elthinks

Look at my lovely hair! - Part 2

2006-01-06T17:15:00.000-08:00

Did you know...

2005-12-22T22:44:00.000-08:00

Did you know...that it is considered politically incorrect and even grossly offensive to say "merry christmas" here in good old apple-pie snowman christmas tree America? Many retail and commercial outlets shy away from that potentially explosive greeting, opting instead for a more neutral "happy holidays". A friend of mine was instructed in no uncertain terms to desist greeting her customers with a cheery "merry christmas".

The tide erodes further against any expression of Christian values in public, decrying such expressions as "unconstitutional" and "intolerant". Removing the "Christ" from Christmas wasn't enough (changing it to Xmas); now they're removing the "Christmas" from Christmas.

*sighs*

The journey - continued.

2005-12-22T10:40:00.000-08:00

"I'll bring you more than a song, for a song in itself is not what you have required. You search much deeper within through the way things appear; you're looking into my heart." (Matt Redman – “The Heart of Worship”)

I feel at the moment very naked. I have been stripped, to the core of my being, stripped by the testings that I have gone through this past semester, testings that have left me not unscathed. It is quite disheartening to be faced with a very real "me" that is thoroughly in opposition to my fanciful preconceptions, shaped in part by my own ignorant pride, and the way in which that pride inflated sincere compliments and praise to create a brazen statue of my "character".

I have found myself.

With the inhibitions and God-given boundaries of my parents thrown off (as a function of distance), and with the full responsibility for quite nearly every daily decision placed squarely in its stead...I have reeled with the weight of that responsibility, and buckled not a few times.
No more do I hear loving voices urging me to sleep, to wake up, to study instead of "socialize", to eat this or that or the other...or not. The responsibility is mine. And has been mine for the last 4 months, and counting...
The temperature of that test of responsibility alone is high enough to melt silver. It has been said that men are like sponges; you have to squeeze them to find out what's inside them. That squeezing revealed a young man sorely lacking in self-discipline, woefully inadequate at keeping schedules, reining in his eating habits, keeping tabs on his sleep cycle...exhibiting himself as a spectacular failure, more so with each succeeding instance, though interspersed with rare flashes of resolve and remedy...
Thus, I have found myself - exposed in my dire need for self-control. I need to plug into the Source of discipline. My spirit yearns for that self-control, but my body cannot find the means to attain it.

"Stand up! What are you doing down on your face?"
(Jehovah, speaking to Joshua after the spectacular defeat of Israel at Ai)

By the grace of God, the riches of strength and resolve and supernatural empowering to do good that lie with the spoil of the Messiah's great Victory over Sin and Death, I SHALL stand up!

My faith. Serious challenges, I considered them in the fighting. Now, in retrospect, those challenges have shrunk considerably, in light of my continual daily decision to believe, to cling to Him who sits on the throne, and unto the Lamb, and to His Spirit. Oppositions to His sovereignty, character, veracity, all raised in passionate declarations of the triumph of humanity over the shackles of "tradition" and "religion" and primitive notions of God...all fall at the feet of the Risen Savior.

"We men (humans) fancifully consider our intellects to be the equal of God. We dismiss what our feeble minds are unable to grasp as "irrational", "illogical", "myth", "fantasy...
The audacity!
"Shall the clay say to the Potter, what are you doing?"
The Enemy deceives us and attempts to coerce us into his rebellion against the sovereign Lord. Our sin nature is attracted to this, to the lure of power, wisdom...true life? Deception...it biteth at the last.
I stand FIRM. My heart is steadfast O God; my heart is steadfast. I stand upon your Word, trust you, and raise up the shield of faith against the lies of the Enemy. In God I put my trust; I shall not be moved. He is my Rock and Refuge; I shall not be moved." (Revelation that came to the Writer while desperately crying out to his God)

I have come to realize that the doubts that have been raised, the challenges...they all exposed the inadequacy of the response: "so I was taught". The violent winds of humanism and its lies exposed the shallowness of my roots - rooted not so much in the solid bedrock soil of the Word, but in the teachings of men. I care not to discount the great value of those teachings, but I have come to realize that the best defense against the lies of the Enemy is not "so I was taught" but a bold "it is WRITTEN". Search the Scriptures. A time of fortification and rooting in the Word is called for now, in preparation for future battles that lie ahead on this long journey…
Furthermore, I have come to realize that doubts may have a very positive effect on faith, oxymoronic though it may sound. For if no doubts are present, what then is faith? ‘Tis not faith; ‘tis knowledge.

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)

The Word’s definition of faith presumes the existence of at least some measure of doubt: “...what we do not see”. I have learned that in those instances where I do not see, faith is most needed, and faith most exercised. May I continue to choose to believe in the face of doubt, and so exercise my faith, while searching and hoping for vindication for the Almighty against the accusations of His enemies, intellectual or otherwise.
Thus, I have found myself – shallow at the roots, in explanation of my shivering and violent struggling against the lies that I have encountered. I have not been rooted deeply and firmly enough in the Source to stalwartly weather the unrelenting attacks of the Enemy as I strive to grow and bear fruit for the Gardener. My goal, then, becomes this:

"Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers." (Psalm 1:1-3)

The Journey

2005-10-10T18:25:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday at FBC (the church I attend), We (my friends and I) were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by cheery old ladies dealing out free green wristbands. They even wrung the wristbands on us.
The bands, as most do, had a message inscribed on it: "Pressing on...the Journey continues!"

How apt.

The bands are part of a church-wide spiritual growth drive. I think the campaign is "Pressing On", and the tag-line is "Because We're not There Yet"; not too sure. Could be.
Anyways, all of us in the congregation were given blue-covered devotionals to read for 40 days, with a focus on the theme of "pressing on".

Spot on.

It's coming to 2 months now...5 days more, to be exact. The initial excitement of my moving here has begun to wear off. Permanence does not seem to be an inherent characteristic of novelty. As the dust and fireworks settle from the Move (remember the airport? The left-behind bag?), the long road ahead slowly comes into focus and begins to loom larger and larger...

Valleys, mountains, deserts, thorns...so narrow, the path. I realize there is no turning back now. The fact begins to sink in: my life has been changed, and my "old life" has slipped out of my hand forever. I have to keep moving forward, for there will be no real "going back" to Penang, to home, to "the good old days". It hurts to think that; but pain often accompanies truth, and then healing.

Pressing on...the Journey continues: because we're not there yet. I am so keenly aware of my own deficiences and character flaws and weaknesses now; the excitement of forming new habits is wearing thin, and it's getting harder to keep up the fervor of jumping out of bed at 6:42 am in the morning, and say no to those steaming slices of pizza...plus, the increasingly cold weather is not helping my resolve to "eat right". Ugh. Joel, have you heard of this wonderful thing called "exercise"? :p

One of the things that is wearing me down is the constant tide of humanistic thinking and philosophy that is perpetually breaking against the walls of mind. Is God real? Creation is not scientific! Look at the jealous, arbitrary God of the Old Testament! Humans will be able to attain eternal life without God through cloning. Let's take the Bible "symbolically"...

*shivers with rage*

It's a constant, daily battle to renew my mind, immerse myself in the Word and cling to God for the strength to "...[cast] down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ" (2 Corinthians 11:5) The fighting wears me down sometimes; somedays I just get so...in need of the cleansing flow of the Word.

"For ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye might receive the promise. For yet a little while, and he that shall come will come, and will not tarry. Now the just shall live by faith: but if any man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him." (Hebrews 10:36-38)

And encouragement from a kindred spirit, fellow soldier, who shared a beautiful song with me:

The mountains are steep
And the valleys low
Already I'm weary
But I have so far to go
Oh, and sorrow holds my hand
And suffering sings me songs
But when I close my eyes
I know to whom I belong
Who makes me strong

I will be free
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain
Oh, I'll never turn back
'Cause He waits for me
Oh, I will be free

A wise man, a rich man
In pauper's clothes
A shepherd to lead us
Through the land of woes
Though many battles I have lost
So many rivers yet to cross
But when my eyes behold the Son
Who bore my loss, who paid the cost

I will be free
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain
Oh, I'll never turn back
'Cause He waits for me
Oh, I will be free

Oh, and I'll dance on silver moonlight
And I'll walk through velvet fields
Oh, and I'll run into the arms
The arms that set me free

I will be free
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain
Oh, I'll never turn back
'Cause He waits....
I'll never turn back
Don't you ever turn back
Because someday, someday we're gonna see
We will be free ...

The Journey lies long ahead...the Narrow is paved with tears shed for 2 thousand years, wrung from the saints sincere, martyred and mourned...but this is the road I choose, the path stained with the blood and sweat of Him who suffered on the cross to make me righteous before God...

Pressing on...the Journey continues; because we're not there yet!

2005-10-10T18:24:00.000-07:00

We get some really WILD cloud formations here, I tell you...

"The heavens declare the glory of God;
the skies proclaim the work of his hands.
Day after day they pour forth speech;
night after night they display knowledge.
There is no speech or language
where their voice is not heard.
Their voice goes out into all the earth,
their words to the ends of the world. " Ps. 19:1-4

2005-10-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

look at my lovely hair! ;-)

shameless?

2005-09-21T21:24:00.000-07:00

oii...people...it doesn't take that much to move some neurons and fingers and put some of your thoughts/opinions/etc. up here, does it? ;p maybe i'm asking too much...
seems like every time i explicitly request comments, they either trickle in, or just completely avoid the post... *shrugs and muses* wonder why...
big thanks to those of you who make this blog alive, though...you know who you are. ;-)

i shamelessly ask again for comments/thoughts/brickbats/etc. i really DO want to know what you guys think. PLEASE? PRETTY PLEASE?

tsk, tsk...shameless, joel...you have to resort to THIS? tsk, tsk...

uh...help me come up with a title! please?

2005-09-20T17:09:00.000-07:00

Aight, let's open a forum, right here...make this blog a little livelier. ;-)

I have just formed, or rather reinforced, an opinion that humanistic philosophies and attacks on the Bible, parts of the Bible, and all things labeled "traditionalist", "fundamentalist", or "conservative" (which I am encountering right here in college...in the thick of battle, actually) stem from a desire to justify an ungodly lifestyle, to silence the cries of a pained and seared conscience.

"A man's morality dictates his philosophy".

Agree? Disagree? Don't have the foggiest what I'm on about? Want to clobber me on the head with a 10-ton mortar? Make some noise, people! ;p

er...

2005-09-18T19:33:00.000-07:00

*hangs head in shame*

Yes, yes...it has been a very long time since I've blogged, and the reason for the silence is NOT a lack of happenings.
I could avoid personal responsibility and blame the Writer's Block Demons, or blame my "busy" schedule, or blame the visitors to my room, or blame...

huh.

No such luck. I hereby apologize for my disgusting laziness in maintaining this blog. The tone overhanging the last post was anything but positive, and my life at present little reflects the sombre, downbeat mood in that post.

*drum roll*

I have found my church!!

First Baptist. A place where my eyes were opened to the universality of God's family. A place where I wept at the beauty of the unity of the Lord's body at the Lord's table. A place where I experienced what it meant to worship the same God in a different place and with different people. A place I finally felt I could call my spiritual home...

The church is not unlike PCC, in terms of size, demographic, preaching style, and worship flavor. The congregation is a decent mix of young and old, with a large representation of the universities and schools in the vicinity (mine included). They are strong in the Word, authentic in their faith and exuberant in their passion. The preaching is expository, much like at PCC.
Most importantly, I experienced God's leading right there in the building.

How do you know when you've found the right church? You just know. Seriously. If anyone had said that to me when I asked that question, I would have to restrain my tingling fingers from slapping them in the face. Honestly. To my clouded and frustrated mind at that moment of uncertain searching, such an answer did not seem helpful. But it is. Beyond what I can comprehend.

You just know. When the Holy Spirit leads you, when the Shepherd speaks, you know. My sheep know My voice. The peace in your heart, the confirming counsel of your authorities...the witness of the Holy Spirit. You just know. I can't explain it. I wish I could! Perhaps with more mulling, I'll be able to. But not right now. I just can't explain it. There's our incomprehensible God for you. He works in ways we cannot see; he will make a way for you.

If someone were to ask me for counsel and encouragement in his/her "church-hunting" experience, I would give the same [lovely! ;)] answers that were given me from my friends and family, thank God for them. Trust God. And of course, know what it is you need, and what you are looking for. And...yeah. Trust God. ;)

It takes a while for me to gel into a community, so I don't expect to be completely comfortable with everyone and everything in the church so soon. But I am getting there quick. I love the unity in the church, the warmth, the passion, the solidness. It's real here, just like in PCC. God is here. And that's the most important. God is here, and His presence makes the church building more than a building; He makes the building an unspeakably beautiful venue of worship and loving community and healing and power.

Love Him.

Church-hunting

2005-08-28T14:26:00.000-07:00

What do you look for in a church? That was the question I was asking myself today. I'm still searching for a church I can attach and belong to. I visited an AG church today (thought of mentioning the name, but figured it would be suicide in the public domain. ;p), but again, it didn't seem to "fit" me. *shrugs* I was forced to admit this morning that I actually had no "criteria" with which to "evaluate" (if I may use that word) whether or not the church is "what I am looking for". Just what am I looking for?

I didn't like what I saw last week either (at another church which I shall be careful not to name). The church, the pastors, the congregation, the youth, the worship....everything just didn't "feel right". The worship was very mechanical and dead. The preaching felt extremely "showy" and "put-on". Above all, I sensed a very cold spirit in the church. I decided to cross that church off my list.

Then, midway through last week, I got a call from the pastor of this AG church who was contacted by one of our church members and asked to get in touch with me. I jumped with delight when I heard it was an AG church, and they were, furthermore, willing to send a van to pick me up. I awaited the arrival of Sunday with eager anticipation.

I'm sad to say that my expectations were not realized. I had hoped for a fair-sized congregation with at least a few young people, and a style of praise and worship similar to PCC. I was disappointed. They sang hymns (very vociferously, though, I must add), and there wasn't a single young person in the 60-strong congregation as far as I could see, and the preaching and teaching were too "charismatic" for my liking...i.e. an overuse of "amens" and "hallelujahs", and, this is really odd, Scripture. Yes, an overuse of Scripture. They just kept quoting Scriptures, whole passages and chapters, with no contexts, no exposition (except for a brief "amen" or "hallelujah" or "somebody needs to PRAISE THE LORD-ah!")...I lost the preacher's train of thought after roughly 20 minutes. I tried very hard to deduce where he was going with all those Scriptures and hymn quotations and how they tied together, but I couldn't.

Sigh...

I was forced by my frustrations to examine myself and my motives and expectations. Just what am I looking for? Why didn't I like the churches that I have visited? What exactly am I looking for? What would make me stay?

I'm afraid to admit, I have yet to come up with much to answer those questions. Much of what I am expecting is based on "feeling" (I prayed a lot on this, for God to lead me to the right church). Some of the concrete things are a strong expository Bible-based environment, vibrant, contemporary praise and worship, strong male spiritual leaders, strong families, a genuinely warm congregation...but are these expectations fair? Would God just as well lead me, want me to join a church that fails to meet these expectations? Would He have a ministry in mind for me there?

But then again, what is the main purpose of me attaching myself to a church? The first thing that comes to mind is fellowship. The fellowship of the saints. I need fellowship: good, solidly Christian brothers and sisters who can encourage me and keep me accountable and build me up in the faith...true believers whom I can serve God with. The second thing that comes to mind is covering. I need accountability to authority, and I need a place to serve, a church to belong to.

Sigh...

It's just all very new and alien to me, this "church-hunting" business. I'd appreciate all the comments and advice I can get...

How will I know if I've found the "right" church?

But not all of it lah

2005-08-25T20:34:00.000-07:00

Ok. I think my previous post might have given some the impression that I am settling in and never coming back. Hold that thought. Notice the conspicious absence of glowing references to food.

I wouldn't say the food here is terrible. I wouldn't say it's half bad either. In face, I'd say the food in the cafeteria is top-notch. But nothing compares to a hearty plate of nasi kandar, or a platter of steaming soft chappatis, or a nice hot bowl of pan mee. And I still get laughed at for eating my rice with a fork and spoon. Apparently "everyone" eats rice with a fork.
I do miss home. A lot. I miss the food, the people, the culture...everything. Yes, even the brainless drivers. Because they're what I'm used to.

Crossing the road here is an alien experience to me. Drivers actually slow down and come to a stop to let me cross even before I my foot touches the pavement. I don't know why I get so embarrassed when they do that, but I do. I blush and say thank you and hurriedly cross the road. o_O

Oh, praise report! I managed to get up at 6:45 this morning! I'd say it was the power of prayer and the grace of God, because before my alarm rang I was wide awake. This morning was fabulous...I'm getting more and more insights into the immeasurably glorious character of God through the Psalms, and I started meditating on one of the Commands of Christ today. I plan to focus on one of the 49 commands each week, then repeat the cycle. "If you love me, keep my commandments". Captivating catch phrase for the cover, dontcha think? ;)

Assignments are slowly but surely coming in, and so far my head is still above the tide.
I'm getting some nudges from God toward the direction of Family Psychology after learning this morning about the profound effects that ineffective or dysfunctional parenting has on children. The immortal words of my venerable casually dressed professor are still ringing in my head: "We raise adults, not children". The result of a dysfunctional home situation is not a dysfunctional child, but an ill-prepared [malformed] adult. Scary, huh? No wonder God places so much emphasis on the home (husbands love your wives, wives submit, children obey your parents, fathers provide, etc.). Veeeery in-te-res-tingggg...

Ish. I have no idea how to end this post. So much for unity and coherence (learning that in Comp. I). So, er... End! ;p

I'm lovin' it

2005-08-25T19:23:00.000-07:00

Yes, I know it's a cliche. I killed myself over that title already. I'll change it when I think of better one, one that more aptly describes my current disposition. For tonight, for the first time, I feel good!

There's something about a good long ping pong game that gets the adrenaline pumping and the pleasure centres of the brain going. A good jam with a fellow guitarist does the soul good as well.

Tonight, for the first time, I feel that I fit in here. I feel "in the groove". I feel a sense of belonging, of fitting in. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I am communicating better. Maybe it's because of the handshakes and Spanish that I'm learning. It could be because of the long talks I'm having with my roommate (He's an atheist that is having questions about Jesus posed by his New Testament class).

Familiarity is sweet. As I become more at home in these new surroundings, accustom myself to the way of speaking, get into a routine...

Oh, and the quiet time! The solitude I get in the mornings! Early rising is pure bliss, I tell you...I get up at 7 every morning, take a shower, then head off to the cafeteria for breakfast with God. Just me, a bowl of fruit and yoghurt, my Bible and Psalm book, and God. Loverly. I treasure those times. My hunger and thirst for righteousness grows with every day that passes. God is faithful to complete the work that He has begun in us. I know He carries me, for I feel His hedge of protection around me. He leads me by still waters and restores my soul. He keeps my foot from evil, and my eyes from unclean things. I will rise even earlier from tomorrow morning, for the solid half-hour that I have in the mornings with God does not suffice. I hunger for more.

I think I am getting the hang of scheduling as well. There is much gratification in setting a schedule and to-do list and ticking off each item on your list. There is satisfaction in hard work, in completing assignments, in studying. Initiative is what I am learning. Self-motivation. Or rather, Spirit-motivation. For I play, work, and study as unto the Lord, and not unto men or myself. His glory and smile is my delight and goal. The joy that comes from knowing that at least some of my actions is bringing a smile to the Father's face is unspeakable. Exquisite. Euphoria.

I'm loving it. And licking my chops for each day, raring to go like a stallion.

My space

2005-08-24T19:12:00.000-07:00

This is my space. My loft. I've always dreamed of having this room arrangement. I love it! This is a slightly outdated photo. I've recently raised the bed several inches, maybe a foot, higher, so I don't bump my head when I'm working at my workspace. Sweet, isn't it? Go ahead and drool, people. Drool with envy. Just make sure you don't covet, cos it's MINE, ALL MINE, ONLY MINE! Muahahahahahaha!!!!

Er. Yes, I'm still breathing, thank you very much.

2005-08-24T18:29:00.000-07:00

*Throws up hands in defeat*
Okay, okay, I'll admit it. I broke my promise. I've broken faith. I've failed. I told people that I'd have heaps of time to blog. I said I wouldn't mass mail, that I'd keep them posted on the goings-on in my life through my blog. I promised to let them know I was still alive, to post pictures on my blog of me and others.

Well, it didn't happen. Why?

I shall here and now make a lame attempt at explaining my silence on the blogosphere.
First, when I arrived, I was homesick; terribly homesick. And the airlines somehow managed to leave one of my bags behind in Dallas. I arrived in the U of O with one bag (the other bag contained most of my clothes, books and barang-barang) and a very sore lower back extremity (16 hours is a long time to stay seated.). After some hours of orientation and documentation, I picked up my laptop from the International Office and headed to my room. I had brought all my data over on 2 DVD-RWs, one containing pictures and documents, and the other containing my music collection. Guess what? My laptop read those DVDs as blank, ready-to-be-written-to DVDs. I wasn't too happy about that, and it did nothing to improve my already sour mood (thanks to the airlines).

Morose and homesick, I trudged over to the International Office at 5 pm to join the other internationals for dinner at the local Chinese restaurant. It didn't help that most of them preferred to speak Spanish and did most of the time, very neatly excluding me and my Vietnamese roommate from meaningful social intercourse. Of course, the food at the Chinese restaurant had to be too-salty and too-greasy.

I was pretty miserable that night, to tell you the truth. I also discovered to my horror that the shower rooms in my residence hall were devoid of any doors or locking mechanisms. All that separated bathers from prying eyes, hands, or cameras was a curtain. And they didn't even bother to provide a hook to secure the curtain. Yes, sir, I wasn't a very happy camper that night.

But you know what? My mood didn't really reflect what I'm writing here now. I figured this out: that everything happens for a reason (ARGH! Can't believe I just uttered a cliche! *clutches head in despair and disgust*), most especially what is uncomfortable. I learnt two lessons through that lousy first day, and I wouldn't trade those lessons for anything. I learnt, first, to have patience and to look for the positive (hey, at least I had my toiletries and a small face towel to perform my basic hygiene processes with! And my mother had very wisely packed 3 pairs of underwear in my CD jacket, of all places!) in a swirl of negatives, and secondly, to give thanks in all situations. It took quite a bit of my measly wimpy strength to lift my face up from the muck of self-pity and take a good hard look at Jesus. When I did, the words of the song really came true. "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face, and the things of the earth will grow strangely dim in the light of His glory and grace". My problems shrank in the presence of a Mighty, In-Control, Ultra-Creator God who loved me.

I prayed really hard for my DVDs to be ok, but my lappy just refused to read them. I accepted that and thanked God for an opportunity to rely on Him. And at least I wouldn't have to spend all the time I would have spent uploading and organizing all my data. And I'd probably have spent a good few hours looking over my old photos and crying buckets out of a lonely homesick heart. So it's probably just as well. God knows best, anyway, and I truly believe He is in control.

I also prayed really hard for my bag to arrive, but it didn't for 3 days. On the 2nd day, the airport actually recieved my bag, but inexplicably sent it back to Dallas. o_O I learnt not to pressure people (the indefatigable Eric Leon was helping me with my bag), and I also had valuable practice in the fine discipline of waiting and delayed gratification. My phone decided to run out of battery on my second day, and my phone battery charger was in the other bag in Dallas. To exacerbate things, I had to send my lappy for a PC Health check which, in keeping with the general heat of things, lasted for slightly more than a day. The wait was exquisitely painful, let me tell you, for a person who has been so used to convenient free access to a personal computer. I was cut off, essentially, from my parents. No mobile phone, no Skype. My parents don't do very well at email, and I had no calling card to call them with.

In the midst of all this, I had to worry about my room, what I needed to buy, school supplies, and the thick wad of cold cash that I had in my document bag which I sorely needed to bank in. My worries lessened when Eric the Brick very graciously brought me to the First Security Bank on Thursday morning to open a bank account and deposit my cash.
If my memory fails me not, my bag finally arrived on Friday night. I literally fell all over my bag, so glad was I to see it and its contents. The bag was slightly worse the wear for all the traveling it had done: the top handle was gone, and so were the wheels at the bottom. But it was intact, together with its contents. Delayed gratification really is heightened gratification. The long wait increased by far my appreciation of the contents of the bag: my clothes, my beloved books, my PING PONG BAT...etc.

All that hoo-ha about my bag and my DVDs, and my inability to communicate with my comrade internationals notwithstanding, I have been thoroughly enjoying myself. There is much to thank God for, including the delicious soundproofed piano rooms that are FREE and available for use at any student's pleasure within reasonable hours, my roommate's compatibility with me, the very-friendly people here who make sure no one feels lonely and homesick for long, the salad and sandwich bar that gives me relief from the heavy meat-and-potato main courses, the PING PONG table in the student center, the ubiquitious computer labs with FREE printing facilities...the list goes on and on. Give thanks in all situations. I'm learning how easy it is for me to complain and overlook the small blessings and the thought and love that go into them from our Loving Father. It's so easy to focus on what bothers me and forget that the Shepherd is watching over me and leading me. It's so easy to think of me, myself and I, to get angry about not getting what I want, not being treated the way I want to. It's scary and disgusting sometimes, when the Holy Spirit helps me see myself as I really am, sinful and repulsive. It doesn't take much to humble myself when God helps me see myself as He sees me. At times I get overwhelmed at His love and mercy, at how much He loves me and pays attention to a worthless rat like me. But I have a hunch that that is exactly the point: the greatest gratefulness comes from an undeserving heart.

One of the many new things that I am having to face is whole chunks of time at my command out here on my own. It is daunting indeed to have all this freedom on my hands. My schedule is my own to make and create and edit at my pleasure. Of course, I cannot bring myself to say that my time is really "my time". It's God's of course. But, true to His nature, He's entrusted it to me as a stewardship. I suddenly find that I have no physical person to answer to about how I use my time, no more mother to tell me what to do, no more father to shake his head in disapproval at what I do or don't do. My heart yearns for that now, sometimes. But I realize this is all part of growing up. If I want to be a real man of honor for God, I need to learn how to use my time wisely. And I can only really learn that if I am faced with decisions I have to make on using my time.

Next up is money. Banking is new to me. Recording expenses isn't, but budgeting is. I'm still learning the ropes on that one.

I foresee much more stretching in the days, weeks and months to come, in all areas and facets. Classes are starting to gear up, and assignments will be piling in hard and fast very soon. My mind is itching, rearing to go, stamping like an impatient snorting stallion in his stall. My spirit also stands ready, sword and shield in hand, resplendently arrayed in the shining armor of light.
Hm. I shall have to write at least once a week la ah? Just to let people back in Penang (and Australia! ;p) know that I'm still breathing. ;)

In Changi

2005-08-14T21:41:00.000-07:00

Ahh...2 hours of the longest day of my life thus far have just transpired. I am now in Changi International Airport in Singapore. Landed approximately 45 minutes ago. Now abusing one of the free (yes, FREE!) Internet portals. Kudos, Changi! ;)
I seem to have a problem with processing large chunks of information. I told that to my dad, referring to my apparent inability to fully comprehend the magnitude of my current situation. The fact that I was leaving Penang for 4 years to go alone to a small town in Arkansas, US, to study Psychology at the University of the Ozarks simply refused to sink in. That was 2 days ago, if my memory serves me right. Hm. Not that it has a stellar track record of doing that, but anyway...
My debilitating defect was blown away this morning at the departure gate of the Penang International Airport. The moment I threw myself into my dad's arms for a good-bye manly bear hug, it all finally sank in. Strange, you know. When I woke up this morning, it all still seemed so unreal. No feeling. Maybe a smattering of excitement, nothing more. Left the house at 7 a.m.. Said good-bye to my room, piano, house etc. Still no feeling. Got into the van after loading up my 70 kilos of luggage. Still no feeling. Prayed on the way with Dad and Mum. STILL no feeling. (That was where we cried when my sister left for Aussie - praying in the car on the way) o_O What's up, Joel? What's going on with your neurons?
Arrived at airport, checking in luggage, had breakfast, met the well-wishers (love you guys!!!). STILL no feeling. Maybe a bit more excitement. Joel, you insensitive clod!! You're supposed to be all choked up about leaving, etc. Tsk, tsk.
Took pictures, then began hugging people good-bye. Okay. Tears began to knock on the doors of my eyes, but they didn't exactly barge through. Hugged everyone, then came to my parents. BANG! It hit me like a ton of bricks. I sobbed like a cow in my dad's firm embrace, and sobbed some more when I heard those four special words: Daddy's proud of you. (Okay, tears stinging my eyes again. You have no idea what those words mean to me.)
So, anyway, the ton of bricks stayed on top of me till 30 minutes after I entered the plane. I learnt this, though. Tears, God, and writing all go together. It's like God created all of them in a package - a suite. They were all meant to go together. Had a good long cry (still not entirely sure why, but who cares?! :p) and thoroughly enjoyed the 30-minute worship session. Yes, worshipping while bawling over leaving. Hm. Perhaps I should have myself analyzed first before I attempt other people. (I'm majoring in Psychology by the way.)
Most unfortunately, the moment has passed. Reality has again deserted me. I guess it'll hit me again when I step on campus. For now, the predominant emotion is hunger. Is that an emotion? Ar...do I see the word "food gallery" in the distance? FOOOOODDDD....

My terrapins are gone!

2005-08-11T21:12:00.000-07:00

Gone. Both of em. One buried 1 foot underground after succumbing to my cruelties (dearly departed sometime between 22-24 July 2005), and the other in paradise, in KL with my aunt who will likely feed him at least 3 times a week, a far cry from my, at best, once a week feedings (departed 7 August 2005). :p "The righteous man cares for the needs of his animal, but even the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel". (Go look in Proverbs for it. :p) Tsk, tsk, Joel.

Metaphysics

2005-08-11T18:26:00.000-07:00

A recent phenomenon has taken my attention. I've been caught up in a whirlwind of changes this past month, preparing to leave Penang for the US. With all the hustle and bustle, I've hardly had time to get really emotional about leaving and all that, which I surmised should be a normal ingredient of every person's leaving experience. I have had some moments of quiet in which the fact of me leaving Penang knowing that it would not be the same anymore when I next return did have some opportunities to knock on the door of my busy Cranial Executive Office. However, every time this Fact enters the Office and attempts to toss emotional dust all over the chairs and tables and busy workers, a large personal force (can't remember if it's male or female) gently disposes of it (the dust). Or, put it this way: as in the drawing, every time I feel like I'm sinking into a pit of sadness, despondency, etc, I always feel a force grasping my heel, stopping me from plunging headfirst into that spike-filled pit. I named that personal force Hope (and I have a strong suspicion it's the Holy Spirit in disguise ;p). There are times when I'm allowed to sink just a little into the pit, and at such times I feel my emotions beginning to stretch their groping hands toward the controls in my Cockpit, but always Hope is there, the voice of reason, the voice of things hoped for, balancing out my sadness and fear. Hope keeps gently but firmly whispering in my ear during such moments, reminding me of the unspeakably amazing plans of our Father, of what might and can be, reminding me of the promises of the Father to be with me, guide me, uphold me. I'm thankful for this phenomenon, for it helps me keep my head and keeps me from being crippled by my emotions. Don't get me wrong, I do experience emotions! :p It's just controlled. And I guess that's the way it should be. Comments, anyone?

Gotta love the Word

2005-07-19T19:42:00.000-07:00

Ohhh....I LOVE GOD!! Check out what I got from a book in my e-library on Bible study, which I'm wanting to focus on this week in line with the theme of discipleship. I hope this helps those of you (myself included) who are continually confounded by your lack of motivation to study the Word of God. My prayer is that this beautiful description will inspire you as it did me to dive into the riches of God's truth. Enjoy. (Oh yeah, and don't forget to praise God for inventing the written word...it's SO beautiful!!)

"The Bible is like a magnificent palace constructed of precious Oriental stone, comprising sixty-six stately chambers. Each one of these rooms is different from its fellows and is perfect in its individual beauty; yet, when viewed as a whole, they form an edifice—incomparable, majestic, glorious, and sublime. In the book of Genesis, we enter the vestibule, where we are immediately introduced to the records of the mighty works of God in creation. This vestibule gives access to the law courts, the passage way to the picture gallery of the historical books. Here we find hung on the walls scenes of battles, heroic deeds, and portraits of valiant men of God. Beyond the picture gallery we find the philosopher’s chamber (the book of Job), passing through which we enter the music room (the book of Psalms). Here we linger, thrilled by the grandest harmonies that ever fell on human ears. And then we come to the business office (the book of Proverbs), in the very center of which stands the motto: “Righteousness exalteth a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people” ( 14:34 ). Leaving the business office, we pass into the research department—Ecclesiastes. From there we proceed into the conservatory (the Song of Solomon), where the fragment aroma of choicest fruits and flowers and the sweetest singing of birds greet us. Then, we reach the observatory where the prophets with their powerful telescopes are looking for the appearing of the Bright and Morning Star prior to the dawning of the Son of righteousness. Crossing the courtyard, we come to the audience chamber of the King (the gospels), where we find four lifelike portraits of the King Himself that reveal the perfections of His infinite beauty. Next, we enter the workroom of the Holy Spirit (the book of Acts) and, beyond, the correspondence room (the epistles), where we see Paul, Peter, James, John, and Jude busy at their tables under the personal direction of the Spirit of Truth. And finally, we enter the throne room (the book of Revelation), where we are enraptured by the mighty volume of adoration and praise addressed to the enthroned King, which fills the vast chamber; while, in the adjacent galleries and judgment hall, there are portrayed solemn scenes of doom and wonderous scenes of glory associated with the coming manifestation of the King of kings and Lord of lords."

MacArthur, J., Jr. 1996, c1982. How to study the Bible. John MacArthur's Bible Studies. Moody Press: Chicago

Surrender

2005-07-07T06:51:00.000-07:00

I've been reading The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren as part of my church's 40 Days of Purpose spiritual growth campaign. I read chapter 10 last night, in which the topic of surrender as the heart of worship was addressed. I was struck by one particular part, where Rick talked about Jesus Christ being the supreme example of surrender, how He really wanted the Father's will to be done, even on the night before His crucifixion. I couldn't help trying to imagine how it might have felt to know that you were going to be horribly beaten, disfigured and brutally executed as a public spectacle and still honestly want it just because you know it's part of God's plan. I tried, but I couldn't. Jesus was truly human and divine at the same time, that I know for sure. I'm sure His "rational" mind and body completely abhorred even the thought of crucifixion. The Gospel of Luke records that blood came out with His sweat, a sign of extreme mental and emotional torment. He knew what was coming, and yet still willingly surrendered to it, still was able to wholeheartedly say, "Yes" to the Father.
Such was the power of His supreme surrender: the power of Sin and Death was broken forever. The downfall of Lucifer and the dawning of salvation for mankind began in the Garden of Gethsemane, when the "deal was closed", and Jesus signed on the dotted line, willingly placing His neck on the line for us. The effects of that surrender still echoe in eternity and reverbate in every soul that turns his back on Sin. There is immeasurable power in a life wholly surrendered to God. Immense, immensurate power.
My desire is to be used by God, to bring great renown to His name. It seems that the quickest and most effective way to fulfil this desire is to surrender to Him. If only I could really know this truth; if only this incredible truth would capture my heart and mind and soul and drive me to throw everything at my Lord's feet. Perhaps remembering how much our Lord suffered and gave up that night in Gethsemane would motivate me further to surrendering the small things that I find so hard to give up.

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinful men, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." (Hebrews 12:1-3)

I'm lost without You

2005-06-30T06:56:00.000-07:00

It's been a long, long, long, long, long while since this blog has breathed. Seriously. There's no greater predator to a writer's inspiration than a lack of solitude. The past 2 months have been insane. I'm not used to living like this; or am I?
I've been living from day to day, week to week - surviving's the word, not living. Just existing. Going from one activity to another, busying myself like a harangued hatter. Urgh. My life has been like this ever since my first day of college - at IPG.
You see, I'm not used to having my schedule fixed by alien persons - alien persons meaning persons outside of my family, e.g. school. Or college, in this instance. Classes were fixed for me, and at hours that I did not entirely agree with. Hours like 8:30 in the morning, which meant that I had to drag myself out of bed before the sun rose if I wanted to do anything more than splash my face, throw some clothes on and stumble out of the house. I didn't complain much, but my body did. Lots. No sir, it didn't like not having food in the morning, and I'm not sure it was exactly fond of the meager portions I managed to purchase at the IPG canteen.
That was over 2 months ago. 2 months! Hmm...
2 months on, and here I am at INTI college, where I will spend the rest of this month and the next two, before I fly off to Clarksville, Arkansas. University of the Ozarks. The name ring a bell? Yeah, I thought as much - haven't the foggiest where that is, huh?
My life has been a whirlwind of change this year. Funny how I'm saying this when there are still 6 months to come before this year ends. The past 6 months have been packed - seriously packed. I've done things I've never done before (worked, wrote and directed and acted in a video clip, sang my lungs out at a Switchfoot concert, drove ALL BY MYSELF, played for a "secular" gig, etc.), learned priceless life lessons from my Savior (He DOES lead us - in HIS time, not ours. HIS time.)....Uh. Hmm. Many, many things have happened. Too many to mention here.
It feels like 2 years of my life have been jammed into 6 months.
2 years of action, 2 years of growth, 2 years of change. Just ask my friends. I've changed so much since last year. So, so much. For good or for ill, I've changed. Irrevocably.
Still, with all that action in the past 6 months, it all feels like a blur to me now. If I could describe how low my energy level is these days, I would. I really would. But I can't. Some wordsmith I am. I just can't. Oh, wait! Let me try. I think my "energy tank" has holes in it. All my gas is leaking out because I don't take the time off to "plug up" those holes.
Okay. Maybe that wasn't such a good description of how I feel now. I just feel drained and tired and wobbly-kneed. Feel like I'm losing my focus sometimes. I even ask myself questions like, "What am I doing here in church?", "Do I really need to be here?", "What's the point?", Why do things have to be so difficult?". I've had to catch myself a few times just drifting along, playing the "church game" (yes, we pastor's kids are naturals at the church game), going with the flow. I don't know. I just miss the times when I've had hours alone with God, just me, Him, and a guitar. Ach.
It's not that He's not been working in my life. It's not that He's been far away. No, definitely not. He's been so near. So, so many things He's done in my life already, so many things He's said. He's become so real this year - broken out of the "mystical box" that I've unconsciously kept Him in all these years. He's broken out and He's starting to "infect" every part of my life. Hmm. "Infect" is not a very nice word. I don't think it aptly describes what He's been doing. Call it renovation? Remodeling? Modeling! Modeling after His Son! Yeah, that's what He's been doing. Just like a contractor walking around my life, pointing here and there, saying, this has to go, this stays, chip this piece off, do some sandpapering here, cut those trees down...yeah, it's been unpleasant many times. Painful even. But I like what I've been seeing so far.
But still, even with all that going on...I just feel...what's the word for it? Lost? I don't know. All I know is I don't like what I'm feeling now. It may or may not be what God intends, but it's not what I like. Maybe He's teaching me discipline and perseverance, weaning me from the "milk" of relying on my feelings to guide my spiritual walk. I've been doing a lot of "doing" of the Word this year. Maybe.
But I think the real reason for my emptiness...yes! EMPTINESS is the word! Yes, the reason for my emptiness is this: my soul aches for communion with God. That's what has been lost these 2 hectic months. In the hustle and bustle of college life, somehow I've been missing out more and more of my appointments with Him. Little compromises, seemingly insignificant procrastinations...they've led to this. I'll tell you, Satan is a wily fox, he is. I wouldn't say the stuff that has been distracting me from maintaining my relationship with God are bad per se. Fellow Christians, take note! Satan's especially adept at employing WMD - Weapons of Mass Distraction. He'll throw tons of activities (not necessarily bad) in your face, get the world to scream at you for time, money, attention, and energy. He'll even get the church to involve you till you're floundering in a sea of rosters and activities and ministries and keep whispering in your ear that you're spiritual just because of all the stuff you're doing for God.
Forget the stuff! I need to focus on the Stuff-er! We need to focus on the Stuff-er - Him! God, the One who made us, saved us - the One who bared his back before the Roman scourge for our sins, the One whose oversized heart longs for our fellowship. It's just so, so easy to take on Martha's mantle and busy ourself doing things for God and forget to just enjoy Him. It's difficult to follow Mary's quiet footsteps to the feet of our Lord, difficult to pry ourselves out from the rat race track to sit enthralled at our Lord's feet, just soaking in His goodness and love and mercy and greatness.
I've been slowly cutting back on my activities. I need to stop and refocus. That's what I need. The emptiness that I'm feeling, the disillusionment, the lack of fulfillment, the "I'm barely existing" feeling in me, is really my spirit groaning for the courts of the Living God, aching for the arms of the Master. Hmm. Yeah, perhaps it would be a good idea to stop writing now and do just that. So, if you'll excuse me....

2005-06-26T07:05:00.000-07:00

My first gig! INTI Penang Mid-Semester Party/Cultural Nite, performing "We All Fall Down" (Words and Music by Phoebe Mathius)

2005-05-12T03:25:00.000-07:00

My lovely kit in Jireh hall

2005-04-12T20:18:00.000-07:00

(Wrote this out of experience. This is one of my first attempts at poetry. Do let me know what you think, about the style, meter, rhyming, theme, readability, do you agree with the contents, etc.)

Shivering, he crawls
Trembling, groveling, groping, weeping
Down on his knees, face to the ground
All dignity gone…
Grasping, groping, out stretched arms
Pleading, racked with cruel addiction
He crawls, prostrate before his idol
The once proud soldier, bright eyed
Warrior of the Most High
Now humbled, racked with cruel addiction
Oppression, seduction, addiction!
Sweat and tears harass his eyes
Unshaven, unkempt, undone, he kneels
His back to the lamb, on he crawls
Forwards, backwards, groping, so blind
Addiction firmly gripping his mind
Darkest deepest black where evil reigns
All light shut out, willfully
All pleadings fall on closed ears
His eyes on the idol, on he crawls
The blood on the cross has left his mind,
The face of the Savior blocked out of his mind
On he crawls…

(The demon speaks)
Shriek! Wail! Shiver
You sniveling cur!
Worthless miry scum, my wrath incur!
Disdain, distaste, disgust
For nothing more than a shell, a crust!
A crust, a shadow, a semblance of you
A throw-away pawn in His majesty’s crew
Kneel, dog!

Face to the ground, weeping, racked with cruel addiction
Matted hair mixing with salty tears, depression
All hope blotted out, all blackness in the sky
Something noble inside him begins to die
And then bucks and strains
No! Resist! Get up! His soul begins to cry
Up! King’s man! Courage, be strong!
Something noble inside him breaks
A flash of brightness!
Begone, foul dwimmerlaik!
His arms awake!
Light returns to his dimmed eyes
Awaking as from a dream
Strength returns to the feeble sinews
His hand rests upon his brand
Logos.
The carrion-beast blanches
Teeth bared, claws out
Logos flies out!
A flash, a head rolls
Up he stands
The proud warrior once more
Eyes clear, brand in hand
Something noble inside him cheers
He looks behind him
His eyes rest upon the Prince
His sheath is empty
So is the Prince’s
He was there the whole time!
Whence did the brand come?
Whence did the flash come?
Whence?

I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord ,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord watches over you—
the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
the Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

2005-04-12T19:31:00.000-07:00

My lovely kit arrangement in Shalom Hall. Ain't it pretty? Shinyyyy...:p

2005-04-12T19:29:00.000-07:00

Me and me momma!

The Prayer

2005-04-03T07:24:00.000-07:00

My heart and flesh cry out to you, O God my strength and hope.
Search my innermost motives,
Delve into my deepest being,
Light the fire of refining,
Place my heart in your crucible,
I submit to your hand,
I open my heart to you,
Search me, try my reins,
Burn, burn the fire of refining,
My motives, my desires, my emotions,
Burn, burn the fire of refining,
The dross of my iniquity,
Burn away,
The dross of my sins,
Burn away,
Impure thoughts, impure motives,
Burn away,
Lies, deception, hurt, guilt,
Burn away,
The dross from the silver,
Burn away,
Till you come to the core of my being,
The true self, the part of me that yearns for you,

Peel back the layers of sin and guilt,
Cut away repression, depression, transgression,
Reach into my heart, burn,
Shine, shine your light,
Turn your face toward me,
Shine the light of your face,
Into my heart, through the opaque waste of its sinful exterior,
Right through, strike through,
Clean into the very core of me,
There plant a seed,
A seed of desire,
Desire for the courts of the Living God,
Desire for the smile of the Highest Mirth,
Desire for the crown from the Highest Crown,
Desire for you,

That my heart may be perfect before you,
Ever striving for you, beating for you,
Longing for your touch, your smile, your face,
Yearning for your name to be lifted up,
Into your hands I commit myself,
Laying my life into the palm of your hand,
I trust you,
Burn, burn away,
Till the silver emerges from the dross,
Till the crucible brings forth pure,
Unadulterated, clean,
Silver fit for use,
Ready to be shaped, formed, fashioned,
Under the hand of the Master Smith.

Ode to Man

2005-04-01T08:32:00.000-08:00

Influenced by C.S. Lewis d...:p Sorry if it's a bit deep or obtuse...enjoy!

The first thing that strikes me is his voice, before his face or hands or hair or garb: that sing-song voice that ebbs and falls and tickles my ears like the tinkle of rain on the windowsill; that earthy, sincere voice that forcibly transports me to the days when, contented and secure, I leaned against my father’s strong chest after a quiet bedtime story. His voice rings with confidence and makes me smile. It is possessed of that melodic quality peculiar to the Indian dialects and has an effect on me not unlike that of strong, stirring music, of pulsating drums and rhythm and piercing strains of woodwind. My lips involuntarily curl into a smile, and my heart seems to be unaccountably lightened. His presence seems to fill the cold room with the warmth of the sun, the song of the birds, the coolness of the sea-breeze, the brilliance of colorful flowers, and the laughter of children all at once. It is as if the very air, that dead and stifling air that occupies the room, is quite suddenly sucked out from the room and replaced with Real Air, Air that God intended us to breathe, that fills one’s lungs and lends vigor to the limbs and mind. A profound freshness and earthiness seems to hang about him.

And then his head: it sways and bobs and cocks with the music of his voice, accentuating the rhythm, pronouncing the melodies of his words, alien though they may be to me. His kindly eyes grab hold of your gaze. Guileless they are; for only those whose hearts have been cleansed of deception can withstand the fire of holding the gaze of another human being beyond a fleeting glance. When he speaks to you, he speaks to you with his voice, his head, his heart, his hands, his eyes…all of him goes into every word.

Presently, he raises his right hand in a salute to me. I observe the energy and reliability that rests in that arm, quite certainly accustomed to hard work, its sinews hardened by years of toil. The skin of his palms have a sort of leathery, rough character about them. They inspire confidence and invite one to trust them, to trust the owner of those hands, to rest assured in their reliability and safety.

I raise my right hand in reply, and my eyes meet his as my face lights up with a smile much larger and brighter than I intended, as if he, by his mere presence, makes one laugh deeper and more heartily and smile with more heart. His face! It shines with peculiar beauty! And those eyes! Deep, fathomless eyes; eyes that pour forth rivers of tears in times of sorrow, that laugh and flash and dance in delight when Joy is entertained as a guest, eyes that have seen so much, and that look upon others with love.

Some have spoken of how the spirit shines forth through the thin veil of our fleshly bodies, for good or for ill. Those who choose the paths of Darkness and the servitude of the Powers of this Realm emanate a deathly, sickly air that stifles and suffocates and excites dormant battle instincts. In their presence one is hard pressed to suppress one’s revulsion, repugnance and disgust and has to keep one’s fists firmly pinned to one’s side for fear of losing control of it, yielding to their repeated entreaties to batter his face into a jelly. But those who submit themselves under the Hand of the Master Craftsman, who live in obedience and love toward the Highest Good, whether they wit it or no, cannot but imbue serenity, good-will and life into the air that surrounds them. Such is the manner of this man. Looking into his eyes, I see the image of God, for the Creator said before he fashioned us from the dust of the earth, “Let us make man in our own image”. I catch a glimpse of a shadow of the beauty of the Lord: his faithfulness, his grace, his perfect justice, and above all, his all-encompassing, all-conquering, all-consuming Love. If I had lost confidence in the words of God at the end of the Genesis of this earth: “It is good”, I find it again in this man.

The Fall of Darkness

2005-03-30T07:57:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, I need feedback on this one. I got an idea for a fantasy/allegory short story, and started work on it. I'd like for all of you to leave a comment letting me know what you think of its originality, feasability, readability and whether or not I should continue. Now you hold in your hands the power of life and death for this helpless foetus of an idea. :p Please be honest, k? I value each and every one of your comments.

General description of idea:
A novel take on the age-old battle between good and evil in the foo1tsteps of the eminent C.S. Lewis, the Fall of Darkness is an account of the siege of an ancient Fortress of the Shining One on the Emperor’s Land that terminates in failure due to the high treason of one of the key warriors of the Emperor’s Legion. The tables are turned and the looking glass turned inside-out as the story is told from the perspective of the besieged Fortress, here representing a deep-seated demonic stronghold in the mind of a Christian. The forces of darkness are portrayed as the Warriors of the Shining One, emphasizing the devil’s identity as the seductive Angel of Light, while the Christian is portrayed as a proud warrior of the Emperor’s Legion sent to besiege and destroy the ancient Fortress.

The blood-red sun sank into the grey seas framing the horizon beyond the misty mountains. Night began to cast its shadowy cloak over the Gladden Fields. The pale, cold light of the Moon gleamed on the blood-stained stones of the Fortress’ walls.

The sentinels of the Tower of Light paced back and forth in silent vigil, the steady clink of their metal capped boots echoing through the silence of the stone walls. Now and again the anguished cry of a wounded warrior rang through the Halls of the Healers as the healers worked through the night in a desperate fever. Grievous was the hurt that had been dealt by the Enemy.

There was a dread that hung over the Fortress, so thick one could feel its oppressive weight stifling, strangling, suffocating all hope. In the Chamber of Council, that dread seemed to be manifested in a heavy darkness that strove against the flickering torches that hung on the walls of the small room where the Captains of the Company held council.

A low, hoarse voice echoed in the dimly lit hall. “Blood, fire, foes! Five thousands fell at the gate, countless more wounded beyond healing. All hope is lost! If my lord had but heeded my counsel and lighted the beacons before we first saw the glint of the Legion’s spears…”

A second voice, a clear, proud and stronger voice cut through the first. “I will have no more of your petty whining (this word was pronounced with the air of one with gaping sores in his mouth painfully savoring a hunk of dry bread), Alcan! Pah! You speak of lost hope. Have we not driven back the Legion thrice now? Have we not bathed the impregnable walls of our Fortress with the blood of the Enemy’s feeble pawns? They say that against the bitter spears of the Legion there can be no victory. I defy the Legion! I say victory is within our grasp.”

The first voice belonged to Alcan, the counsel of Prince Eldair. His hoary head was bowed, and his face was buried in his gloved hands. Prince Eldair, the owner of the second voice, stood at the head of the Council Table. His head was hastily bound in a rough, blood-stained cloth. He was still bristling with the heat of battle: he had proudly declared to all that would hear his heroic tale of four-score doughty Legionnaires thrown off the walls. He was young and tall and fair. His long, flowing locks were at present hastily braided to make room for the rough bandage that now covered his high forehead. He was a son of the King of Realms, and he had inherited the tough sinews and lust for battle of his father. He was the type of prince that cared more for battles and horses and swords than love and lore and music. It was therefore not in the least surprising that his mind only retained the joy of the battle while easily dismissing as trivial the heavy losses his Company had suffered at the spears of the Legion. In his mind, the valiant Company could only be victorious, repelling the siege of the Legion and winning glory and songs for his own.

Seated around the rest of the Council Table were three other dark figures, each austerely garbed in black cloaks concealing the burnished steel underneath that protected their flesh. Ashwine, Fellwine and Holwine, three of the fearsome Seven Mighty Men of the King, proud and tall with dark eyes that flashed in the heat of battle and struck fear into all that stood against them. Their raven locks flowed underneath the dark hoods of their cloaks. They had been sent by the King Himself to the Fortress to assist in its defense. Many sturdy Legionnaires of the Enemy had found their end under the swift and deadly strokes of their bitter blades. Each of them carried two long retractable blades on each arm, instruments of death not unlike the cruel claws of the lion. Their faces always remained hidden beneath their hoods: only their fiery eyes flashed visible. Only the King and the Seven knew what they looked like beneath those mysterious hoods. They rarely spoke, preferring to speak with their feet, hands and blades rather than with overlong eloquent words. They alone, apart from the Prince, seemed immune to the horror and despair of the Enemy’s siege. They held their peace as Alcan rose and unrolled an old, yellowed map.

Between his teeth, in even, artificially controlled tones, Alcan spoke again. “I do not doubt your valor, nor disregard the overall success of our sorties. I am merely offering my word of caution to my lord: we have dealt with but a tithe of the Legion. The Enemy is toying with us.

(To be continued...)

Catch me if you can!

2005-03-30T07:55:00.000-08:00

It is highly distressing to note in myself the conspicuous absence of any adequate power to hold control over the passions, whims, and leanings of my mortal body. Of particular and special significance is my inability to keep my mind in check. As my composition once again wriggles free of my weak grip, my vagrant mind takes advantage of the lull in my defenses and undertakes a breakaway for the umpteenth time. I am attempting (with little success, I regret to note) to apply my prodigal brain to the study of a legal file. I suppose it does little or nothing to relieve my struggle that the words and phrases in many of the legal documents tend toward obscure and obtuse masses of words cloaking the germ, the real meaning behind all the big words and commas, semicolons and perplexing nouns and adjectives. WHY can’t they just get to the POINT?!

My restless mind roves this way and that, squirming and writhing in my weakening grip like a petulant child anxious to get out of the house for a romp in the park under the glorious golden rays of the morning sun. My repeated attempts to feed it information seem to have the same effect as a mother attempting to feed soggy asparagus to her carnivorous 5-year old son. Invariably, bits and pieces of the delightful green herb find themselves in new and unfamiliar territories, some on the flushed face of exhausted Mother, some on the newly painted walls, but precious few in their intended destination: the boy’s mouth. The same may be said of the straggling bits of information strewn haphazardly in my cranial crevices. The visual reports from the ocular organs splash onto my thickly clouded brain and roll off like water off a duck’s back for all the effect they have on my grey matter.

I turn my back for a moment to attend to the deafening prayers of my body for sleep. In a flash, the mischievous brat takes off, vacating my skull. In vain I give chase, willing myself to ignore the heavy shackles of weariness on my feet. It’s a lost cause: the blasted child is hiding behind a bush, playing with a butterfly. Curse him! He’s taunting me with his unnaturally long tongue, rolling his eyes up and down and stretching his face by the ears. Sticks, stones, and spatulas! If I could only get near him, I’d give him such a hiding…oh, what’s the use? He’s just too quick for me. Now climbing a tree, now frolicking in a pool, up and down, left and right he darts around the Fantastic Fields of Imagination, Distraction and Daydreaming. Who would guess that that fat little brain-child could run so quick? I warrant he and I operate in different time zones, and that by some cruel stroke of fate, the laws of physics and gravity seem to make special concessions for that infernal brat.

I fall to my knees in exhaustion and shriek in despair. “COME BACK!! PLEASE come back! Please?”

My cry is swallowed up by the thick fog that covers the Fields. Presently I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to see the beaming, grimy face of my brain-child peering at me over my shoulder. He gives me that mischievous chuckle I hate so much and proceeds to latch his sweaty, dirty body to my quivering shoulders. I take a deep breath and slowly straighten up with his pudgy arms firmly slung around my neck and his stubby legs wrapped around my torso. “All right, you sniveling scoundrel. Ready for more asparagus?”

No response from him. He’s sound asleep on my shoulders. His deafening snores make my ears buzz and his repulsive drool is dripping down my shoulders and back.

I wearily trudge back to his high chair, plug him into it and…now where’d that bowl of asparagus go?

Velvet Paws

2005-03-22T05:05:00.000-08:00

The slow passage of time by days, weeks, months and years, with all its attendant experiences, circumstances, persons, and lessons, has revealed in me many frustrating deficiencies of intellect, wisdom, character, and experience, specially in the area of my character, or the lack thereof. As the years fall behind me, close to nineteen all told, I am left to reflect upon nigh two decades of a life lived, sadly I would venture to suggest, so far from the original perfect course charted out by the Creator upon my conception. It is not in the least difficult to envisage the Lord sitting by my side with his head in his hands, wondering (if such a word may be used of an omniscient God) at the degree to which I continue to diverge from his original intention for my life.
How many times have I turned away? If I should tell all my sins and mistakes and fallings away, their number would be the same as the sands upon the seashore. And yet always my Lord has stood by my side, patiently waiting, quietly speaking and pleading in his still, small voice, ever loving, and ever too courteous to coerce me by force into the right way. As it is said of Israel by the Lord, “All day long I have stretched out my hands to a rebellious and perverse generation”, and so it may be said as well of this wretched soul. As I reflect upon the years that have passed, my heart sinks with heaviness as I attempt to comprehend the magnitude of my transgressions, and the immeasurable hurt and pain I have caused to the heart of God, notwithstanding the fearsome measure wrath that I have stored up for myself in the day of reckoning. He loves me, that much I know. He loves me too much to let me go, and he loves me too much to sidestep my free will with anything more than gentle pleadings. Oh, that the full knowledge of the awesome and terrible power that is in his gentle hands, like the velveted paws of a powerful lion, would dawn upon my dull wits, perhaps I would be sufficiently roused to turn from my wicked ways.
My life may be compared to a twisted mass of tangled cords, circumventing, diverging, straying from the straight line that has been plotted for my life. Many sorrows and struggles lie between those twists and tangles and knots, each a pitiful tale of willful disobedience with attendant consequences that have left a mark on my soul.
Oh, the wretchedness of the human condition! We are cursed by our inheritance of that vile sin nature, ever at odds with the free spirit within us that yearns for righteousness and holiness. “For the good that I would I do not: but the evil that I would not, that I do”, and “I find then a law, that, when I would do good, evil is present with me, For I delight in the law of God after the inward man: But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” Consider for a moment the significance of the authorship of those desperate cries: Paul of Tarsus, eminent and prolific missionary, valiant warrior of the cross, the same who witnessed ere he died, “I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith, I have finished the race”. How? Is there contradiction in his words? Did he die a confused hypocrite, wracked with internal struggles that he could not divulge?
No! I myself take great heart and encouragement in those seemingly dark passages of scripture. For me, they reveal an honest confession of the daily struggle of Christian living that is not to be construed for utter failure as a Christian. In the space of one chapter, the same author triumphantly declares, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus!” No condemnation. That is the key.
Too often we strive after the ideals and principles of scripture, their goodness notwithstanding, and paint unrealistic targets for ourselves to shoot at with our feeble bows. And then we cry out in despair when our crooked shafts miss the mark and shake our fists at the sky and ask, why? Why do you mock us by laying down ideals that cannot be attained? Why do you not lift one omnipotent finger to propel us toward that lofty goal that you have set for us? And then we break down in desperate sobs and retreat into our dungeons of self-pity and despondency, cursing ourselves, our fleshly weakness, the world, even God. We pine and sulk under a gourd tree like Jonah, or retreat into our caves, into the mountains of Horeb to plead for a swift end to our misery. Such is the tale of many a discouraged and disillusioned Christian, I would warrant. I can attest to that. It was for me, at least, a sorry tragedy that occurred not infrequently.
Is that God’s plan for us? To be forever on a doomed quest for perfection? I think not. I think we would do well to learn from Paul. I am fairly certain that very few of us have ventured to set higher standards for ourselves than Paul of Tarsus. He strove for perfect Christ likeness, preached an undefiled conscience with all men, unwavering submission to authority, rejoicing in ghastly trials and tribulations. How? I dare not admit that he even came close to completely fulfilling those standards. Undoubtedly, men fail. It is ingrained into our very DNA. That is why we need God. That is why it is so important to join with Paul’s glorious cry of “no condemnation!” Failure is not the end. Indeed, failure is oft a harsh, but efficient schoolmaster, provided always that we respond to him correctly. Failure, I have learned, should drive us to our knees and hands, crawling to the feet of the omnipotent risen Savior, to lay hold of his nail-pierced feet and sue for mercy and grace. He has promised grace to the humble, exaltation in due time to those who humble themselves under his mighty hand. We cannot hope to shoot our feeble darts anywhere near the lofty targets of the Law. That is not the point.
May I be so bold as to suggest that, notwithstanding its nobility and powers of motivation toward holy living, attainment of Christ likeness is not an end in itself? May I suggest that the journey is of at least equal importance? After all, if it were so, why would God make it so difficult to do it? Perhaps we are missing the point, the intention of God laying this mechanism, if you will, into place. Perhaps the very purpose of these ideals, these principles and laws, is to compel us to cleave to him. Were we not fashioned for intimate fellowship with him? Is not the supreme good that men strive toward heaven, being by definition eternity spent in the awesome presence of the Most High God?
Would it not then be prudent for us to familiarize ourselves with the exercise of intimacy and fellowship with our Creator, the way being now opened for us to have direct access to him through the redeeming sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ? Would striving after the likeness of his son then not be an exercise in intimacy, since our very success in that pursuit depends upon the degree of our intimacy with him and the degree of our dependence upon him?
Perhaps it is time for us Christians to stop beating up ourselves and enjoy the journey. I find the words of the psalmist infinitely comforting: “For he knows our form: he remembers that we are but dust”. God knows us! Surely he cannot expect his imperfect creation, marred forever by the ravages of sin, to attain to the standards of righteousness that he requires? God is awesome, terrible, frighteningly white and holy; but he is also love, and mercy, and grace, a justice. His paws are velveted.
He invites us to enjoy the journey, to let him carry us along. He smiles at our little baby steps, and his chest can barely contain his pride when we begin to walk, exchanging milk for meat. He laughs with us and rejoices with us in our triumphs. He weeps with us when we fail, and picks us up and gently coaxes us to continue walking when we fall. He is our loving father, our loving shepherd, who leads us by green pastures and quiet streams, who lays a table before us in the midst of our enemies, who promises goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives. Can you not love such a God? Can you still shake your fist at such a benevolent Creator and blame him for the guilt and condemnation that you feel?
By all means, acknowledge your failures and inadequacies. Paint those targets. But remember: no condemnation! Don’t let the evil one bog you down with his snares of guilt and despair. Heed the call of the Savior. Release your guilt and despair to him! Throw off your garments of heaviness and join him as he invites you to romp in the fields of righteousness, to dance the dance of holiness! Revel in his presence, in the light of his countenance as he smiles down upon you, as you strive to attain to his likeness. Rejoice in the softness of his velvet paws as he carries you through the hard times. Enjoy the journey, and look forward to that glorious day before he calls you home, where you will be able to say, “I have fought the good fight, I have kept the faith, I have finished the race”. Then, savor the moment at the gates of heaven, when the Lord shall say to you, “Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord”.

Cool blogthingamajigs!

2005-02-23T19:46:00.000-08:00

Got this off another blogger's blog. Tried it myself, it's pretty cool. And to think that my answers to the quiz questions reveal my exact age! Scary...

You Are 19 Years Old

19

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe.

13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world.

20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences.

30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more!

40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

The next one is a book of the bible thingy...quite cool, and quite accurate as well...I liked this one best:

.

Which book of the Bible are you?

brought to you by Quizilla

There's also this element thingy that I did, the results of which I don't entirely agree with. Let me know what you think.

Your Element Is Air

You dislike conflict, and you've been able to rise above the angst of the world.
And when things don't go your way, you know they'll blow over quickly.

Easygoing, you tend to find joy from the simple things in life.
You roll with the punches, and as a result, your life is light and cheerful.

You find it easy to adapt to most situations, and you're an open person.
With you, what you see is what you get... and people love that!

What's Your Element?

I feel sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread

2005-02-21T20:31:00.000-08:00

Few would deny the fact that the invention of the Internet and all its relevant innovations, instant messaging systems in particular, has changed society forever. It has affected the way people think, act, gather and disseminate information, study, and communicate, just to name a few. These changes are by no means all good. There have been positive and negative effects that the Internet has brought. It would be wise to attempt to separate the good changes from the bad, and arrest any negative habits or tendencies that have been birthed through the advent of the dotcom era.
Just one generation ago, the preferred modes of social intercourse were face-to-face meetings (e.g. home visits, outings, etc.) and letters, or “snail-mail” as it is now known, and, occasionally, phone conversations. These older and more traditional methods of communication, particularly the former two, required one to be fully engaged with the person whom one is relating to.
This is to say that, if for example, you were speaking to Caroline, your friend, face-to-face, you would be speaking to her only, and (if you observed basic rules of courtesy) your mind would primarily be engaged in processing information received and deciding what to say in reply to her. I am speaking of the days before people carried phones and pagers with them everywhere, and when privacy was a common, and perhaps undervalued, commodity.
These methods of communication produced, I believe, a generation of people conditioned and equipped for methodical, concentrated application to one task at any particular time. The steadfast, dependable people that are my parents are part of that generation of “small-time” multi-taskers. When they study, they study. They don’t blast blaring, heart-pounding music into their ears while they do it. They study, and at the most, play soft, soothing Mendelssohn in the background while they do it. When they eat, they eat. They don’t eat, read, SMS, and catch a Chinese serial all at the same time. When they eat, they eat, and at the most, talk to you while they do it, or catch up on the day’s newspaper while downing their fried rice. When they work, they work. They don’t chat with 5 different persons online while they search for information.
I suppose that one of the issues that fill the generation gap is the inability of many parents to comprehend the vast capacity that their children have for multi-tasking. Multi-tasking, meaning involving oneself in several distinct activities that require brain processing power at one time. You see, I believe that for many of those who grew up without mobiles and instant messaging, things had to be done one at a time. There was such a thing as concentrating on a particular task, doing it well, and finishing it before one went to another task. But in today’s culture, shaped in part, I believe, by the technology that we are so fond of, people have been conditioned to compartmentalize their lives, to live their lives in many separate “windows”, much like the widely used operating software present in a vast majority of computers today.
I see the epidemic of crippling boredom that afflicts so many young people today as a symptom of an unhealthy mindset. We have grown so accustomed to doing so many things at one time, or working in so many windows at once, that we put ourselves in real danger of becoming “Jacks of all trades, but masters of none”. You see, the human mind does have limited resources, whatever the proponents of the limitless human potential doctrine may say. If you apply your cranial energies to one task, there are limited “cranial energy units” left to apply to other tasks. Think of it as spreading butter on bread. Everyone gets a set amount of butter for spreading over their various pieces of bread, or tasks in a day. If you were to spread your butter too thinly, the bread wouldn’t exactly be very tasty, would it? The trouble with our multitask way of life is that by applying ourselves to so many different tasks at the same time, we are, in effect, spreading our butter too thinly, and shortchanging ourselves, as it were. Each “piece of bread” receives much less butter, and spread messily and hurriedly for that matter, than it deserves.
I believe that most of us are familiar with the instant messaging, or IM for the tech-savvy, systems that have revolutionized the way we communicate. IRC, MSN, and ICQ. All well-known household names among modern teens today. These IM systems have replaced (I think) the phone and the pen and paper as the modus operandi of choice for keeping in touch with their friends and loved ones. Unfortunately, these systems also tend to reinforce the compartmentalized mindset and way of doing things. The IM universe of multi-windowed chat rooms offers an ideal environment for one to learn the fine art of multi-tasking, new millennium style, training us to spread butter over 5 pieces of bread at one time, chatting to this guy, and that friend, and that pal, while surfing for information for a school project and replying a mail, grabbing a sandwich, and downloading music and movies all at the same time.
The point is, as I stated earlier, that it is so important to ensure that each of our tasks and activities receive the proper amount of resources (time, energy, etc.) to enable us to perform them well. If we merely allow ourselves be caught up in the pop culture of the day, of killing 7 birds with half a stone, and miss the wisdom of steady, concentrated application to one task at one time…we will be so much the poorer. As I mentioned at the beginning, not all the changes that the Internet age has brought are good, and I sincerely believe that this is one of those negative changes: the development of a multi-tasking lifestyle that will, I fear, cause many to lose out on their potential and waste the butter that has been allotted them in this life.

How to get that cool doodleboard thingy on your blog

2005-02-21T14:39:00.000-08:00

Yes, yes, I know it's cool. It's also incredibly easy to put it up on your blog. Here's how:

Go to www.doodle-board.com
Create an account (you have to, in order to get that cool doodleboard thingy...and anyway, it's free!)
Get the html code
Go to your blog template
Copy and paste the html code for the doodleboard anywhere you please. (Please note that in html, wherever you put the code, that's where it's going to appear on the blog. So choose wisely.)

If you want to put it on your sidebar, try pasting the code just above the part of the template that says
It may be slightly different on your template, but just go ahead and give it a shot. You might want to use the preview button before you publish your changes.
Have fun! And thanks for helping to liven up my blog!

Praise report - :p

2005-02-05T21:10:00.000-08:00

(Ed - Sorry for the late update...was caught up with some other stuff and the infernal writer's block that seems to have chosen me as its very special friend these few weeks. :p Ugh. Just to report on a promise made in one of my previous posts)
I did it! I managed to extract myself from the soft, cruel arms of my bed at 7 a.m. that morning! And I managed to stay awake the rest of the day too! (Recognition here has to go to a friend that helped me by giving me a timely wake-up call that morning. ;p)
All glory and praise to God!

The shepherd and his lamb

2005-02-03T06:29:00.000-08:00

El-adonai sighed, his face taut with frustration as he once more attempted to extricate the little lamb from the thorny bush. How long had he spent here already? 1, 2, 3 hours? He shrugged to himself. It just defied comprehension, how that little bleater managed to get himself into trouble every time his back was turned. The lamb's irrepressible penchant for mischief had prompted El-adonai to dub him Orep, meaning “stiff-necked” in his native Hebrew, for he had been forced to bail him out not a few times. Orep simply refused to lay still so that he could gently extract him from the thorny hedge he had fallen into off a short cliff.
A wry smile softened the sun-hardened leather of the old shepherd’s face. He remembered the first day Orep found his tiny feet could carry him places. In a matter of minutes after his first quivering step, El-adonai had had to unceremoniously yank him back from the edge of a small cliff. Little Orep had been chasing a pretty little butterfly.
The other lambs in the flock had since learned to heed the old shepherd’s steady, quiet call. They had learned that listening to him kept them away from the frightening beasts that prowled the edges of the hills where they grazed. Listening to him and following his gnarled staff meant that the grass that they ate was always more tender, the shoots juicier, the waters calmer. And they were content.
But Orep was different from the rest. He was a born prodigal. Stiff-necked he certainly was. He simply refused to listen. He seemed to delight in waiting for the last possible moment to scamper into the safety of the flock before ben-Adoni, the old shepherd’s young son, came close enough to do more than wave his staff furiously in the air at him. Then he would peek from behind one of the more placid ewes, his little black eyes dancing in mischievous delight as taunted the young shepherd, glorying in yet another successful escape from his reproving blows. The old shepherd’s gnarled staff had found the stiff neck of the little mischief many more times, perhaps, than all the other lambs put together.
Orep let out a weak bleat, his nostrils heaving and his little mouth foaming, as he feebly strained against the thick shrub of thorns that imprisoned him. El-adonai sighed again and once more attempted to reach into the thick shrub for him. Seeing his approaching hands, the lamb, with a sudden burst of energy, began to struggle violently. The old shepherd drew his arm back with a sharp cry of pain as the lamb knocked his arm, deeply grazing it against the thorns in the thicket.
Images of the dreadful lion flooded his memory as he grabbed his bleeding arm. He shut his eyes, and he was running again, furiously running, searching for the source of the frantic cries of little Orep. El-adonai had allowed himself a moment’s slumber that afternoon, giving an irresistible opportunity for the mischievous lamb to wander off, this time in pursuit of a terrified dragonfly. His young legs brought him over the gentle slopes, into the forest, straight into the jaws of a ravenous young lion.
El-adonai paid a high price for the salvation of Orep that day. The scars of that fearsome struggle with the lion he still bore, a continual reminder of the depth of his love for his flock.
But still the stubborn little lamb would not learn. Again and again, the old shepherd reproved him, patiently called him with the rest of the flock each time, gently guiding and leading him with his gnarled staff. Again and again, little Orep had to be delivered from the thorny bush, the starving dog, the baying wolves. Again and again, the gnarled staff came down upon his stiff little neck. When would he ever learn?
Today had been all too familiar. The lamb had bolted at the first opportunity, again during the sweltering heat of mid-day, when El-adonai was leading the flock to the quiet stream not too far into the forest for a refreshing drink and wash. Now here he was, stuck in a thorny brush, just under the shoulder of a small cliff he fell over while chasing yet another of his fantastic playmates.
The old shepherd had borne this long enough. He gritted his teeth, thrust his arm again into the thicket, ignoring the protesting screams of his fresh wounds, and took firm hold of little Orep’s stiff neck. “This ends now. Out you come, little one”.
In one swift motion, he wrenched the frightened and weary lamb from the cruel clutches of the thorny brush. Little Orep yelped with pain, for the thorns tore at his flesh as he pulled. Panting and foaming at the mouth, Orep lay helpless at the feet of the old shepherd.
“You leave me no choice, little lamb. Your disobedience is very costly, for me, for the flock, and for yourself. Your rebellious legs will have to be broken, until such a time as you have learned to heed my voice. But first, these wounds have to be bound.”
Reaching down his leathery hands, the old shepherd scooped up little Orep and gently slung him over his broad shoulders. With firm, steady strides, El-adonai made his way back to the stream, where ben-Adoni was keeping watch over the rest of the flock.
Little Orep lay still, safely slung over the broad shoulders of the old shepherd.
“When will you learn, little one? When will you ever learn?”
Back at the stream, the old shepherd lovingly washed and bound the wounds of the little lamb. The time had come for little Orep to learn to love, to trust, and to obey him.
With a heavy heart, the old shepherd swiftly and surely broke the legs of the little lamb, willing himself to ignore his pained cries. And then, just as gently, just as slowly, he bound the broken legs of little Orep and once again lifted him up and slung him over his broad shoulders. There little Orep would stay until his legs healed, until he knew the love of the old shepherd. There he would learn how much he needed the old shepherd, and there he would learn to hear, to recognize, to love, and to obey his steady, quiet voice.
El-adonai quietly began to feed the little lamb on his shoulder.
" The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. " - Psalm 23
“He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.” – Isaiah 40:11
“ I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd giveth his life for the sheep. But he that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth: and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep. The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep. I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep , and am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the Father: and I lay down my life for the sheep.” – John10:11-15
"For though He wounds, He also bandages. He strikes, but His hands also heal. He will rescue you again and again so that no evil can touch you." - Job 5:18-19

Time is ticking away, tick, tick, ticking away...

2005-01-31T06:39:00.000-08:00

Sorry for not writing for so long. Writer's block is a terrible evil that afflicts me very often. Have yet to find an effective antidote for it. :p

Today I came to the frightening realization that one month of this year has already passed me by. 5 weeks, 31 days, 744 hours. ALL GONE. No way of reclaiming any of those lost minutes. Not a chance of stealing back that wasted afternoon in front of the telly. Wish I had done this, or this, or some of that that day, instead of...
Wishful thinking. Have I mentioned that those days, hours, minutes, and moments are ALL GONE? Makes me think of the poignant lyrics of Switchfoot:

Gone, like yesterday is gone
Like history is gone
The world keeps spinning on
You're going, going, gone
Like summer break is gone,
Like saturday is gone
Just try to prove me wrong
You pretend like you're immortal.

We are not infinite
We are not permanent
Nothing is immediate
We're so confident
In our accomplishments
Look at our decadence

Gone, like Frank Sinatra,
like Elvis and his mom,
Like Al Pachino's cash,
nothing lasts in this life
Gone, my high school dreams are gone,
my childhood sweets are gone
Life is a day that doesn't last for long.

Sounds a lot like what another songsmith wrote more than 2 millenia ago:
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.

Sober words. Wish I could get them from my head to my heart to my hands. Talk is cheap. Really cheap. I do so much less than I say that I figure those around me aren't hearing much, since actions are supposed to speak louder than words. Can't hear much of ol' Hand. It's drowned by the vociferous Lip. Talk, talk, talk. Yak, yak, yak. Not easy for Hand to out-shout Lip.
I think that if a study and in-depth moment-by-moment analysis of my typical day were to be done, it's quite likely that the results would not be very far from the following:
% of day intentionally spent with God - 5
% of day sleeping - 40
% of day spent meaningfully (e.g. homework, studying, blogging, heart-to-heart talks, chores, planning, etc.) - 15
% of day utterly wasted on meaningless drifting, lazing, and assorted lepak activities - 40
Check it out. A whopping EIGHTY percent of each typical day is WASTED. Gone. Lost. Out of reach forever.
Something's gotta give. I can't keep doing this. Time is precious, especially at this crucial turning point in my life. The chapters of my life that I write today will have a bearing on the rest of my life. Gotta start writing in earnest.
Let me start with tomorrow morning. Write: out of bed, up and at 'em at 7 a.m. Did you hear that? That was the Lip. Lip says Joel is going to get up at 7 a.m. Hand raises his hand (?? no pun intended :P) and waves it frantically, going, "Me too, me too! I think he's going to wake up at 7 too!".
Let's see if Hand can shout as loud as Lip tomorrow morning. I'll report my success tomorrow. I'd better go sleep now, get enough rest, recharge so I can jump out of the sack at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. Nite!

Half-baked Gripe

2005-01-22T01:01:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this in a vain attempt to extricate myself from the soft, cruel tentacles of boredom. This was not how it was supposed to end up. We had such gloriously exciting plans for the afternoon...board games, trivia, a movie or two, FUN. How did it come to this?
My vision is blurred and foggy, and my eyelids feel as heavy as lead. I can barely keep my eyes open. My mind is trapped in a downward spiral of atrophy. I can barely even remember who I am, what I'm here for, what I did in the last few hours. Everything is so hazy, so vague...a thick grey cloud covering everything in a dark cloud of fuzziness and apathy.
This was supposed to be a FAMILY vacation. We went away, we traveled so that we could have time together...spend quality time, talk, eat, relax, enjoy each other's company. But I guess that, without conscious effort, it's just too easy to drift apart into our own worlds, each doing their own thing. Like chemical suspensions separate into their constituent parts over time without external influence, so our family has disassociated in the past few hours. The parents have gone to visit an ill friend, the sister is engrossed in her personal online universe, and the bored brother is here typing this, frantically fending off the slow, subtle, creeping assault of crippling boredom.
But having an afternoon with no fixed agenda does afford one much time to spend in one's thoughts; a valuable asset for aspiring writers, musicians and artists. Reflection and contemplation are the wellsprings of creative thought.
(Ed - This piece ended in a miscarriage...it incubated in my mind for too long. Certain unforeseen circumstances cut off the supply of life-giving blood to the maturing embryo (I stopped being bored, because I was writing this piece. :p So the emotional charge was lost d la). Thus cut off from it's only source of life, the partially-formed composition withered away and was quietly expelled from my system)

Er...dunno wat to call it.

2005-01-19T04:47:00.001-08:00

After reading with much interest the slew of articles and comments that have been flying around lately concerning certain rude and undesirable habits of Malaysians, including a pointed and witty one by a friend of mine, I have been with difficulty resisting the urge to scratch the itch to respond with my own 2-sen worth.
Unfortunately, I have failed. The very words that you are now reading attest to the strength, or lack thereof, of my willpower. I have, regrettably, yielded to the near-irresistible itch to speak.
The recent week-long survey/contest run by the Star newspaper that invited readers nationwide to vote the top 10 Rudest Malaysian Habits made for some interesting and thought-provoking reading. The list included such gems as inconsiderate driving and parking (DEFINITELY top on my list), spitting in public, littering, asking people how much they earn in public, jumping queues, and even taking too much food from buffet lines.
Sad though it is, it’s undeniable that every single item on the list was far from far-fetched. Every listed habit was an inseparable part of the daily Malaysian experience. Road users will gladly (hmm…maybe not gladly, but nonetheless) corroborate this statement with their own personal horror stories. Which Malaysian driver has not been overtaken on the left lane (for the uninitiated, we drive on the left side of the road) or harassed by wannabe Max Biaggis and Valentino Rossis? Who hasn’t inched slowly through a narrow back lane lined on each side with parked cars whose drivers seem to lack critical grey matter? Or who hasn’t had to swerve to avoid cars that indiscriminately switch lanes without signaling their intentions? (For a few specific examples, try angelinespage.blogspot.com) Hmm…perhaps someone should consider compiling these horror stories and producing a best-seller, I don’t know, Malaysian True Horror Stories: Tales from the Road? (Ya, go ahead and laugh. It's lame, I know)
Maybe this habit of ours should be short-listed to appear on the Top 10 Things that Aggravate Your Nervous System and Significantly Diminish Your Lifespan and Quality of Life. I’m sure it would fare pretty well, maybe make it to the Top 3 at least, along with Dirtying and Defacing Public Toilets, and Having Absolutely No Regard for Other People’s Time.
Let's face it, driving on Malaysian roads, particularly in Penang, is definitely not for the faint of heart. Doctors should advise those who have weak hearts, high blood pressure, etc. against driving. Driving here should be classified as a high-risk extreme sport, like vertical wall-climbing or aggressive in-line skating. There is a very real possibility of permanent physiological or psychological damage. Seriously. I cringe every time I get behind the wheel, knowing very well that the next few moments could be my last here on earth. The road is filled with evil motorists out to mutilate and murder me in the most horrible ways imaginable. Eh-heh heh. *Accidentally bites tongue in cheek*
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold any bitter grudges against God for placing me in this country. I consider myself every bit a Malaysian, and I’m definitely grateful to God for choosing Malaysia as my birthplace. I’m just tickled that it’s taken us so long to bring our quirks out into the open for honest discussion and satire. Mature people know not to take themselves too seriously. They admit and laugh at their own mistakes and shortcomings. Ditto mature societies. I laud the genius that thought up this Rude Malaysian survey/contest thingy. I think it’s just fantastic that we Malaysians are finally looking at ourselves in the mirror, looking at our pimples and potbellies and blemishes, and still loving ourselves for who we are, every pimply bit, even if the zits stay after a vigorous facial, and the belly refuses to succumb to hours of sweat on the treadmill.
We Christians should take our cue from what’s happening and do some frank self-evaluation too. Go ahead. Look yourself in the mirror. Got any laugh-out-loud quirky habits or downright embarrassing bad habits that you like to sweep under the carpet? Any ugly habits that you just can’t bring yourself to mention? Self-examination’s cathartic you know. Scriptural, even. The way to do it, friends, is to look into the perfect law of liberty, like a man observing his natural face in a mirror. (Give James 1:22-25 a look) Can’t say it’ll be flattering or make you feel good about yourself, but it’ll definitely do you good to see that spot on your chin so you can go wash it off.
No use hiding it or trying to cover it up with make-up. Just go ahead and acknowledge the cracks in your wall so you can fix them. That’s the whole purpose of self-examination: self-improvement. Listen to this: “But he who looks into the perfect law of liberty and continues in it, and is not a forgetful hearer, but a doer of the word, this one will be blessed in what he does.”
I read with satisfaction the report in today’s Star about the large number of responses from the public to the Rude Malaysian issue, both in print and on the radio shows. Many of these responses included practical suggestions on how to rectify these problems, and some even professed undying love for the country and its citizens regardless of their quirks and shortcomings. (Ed – you seem to like the word “quirk”, huh. ;p)
I think that much good can come from this seemingly insignificant exercise. I hope that the media will continue this positive trend of honest self-examination, and that the public will follow suit and perhaps even take steps to address the problems and issues raised. I’m sure that Malaysia will become a better place to live, work and play in. Just like the church will be a much nicer place to be in if Christians do the same. “This one will be blessed in what he does.”

Exhortation to love for the savior and creator of all

2005-01-18T23:17:00.000-08:00

It is truly a wonderful thing to observe the positive effects that nature in all its glory can have on a person. The lush, verdant greens of the rolling estate landscape offer a pleasing alternative to the eye so accustomed to hard concrete and miles of tar. The fresh highland air and towering mounts revitalize and refresh, bringing strength to tired hands and hope to weary limbs. In such surroundings as one finds oneself in the beautiful Cameron Highlands, one feels a song of praise to the Almighty Creator welling up from within, bursting forth in the joyous songs of the cricket, the thrush, the sparrow, and the rushing streams and waterfalls.
O how I love the Creator! How I marvel at His precision, His unsurpassed creativity, His vastness and majestic greatness revealed in the splendid grandeur of the highlands! When I consider Thy creation, O Lord, and the heavens, which Thou hast ordained with Thine very hands, what is man that Thou art mindful of Him? And the son of man, that Thou visitest him?My heart is filled with love and awe for my Lord, the Almighty, who formed and fashioned all these wonders, and yet, came to the earth He created to suffer and die and the hands of His creation to redeem them from the curse of sin and death. How great the sacrifice, how deep the love of the Father, that He would send His only begotten Son to die for such as us!
How can I run after vain glories when my Savior left the matchless glories of Paradise for the lowly dwellings of men, mere hovels in comparison with the smallest mansion in heaven? How can I hold back anything from the One who gave His all for me? How can I indulge in the evil passions of sin, when it was for those very things that He endured the scourge, the crown-of-thorns, and the nails?
Take me as I am, dear Lord, my life is all Thine. Break me, mould me, fashion me, O Master Craftsman, into Your likeness, into an instrument of Your glory. Then use me to proclaim the splendor of Your glorious Name, and the mighty works of Your right arm. All glory and honor and wisdom and strength to Him who sits upon the throne, crowned in mercy and truth, and unto the Lamb forever and ever amen!

Tandoori delight

2005-01-11T08:11:00.000-08:00

The glorious sounds and sights and smells attack Mr. M as he cautiously edges into the crowded shophouse. The exquisite fragrances of freshly baked naan, sizzling tandoori chickens, and exotic varieties of curries and gravies transport him into aromatic bliss. The bustling crowd eating, drinking, talking, laughing, and the pounding rhythms and ethereal melodies of traditional Indian music tease and pamper his ears, playing his mind into fantasies of sweltering India, where spices and culinary pleasures abound.
A friendly worker balances a plate of steaming chapatti as he ushers this awestruck gentleman up a steep, narrow flight of stairs to an empty table by a window. Makan (What would you like to eat, sir?) ? The able, earnest-faced worker speaks almost no English. Er...tandoori satu, garlic naan dua, bagi daging dada (One tandoori, two garlic naan, breast meat please).
The worker shakes his head in recognition and rushes off to attend to another customer.
Our quiet gentleman removes his silk tie, loosens his starched collar, and carefully rolls up his sleeves. He walks over to a nearby sink and meticulously washes his hands, a must for those intending to fully indulge in the North Indian dining experience. He returns to his seat and waits expectantly.
Presently another dark-faced, bright-eyed worker hands him a cup of cold water and a banana leaf to eat out of.
The earnest-faced worker returns, this time armed with a plate of tandoori chicken and a basket of steaming naan. The succulent chunks of chicken are dyed a deep red, framed by shreds of onion and carrot. Mr. M thanks the earnest-faced worker, says a quick prayer of thanksgiving over the victuals and sets to. From the curry pot on his table, he scoops generous helpings of dhall curry onto his banana leaf.
Ever so slowly, he downs the naan, a tender chunk of chicken nestled in the fold of each curry-soaked piece. The powerful aroma fills his nostrils with each bite, enveloping him, carrying him to heights of gastronomic ecstasy.
All too soon, the meal is over. His empty banana leaf stares mournfully back at him. His digestive system cries out for mercy as it struggles to digest the mountain of food that has just been sent down the tracks. Leaning back, he contentedly rubs his full belly and partially stifles a deep belch. Satisfaction...

She's back.

2005-01-05T09:01:00.000-08:00

I peer through the sparse crowd huddling around the pillars, waiting for their loved ones to emerge from the immigration chamber. She was scheduled to arrive at 10 past 11, but it's already a quarter past 11. My eyes are beginning to brim with tears, not borne of expectancy or deep emotion, but caused by the chilling bite of the overadequate air conditioners. A sleepy family is chatting around the waiting area, some standing, some hugging themselves to keep warm, some carelessly sprawled over the rows of empty chairs. The cavernous arrival area of the Penang International Airport, usually bustling with activity and sights and sounds, now threatens to engulf you in its ominous silence.
I blink back the tears and pull my arms around myself, trying to stop my teeth from chattering.
My mind flashes back to the last time I saw her. Would she still be the same? She was fair, with a waist-long sheet of hair that shimmered in the sun. 3 years Down Under had deeply colored her fashion sense. Sleeveless tank tops and low-waist miniskirts had become the vogue in her wardrobe.
I move closer to the glass partition in an attempt to distance myself from the cold blast of the air conditioners.
Finally, I see some weary travelers trickling in through the immigrations. The chairs in the waiting area are now empty, as the sleepy family is now crowding the arrival exit, each member craning their neck in wakeful anticipation of the arrival of their loved one.
Then I see her. It's unmistakeable, that walk of hers. She walks with the same intensity with which she lives her fast-paced life. There is an edge and confidence in her gait, regardless of her speed. The long flight has somewhat abated that edge, though. Her shoulders sag as she pushes her luggage into the immigrations counter.
She has changed. Her once fair skin is now sunkissed. Her sleeveless top proudly displays her exotically tanned arms. Brown as a berry. I lean against the glass, my face fixed in a dreamy grin as I watch her clear immigrations and make her way to the exit. Our eyes meet. She returns the smile.
I can't believe she's finally back. I look back at my mother, and we both rush to meet her at the exit. We fall into each others' arms. The world around me dims. She's back. My sister is finally back.

Of fears, doubts, and an ever present Help in trouble

2005-01-04T07:47:00.000-08:00

Uncertainties, fears, indecision, doubts…plaguing me, dogging my every step...frustration extends its noose around my neck. The lights and sounds of the world beckon, they grab me by the head and force my gaze upon their wares: fame, prestige, renown, safety and security…they turn my face away from the patiently waiting Father, still standing by my side, waiting for me to turn my ear toward His counsel. I flounder in an ocean of questions. Which college? Which course? Which career? What are you doing now? Working? Studying? Where will you be going? So, going overseas this year, ar? Where, America ar? Took A-levels d ar? Oh yar, you din take SPM hor. So how? How? When? Where? What?
Still, He waits patiently by my side. Still, He waits patiently for me to turn my ear toward Him. If I would just stop, ask and listen. And thine ears shall hear a word behind thee, saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.
When I said, My foot slippeth, Thy mercy, O Lord, held me up. In the multitude of my thoughts within me Thy comforts delight my soul.
If it had not been the LORD who was on our side, now may Israel say; If it had not been the LORD who was on our side, when men rose up against us: Then they had swallowed us up quick, when their wrath was kindled against us: Then the waters had overwhelmed us, the stream had gone over our soul: Then the proud waters had gone over our soul.
Blessed be the LORD, who hath not given us as a prey to their teeth. Our soul is escaped as a bird out of the snare of the fowlers: the snare is broken, and we are escaped. Our help is in the name of the LORD, who made heaven and earth.
Stop. Quiet your soul, dear child. Look to me. Be still and know that I am God. But, so many questions. O God, why are You so silent? Why do those who do not call on Your name have infinitely more direction, more purpose, and so much less doubt and uncertainties, seemingly, than I do? Show me the way; all I want is to do exactly, unerringly, what You want me to do. All I want is to be in the center of Your will, to be aligned perfectly with your plans and purposes for me. All I want…Quiet your soul, dear child. Be still and know that I am God.
But yet, I know that You are with me. Even now, You are directing me, whispering softly in my ear. This is the way, walk ye in it. A lamp, a light, sure and faithful are Your words, O God. When ye turn to the right hand, and when ye turn to the left.
I know that You order my steps O God, even when I cannot know it with my mind and emotions, even when my soul screams within me for confirmation that You are indeed with me. Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child. Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.
O how I love Your law, O Lord! Your word is faithful, and Your hand never fails those who put their trust in You. I trust in You, O God my strength, my shield and deliverer. My hope is anchored on the Rock of Ages. Blessed be Your name O Lord of Hosts! Let all the peoples declare your glory!
Let Israel hope in the LORD from henceforth and for ever.
Yes. My hope is in the LORD, Yahweh, from henceforth and for ever.

About the New Year

2005-01-01T08:23:00.000-08:00

It's 2005 already. I can't believe it. It just won't register in my head, the fact that 2004 has passed, and that the new year has arrived.
As I look back on the year that has just passed, I’m just so grateful to God for once again faithfully carrying me right through, thick and thin. This year was truly a year of new beginnings for me. I made so many new friends, deepened friendships like I never knew I could, experienced God in real ways that I never imagined possible, acquired new skills, dropped bad habits, started new good habits, and slaughtered a few sacred cows and white elephants along the way, including the hallowed television. (Gasp! :p) I feel that I’ve grown tremendously this past year, but it’s definitely not a reason for me to boast. There is absolutely no basis for pride, as I know without a doubt that the advances I’ve made this year are a result of the patient work of the Holy Spirit, the sovereign hand of God, the steadfast guidance of my parents, and the good influence of my close friends and family.
A greatly significant milestone of the year was that I was, by the grace of God and the irrepressible power of His resurrection, set free from a 6-year bondage to a particular secret sin. I now enter the coming year clean, and free realize the potential that God has placed in me and to fulfill his plans and purposes for me this year. The devil lost a prisoner this year, and that prisoner is going to cause him a lifetime of grief, beginning with this year. :p
Also, I feel that I have matured emotionally over the past year. I am no longer as insecure in my relationships with others as I once was. I’ve learnt not to depend so much on people, and through a particular close friend, I learnt how to be more sensitive to the often unspoken needs of others.
Yes, 2004 was a good year that will be difficult to top. But I’m also looking forward to 2005.
The thought that thrills me is that I've got a clean slate in front of me. No chinks, no rough edges, no stains from previous mistakes. Clean. Ready to be chiseled and crafted. Ready for me to write the next chapter of my life's story.
The prospect of making that first mark on this slate is at once tantalizing and intimidating. Well, I guess I won’t have to worry too much about that clean slate anymore. The first day of the new year has already passed, and many marks have been made on that still fresh slate, most unconsciously chiseled in. Now I’ve got only tomorrow to worry about, and the day after, and the day after that, and the day after that, and…you get the picture.
It’s going to be an interesting year, with more major changes in store for me. I’ll be going to college this year, and I’ll also probably get a taste of working life for a short period. I’ll be “leaving the nest” for the first time, and I’ll have to learn to be more independent and responsible as part of my continued transition into adulthood.
Yes, 2005 holds many things in store for me, and together with God, my family, and my faithful buddies, I hope to fly through this year like I flew through the last. Happy new year, everyone!

Funny original joke

2004-12-30T08:35:00.000-08:00

Ed - My friend came up with this total cracker-upper all by himself. He wrote it to me on my Christmas card:
Christmas isn't Christmas till it happens in your heart. Apparently we fail to remember that too much McDonald's and Char Koay Teow may stop Christmas from happening if it be the case...

Of adrenaline and testosterone that fuel excessive agressive competitiveness

2004-12-30T07:52:00.000-08:00

I'm competitive. Fiercely so. Boggle, Scrabble, floorball, football...any game, basically, will induce my adrenal and testosterone glands to release a flood of hormones into my system. Just a few hours ago, I was attempting to engage in a friendly, non-competitive game of badminton, albeit unsuccesfully. Before I realized it, I was setting up a competition to see how long we could keep the shuttlecock up for. Then I was smashing at innocent lobs like a crazed lunatic (thought most of them either went wide or fell flat on their faces. Literally. ;p) Then I caught myself. For goodness sake la, Joel...it's just a game! A passing comment by a friend jolted me to my senses. There he goes again...Joel is like that one. OUCH. Hehe...
It's like I go on autopilot whenever I engage in any sport or recreation. I naturally slip into "compete" mode and feel unfulfilled if there is no kind of incentive or goal to work toward. Is it a guy thing? Male machismo, primal instinct? I wonder. You tell me.

Excerpt from my journal

2004-12-29T07:19:00.000-08:00

Ed - This is an excerpt from my journal, dated 28th of December 2004. Thought I'd share it cause I hope it might help some of you out there who are going through the same thing. Names have been removed in the interest of anonymity.
It's been a rather enjoyable and fruitful day, if I may say so myself. Managed to keep to more than half of my planned schedule (hear, hear!! :p) and finally nailed a tricky stick flick (floorball). I should be up in the clouds, actually, with such a fab day behind me.
I'm in emotional turmoil now, though. It's actually really sickening because I go through this so often. Yes, you guessed it: I'm feeling left out, rejected..."I WANNA GO JOIN THEM!" AGAIN. Sounds sickeningly familiar, huh.
Lowdown is that a few of the guys and gals from my church youth group are chilling at my buddy’s place now; a farewell of sorts for one of them who is returning home to Johor tomorrow at noon. Thing is, most of my close friends are there, and I wasn’t even called or invited to join them. Sigh. Déjà vu right smack in my face. (Ed – A “cheerer-upper” for me was that the reason why my buddy didn’t bother to invite me is that she was well acquainted with my peculiar aversion to spontaneous get-togethers. Shows she does know me well. )
You know the old saying, “You’ve made your bed, now you’ve got to lie in it”? Well, I guess I’m now tossing and turning in the extremely uncomfortable bed I’ve made for myself. I mean, if I will go on rejecting social invitations and giving an indelible impression of, dare I say it, contempt for youth pop culture, then I guess it is only reasonable to expect that at some point, people might just stop inviting me altogether. Not much use going to all that trouble and wasting precious oxygen, saliva and time if they know that no’s the most probable answer. Right? Can’t say it isn’t reasonable. Can’t say it’s easy to swallow, either. Sigh. There’s my depraved, twin-headed dragon of a heart for you: always competing for affection and gratification and never satisfied. Can’t ever seem to please either of them. Oh well. Guess that’s the trouble with being a sanguine-melancholic-choleric-phlegmatic mosaic. :p
You know, it really bites dwelling on these melancholy soulish thoughts and grumblings. I tend to get all choked up and uptight whenever I lay in this confounded bed I keep making for myself. Can’t seem to get myself to make it any other way. Pride, yearning for affection, for company and fellowship, a desire to be “above” certain things, people or activities…all signs pointing the way to the nearest neighborhood Pity Party. Gotta split before depression gets a hand in. I can almost see that sneaky sprite of a demon lurking round the corner in my mind, whetting his cruel little dagger, preparing to pounce and take me down when I’m off my guard.
Oh yes, I see you, you vile fiend of hell. Your name is twain: Self-Pity and Hypocrisy. Get thee gone! This mind is the dominion of the living Christ. You have no legal right to be on these grounds.
Yes! Light breaks out and warms my fallen countenance. My sword! Rhema, the word of the Lord for the moment! “Cast all your cares upon Him, for He cares for you!!”
Thou sniveling, sickly phantom of depression. Begone, foul dwimmerlaik of Beelzebub! Seest thou this fiery brand? Rhema is its name. Get thee gone, lest I smite and cleave thy wretched brow in twain. “For He cares for me…He cares for me!”
I watch in satisfaction as the sorry creature starts and turns on its heels, fleeing with all its might from me, a Son of the Most High God wielding a fiery Rhema.
What a relief that’s done with. Hate the way these confounded hell-hounds keep managing to slip past my defenses and nip at my exposed flanks. Reckon they must have got through all those gaping holes in the wall the light just revealed. He that has no rule over his spirit is like city that is broken down, and without walls – Proverbs 25:28. Hmm. Better go repair those gaps with some solid brick and mortar from I Samuel. Out.

The kite-man

2004-12-27T06:24:00.000-08:00

It is the 26th of December, 2004, a dark day in the history of the Penang. This day marks the only incident in recent memory where a major natural disaster, namely a tsunami, has hit this island. At approximately 8:59 a.m., a massive earthquake off the tip of nothern Sumatra triggered waves of tsunami that swept out from the epicenter of the quake, hitting the West Coast states of Peninsular Malaysia, Sri Lanka, Madras, and the Maldives Islands, wreaking havoc on their unprepared shores. These tsunami have thus far claimed 38 lives on the island of Penang.
I am with my parents, driving along the Gurney Drive coastal road, hoping to satiate our grotesque curiosity, yielding to our lower desire for carnal enjoyment derived from viewing the suffering of others, knowing that we are safe, that we do not share their misfortune.
We are inching along the road, like countless other motorists, slowly taking in the devastation wrought by the merciless tsunami. I see a lone figure of calm amid the endlessly roving crowds that stream past. He is a middle-aged Chinese man of ruddy complexion. His kindly, weather-beaten face is framed by an untidy mop of curls. He is walking slowly back and forth, wordlessly waving what appears to be three tiny kites attached to his hand by 3 equally short strings. As I continue to observe him, I realize that he is no mere out-of-place hobbyist. This man is a kite salesman.
I salute this brazen entrepeneur. He embodies the masculine ideals of determination (in spite of the destruction, he refuses to let down peddling his little kites), boldness (he evidently couldn't care less what people thought of him, a strange little man selling kites in the aftermath of a tsunami), and pragmatic calmness (he knows ambling about viewing the damage and going ga-ga and oh-my! over the whole matter, like I am doing, won't do him any good, whereas continuing to sell his little kites, especially with so many potential customers around definitely makes good business sense)
He sits carelessly on the edge of ruin, seemingly oblivious to the confusion around him, his face fixed in a serene smile as he silently waves his kites in the air, wordlessly inviting all around him to buy, buy, buy one of his pretty kites.
I am strangely comforted by his dogged loyalty to his customers, whoever they may be. I know that with faithful men like him around, life will go on as usual come what may, tsunami, floods or quakes.
I watch as he continues to saunter up and down the walkway.
Presently, he stops and sits next to a table laid out with an assortment of kites, presumably more of his stock. He leans back, one leg casually resting on the edge of the wall, still smiling as he continues to silently wave his little kites, still wordlessly inviting all around him to buy, buy one of his pretty little kites.
Yes, with men like him, I know life will go on, come what may.

He's coming back soon - are you ready?

2004-12-26T02:22:00.000-08:00

He's coming back soon. I'm sure of it. Not long now before the Son of Man returns in the glory of the Father with His angels to judge all men according to their deeds. Not long now before the world is thrown into turmoil, and a Man rises from the ashes and unites the world, ushering in a period of unprecedented peace and prosperity, laying the groundwork for the rest of the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place. Yes, the prophetic clock is ticking.
2000 years ago, the Son of God, one part of the Triune Eternal God, came to earth in the form of a helpless babe and laid down His life for the salvation of mankind. He came as the suffering servant.
Soon, He will return, no longer as the suffering servant, no longer as the sacrificial lamb. Soon, He will return with a sword of judgment, revealed in His Majesty to judge the sons of men.
Why am I saying this? No, I am not an Apocalyptic doom-proclaiming prophet. I am not a crazed fanatic declaring the end of the world.
I am merely a Christian, a believer in Jesus Christ, a son and servant of the Most High God. I am merely obeying our Master's commands to watch the signs of the ages.
Malaysia and countless other nations are slowly trading conventional identification for all-in-one chip-based systems that integrate credit cards, passports, identification, etc. into one device. Scientists are researching possible ways to improve this system, to safeguard it against theft/fraud, to streamline it, etc. One of their suggestions is that this device be somehow inserted into the human body and be tailored to and powered by the body, thus automatically eliminating the possibility of theft. So far, researchers have concluded that the forehead and right hand are some of the ideal places to implant the chip-based device.
If you are familiar with the signs of the end times as spelled out in the books of Daniel and Revelation, the information I have just relayed to you will certainly ring warning bells, though I suspect you would have heard about it before.
The book of Revelation speaks of a definite period where the nations of the world will combine to form a one-world government, headed by a charismatic man the Bible names "the Beast". I will not go into detail here, but in summary, there will come a time where cash will be done away with, and all people will be required to carry a mark, either in their forehead or right hand. Those who fail to do so will find themselves with no means to purchase food and other essentials. This mark, the Bible tells us in Revelation 13:16-18, is the mark of the Beast, who is the emissary of none other than the Devil himself, sent to deceive mankind.
Also, the Lord Jesus told us that His 2nd coming would be preceded by a period of catastrophic natural disasters, including earthquakes, tsunamis, etc. among other signs.
That is exactly what happened today. Acheh was struck by an 8.5 Richter earthquake that caused multiple disasters around the region, including 20-foot tidal waves that wreaked havoc on the tiny island where I live. That island is Penang, and it has enjoyed, for most of its history, near complete freedom from major natural disasters. Today, that changed as the massive waves battered the shores of the island, killing and maiming fishermen, trippers and holiday-makers. At the time of this post, the approximate death toll had reached 11, and many more are still missing. Places like Phuket, Thailand, and Sri Lanka suffered much more casualties than us, with 80 and 500 dead respectively.
What really hit home was the fact that a sheltered, disaster free place like good old Penang could succumb to such a calamity. Penangites just don't even think that such things are possible right here. Boy, were we wrong.
Just the other day, I was talking to a good friend of mine, and we were talking about how when death strikes, especially close to home, it really makes us sit up and think: what am I doing with my life now? What's really important in life? It could happen to me too. Where am I going after I die?
As a Christian, I know without a shadow of doubt that death will only send me on a one-way trip to eternal bliss in Heaven. I know that I have trusted Jesus Christ for my salvation from eternal judgment in Hell. Therefore, Death for me holds no fear. The question I am now induced to ask myself in view of today's happenings is: Jesus is coming back soon. The signs tell me that. Am I ready for His return?
Honestly? No. No way. If Christ were to return now and judge my deeds, as it says in the Bible, through the test of the fire, I reckon I'd be left with little more than a handful of ashes. Seriously. What am I doing with my life now? And more importantly, for what reason? What is my motivation for my actions? Will I make it into heaven by the skin of my teeth, as an unfruitful tree that failed the Master Gardener? I wonder.
Yes, the prophetic clock is ticking. He's coming back soon. Are you ready?

It is more blessed to give than to receive

2004-12-24T08:52:00.000-08:00

You know what? I've never, ever in my life, gone Christmas shopping. No sir, not even once. But this year, I'd vowed it would be different. I purposed in my heart to at least make a Christmas list. I did the closest thing a Christian could get to swearing to actually follow that Christmas list: I wrote down that resolution and sealed it with a prayer. After all, the theme for my church this year (Ed - there you go again...what do you mean your church? ;p ) is "A Year of New Beginnings".
The "old" Joel never gave gifts to people even though he received tons of gifts during Christmas. The "old", lazy boned Joel never though it worthwhile to even attempt at getting something for anyone. No sir, it was just too much work to lift his ancient, moldy frame off the couch to move into action, too much work to shift the gray cells in his brain to think of what could brighten up someone's day.
But this year was different. Light had penetrated his crusty shell. Something, or was it Someone, had changed something in him. His blood began to course through his veins with renewed vigour as he bustled about, Christmas fast approaching, growing more and more enthusiastic by the second as he whipped his mind into action thinking of what to get him, her, this, that person...
Let me tell you, the saying "It is more blessed to give than to receive" really is true! I know it may be cliched and worn, but I can't deny the thrill I get when I'm preparing gifts to give to people. (Ed - I was kind of on a tight budget, so I figured the most economical and meaningful gift would be a handmade bookmark with my favorite verse on it and a personal message to the recipient. At the time of this post, I wasn't done yet with all my handmade gifts)
I've already given out a few gifts, and I must say that, if anything, gift giving, with a sincere heart does do wonders if you struggle with hard heartedness, etc. To see a person's face light up when you give him or her a gift, especially coming from stingy old Joel, really literally swallows you with good old mushy-feely goodwill. ;p
Aside, I must say that I'm really glad that I chose to handmake my gifts. I think it really adds to the gift, that personal touch. Personally, I prefer handmade, personalized "cheap" gifts to expensive, impersonal gifts. I really do. I'm feeling all romantic and emotional and "good-willy" now, so sue me.
A tip to any readers: try it! Give someone a handmade gift, lovingly crafted, and watch for his/her reaction. Then savour the moment, and enjoy that tingle of pleasure shoot up and down your spine as you thank God that you chose to give that person a sincere, handmade gift, instead of that expensive Adax pour Homme dress shirt/Dior fragrance he/she asked for.
Blessed Christmas, everyone.

That night some shepherds were in the fields outside the village, guarding their flocks of sheep. Suddenly, an angel of the Lord appeared among them, and the radiance of the Lord’s glory surrounded them. They were terribly frightened, but the angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news of great joy for everyone! The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born tonight in Bethlehem, the city of David! And this is how you will recognize him: You will find a baby lying in a manger, wrapped snugly in strips of cloth!”
Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God:
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and peace on earth to all whom God favors. "
Luke 2:8-14

Pride takes a hard knock

2004-12-24T08:26:00.000-08:00

I sat there, seemingly alone in a teeming mass of people, talking, eating, laughing. I sat there, watching as they enjoyed each others' company, as they moved about the room, so at home, so in sync with all that was going on, so "there". I sat there, wondering just why it was that I couldn't engage, couldn't click, couldn't...what was wrong?
I felt so out of place, so uninvolved. Man, it was frustrating!
What was it that held me back from participating?
O hypocrite! Pride has once again reared its ugly head! (Ed - Refer to previous article - "SAVE ME!!" ) Whispering...insidious mutterings...Oh, look at that! There they go again, the juveniles...you're not going to join in, are you? How can they still do that? Doesn't it get old after a while?
AWAY! Away from me, you foul fiend of hell!! I quickly mauled a mental personification of that spirit of pride as I slowly and deliberately stood up. Slowly and deliberately turned. Slowly and deliberately walked over to where a group of them were fawning over two terrified hamsters. I picked up the hamster. "What's its name?"
YES! Score one for humility!

The problem with Pride and Hypocrisy

2004-12-21T08:58:00.000-08:00

Have you ever felt like you had two people inside you pulling your emotional strings? Have you ever felt like doing something but also felt like not doing it? I get it all the time. It's really super annoying. Have you ever felt like you wanted to kill a part of yourself that you really really hated but just couldn't get rid of? I've felt like that so often.
Just today, there was a Christmas Celebration event organized by one of the college Christian Fellowships in Penang. A church youth group was invited to minister at the Celebration. It so happened that that youth group in turn invited one of the youths at my church to put together a dance team and join them under the banner of my church. (Ed. - What do you mean your church?)
Now, I don't know why, but apparently the dance team got assembled without the knowledge of the youth directors at my church, so, technically, their ministry trip was not sanctioned by the church. This placed the dancers in an extremely akward position, and they were instructed not to identify themselves as a ministry team from my church.
The dance team nevertheless decided to go ahead with the trip as this complication had arisen too close to the day of the actual event, thus eliminating the possibility of declining the invitation.
Now, you see, the problem is that, I feel that because of their "non-sanctioned" position, I was inclined to not have anything to do with them. I know that really stinks, but to be brutally honest, I think that was what I felt about it. I avoided talking about it, and I decided in my heart that I would not go for the Celebration to support them, even if they asked me to. (Ed. - Which they didn't. ;p) Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm really really mad at myself for allowing myself to entertain and nurture those horrible thoughts.
I think it has everything to do with my pride, those thoughts I was thinking. I felt that they were "inferior", and that my good name would be smeared if I associated with them. What a load of rot!
And to put it out in the open, deep inside, I really wanted to go too. I wanted to enjoy their company, to feel the thrill of serving in a team. But I never allowed those hidden desires to surface; I never allowed myself to even so much as think about those desires. There was no way that I, the high-and-mighty Joel would be involved in that sort of "unsanctioned" activity. Uggh. I wish I could kill that smirking, self-glorifying, overweening part of me. Murder it and chop it into tiny little pieces to burn in my oven and feed to the dogs.
I guess that this prideful part of my thinking has led me to living such a hypocritical life. I tell people that I have no time for a movie, and I waste that time at home slogging hours into a computer game. I tell people that I have no money for a meal at the local mamak stall, and I waste RM3 on a lousy Magnum ice cream. I tell people that I have better things to do, and I don't do them. I hate that. I really do.
In actuality, I really do want to redeem my time. I really do want to be a wise steward of my money. I really, really do. But all too often I fall short of these noble desires. I think it has to do with my mindset. I mean, how often do I think of spiritual things? My mind is constantly filled with trifles and passing thoughts, childish fantasies and the like. Again, I hate that. I really do. But, like I mentioned in my earlier entry today, I just don't bring myself around to remedying it. I'm just too bone lazy to move my sorry self into action.
But no more! Tomorrow is a new day! It's really refreshing that each day you are given a clean slate to fill in. I'm encouraged that God's grace and mercies are new every morning. I truly believe that if I truly commit myself, with all of my heart, to right these wrongs in my life, I will be given strength from Above to do so. I believe. I really do. Perhaps tomorrow will be the start of something new, something fresh; a turnaround of sorts.
O God, fill my heart with an overwhelming desire to model myself after you. And give me the grace and strength to do so, for I cannot find these within myself. You know my heart's desire O Lord. You know exactly that for which I strive, for which I ache with all of my being: for You to say to me, "Well done, good and faithful servant. Well done." For You, for Your glory, for Your name's sake, and in Your name I pray. Amen.

SAVE ME!!

2004-12-20T21:29:00.000-08:00

I think it really bites how my contact lens keeps folding itself inside out. It's like it's got a mind of its own, and thrives on seeing just how close I can get to fitting it on my eyeball before it evilly caves in onto my hapless finger. Most people tell me that the main problem they face is getting themselves to actually place that contact lens onto their eyeball. Most are just plain freaked out of their pants at touching the apple of their eye. But not me. I've got no qualms touching my eyeballs. It's just that my lens flatly refuse to cooperate. Yeah, right.
I think it really bites how I almost instantaneously play the "blame game" whenever things go wrong. It's like I've got a mind of my own, the way I quickly pin the blame on something or someone whenever I fail. I guess it's part of our fallen nature as Sons and Daughters of Adam. It's like, hereditary. Part of our "heritage". I mean, look at Eve. Her first instinct when confronted by the Big Guy about the apple was to point her slender, apple-stained finger at poor Adam. And poor Adam didn't delay in pushing the blame to the wily Serpent. It's depressing that the same scene is being played out countless times in my own life every day.
God: Did you or did you not look at that lewdly dressed lady to lust after her?
Me: I did NOT! It was just a glance. Okay, so it wasn't a short glance, but isn't it true that only second looks count as lustful ones? Anyway, it's not like it's my fault she chose to dress like that, and my fault that she just walked in front of me. Besides, Mark was the one that told me to look. I'm sure I wouldn't have looked on my own accord.
Etcetra, etcetra. Sometimes it's just so hard to admit that I'm wrong, and admit what I did wrong. Another thing that bites is how my mind kicks into action rationalizing away my wrongs every time my conscience tells me I've sinned.
And especially annoying is my newly developed "ability" to "shrug off failure". It's also known as nonchalance, indifference, carelessness, etc. I've learned over the years the bad habit of minimizing the consequences of my actions. This has naturally led to an irresponsible and bone-lazy disposition that is hard to break out of.
Too many times, the words "It's too much work", or something to that effect, escape my lips whenever I'm asked to move my lazy behind. It's been said that "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh". I've come to realize that it's way more important to take note of what we unconsciously say than what we consciously say, because it indicates what's inside of us. "It's too much work" tells people that I'm committed to a well established habit of work-shirking and procrastination/dilation of duties, even though I might not say it consciously.
It's this infernal "ability" of mine that's stopping me from righting all these wrongs in my life: my inborn propensity for the "blame game", my astonishing capacity for rationalization, my irresponsibility. It is the reason why my growth is so excruciatingly slow. It is the reason why I never quite get to it, thinking that it's not really that urgent. It is the reason...
BLAAAH! There I go again, playing the blame game!
"O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death? I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord."
-Paul of Tarsus, Romans 7:24-25-

Arr, enough with the pretense and high-horsing already!

2004-12-16T04:43:00.000-08:00

I'm sick of pretending to be who I'm not! For so long I've been trying to put up a facade, a false appearance of unmatched aptitude in English. Using such bombastic crackers as effulgence, miniscule, expedient, exacerbated, etc. etc... thinking that it shows my "mastery" of English, when simpler words like radiance, small, useful, worsened, etc. would do just fine.
It's been like a vice stifling my creativity, this horrible pride of mine. My unwillingness to "go with the flow", to be "ordinary"...it's just plain revolting.
Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm giving up on trying to write well. It's just that I've given up being intentionally blurry to give an illusion of greatness. Sigh...
With that aside, I must say that it's pretty tough going writing with almost no one listening. I know of only a few of my friends and family who have obligingly visited this blog (Thanks, guys!!), but my comments box is still empty. It kind of defeats the purpose of my setting up this blog: to receive feedback on my writing. I want to know what others think about my ability to write. It's important to me because writing is the skill that I would like to use to earn my bread.
But I guess it might be because my blog is still new. Oh well, time will tell.

The joys and sorrows of speaking, etc.

2004-11-30T06:58:00.000-08:00

I offended a girl today. I made an inadvertent insensitive remark about her appearance. It was about her hair. Bad mistake. Never make negative comments in public about a girl's appearance. She will not appreciate it. Trust me. We guys treat it as "constructive criticism", but they don't.
Guys seem to have problems connecting their brains to their mouths, especially around girls. We sometimes blurt out things we wish we could catch and draw back on a line before they reach anyone's ears, but life isn't so kind to us. More often than not, our blabbering lips unnecessarily land us in tight spots and in the bad books of others. I cannot measure the amount of trouble my wayward gab has brought me since the day I learned to speak.
It just shows that God knows best. It says in the book of Proverbs in the Bible: "Even a fool is thought wise if he holds his tongue". We would do well to take heed to that invaluable nugget of wisdom. Doing so would save us a lot of grief in our relationships.

Wedding dinners

2004-11-29T01:40:00.000-08:00

The peculiar institution of wedding dinners, Chinese ones in particular, intrigue me. The pomp and bustle, the unspoken and unwritten rules and regimens, the many customs, formal or informal, and growing trends of wedding dinners make for a fascinating case study of evolving Malaysian Chinese society and culture.
First, the matter of its timing. It is an unspoken and unwritten rule that arriving on time for a wedding dinner is simply out of the question. Wedding dinners typically acquire critical mass to begin proceedings an hour, on average, after the scheduled time. I have never been to, or heard of, a wedding dinner that started on time; it just does not happen.
Then, there is the live band. Live bands seem to be must-haves at every wedding dinner these days. Somehow, most people seem to share a common preference for live music, regardless of quality, over recorded music. Obtaining a quality act for live entertainment during a wedding dinner is an important part of the wedding coordinator's responsibilities.
Another popular up-and-coming trend among the Chinese during wedding dinners is to have ongoing open karaoke sessions. This, I fear, places the guests in real danger of serious damage to their auditory systems, as no attempt is made at filtering the participants of the karaoke sessions. Everyone and anyone is welcome to take the microphone and sing their hearts out. It's all very well when they can sing, but it is unfortunate that, more often than not, those who participate are unable to even sing in tune, never mind with style. I am grateful that I am yet to have first-hand experience of this.
A firmly entrenched custom is the practice of giving ang pows or red packets to the newlyweds. This supposed gesture of courtesy is in actuality a way for the guests to help the newlyweds cover the cost of the dinner. Only married couples are expected to give ang pows. Since children, teenagers and single adults are not expected to give ang pows, prolific parents are expected to put more money into each packet.
All these elements, and more besides that I may have missed out, make the Chinese wedding dinner truly a unique experience.

2004-11-28T02:43:00.000-08:00

This is me.

Introduction

2004-11-28T01:48:00.000-08:00

After much deliberation, the powers-that-be in the control room of El, inc. have decided to set up a weblog to hone the writing and communication skills of its writers and to communicate the philosophies, ideas, ideologies, opinions, etc. of the members of El, inc. to the general public.
This weblog has been, by the consent of the majority, named elthinks, indicating the aforesaid principal aims and purposes of the weblog.
The Managing Executive of El, inc. Mr. ben-Isakh, would therefore like to extend warmest greetings to you, one of our first visitors. You are welcome to browse, read, and muse, and are heartily encouraged to send comments, questions, etc. to chozen86@yahoo.com.
Enjoy your visit. :p