence keeps you
I will break it for you

Everybody wants to be understood
Well I can hear you
Everybody wants to be loved

Because you want to burn bright
If darkness blinds you
I will shine to guide you

the fool for Christ

Everything changes but You

2008-01-05T23:17:00.000+08:00

On the way to lunch with one of the Corporate Affairs Directors and 2 of my colleagues who each got engaged recently, she asked me when it’d be my turn. “I’m sorry to disappoint you but you won’t be getting any invites from me for a long while. I’m far from there.” She chuckled at my response for awhile then as an afterthought said, “Young lady, you are in a good place. Don’t be in any hurry to move the process faster than it has to be. If I could go back in time and tell my single self anything, it’d be that people change.”

That last line caught me.

Sometimes much of our disappointment is tied to our inability to acknowledge that people (and even situations/relationships) change - which is why longevity is so precious and elusive. As Take That once famously sang, "Everything Changes". Just because someone is one way now doesn’t mean he/she will be this way for the rest of his/her natural life. Just because you see the stars in your beloved’s eyes and hear violins play lovingly in the background every time he/she walks past today does not mean that you won’t one day cringe every time you have to look and hear only white noise when he/she speaks. It is often that inability to reconcile what we knew with what we know now that causes our anguish as we beat our breasts and lament Halcyon days gone too soon.

The larger question it all begs is, “Can you still accept him/her/it/this/that now that he/she/it/this/that is possibly no longer what you recalled/wanted him/her/it/this/that to be? Will your love/care/affection/fidelity remain the same? Or is what you offer really a conditional love/devotion/pledge?” A positive answer to the first two questions is not easy to give at all. Discovering that the answer to the last question may be “yes” is equally difficult to bear.

Change brings about growth. Change is the only constant, just as growth is primordial of being human. Change and growth lead people to part ways and once bifurcating paths to re-converge. As heartrending as reluctant farewells may be, serendipity is a similar reality. Our propensity for growth and change are what differentiates us from being mere binary code. Relief and release arrive when we stop fighting change and instead embrace what is as natural as sunrise and sunset.

It causes one to appreciate constancy where it fortuitously happens, however sporadic its frequency. The beauty of the process and the essence of the lesson are not in the clinical characteristics of being perfectly compatible, rather it is about the process of persevering in accepting despite ugly imperfection. We are not expected to be perfect, only perfect in trying/persevering – much beauty and truth flows from that.

Recently, I have felt rather overwhelmed whilst contemplating the waves of change in my own life. It is the intangible changes which I struggle with articulating the most. There is genuine frustration at the realization that I am unable to express so much of what I am experiencing – like the weeping that I was overcome with during the Consecration whilst attending Mass in various foreign languages with the No. 7, No. 5 and Mario in Europe. It is rather akin to people who suffer autism. They lash out in frustration because their impairment in communication and social interaction render them unable to express what they mean.

Every corked bottleneck one day comes uncorked.

It is impossible to exhaustively codify all the do’s and don’ts of living and being human. Creation is too intricate and the various dimensions of Life too multi-faceted for mere mortals to presume that we can wrap our minds around the creativity of God. 2000 years of Christianity and a googleplex of humans in existence still haven’t come up with ability to fully articulate comprehensively the tangible and intangible handiwork of our God of wonders. Perhaps that is why Mother Church exists. Her human leaders still haven’t got it figured out to a tee but She exists as a visible guide for humanity of the route to Salvation, a guide that continually strives to improve in spite of multiple failures.

As Gary Barlow sang, "Everything changes but You (Lord)".

the fool for Christ