2012
Brown dreams and a White wedding.
I guess I just couldn’t believe it, when God answered my prayer again. It was then I realized that perhaps, He had not, and I was frustrated with myself.
I ought to be happy really, overjoyed and over the moon. But all I feel is a deep sense of loss, guilt and frustration. Without me even suggesting it, my dad offered to sponsor a large part of our wedding- the gown, pre-wedding shoot, bridal car, evening gown etc were all “basic items” which ” I don’t want you to worry about”. Mixed feelings of disbelief and relief and happiness burst inside of me. Wasn’t this everything I had asked for and more? But as the euphoria sank in and we began to thank God for His blessings, a deep sense of self-awareness, guilt and anguish came over me.
We’re just so concerned about our own happiness. That was the message shared at church last Sunday, and I couldn’t help but resonate with it. We’re so concerned with what makes us glad and comfortable and happy that we’ve lost that edge to live- to have visions, to dream, to live with that cutting edge- because living with a dream hurts, living with a burden to help the hurting costs and hurts. I couldn’t tell if I was disappointed with myself or with that sense of disappointment I felt when I realized that having it all wasn’t what I was looking for at all. After pining and dreaming and praying for God to bless us, and after God had seemed to answer my prayer, just like how He answered my prayer when I asked for a road bike previously, I felt Him asking me ever so gently: is this what you really want?
A commercialized package with everything thrown in, everything that the world could offer you with fairytale allure. Was this the best I could dream of? My dad was willing to sponsor- “it’s once in a lifetime”. But isn’t everything a once-in-a-lifetime choice as well? That decision to give away instead of hoard, that decision to stop for the face in the street instead of passing on by, that decision to love instead of hate. We’ve all got one chance, too.
“It’s more convenient, just buy the package.” Hasn’t it always been more convenient to go on holiday than a mission trip, to walk on instead of stopping for someone in need? I’m afraid what this might do to me.
Tomorrow, I’ve been invited to give a talk at a tertiary institution for its Book Prize ceremony. I entitled my talk “Being a Catalyst”, and have been encouraged to share about my experiences in social service and community work. It was when I was looking through my old photos in Africa and Smokey Mountain that I realized just how much the past one year has changed me- I hate to admit it, but the rigors of hundred-hour work weeks for the past one year, with it’s rough and unpleasant brushes at work and discouraging experiences having taken a toll on my soul. Swallowed by the world, I have lost the anguish I once had for the lost and the poor, and have merely become content with “being happy”. Whatever happened to sacrifice? Whatever happened to cost and laying ourselves down for the poor and being willing to make a stand?
We just worked, and worked, and lost that sacred place in our hearts called Love. Peace has found no home in our overcrowded hearts, filled with entertainment and work and dread and that empty longing for a fleeting star called Happiness.
Those commercialized packages promise you happy endings. They promise you blue skies and endless trains of white lace and convenience. They promise you the best of everything and more. They promise you faceless photographers who take your photos with great skill and no heart, and for a hefty price, too. They promise you everything at the tips of your fingertips because you’re willing to pay the price. After all, you deserve it. It’s your big day. You. You. You. It’s just all about you. I don’t mean to offend anyone by writing this- I honestly believe God has different plans for different folks, for reasons we cannot understand, and I am just struggling in my own journey to catch a glimpse of what He wants for our two lives. Cliff has no issue about going small and cosy and low-cost, it is I who struggles with dreaming and toeing the line between receiving what may be God’s blessing versus my own selfish gratification.
As crazy as it sounds, I think it’s not so much about what I want as much as what He wants. While many can justify that God wants the BEST and only the best for us, I’m not sure if I can translate that into having everything our hearts desire. If that can be translated into a commercialized wedding package with a few-thousand dollar seal on it.
We promise you blue skies and smiles everlasting.
Because of the way my department allocated leave to us, I could not take leave for a mission trip to Calcutta like we had intended to in August. As a result, we might go to the slums of Calcutta, to Mother Teresa’s home after our wedding for our honeymoon instead. Crazy? I know. And how would we reconcile that grand celebration with the flourishing begging industry in the slums of India, how would we put our flawless wedding portraits next to our pictures with the children in the streets.
Once, I dreamed. Once, I dreamed of serving the poor and going out to the streets and living with them. Now, I wake up thinking about the next two chapters of the textbook I need to catch up on before clinics start and how to find time to finish that research paper I started. How did I end up this way. And I cannot sleep because tomorrow after the talk, my 2 close friends, even more excited and I, are accompanying me to a bridal shop. It was supposed to be so much fun. Until I realized that I could never justify the thousands of dollars spent on frivolous items. Sure, it wasn’t my own money and perhaps hence not my “responsibility” to steward- but doesn’t all we have come from God and isn’t everything He owns and blesses us with, our responsibility to steward and use wisely and judiciously, not just for His sake but for the sake of our own nature, too?
I feel terrible. Cliff would have been all right with a small, cosy, no frills sort of affair. But I was the one who wanted to believe that God would provide. He surely did, in quick time too, but I’m just not sure if this was whet He truly thought I would be happy with. It will be a sleepless night tonight.
Anguish, and not happiness, is the soul of change, of impact, of inspiration. And I’m not sure if I’ll have this figured out anytime soon.
2012
Given all things.
*This post was written on the plane back from Florida.
“…as His divine power has given to us ALL things that pertain to life and godliness,
through the knowledge of Him who called us by glory and virtue,
by which have been given to us exceedingly great and precious promises,
that through these you may be partakers of the divine nature,
having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.”
-2 Peter 1:3-4
Which good father would ever withhold what he has promised from his child? Perhaps, most of us find it hard to believe, that we have been everything we need in this life and blessed with promises which exceed our imagination. Perhaps, most of us find it hard to believe, that we have, in a way, been given all we ever needed and desired.
I still remember the disappointment we felt that day, and the weeks and months following. After our whirlwind romance, the disappointment was amplified a million times over. After those piercing words which my dad said to him, he thought it was the end. Utterly crushed, he thought my request for a week of silence and prayer meant it was all over.
Anguish, loss and confusion followed in the days, weeks and months after. There was tension at home and between the both of us.
Why God? After the great miracle you had done and meticulous orchestration to bring us 10’000 miles to each other, why were the doors shut on us, now? We both knew, that without our parents’ consent for marriage this year, we would just have to wait.
But what a tortuous wait it would be. Unwarranted comments from others that it was “no big deal” to wait seared our hearts in a time such as this. It wasn’t so much that I could not wait as much as I didn’t agree with the reasons for waiting- waiting to “look around”, waiting to earn more money, waiting for him to get a commercial job with better pay- I admired the fact that he had given up so much of his life back in Canada to serve God and the marginalised in Asia. To switch jobs because of pressure from my family didn’t make sense to me. Some thought it was a “fair exchange” to win my parents’ approval. I would have none of it. He was doing what we believe God had called him to do, and it was not to be compromised.
We both knew God had spoken to us about our future together- but now, it seemed as if He had witheld His promise, if only for a while. My parents were immovable- you should wait and see if there might be anyone else. How are you two going to cope financially? Why doesn’t he get a commercial job instead of being a missionary? Who is going to pay for his lifelong liver medication? What of something happens to his health again? Why don’t you find someone else with a “lower risk”?
But marriage… is a big Risk in the first place. Who can predict who will end up with illness or an accident? Do we marry based on calculated prediction? Do we marry based on measured liability? I would rather marry a good man with a higher risk of illness than a man I didn’t admire half as much and risk his infidelity.
Questions, questions. Every day these questions haunted me like relentless ghosts. Worse, after my mentors at church said they wanted to help by speaking to my parents, my folks seemed surer that this was all a big mistake. I felt hurt and betrayed. By them, and by God.
It was nobody’s fault, really.
Nonetheless, in the midst of the confusion, we prayed. Even when we didn’t see how things would turn out. After the 6-session marriage preparation course which culminated in an intense 3-day 2-night retreat, we decided to fast and pray committedly for 21 days. For 21 days, we would fast from specific things we enjoyed eating and doing, focusing our intents and thoughts on seeking God in this matter.
Extreme? Perhaps. Were we twisting His arm? No. Because I learnt, that God has already given to us everything good, and prayer is merely the way we come closer to Him in conversation, friendship and communion. Though there were some who supported us in prayer and believed in God for our breakthrough, many older people advised us just to wait, to consider him changing jobs, or advised me to mill around and see if someone better came along.
I would not have any of it. God had promised, and to His promises we must lay claim, and this sometimes takes prayer, and a time of soul-searching.
One day, I plucked up the courage to speak to my father. I was courteous and sensitive and expressed my gratitude to his love. Then, one by one, I addressed his concerns and anxieties: We would not be rich but we would get through, I fell in love with him precisely because he had given up his financial wealth, I said we would trust God for his health and that it wasn’t fair to mark him down for something he wasn’t responsible for. He had done an Iron man, and was doing everything within his control to be strong and healthy.
A week later, I had another round of talk with my dad. I stood my ground in stoic firmness, neither showing anger nor frustration, but merely defending my stand, standing my ground on what we felt God had called us to do. And not being able to afford a condominium with a pool was not a reason for our staying apart. I had told God, we would rather a simple affair than postponing the date to have a grand wedding.
A week or so after our prayer and fast began, our breakthrough came.
“So can you ask mum about choosing a date?” he asked.
After an entire season of seeming silence from God, light appeared. And even though it was at exceedingly late notice (they usually require at least a year’s advance booking), our church was available on the date we had chosen this year, and more importantly, even our senior pastor who is often overseas was available. Cliff’s parents were looking to visit at precisely that time anyway, and my department did not allow me any other time to take leave. Door after door opened. My parents took a 180-degree turn, with my mum showing me her family heirloom jewellery and offering them to us as wedding gifts and my dad helping us with a place to stay. All this happened within a few days. It blew our minds.
After the elation and excitement though, a more sobering thought entered my mind. With us committing our lives to missions, where was the role for buying a gown and holding a wedding? It was expensive. And while there were less costly options, I simply didn’t believe in spending frivolous money on dresses and makeup and a thousand other things. I thought of a minimalist wedding, how I wouldn’t need a gown or a banquet or photography. One question I continually ask myself is not how much I spend compared to the market prices out there, but rather, converting my own money that I might spend on the gown into a gift for child sponsorship etc. Given the choice, would I give up that money for a cause greater than myself?
It was heartwrenching, even if in a childish sort of way.
After all, we seem to rationalise spending on ourselves far more easily than spending money on real emergencies that exist but choose not to see. People said it was possible to have a simple wedding- but in my head, nothing justified the spending. What was deemed simple to one was extravangant to another, and yet, frugal or too unseemly to yet another. It reminded me a lot about my journey in buying my bike- God said no to spending on it, and yet, returned to me a hundred-fold what I had given up by showing me His generosity through His economy.
God’s economy defies the laws of exchange, investment and returns.
Yes, we could go simple-I could use a simple knee-length white dress I already have. Yes, we could be minimalist-let’s go casual. We could borrow, rely on DIY, go against the current and ignore the thousand and one attractive packages out there which promised a fairytale wedding and happily ever after. Yet, after all that was said, in my quiet moments, the little girl inside of me longed for the excitement and anticipation of the big day. She dreams of billowing white gowns and endless trains of white silk, of pews dripping with flowers and helium balloons floating away into the sky, of crimson evening gowns and a banquet filled with food, fun and fellowship. As silly as it sounds, she dreams of having everything that darned commercialised package offers- that bridal car, a pre-wedding and wedding day photographer, a videographer for the day, having her make-up done and being treated like a princess for a 24 hours, a dinner where she can gather all her family and friends whom she’s not seen since her hundred-hour work week starteda year ago, and a banquet where she can invite the poor and marginalised for a good meal. She dreams of releasing her third picture book entitled “i love you” that day, to raise awareness about the importance of strong marriages and perhaps even fundraise for hurting women and children. She dreams of having a real celebration, with no holding back, but she knows it will be close to impossible without spending what seems like a bomb.
I say close to impossible, because I forget, that God runs on an economy entirely different from ours. In our world, resources are finite, money is budgeted and things run out. God, however, owns everything and multiplies. I remember how without any heavy-lifting on my part, more than $110’000 was raised through my first book Kitesong; I remember how, instead of scrimping and saving for the road bike I wanted for competing in triathlons, God told me to give the money my dad had given me or the bike away to a little deaf girl who needed it for a cochlear operation, and through unexpected means, gave another bike to me, superior to one I could ever have imagined for myself; I remember how worried Cliff and I were about housing (we both aren’t local and hence can’t buy government housing) and our parents, initially hardheartedly pressurising him to find a better job, offered to rent us another apartment unit they had for half the price. Last week, someone I’d never met offered to lend me her old wedding gown-though it was not what I had in mind, it was an encouragement nonetheless. A friend’s friend, touched by the story of Cliff and I, offered to film our wedding.
It reminded me, that God already knows what we need and merely requires to come into that relationship with Him to claim what He has already given to us.
God, you orchestrated a divine conspiracy to land the two of us where we are now, in each other’s lives. It took nothing short of a miracle to bridge the gap of ten thousand miles, and then soften my parents’ hostility towards him. Does the fairytale end here, with a scramble to grab at the cheapest deals?
Today, I was reminded of Faith. Faith that I had years ago to dare to dream, and to dream big. Faith to dare to dream of a grand wedding without forking out a single cent from the poor, faith to dare to believe that God would not disappoint.
I tread on dangerous ground to say that He would give us everything we ask for. But I do believe, that He is a good Father.
This journey is making me realise, how being in a social circle of have-it-alls can lead one to covet-most of my colleagues marry each other and have extravagant weddings. But I am learning, that the decision to follow God in missions involves certain decisions, and this is part of the “cost” we pay for an invisible glory we will see later on. We need to let go of our desires. Yet, we also need to have faith that God will not disappoint, that He would blow our minds only if we allow Him to, that He would provide everything- gown, car, tresses, flowers, ribbons, people, food, balloons, videographer, photographer… and more.
A part of me wants to beat myself up and say all this is immaterial. There are bigger things to dream about and more pressing crises in the world at hand. But I also know, that God has a place for celebration, and when He rejoices, and blesses, it goes Big.
So I’m not sure if I am to let go and think small, or let go and dream big, trusting that God has resources I can only dream of. All I know is that He is a good father who has promised us everything he has already given us. Whatever we need in this life, has already been given and promised to us, but requires an activation of faith on our part to lay a claim on it. And when we do partake of that crazy faith, we become partakers of the divine. It still boggles my mind. And I am afraid, yet tempted to believe in the latter, that God performs miracles and surprises us when we least expect it.
And I find myself whispering to myself what I tell other people so often:
Let go of yourself. Let God blow your mind. Dream big.
“…as His divine power has given to us ALL things that pertain to life and godliness,
through the knowledge of Him who called us by glory and virtue,
by which have been given to us exceedingly great and precious promises,
that through these you may be partakers of the divine nature,
having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.”
-2 Peter 1:3-4
2012
Eye-opener.
There are people from all nations and colors here- North America, South America, China, India, Japan, Europe, Singapore. There are people from a wide field of disciplines here- not only doctors but optemetrists, engineers, statisticians, laboratory researchers, phD students… Thousands of research projects and posters line the exhibit halls while lectures on groundbreaking discoveries are presented in the floors above. People mill in and out oth a coffee, a sandwich, a bag of notes, or book in hand. They are all here for the same purpose- to further the field of eyecare and Ophthlmology, to break new frontiers, to exchange ideas, network, and build new connections through a conglomeration of minds from various countries all over the world.
2012
Florida.
Flying to Florida for an eye conference first thing tomorrow morning to present a poster. It feels so surreal.
I’m filled with dread and fear at going to a developed country.
Big brand names, shops, people, Disneyworld. Bleagh, gah.
God is in control.
Back next Sunday.
2012
What a year.
A year gone by in a flash, just like that. Today, marks the end of my year as a junior intern as I went to the national medical council to exchange my provisional license for full registration as a practicing doctor.
A year filled with 30-hour shifts, hundred-hour work weeks, emotional breakdowns, first resusitations, first deaths, first realizations of one’s capacity for ill behavior in times of duress…
And a year filled with events: working with Health Promotion Board to use my 2nd book to reach out to more youth-at-risk, speaking at events in between 30-hour shifts, proposing a new scheme for the hospital to aid needy migrant patients, one sprint triathlon, two research projects, three mission trips, finding the love of my life (or more accurately, having him find me), and now… after much prayer, having my parents say yes to our marriage this year.
It’s been a whirlwind year indeed.
A year filled with spending weekends and public holidays in hospital, of losing tempers in the face of hypoglycemia, sleep deprivation and burnout, of dealing with angry patients and families and nurses and bosses and facing complaints and humiliations and feeling altogether helpless sometimes.
And a year filled with unexpected surprises. Of receiving a 5 out of 5 evaluation from nurses in spite of my feeling ashamed at my reactions and behavior time after time. Of receiving feedback that I was trusted to take care of someone as close as their own mother. Of receiving an Outstanding Teaching Award from the hospital.
It’s been crazy. A year of rushed, forced down meals and 3am snacks. A year of bite-sized, easily digestible bible snacks instead of the real meat of the Word.
And a year of cooking, of learning. A year of hideaway picnics on riding escapades to our favorite forgotten corner of the earth, basking languidly in that time stolen away from the mayhem of the world. A year of being stolen away on dates after a mad, maddening day at work.
A year of struggle and tears and frustration and exhaustion.
A year of grace and thanksgiving and gratitude and tears.
Sometimes I look back and wonder if I have aged too fast, if I have lost too much of myself, if I have fallen away too far.
It’s finally over.
And with every chapter closed, comes a new chapter opened. Of new challenges and battles in Ophthalmology as the most junior doctor all over again. Of moving out and learning how to leave and cleave. Of learning what it means to be a wife and child and mother all at the same time.
And I only hold on to God and ask Him to hold on to me too, to unveil my eyes to the lost and brokeness in this world, in this new chapter of my life as a medical officer in the Eye department. I ask Him to renew my compassion, my empathy, my love for the hurting.
I have been proud and broken. Puffed up and bowed down. Anxious and forced to let go.
God, help me. Help me to become a child again who dreamed once, of love.
Fully registered. Tomorrow.
Overwhelmed in tears.
As with all things, we can give thanks.
“In everything, give thanks…”
- 1 Thess 5: 18
2012
Not my responsibility.
It was my last 30-hour shift before my one year of gruesome housemanship (what they term internship for doctors here) ended. That day on my way home, I nearly got beat up.
“I DON’T WANT TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY!” came the angry voice. “I’M NOT TAKING ANY RESPONSIBILITY!”
I was waiting for a taxi to go home. After 30 hours of work, I was dead beat. Then, a little commotion just ten feet away from me caught my eye. The voice belonged to a big, burly man in his fifties. He was a taxi driver.
Just before him, was a little old man, scrawny and fragile, sitting on a wheelchair, with a Filipino domestic helper by his side. She had opened the taxi door and pushed the little old man’s wheelchair close to the passenger seat but was unable to lift him onto the vehicle itself. She, too, was a little petite lady. Distress came upon her face like a dark cloud when she realized she could not accomplish the task before her.
“I’M NOT TAKING ANY RESPONSIBILITY! If I help you, and something happens, and he gets injured or something, I DON’T TO BE RESPONSIBLE! DON’T ASK ME TO HELP YOU!!” The taxi driver berated her in public.
I stood there, transfixed for a moment. Almost convinced by what the angry taxi driver had bellowed, I wonder if I might endanger the old man by trying to lift him onto the cab from the wheelchair too. I had little experience in transferring patients professionally, and seeing how he was frail and completely stiff from neck down, I was afraid of injuring him too.
The scene did not end there. Angry words spewed out from the taxi driver, and the Filipino maid became more and more distressed by the minute. The cabs piled up behind, and there was little space for manouvreing. It made it difficult for her to take another cab.
Finally, after 30 seconds which seemed more like an eternity, considering I had weighed so many pros and cons against each other, I went up to her aid. The security guard came as well, and the three of us, all inexperienced, tried to help. I had assumed the little old man was stroked out and non-communicative, but his sweet smile melted me immediately. Hello, I said. Hello, he replied.
“Have you done this before?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “A few times.”
That gave me confidence, and though we weren’t experienced, we managed to pile him onto the cab.
The angry taxi driver continued to berate the maid, shouting out how he didn’t want to take any responsibility and thus would not pitch in to help.
Anger welled up inside of me. One, against his disdain and disrespect for both the patient and the domestic helper (I am sure he would not have had the audacity to be so rude if her employer decked in Prada and Gucci were there). Two, against his utter rudeness. And three, against the sheer selfishness he displayed in the face of someone who badly needed his help.
I’m not sure why we did not choose a different cab, but it was likely because helping the maid and old man was less confrontational than telling the driver we would otherwise not take his awful cab. But by the time the little old man was in the seat, my frustration at the injustice of this all took over. The angry driver was about to slam his seat door when I made a deliberate effort to walk over and said to him, “ I work here at the hospital. I just want to tell you that I think this patient and his maid will need your help when they alight. And it’s not too difficult to lend them a helping hand.”
He got out, started gesticulating and yelled right into my face, “Hey, if you’re so concerned for them and want to help, THEN YOU CAN GET IN HERE AND GO HOME WITH THEM! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THEM! I’M NOT TAKING RESPSONSIBILITY IF ANYTHING GOES WRONG” He repeated that over and over, with more gusto each time.
I was angry. Angry at his attitude towards them, angry at his self-preservation to the point of nauseation, angry that he was going to get away with this bullying, and angry that a whole bunch of people were waiting for taxis but no one responded to this social injustice playing out before us.
I think what got my goat, was him repeating himself over and over that he did not want to “take responsibility” for any mishap that might happen. I thought to myself: if everyone were so afraid of lending a helping hand, there would be no semblance of a liveable world to be in. If every doctor were so afraid of making mistakes (which we all do), then no one would continue practicing medicine.
At that short moment, so many emotions, thoughts and struggles passed my head like a fleeting shower. I wanted to tell him everyone would grow old someday, that someday we might be in that wheelchair needing help. I don’t know what possessed me but instead, I then said to him in mandarin, “ You shi hou, bang zhu ren jia shi xu yao yi dian dian de xi sheng.”
Sometimes to help someone, requires a bit of sacrifice.
He went berserk. By this time, the security guard had come over because he looked as if he was about to hit me.
He drove off. I didn’t take down his driving plate because I didn’t want him to lose his license. I had made a stand for what I thought was right. I had gotten my point across. And I didn’t want him to lose his job- who knows, he might have a family to feed.
As I got into my own cab and we drove off, I then saw a cab driver driving ahead of me gesticulate his hand. In an Asian context, he had given me the third finger. It was then that I took down his license plate number.
When I got home and shared the incident with my own domestic helper, I was horrified to realize she had experienced so many similar encounters when she had sent my grandmother to the hospital in the months preceding her death. Once, she said, it was pouring so hard and she had hurt her back so badly that she could not hold my grandma’s weight alone and they needed a cab so badly but not a single taxi driver would agree to take them. Because of the prolonged pleading with a cab driver at the time and my maid’s desperation, my grandmother had wet herself on the wheelchair. Worse, because of that, the taxi driver in that encounter made a greater case for not giving them a lift.
Ah, the injustice.
On my way home, I then realized how similar I am to my mum, in spite of all our differences. When I was little, she used to stop at traffic light junctions and make my sister and I get out of the car to give little old ladies pushing pushcarts of cardboard paper fifty-dollar notes. Once, I remember, an old person got bullied in public and she went right up to the big bully and yelled him down speechless. I was only ten but the memory was etched in my head so clearly. My dad always says my mum, with her temper, isn’t perfect, but there was something in her that made him marry her. I’m not saying it’s the best way of dealing with things, but it made me aware that this ran in the family, ha.
We just can’t take injustice toward the elderly lying down.
I still have not decided whether to lodge a complaint to his cab company. But one thing for sure, since I will be giving a presentation to the department heads and Chairman Medical Board about the proposal to link Healthserve to our hospital to help needy patients, I will bring up this issue of the need for staff who can transfer patients to cabs at the taxi stands, and perhaps a hospital service to send patients home safely. There already are staff and services in place to make these things happen, but there are obviously gaps in the system which can be improved.
I realized one thing, that helping others does come at a cost. Doing surgery means risking surgical complications; lending a hand does mean possibly making a boo-boo. But at the end of the day, I do believe that trusting in God can bring one a far, far way. Helping others, really shouldn’t be so much hard work. We weren’t sure, but I believe, that God protects the righteous as we put our trust in Him.
Go on, take the risk, put yourself in someone’s shoes. If not our responsibility, then whose?
2012
Blessings on a Broken road.
Sometimes, I guess it takes a little rut in the road to help you realize what a smooth journey you’ve been on all this while. You’re cruising along fine, maybe believing you’ve come this far all by your own effort, be it walking, running or pedaling, and all it takes is a rut or a pothole, to help you realize that you had no part to play in the paving of miles and miles of beautiful roads and pavements to make your journey an enjoyable one.
I couldn’t believe it, but Florida was coming closer and closer. About 8 months ago, I thought of doing some research and writing a paper for submission to a medical journal. In spite of hearing rumours about how journal papers in Eye were flourishing like mushrooms in rainy season, I could find no one to mentor me. After weeks of waiting and seeking help, I finally found a supervisor who helped me embark on a project in Ophthalmology. Weeks and months of data collection, writing, re-writing and tweaking birthed an unformed mass of raw data which became enough material to write up a poster, which then took some form to become a journal-paper-in-the-making and now is making its way to being a poster presented at an International Eye Conference in Florida this May, or rather, next week. I never expected this to go so far.
Then, I hit a rut.
A few months ago, Mum reassured me I had a visa to America. It was made in 2006 inside an old passport and would last up to ten years. With work and frantic preparations for the project in between 30-hour shifts, time passed quickly. One fine day last week, I realized I could not find it. I had turned my room upside-down, getting chided by Mum about not keeping my items properly but still to no avail. I had all my other passports and identity certificates except that one. There were two weeks to the conference. Worse, being a non-citizen of Singapore meant it would be too late to get an appointment to make an urgent visa to the States.
Suddenly, everything came to a standstill. All those late nights spent after work collating data, all those weekends spent writing up and rushing to meet my supervisor’s deadlines and replying to his intense flurry of emails up till past midnight, all that effort spent applying for sponsorship, all that time spent booking accommodation and comparing prices, and all that joy in reaching those milestones of getting my project accepted and being sponsored up to $4500 for the very expensive overseas conference went down the drain.
I hit a rut. And everything just slowed down like a bad movie gone wrong.
All this while I think I did thank God for this blessing. But like so many other things in life, I also think to some extent, I took it for granted. Looking back, there was a large element of self-striving through this journey. I pushed myself. I felt immense pressure to meet up to my supervisor’s deadlines. During weekends, Cliff would sit with me trying to help with the technical aspects of uploading my slides and formatting the tables in the exact way he wanted. The night before the intense 3-day 2 night marriage preparation course, Cliff stayed up with me re-doing the slides over and over because each revision only invited another barrage of emails of even more revisions from my supervisor. I went the extra mile to polish and re-polish my project to meet his expectations. At times, I was so fearful my inexperience might exasperate him. After all, it was my first attempt. And behind all of this, was a simmering need for approval, because after all, all these efforts were partly my attempt to boost my resume to get a traineeship in a highly sought-after and applied-to department.
Fear of man. The need for approval. Self-pride.
All these emotions became crystal clear to me when my visa went missing. I tried so hard to be in control. But the missing visa made me see how God, and not me, had been in control all this while.
The opportunity to do a small project with the head of department. The chance to get it accepted at an overseas conference. The financial blessing of an overseas conference sponsorship. Though a part of me had assumed that it was to my credit, I suddenly woke up to realize how really thankful I ought to have been all this while.
We are pilgrims on a road, giving credit to our own stamina for having come thus far. Then we see a huge break in the road, a massive collapse ruining the path ahead, and learn that we never gave thanks for the pavement beneath our feet, the shoes covering our soles.
I just had to let it go. And in doing so, I felt a huge breakthrough in my spiritual walk. Suddenly, the fear of man and that neediness for approval left me like a vanishing cloud. If God had opened so many doors for me, why did I continually let that fear of man breed within me? If God had been in control of my journey all this while, why did I allow myself to feel so pressured and suffocated by my supervisor’s intensity? And if it was truly God’s will for me to achieve something through this project or even get a traineeship in Eye, then why did I worry so much about not finding my visa?
Instead of skipping bible study and going home to look for my passport again, I decided to head to church. I plunged myself into learning about God’s word and let those worries fade away. I wanted to head home early, but decided against it. I trust you, God. I’m going to let go. Everything good is from you, and everything I have belongs to You.
Even before bible study ended, I received a text message from my mum. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m sorry, I forgot I put your visa in my safe. I found it.”
Even though the incident might have seemed so silly, so immaterial, so small even, I learnt a great lesson from it. Since then, the pressure and fear that used to hang over this research project has dissipated. I later learnt from others that this particular supervisor is intense with everyone and sometimes it is okay to put our foot down and create boundaries. I learnt that God, and not us, is in control. I learnt that we can try all we want, but our achievements, our futures, our arrival at our dream destinations lie not so much in our own striving (though diligence is important), as much as in trust in a God who holds our world in the palm of His hands, who paves the road we journey on and creates the ground we stand on.
He blesses, even broken roads, sometimes.
I leave for Florida for a week in 6 days.
“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
- Psalm 27:1
2012
Commitment.
I still remember I wanted Out. Nearing the day, I even began to dread it.
But, attending the 3-day 2 night marriage preparation course last weekend turned out to be an amazing experience. To every couple out there, I daresay this is a non-negotiable in a journey towards marriage.
A lot of things became clear to me: Our similarities. Our differences. Our likes and dislikes. Most importantly, I think the breakthrough we both had was in becoming absolutely sure of our choice of each other. The previous confusion and anguish within me regarding the struggles and obstacles we faced in getting married this year dissipated. It became clear to me, that whatever the outcome, it was God’s desire for us to pray for marriage this year.
There came a peace, and a certainty that the trials we faced were for a reason: to refine and shape us, to do that much-needed inner work within us in preparation for the fiery trials ahead. Marriage, is not a smooth journey, and all we were experiencing could be seen as obstacles, or better yet, mountains which we would climb together and hence become closer, to God and each other.
We talked about communication differences, about our personality differences and differing opinions on various issues. We talked about “hot” topics or topics which we felt emotionally charged about, recurrent issues which caused conflict between us and realized that every issue stemmed from a hidden, deeper issue such as trust, insecurity, or the need for control, acceptance, recognition or respect. By discovering those hidden issues, we learnt how we could better love each other.
Commitment. What does it mean to you? We were asked to write a few sentences about it or draw a picture. Because I was the only one who drew a picture among the other couples, I was asked to present it in front of everyone. You liked it very much, heh.
I said, that you have displayed Commitment to me in by being with me in the storm. In the times I have been unloveable, you never left me. In the times I was stressed or fatigued or upset, you never opted out. Instead, you stood by me, braving the weather with me. With an umbrella in your hands, you waited through the storm with me and pointed the rainbow out to me.
This might be such a cheesy post, but I admire you, now more than ever, for the commitment you have displayed to me through my ups and downs in the past few months.
It was beautiful timing then, to celebrate your 32nd birthday today, just days after our marriage preparation course ended. We both woke up at 6am and met to pray together. We both took leave today. We thanked God for your extra 22 years of life, after that fateful day the cancer was discovered. I looked at you in awe of the miracle God had done, and thankfulness swelled up within me. I remember all the photos of the triathlon races you had done and which you had showed me last night. You are an overcomer. You have always been an overcomer. And you have taught me, are still teaching me to overcome trials, day by day. Together, I have faith that we shall overcome this trial together, overcome this obstacle which stands in our way of being together. I realize, that nothing good in my life has ever come easy.
Today, also happens to be the day I got awarded a prize at hospital, and you were there with me to receive it. During the marriage preparation course, we learnt about the importance of being there for each other, not just in spirit, but physically as well. I have always enjoyed attending your talks and sharing sessions, and am so thankful for your enthusiasm in everything I participate in. You are my greatest cheerleader.
Through my ups and downs, tears and joy, you have consistently shown me support, displayed grace and demonstrated love to me. Through the storm, you never let me go.
Thank you for holding up a rainbow umbrella for me. Your friend was right, triathlon truly did teach you everything about being the best boyfriend.
Happy Birthday, Iron Man. I know what your birthday wish this year is. Let’s pray.
2012
The List: Easter revelations
* This post was meant to be posted up on 9 April, after the Easter weekend.
I still remember that day. I will never forget that emotion.
It was 1 am in the morning. When I picked up the phone, I nearly flipped out of my bed. I wanted to scream, wanted to shake her, wanted to wake up again to find it was all a bad dream. But no matter what I did, the voice over the phone only further clarified my worst fears, “I’m so sorry, Wai Jia. It was an accident. I didn’t mean it. I’m so so sorry. I’m really very very sorry.”
She deleted it by accident. My list. She deleted my list and could not retrieve it. It was a lost cause.
The List. In General Surgery, the List is a sacred thing. A sheet of paper containing a list of all the patients in the team, their locations, a concise summary of all their blood and radiology results, their past medical history, present medical issues and our current treatment, it is essential to the smooth functioning of any surgical team. Because of that, it really is a thing to behold. As scary as it sounds, the function of a surgical team depends heavily on The List, and it is the duty of the junior doctor to compile this awesome sheet. From the accuracy of the information to spacing and font size, getting a good list printed out in time for the grand 7.30am patient review (or morning round) by senior doctors, after the mad scramble to update all the latest 6am lab results that dawn, is the pride and honor of every responsible house officer. On-call, it is therefore the house officer’s duty to keep a meticulous record of all the new patients that come in during that 24-hour period. All the senior doctors will depend on that document when morning arrives.
It was 1am. She, another house officer on-call, was fiddling with my list for some reason and accidentally deleted it. It had been a busy day. 18 hours down, and I had at least another 12 hours to go. I had just had the opportunity to lay down to rest for an hour or two when that fateful call came.
“Oh it’s okay,” I said. I was sure it was in the Recycle Bin.
“No, you don’t understand. It’s gone. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I was just checking it and it… disappeared. I’ll help you and start on it right now.”
Murderous, would be close to describing how I felt.
It was no use. It was gone, and all that hard work had gone down the drain. She tried to help, but she had no clue about any of the patients I had seen. I spent the next 2 to three hours till 3am trying to salvage a lost cause. By 3.30am, a flood of patients got admitted and I had no rest.
I still remember my first thought after that murderous, hot sensation arose within me when I got the phonecall. My first thought was: Today is Easter Sunday.
It was 1am on Easter Sunday, and I remember having prayed to God to show me what Easter meant. After all, while everyone would be celebrating this holy festival at church and at home, I was at the hospital working. I don’t know why, but I had a strong feeling that being at hospital was where God had meant for me to be. God is not, cannot be confined to church. He is not confined to a festival. And He is not confined to a day of the week. It was at that very moment, when the meaning of Easter became so clear and practical to me.
Easter is about forgiveness. Easter is about remembering the love of a God, who, after suffering profound betrayal, rose above humiliation and scorn and injustice to forgive. He forgave without reason, without condition, without need for compensation. And as I simmered about the lost document and pondered how on earth it could be missing from the Recycle Bin as well, I reflected on how my desperation to retrieve the lost document gave me a glimpse into the desperation that God has to retrieve, redeem and restore a lost people. In some ways, we are so lost.
Laugh if you must. But these were precious revelations to me at 1am on an Easter Sunday.
I forgave her, and joyfully completed the rest of my call. I told myself, there was no point getting angry at her. Whether I got angry or not, the file was lost. Suddenly, something someone told me before came to mind: When trials come your way, rejoice. Trials in life give you the opportunity to reflect God precisely because any other response would only be human. Choose God.
By morning, though there were 2 mistakes on The List, the senior doctors extended the same forgiveness to me, after hearing what had happened that night.
Easter is about forgiveness. Easter is about redemption. Easter, is about victory and restoring a lost cause to its fullness.
I worked on the new list that Easter Sunday morning, and it was fully restored.
“For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world.
And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith. ”
- 1 John 5:4
2012
Becoming unstuck.
It had been going on for too long, festering inside like a yoghurt mix gone wrong. I released the lid, and the contents released a foul smell.
Isn’t that what happens when we allow negative feelings to well up inside us without processing them? The odd part was, I couldn’t, didn’t have anyone to direct those feelings to. There was no villain in the picture, no demonized culprit whose face could be put up on a dartboard. It turns out the people who hurt you the most, very often are the ones who love you.
So I had been tired of hearing things I did not believe in, advice that I did not ask for. At one point, an avalanche of advice from up above knocked me senseless, what with people from church constantly messaging, emailing and wanting to meet up with me to share their two cents worth on what they thought about marrying early. I was polite, cordial always, but little did I realize what this was doing to me. I was swamped, tired out from meeting people after people. It made me feel misunderstood, hurt, saddened and eventually, angry- I was tired of people telling me, constantly telling me what they thought, and passing judgement based on their own experiences. I just didn’t, still don’t buy it. And if there’s anything I learnt, is that when it comes to matters like this, text messaging and emails are the worst form of communication. But I thought to myself, it wasn’t their fault. They cared for me. After all, if they had agreed with me, I would have been relieved. But it came to a point where any talk about this just made it excruciating for me to bear. The fact of the matter is, unlike other previous decisions that I could make without needing anyone’s approval, we both felt it was important to receive blessings and approval from both the church and our parents. I was angry- I felt like just another “case” on their list of “to-do”s, another person they felt would benefit from their good counsel.
I felt stuck.
Stuck like glue to a wrong place. As if nothing at all can be done.
It was then that I realized, that that wasn’t the only thing I had allowed to fester inside. The day-in-day-out frustrations of the hospital ward had taken its toll on me, the complaints of other people rubbed off on me and the slightest irritation frustrated me. It was not normal. Somewhere, somehow, I had wrung my hand away from God and run away.
It was then that someone said to me, that sometimes, things are hard because they’re worth fighting for. Marriage, for one. Holiness, the other. Neither can be accomplished on its own. Both require prayer, consecration, suffering. And the wait is often simply a time of refining, a brutal training ground for the battle ahead.
Sometimes I feel like an awful partner. What with my long hours and tiredness and tantrum-throwing. I look at the conflicts we’ve had and the times you waited for me at hospital, the times you went out of your way to brighten my day and the times you made sacrfices for me… And I realize, that all this is possible, only because of the cycle of love, pain and forgiveness that you put yourself through, time after time.
In the same way, you have shown me that in life, suffering and conflict and frustrations cannot be avoided. But we can choose to forgive. We can choose to look at Frustration in the eye, and tell it that God is bigger than it. We can look at stuck ruts and believe in the possibility of becoming unstuck. We can break the vicious cycle of death and bitterness and anger and enter into a new cycle of grace and forgiveness. We can master death. What’s hard is waiting. And praying. When the rest of the world is moving on, and letting go.
Someone told me things would change. Prayer has a way of changing tides. Someone told me, sometime, perhaps earlier I expected, my parents and hence, church, would come to their senses and support us marrying soon. I don’t quite understand why I’ve been feeling this way, why this feeling has not gone away, why I haven’t been able to let go, and why I cannot bear hearing another person give me their two cents worth on what they think about this issue, whether its supportive or otherwise.
A mushedup mash of emotions.
I’m still figuring this out.
All I know is that this easter, I want to remember what God did for us, His love for us, and His incredible desire for our good.
We can try to run away, but He never lets us go.
Now if we died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.
For we know that since Christ was raised from the dead, he cannot die again;
death no longer has mastery over him.
The death he died, he died to sin once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God.
In the same way, count yourselves dead to sin but alive to God in Christ Jesus.
Romans 6:8-11