Saturday, December 31, 2005

:: The Room ::

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features, save for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "People I Have Liked". I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one.

And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed."

The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read", "Lies I Have Told", "Comfort I Have Given", "Jokes I Have Laughed At". Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents". I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped.

I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.

When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To" I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts", I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me.

One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwheming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key.

But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here! Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one?

Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card.

"No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood.

He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished."

I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

Sunday, December 25, 2005

after reading tomodachi's blog, i must concede that it is indeed a season of excuses.. and these excuses are multi-faceted indeed.

but yet.. i begin to contemplate about Christmas in this early hour of December the 25th. origins and customs aside, the very siginificance of Christmas is itself indestructible. christmas may have originated only 2000 years after Christ was born, or it may have been originally a festival that didn't even involve Christ, but we cannot deny the fact that there was a day in history when the Son of Man drew His first breath.

Christmas was a day so great that history was split into two: BC and AD.

i'll admit to following certain customs on christmas like buying presents, shopping a J8 till eleven pm, and feasting on terribly-price-inflated honey baked ham, but i also know how special this day is for me as a Christian. no matter what other people may do on Christmas day, it will never change the fact that on the first christmas Jesus was born. without christmas, He would not have lived on for 33 years to fulfill the prophecy, and there would be no perfect sacrifice to pay the penalties of sin.

if it takes christmas to bring a non-believer into church, into a faith shared by billions worldwide, i would do nothing in the world to stop that. maybe from the day this person accepts Jesus, everyday would be christmas -- a reminder of the purpose of His incarnation.

while we're at it, may i just say that His second coming is as certain as His first.



have yourself a merry little christmas now. =)

Thursday, December 22, 2005

:: IKEA ::

a trip to ikea would never be complete without..







a true fan would recognise its remains. haha..



look who wastes the sauce like this?! =p





and we welcome a new addition to my family.. (hint: its green and prickly.)
















??? no... no that's not it.














BOBBY!!





my kaktus Bobby. =)

Friday, December 16, 2005

:: Mummy... ::














I















WANT















TO















GO

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

:: New room! ::

i must say the new place is coming along quite nicely. for a 3-day-old hideout, it sure is very self-sufficient. our fridge was still full the moment we moved in, i've got a desk, a bed and a piano in my room, we've gotten cable tv and internet connection....

my mum wastes no time.

its good to be back in the cyberworld. =)

Friday, December 09, 2005

as i hid behind the door and watched you play with the soft toy i had disposed of in the kitchen, i could see that you want so much to still be a part of us. one mistake, and you have lost it all. but looking at you when you are alone, with no one else around you, i can see you without your facade, without the ego or strong front that you try to let people see..

you're broken.

but so are we.

i know i'll miss you so much after we move off, i hope i can still see you often. how is a child to live without her father?

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

it's been and is going to be a hectic and tiring period of time as i prepare moving. i've noticed that my hands have become rough from cleaning, cockroach parts no longer gross me out, and my diet has become a regular dose of packet foods and canned drinks.

when i return home to furniture-less rooms filled with labelled cardboard boxes, the feeling towards this flat is no more permanent than how i would treat my hotel room for a 4-day trip.

amidst the bustle of getting to know new neighbours, new coats of paint, new IKEA furniture.... the thought of moving is immensely painful.

the cardboard boxes are labelled according to their contents, but this time round they will be delivered to two separate addresses. 3 of us moving to serangoon, and one to somewhere else. as we throw away things we no longer need, knowing well that many contain sentiments of our past, we choose to close one eye and let it go.

dad's konica minolta camera accessories lay next to the recycle bin in our kitchen. he had always loved photography.

my heart aches at knowing that after this sunday, i will say goodbye to a phase of my life as i step into the next milestone. of being in the position of the child of a single parent. i never thought it would happen to me, but i always tell myself that God knows best. even though in future, the most my dad could ever be in our house is but an unwelcome guest, i still believe in miracles.

i wish i could tell him that he could come anytime, that he could even move in, but i know i cannot. partly because its against my selfish and unforgiving will, and that circumstances no longer allow for such a decision to be made. but some things don't have to change, and some things may even change for the better.



"When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When troubles like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul."
-Spafford

Sunday, December 04, 2005

:: Phua Chu Kang? ::

today, we throttled down to Serangoon to give our new house a fresh coat of paint!

jean has sore limbs, pale yellow and orange paint on her clothes, a huge sense of accomplishment...

and a very pretty room. =)

we thank the Lord for His providence of supportive aunts, uncles and cousins who came down to lend us a hand.. we thank the Lord for His providence of this new home, these new furniture.... and this new beginning. may this new home be filled with His love each and every single day.

fare thee well, tampines. and if there's one thing i won't miss about you, it's the ever-growing crowd at TM.

Friday, December 02, 2005

sigh.

Descant

Will your anchor hold
In the storms of life?
When the clouds unfold
Their wings of strife?
When the strong tides lift
And the cables strain
Will your anchor drift,
Or firm remain?

We have an anchor
That keeps the soul
Steadfast and sure
While the billows roll
Fastened to the Rock
Which cannot move
Grounded firm and deep
In the Saviour's love

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