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bringing forth

a little notebook to scribble simple thoughts, inspired devotions and deep, quiet laments in.

 

Pirouetting on the head

We are given the breadth of the act of making choices. I do not mean the choice to select a Gucci handbag over a vintage bargain. This is a choice hedged in by economic constraints. It is not about true choice because it does not begin on level playing ground. In the end I may realise that neither a designer acquisition nor a dated steal is what I need. The real choice could be just deciding to dispense off the thought of spending. Choices become not a split between wants but a knowledge of needs over desires.
There are choices which upon making, clothes us in what we want to be identified with.
Excuses in the guise of calculated decisions aside; what we take for granted as natural choices which have to be made in life, are not as natural as we think they are. Two analogies put across over the past week has given me room for contemplation. Whether I remain in this room, or walk new paths in search of seemingly more comfortable accommodation, is all truly a matter of choice.

Tim shared his thoughts on feelings in response to the question 'Are we not how we feel?'
He reached out and touched Richard. I am feeling Richard but I am not Richard. Likewise let us imagine there is a dark, dirty troll in front of me. I am feeling him with both my hands. The more I touch the dirtier I get. Let us call our troll Mr Depressed. The more I feel him the more depressed I think I am, seeing my hands get soiled by his filth. I feel Depressed but I am not Depressed. We identify ourselves not with our emotions because emotions come and go. They will come and yes we are created to feel angry, happy, upset, irritated, peaceful. However the more we think we feel angry we gradually believe we are angry. Thinking on such things lead to an acting on them. Do we want others to identify us with emotions? Do we align ourselves according to the state of emotion/s we are in?

I am reading Max Lucardo's A Love Worth Living. He writes beautifully. When I arrived at this passage towards the middle of the book, my mind started making some connections. I'll quote in full.
Some folks don't know we have an option. To liten to our vocabulary you'd think we are the victims of our thoughts. "Don't talk to me," we say. "I'm in a bad mood." As if a mood were a place to which we were assigned ("I can't call you. I'm in Bosnia.") rather than an emotion we permit. Or we say, "Don't mess with her. She has a bad disposition." Is a disposition something we have? Like a cold or the flu? Are we the victims of the emotional bacteria of the season? Or do we have a choice?

People can advice you against being trapped in the throes of anger or depression or attempt to help pull you out of damaging states of emotional being. I may be generalising and that I fully acknowledge. However we are still given the choice to seek the strength to step out of these states we, more than often, so willingly succumb ourselves to.
Just like He gave us the freedom to choose, we can align our choices next to His desires and plans for us; that in the end it is not a choice between emotions which characterises us but a choice to let our identity be found in Him.

We capture every thought and make it give up and obey Christ.
2 Corinthians 10:5

He does not compels us to. We may not be able to stop the emotions from flowing but we can manage how we handle them. Our identity can be more stable than the pirouettes from mind to heart and to mind again, which emotions take us through.

 
 

Bouquets to savour

It is morning. Good morning! It took me just over an hour to depart from my warm sheets. What an effort! That is why, especially on days when the pantry is low on decent brekkie munchables, much has to be done to put together a great energy booster.
And I am having it now, my cup of chai latte, warm and simmering in a gorgeous mug Mel gave me. The noble piece of china deserves some fair description. It is cream with a dainty handle, slim base, and wide generous rim to bless its drinker with sumptuous sips of tea. Very Victorian. Lovely imprints of flowers pirouette across the surface and dip their delicate petals right into the inside of the mug. So even as you start getting lost savouring liquid ambrosia, a reminder of the world peeps in and startles you with its cheery audacity.
How dare it do so!

My chai latte making skills are improving. Or rather my selection of ingredients to prepare the brew is improving. The best concoction so far, though future ones are bound to best my 'best so far', is

a sachet of chai tea leaves
2/3 parts hot water (left to cool for a couple of minutes after boiling)
1/3 parts soy milk (whipped with a spoon - please do not roll eyes)
generous amounts of honey (ie. as much as your palate desires)


add the ingredients into your choiciest mug in the order they appeared above. And with the spoon that whipped the milk (no overwhipping either, please) stir the concoction. It will remain a camel-coloured concoction till you put it to your lips, which in slightly skilled hands and a generous spirit, will caress your tastebuds lurvingly.

Are you there yet?
Chai is a fantastic creation. Black tea leaves usually spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamon or anise. Very Indian. Very very clever =)
I am working through my box of sachets. I know these bundles look nothing like black tea leaves and spices. But I have a packet of proper tea leaves with spices which I look fondly on as I drink my tea. Good imagination stimuli, and I remain hopeful. Till the day I get it almost up to lux perfection (I have about 18 sachets to experiment) -
It will taste so good that my flowers will want to dip their perky heads into my brew every morning. For as long as I decide to savour it slowly that is!

 
 

Comfort stamps out Confusion

Some are longwinded, some short and abrupt; some digress, some are but rhetorics;
some are polite, some hollow and sweet; many are insufficient and many are inexperienced - and hence immature, confused, confusing.
but those which come from Him, few when compared to the proliferate issuing from others' mouths, are thoughtful and deliver more than our questions, and thoughts, asked for.

I had questions and I wanted answers. Answers. Why did it seem like there were none? A few entries back I was bemoaning the dryness in my life, the joy which has seemed to seep out of my body through rivers I did not even know were sucking my lifeline out of me.
He gave me Psalm 51 on Sunday and I was to pray on it if I believed it spoke to me. I did. Afterall I had no idea what better to do.

Create in me a pure heart, O God,
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not cast me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Have I lost the direction where the wellspring is calling me from? Am I... lost? My only sacrifice is a broken spirit and a broken and contrite heart. What more can I give? I am so broken and, if it could not be worse, I only just realised I was. I was almost a pauper, with a comfortable life and material possessions, but a desperate aching heart that needed an outpouring once more.

Restore - there was a store of joy within me, small but willing and ready. But was it enough to sustain? Like our bodies are intelligent creations that know how to slow down operations in order to conserve what energy remains; the joy was sufficient but it has, because of some of my wanton actions, become all but a paltry bumbling brook.

Psalms is not just a book of calling out to God in our deepest distresses. It is above all a Book of Praises. No matter how many times David wails, pleads and groans, he always ends his prayer with praise. Giving thanks, and thanks again, and again.

And He answers, through His Spirit dwelling deep within me. He is the source of all comfort and where joy resides in. That is why joy brings restful peace for it comes from an abundant, ever-giving source. Jesus.
Who gives the most unusual answers.

poetic
evocative
expressed through a deeply felt desire to worship
to praise
a compelling need to write
what I read
understanding begets understanding

His answers are all done through, and lived through, me. I become His answers to me. There is no confusion. How can there be if there exists no one or thing who can interfere? His answers take the longest time to be completely revealed, and the shortest to know what has to be said.

The answers are there but do I hear them? It took me two nights to receive it in uncontested entirety. This time from Isaiah 12

I will praise you, Lord.
Although you were angry with me,
your anger has turned away
and you have comforted me.
Behold, God is my salvation;
I will trust and not be afraid:
for the Lord JEHOVAH is my strength and my song;
he has become my salvation.
With joy you will draw water
from the wells of salvation.

That is His answer to me.

 
 

where is my heart at now?

Have I been robbed of the true joy when I least knew it? Have I been trying to convince myself that there is still much joy in my life when I still have not fully recovered from all the afflictions I have lived through over the past few months?

Lord, I yearn to discover that heart of true joy once more. It is more than friendships or circumstances can provide. Yes they are important to me and without great friendships and the awesome circumstances they birth into being I cannot be where I am at.

But Lord, oh Lord, I am crying because I know that a part of me is so so broken. A part of me is afraid I cannot have the joy so lodged within me before once again.

I am so sorry Jesus for doubting You could ever fully heal me of the pain, the torment, the grieving that just keeps coming back and never seems to end.

There is none like You
No one else can touch my heart like You do
I could search for all eternity long
And find there is none like You
Your mercy flows like a river wide
And healing comes from Your hands
Suffering children are safe in Your arms
There is none like You
My Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, Holy Spirit, I do not want to lose my source of Joy. Only You know the state of my heart, how messy it has become over the past months, how brokenness follows brokenness, how thin and frail my self has become.
I need You to heal me once more. Fix up the brokenness because Lord I am tired of the despair. Holy Spirit set me free and soaring on Your wings of peace and love.
I can hold up in front of my loved ones, smile for them and laugh with them, listen to their troubles. But Lord only You know the struggles I go through. I invite You to take charge of my life. I repent for all the many times I ignored the call of Your voice, when I struggled to bear and handle my burdens. I have been stubborn.
Holy Spirit I am running dry and I am near barren. I welcome You in once more to fill me. No more rituals or running through the motions. Emmanuel, You are here with me always. I thank You for always drawing me back to You. And I need You ever so much more now.
Lord I need the joy only You can give me.

 
 

Strong Enough

How many times do we blame ourselves incessantly the moment we fall into a pit, by conscious choice or careless mistake? When the momentum of self-pity the blame drags us into is far more destructive than the initial problem itself.
Why do we strive so hard not knowing if the goals are what we truly need? Why the endless battles against the slings and arrows of the world with hefty burdens on our backs? Why the mutilation of our emotional, mental and spiritual states whenever things do not seem to go well at all?
We are so weak. We all cry. Whether tears flow or not, the heart sheds tears of moaning. He knows the weight of each tear that falls and His heart knows our heartbeat of pain. But He is not helpless with the suffering, as most of us can be when our loved ones are beaten down.
He comforts and says, 'I will fill you with a joy so deep and eternal that all your troubles and suffering will no longer be insurmountable.'

As I rest against this cold hard wall, will you pass me by?
Will you criticize me as I sit and cry?
I had fought so hard and thought that all my battles had been won
Only to find the war had just begun

Is He not strong enough?
Is He not pure enough?
To break me, pour me out and start again?
Is He not brave enough?
To take one chance with me
Please can I have one chance to start again

Will my weakness fall and and now make me suffer for a lifetime?
Is there any way to be made whole again
If I be renewed and find forgiveness by the strength I've never had
Will my scars forever ruin all God's plans?

Is He not strong enough?
Is He not pure enough?
To break me, pour me out and start again?
Is He not brave enough?
To take one chance with me
Please can I have one chance to start again

He took my life into His hands
And turned it all around
In my most desperate circumstance, is where I'm finally found
That You are strong enough
That You are pure enough
To break me, pour me out and start again
That You are brave enough
To take one chance on me,
Oh thank You for my chance to start again

Stacie Orrico 'Strong Enough'

 
 

Cards n Such

My heart melted when I received a thick ecru envelope with two rows of stamps plastered on the front. I recognised my father's elegant script. Ahhhhh! The joy of receiving a simple something from home!

It is truly awesome what a card can do.
I do not need an expensive present, a lavish dinner, a photogenic cake or a congregation of people throwing a party. Something simple will do.

But sometimes I wonder if more could be said. hmmmm

'For a Special Sister' (I'm a special sister to my one and only sister in the world, how's that for an irreplaceable relationship?!) My sis wrote 'dear Jie Jie' in her neat, reserved font and ended with a doodle of a flower (which looks a bit like a frangipani) and a snail (she remembers my snail!!!). The flower spoke 'Wishing you a Happy 21st Birthday!!!' and she ended With Love, Xiaohua =)
So sweet! I kind of wished she said a bit more. But it still warms my heart that she wrote a card, whatever was said and not said, the words still said enough.

'Daughter, Thinking of you on your birthday, and smiling' My father wrote 祝你生日快乐. He has gorgeous penmanship and having the characters printed on was beautiful in themselves. And my mum's cursive hand 'Dearest Xiaohui,... Wishing You A Happy 21st Birthday!'... I am such a truly blessed princess of the King!

The joys of being loved by the people who love you the most in this world - my family, makes me realise just how blessed I am. To recognise their handwriting instinctively and connect it to each special person in my life... I am thankful for being having the opportunities to know them in so intimate a manner.

Of course I sometimes wish they said a bit more. But it is more than the words. It is the spaces in between the scribbles, the loving intentions which truly lift my days.

I am very happy. Joyful