It's been 3 and a half years of fruitlessly loving a man, whom I finally realised, would never love me in the same way that I do towards him.
It's not that I didn't know it along the way. It's not that I haven't been rejected by him. It's not that there hadn't been other girls he got together with, or expressed his interest for. It's not that he treats me well or expresses much concern about me. It's not that some of my closest friends haven't repeatedly tried to talk me out of this. But it really had to take me this long a time, this many hard blows, this deep a wound to finally jot me out of my denial.
Denial or blind faithfulness? I have asked myself (and God) so many times over the years. I've always asked God to block off the path of unkind men, to guard my heart against men He does not approve of. Each time a setback happened, I paused and surrendered myself to God, acknowledging that it is not His will, and seeking his guidance to redirect my steps. Each time a spark of hope appeared, I also presented my confusion to God, to make His will clear to me. I thought I was faithful because God is a faithful God. But maybe part of me continued to be stubbornly faithful simply because I was holding on to a false sense of hope.
I know that love is a verb, it is patient and it is kind. It does not
dishonour others, It is not self-seeking. It is slow to anger, it keeps
records of no wrongs. But that's love in action and in physical form. It's been such a long struggle to keep up with my word with God to love the man as much as I can. But there's also love in the intangible, unobservable form, with its emotional attachment and attraction. It is hard to sustain love as an action and love as an emotion, when both are not reciprocated. I've tried. Lord, you know I've tried, even though I'm not sure if I should have... and now I'm tired. After all, Jesus was believed to have preached the gospel for 3 and a half years before his crucifixion (Without any desire to blaspheme, I believe he would have gone on much longer, but God kept it as that length). I have drank the cup and my love needs to be crucified now.
As Neale Donald Walsch wrote in What God Said, that in order to live the truth, we have to "tell the truth about yourself to yourself", "tell the truth about another to yourself" and "tell the truth about yourself to another". So I decided to do away with the usual allegories or metaphors that I was tempted to write in, and to bare the nakedness of my soul. I want to stop lying to myself that I only treat him as a friend or a brother. I don't want to tell him this same lie anymore. I don't want to keep up with this act of omission to my friends and family. I think my heart needs to be nailed to the cross, so that it can be born again in the future.
I don't know how to do it, but only by my own human means. If it be God's will, then may He make the way for me (which I believe He already has).
My dearest God, I know you have not forsaken me. After every weeping, after every sorrow, I will always realign my heart back to You. I will still praise You, and I will still sing of You grace in so many other aspects of my life. I know that You are faithful, even when we are not. I know that You are sovereign, You are kind. Your will shall be done, and Your will shall be the best for me, for him, and possibly for other people even though I may not see it now.
1.1.14
20.1.13
His Healing Hands
Today, God delivered me from another one of my painful baggage in my life.
Let me take you from the beginning of how I ended up in social work.
Some time when I was in my late adolescence, I started to be aware of my desire (or calling) to be in a helping profession. The desire grew partly out of a challenging childhood, it also grew out of a sense of fulfilment whenever I can help others work through their own struggles too.
You see, my father was an absent parent in my growing up years. My parents divorced when I was young, and my contact with my father became like a twice-to-thrice a year meet up. So when my father passed away abruptly, I was deeply shocked. Because of my dad's wrongdoings, nobody in the family spoke about losses and pain. There was an unarticulated undertone of "good riddance", "good that he left" that I sensed from my family. As such, loss and sadness became a taboo, an emotion that must be tucked away. I felt alone in my grief, I felt displaced in my grief. As a youth with limited coping mechanisms, I also felt extremely guilty about his death. I felt guilty about feeling relieved about his death, I felt guilty that I was actually happy to receive insurance payouts.
Then I plunged into another ten years of emotional black hole, frequently experiencing emotional short-circuit when the surge of negative feelings was so intense that the fuse broke. My friends may recall me going to school in a half-daze. I felt dissociated from my body and mind, I would curl up my lips when people are laughing, and knit my eyebrows when people are in trouble.
Maybe social work came into picture when my rational mind concluded that instead of feeling bad about myself, I should put my experiences to good use by supporting those who go through similar struggles. Instead of feeling sad that no one spoke to me about these pains, maybe I will find meaning in talking to others about their pains. As the saying goes, do not do unto others what you wouldn't like others to do unto you. Likewise, do unto others what you would like others to do unto you.
So that was a compelling cause that propelled me into the profession, to provide a kind of support that I wished was available to me when I was younger. It was a relatively happy marriage with my career. In my 2nd year into the profession, I was called upon by God and received what I considered a miraculous healing of my heart and soul. Since God spoke to me that day, he gave me the answers I was looking for, and I was delivered from my past baggage. Subsequently, God worked in me to see his purposes for the trials and tribulations that he placed on me, and I was gradually able to experience the real joy that He meant to give us.
But better than I expected, God had in mind a plan to also grant me the desire to release me from the shadows of my past and fill it with his light.
Today during my on-call duty, I was called back to attend to an ICU case. The patient was not doing well, and the family had to break the news to the young children, on top of making a difficult care decision.
During my session, as I was getting one of the children to talk about her fears towards her father's possible death, she started weeping because she can't imagine life without her father. And unexpectedly, I found myself tearing a little too. I assured her that it's alright to cry, it's alright to grieve. Death, to a child, translates to eternal separation - the fear of never being able to survive on your own, the fear of permanent abandonment. Some people may argue that it is not helpful for the therapist to tear with the client, but for me I felt it communicated that I feel her pain and fears.
I encouraged her to talk as much to her father now as she can. She spoke about how she loves her father, how she will miss him, how she will study hard, how she will look after her family. Often, talking to the patient may not be as significant for the patient, as it does for the grieving party. The griever needs to let out of all his/her thoughts and feelings so that they can be achieve emotional catharsis and eventually closure. It is a way to say goodbye, in faith that it will be heard by the dying person. Finally, we spoke about how her father can continue to live in her despite his physical death.
As I delivered these words to her, I felt that I was instantly healed once again. I felt that I was able to offer what I would hope to hear as a bereaved. I felt that I didn't go through the loss and death in vain. I felt that I had valuable experiences that have allowed me to better support others emotionally.
When I left the session, I felt delivered by God. I felt that He has taken me back to why I joined social work and completed the circle. This was a special moment, a cherished memory that I will bring with me to sustain me in my work.
Lord, I leave the family in your good hands and may you one day lead them to you and your purposes too. Thank you Lord.
Let me take you from the beginning of how I ended up in social work.
Some time when I was in my late adolescence, I started to be aware of my desire (or calling) to be in a helping profession. The desire grew partly out of a challenging childhood, it also grew out of a sense of fulfilment whenever I can help others work through their own struggles too.
You see, my father was an absent parent in my growing up years. My parents divorced when I was young, and my contact with my father became like a twice-to-thrice a year meet up. So when my father passed away abruptly, I was deeply shocked. Because of my dad's wrongdoings, nobody in the family spoke about losses and pain. There was an unarticulated undertone of "good riddance", "good that he left" that I sensed from my family. As such, loss and sadness became a taboo, an emotion that must be tucked away. I felt alone in my grief, I felt displaced in my grief. As a youth with limited coping mechanisms, I also felt extremely guilty about his death. I felt guilty about feeling relieved about his death, I felt guilty that I was actually happy to receive insurance payouts.
Then I plunged into another ten years of emotional black hole, frequently experiencing emotional short-circuit when the surge of negative feelings was so intense that the fuse broke. My friends may recall me going to school in a half-daze. I felt dissociated from my body and mind, I would curl up my lips when people are laughing, and knit my eyebrows when people are in trouble.
Maybe social work came into picture when my rational mind concluded that instead of feeling bad about myself, I should put my experiences to good use by supporting those who go through similar struggles. Instead of feeling sad that no one spoke to me about these pains, maybe I will find meaning in talking to others about their pains. As the saying goes, do not do unto others what you wouldn't like others to do unto you. Likewise, do unto others what you would like others to do unto you.
So that was a compelling cause that propelled me into the profession, to provide a kind of support that I wished was available to me when I was younger. It was a relatively happy marriage with my career. In my 2nd year into the profession, I was called upon by God and received what I considered a miraculous healing of my heart and soul. Since God spoke to me that day, he gave me the answers I was looking for, and I was delivered from my past baggage. Subsequently, God worked in me to see his purposes for the trials and tribulations that he placed on me, and I was gradually able to experience the real joy that He meant to give us.
But better than I expected, God had in mind a plan to also grant me the desire to release me from the shadows of my past and fill it with his light.
Today during my on-call duty, I was called back to attend to an ICU case. The patient was not doing well, and the family had to break the news to the young children, on top of making a difficult care decision.
During my session, as I was getting one of the children to talk about her fears towards her father's possible death, she started weeping because she can't imagine life without her father. And unexpectedly, I found myself tearing a little too. I assured her that it's alright to cry, it's alright to grieve. Death, to a child, translates to eternal separation - the fear of never being able to survive on your own, the fear of permanent abandonment. Some people may argue that it is not helpful for the therapist to tear with the client, but for me I felt it communicated that I feel her pain and fears.
I encouraged her to talk as much to her father now as she can. She spoke about how she loves her father, how she will miss him, how she will study hard, how she will look after her family. Often, talking to the patient may not be as significant for the patient, as it does for the grieving party. The griever needs to let out of all his/her thoughts and feelings so that they can be achieve emotional catharsis and eventually closure. It is a way to say goodbye, in faith that it will be heard by the dying person. Finally, we spoke about how her father can continue to live in her despite his physical death.
As I delivered these words to her, I felt that I was instantly healed once again. I felt that I was able to offer what I would hope to hear as a bereaved. I felt that I didn't go through the loss and death in vain. I felt that I had valuable experiences that have allowed me to better support others emotionally.
When I left the session, I felt delivered by God. I felt that He has taken me back to why I joined social work and completed the circle. This was a special moment, a cherished memory that I will bring with me to sustain me in my work.
Lord, I leave the family in your good hands and may you one day lead them to you and your purposes too. Thank you Lord.
20.11.12
Pursuit
At the gentle touch of God's word, the unveiling of His grace, I knew I
was no longer the ugly, unloved Orual. I shed away her loathsome face, her painful losses, her unspoken sorrows.
I experienced the peace and stillness of the moment as time froze in His presence. With His gracious hands, He lifts the baggage off my shoulders and leave me with the lightness of my spirit. His beauty poured generously into my heart, overflowing from the vessel. The joyous songs of His love sing to me, the captivating view of His art work wooed me, silenced me, awed me.
I feel like I just heard a really beautiful love story, realising the author had written it for me.
My Lord, I feel beautiful as Psyche tonight.
I experienced the peace and stillness of the moment as time froze in His presence. With His gracious hands, He lifts the baggage off my shoulders and leave me with the lightness of my spirit. His beauty poured generously into my heart, overflowing from the vessel. The joyous songs of His love sing to me, the captivating view of His art work wooed me, silenced me, awed me.
I feel like I just heard a really beautiful love story, realising the author had written it for me.
My Lord, I feel beautiful as Psyche tonight.
19.11.12
Pensive Moments
"The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy." -- Proverbs 14:10So the good news came. The heart was relieved of its long-carried burdens. Some joy was expressed, a prayer was said and thanks given.
But the flight of words also brought along a tinge of sorrow, a heaviness that began to sink in. Sorrow started as a small teardrop, that slowly, quietly, madly spread like a crimson ink blot over a white bibulous paper, a wildfire in the rainforest. It uncontrollably expands its circumference across the territory, contaminating the purity of the land and robbing it of any joy and life that previously sprouted.
I tried to contain the fire, I tried to stop the ink. But the selfishness that I did not discard catalysed the catastrophe. Bad thoughts fuelled the imagination, and imagination ignited more bad thoughts.
I re-read Till We Have Faces and felt like Orual in her veil. The ending lifted my veil, and brought some light, but I remained unconsoled.
It has only been a short journey, a small fraction of my entire life, but it felt like forever. It still feels like forever before eternity.
In between work and sleep, in between morning and nightfall, in between now and then, I carry this cup of penitence in hope that age will one day take it away from my hands.
5.11.12
1.4.12
A long drought
It has been almost two years since the wonderer came to this piece of land and settled down. When she first arrived, life was scarce and the vegetation was sparse. The land had been battered by harsh weather condition, and there were still evidence of desolation from the ravage of the last habitants.
The wonderer had come in search for companionship. She came in search for peace and warmth in a place that she can call her own. Realising the state of the land had been poor due to a long drought, she started tending to the land in good faith that the land will one day blossom and bloom. She began to water the land with the spring water that she had previously collected and carried with her, leaving only some for her own subsistence. She listened to the sorrows and troubles of the land, and felt a deep sense of empathy towards the hardship that it had been through. Gradually and naturally, the wonderer began to grow roots to the ground.
All would have been rosy, if the Lord had put a quick end to the painfully long drought. Unfortunately, the wait had been futile and the land did not bear fruits. As the days went by, the wonderer grew more and more disheartened. Everyone sows in hope of a fruitful harvest, but for the wonderer, it has been a barren effort. As much as she enjoyed giving and tending to the land, she became downspirited when the people of the land started making demands of the wonderer, sometimes picking on her flaws. She longed to relinquish her role and assumed responsibility, but felt a sense of obligation and sympathy for the land and people. After all, life always has its ups and downs, and kindness almost always bear good fruits for both the giver and the receiver. As a consolation to herself, she made up her mind to leave when heaven finally decides to open its floodgates.
It has only been two years, but it felt like ten. And month after month, the wonderer continues to wait, continues to pray for the drought to pass, and for the life-giving showers to arrive. Spring will certainly come, and everyone's miseries shall end with His deliverance.
The wonderer had come in search for companionship. She came in search for peace and warmth in a place that she can call her own. Realising the state of the land had been poor due to a long drought, she started tending to the land in good faith that the land will one day blossom and bloom. She began to water the land with the spring water that she had previously collected and carried with her, leaving only some for her own subsistence. She listened to the sorrows and troubles of the land, and felt a deep sense of empathy towards the hardship that it had been through. Gradually and naturally, the wonderer began to grow roots to the ground.
All would have been rosy, if the Lord had put a quick end to the painfully long drought. Unfortunately, the wait had been futile and the land did not bear fruits. As the days went by, the wonderer grew more and more disheartened. Everyone sows in hope of a fruitful harvest, but for the wonderer, it has been a barren effort. As much as she enjoyed giving and tending to the land, she became downspirited when the people of the land started making demands of the wonderer, sometimes picking on her flaws. She longed to relinquish her role and assumed responsibility, but felt a sense of obligation and sympathy for the land and people. After all, life always has its ups and downs, and kindness almost always bear good fruits for both the giver and the receiver. As a consolation to herself, she made up her mind to leave when heaven finally decides to open its floodgates.
It has only been two years, but it felt like ten. And month after month, the wonderer continues to wait, continues to pray for the drought to pass, and for the life-giving showers to arrive. Spring will certainly come, and everyone's miseries shall end with His deliverance.
4.3.12
Buried
Often in my lucid moments
when I'm lying
in bed and deep in thought,
I question
the irrationality of my actions
Like a gambling addict who claims,
"I will throw in the towel after this round",
I never do.
And the casino,
sensing my forlornness,
hands me a new stack of chips at the exit
lures me back to a new game
Certainly it is not the acrylic's fault.
I am buying hope with my time
I'm burning the wick on my head
I'm living on the words in a book
But maybe when I finally win a game,
and I bring the chips to the counter
only to get paper in return
Then the full magnitude
of my foolishness shall
befall me.
Awake, await
Bury the dead and marry life
The Lord is my gold.
-
I don't know better but I pray He does.
when I'm lying
in bed and deep in thought,
I question
the irrationality of my actions
Like a gambling addict who claims,
"I will throw in the towel after this round",
I never do.
And the casino,
sensing my forlornness,
hands me a new stack of chips at the exit
lures me back to a new game
Certainly it is not the acrylic's fault.
I am buying hope with my time
I'm burning the wick on my head
I'm living on the words in a book
But maybe when I finally win a game,
and I bring the chips to the counter
only to get paper in return
Then the full magnitude
of my foolishness shall
befall me.
Awake, await
Bury the dead and marry life
The Lord is my gold.
-
I don't know better but I pray He does.
5.1.12
Withering, blooming
Ever since I started serious doodling (which sounds like an oxymoron), I have almost completely abandoned writing altogether, apart from the regular emails and reports at work and the daily prayers in my journal.
2011 had been such a slow year. When I was going through the days, it felt like a painful crawl. But now that it is over, it feels like it had happened at the turn of a page. I feel a little sad to confess that the year had started like a flower budding with hopes for a beautiful blossom, only to wither and die before its time. And when it died, it took away a part of me. I woke up from my dream in the middle of summer, and started spending much of my off days hiding in the shroud of anonymity of a crowded cafe, busily reading or drawing away. And time, the magical solution, shall distort memories, dilute sentiments and dispose whichever of the two that we choose not to keep.
I really delight in this solitude while I am at it, but the comfort of this reclusiveness may end as I move on to a new workplace and possibly new phase of life. You know, one of the most beautiful things I find about life is how with every fall of a fruit comes many new seeds, with every dark chilly night comes a new dawn, and with every winter comes a blooming spring. As with nature's cycle, with every fall comes a rise, with every loss comes a gain, with every end comes a new beginning.
My friend, thank you for dropping by. May the new year bring joy, comfort and peace to you. :-)
2011 had been such a slow year. When I was going through the days, it felt like a painful crawl. But now that it is over, it feels like it had happened at the turn of a page. I feel a little sad to confess that the year had started like a flower budding with hopes for a beautiful blossom, only to wither and die before its time. And when it died, it took away a part of me. I woke up from my dream in the middle of summer, and started spending much of my off days hiding in the shroud of anonymity of a crowded cafe, busily reading or drawing away. And time, the magical solution, shall distort memories, dilute sentiments and dispose whichever of the two that we choose not to keep.
I really delight in this solitude while I am at it, but the comfort of this reclusiveness may end as I move on to a new workplace and possibly new phase of life. You know, one of the most beautiful things I find about life is how with every fall of a fruit comes many new seeds, with every dark chilly night comes a new dawn, and with every winter comes a blooming spring. As with nature's cycle, with every fall comes a rise, with every loss comes a gain, with every end comes a new beginning.
My friend, thank you for dropping by. May the new year bring joy, comfort and peace to you. :-)
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