Deconstructing and Reconstructing

There is a tower, badly put together, precariously standing, good for little since it poses such a danger to anyone who dares go near. It has been built on a poor foundation of pride, vain ambition, insecurity, covetousness, strife. 

There is another place for another tower to be built - an unshifting place of solid rock. There are building materials, too, of kindness, generosity, submission, forgiveness, gentleness, patience, self-control, and faithfulness. 

I am a builder - where shall I labour?

A Shaft of Light

Because the struggle I face is not a unique one.
Because others facing similar struggles may have fewer resources for coping.
Because the silent cries of others could be far louder than mine, could they be heard.
Because being vulnerable and honest with my pain invites others out of their loneliness and darkness, and hope is birthed.
Because keeping up the appearance of being strong will only set up a strong wall between myself and those with whom I wish to connect.

Because you never know when, in reaching out, you are that shaft of light piercing someone else's darkness.

My Pledge

Yes, the stay home order is finally in force. Preschools are finally "closed". Work deliverables have not been suspended; in fact, they have mounted up.

It has been a few days thus far; and while it is true it hasn't been easy, the prospect of the days ahead is what I find is more psychologically straining.

And so, this pledge to help me along.

In this season, I choose to:

• be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer (Romans 12:12)
• not compare myself against others, neither making myself look good or feeling inadequate 
• cease coveting what others have, e.g. time to bake, clean their houses, craft etc. 
• lay down the perfectionist attitude - I will not attempt to cook all meals, I will learn to tolerate untidiness 
• take things moment by moment 
• be present to my child, to take this as an opportunity to get to know her more in the increased time together
• set goals for my child that extend beyond this season, even if that means forgoing her home-based learning activities; seek God for the goals we should be pursuing 
• not frustrate my child my forcing her to get through home-based learning activities that I know she is not ready for 
• look beyond the surface, i.e., the activity, and instead focus on the learning goal - and remember I can accomplish that in so many other ways
• love my child unconditionally even when that impinges on my own comfort 
• have the Romans 12:12 attitude toward my husband 
• take this as an opportunity to renew my family and home culture, to break the bad circuits
• be open to what God is bringing to my family in this season
• make time to care for myself - first of all spiritually, but also physically
• forgive myself, for I will fail - knowing that God's mercies are new every morning
• remember God's promises for each moment of uncertainly and stress 
• be thankful, helpful, giving, and prayerful toward others 
• forgive, forgive, and forgive again for others' lack of understanding toward me during this season
• obey God in not giving into a bitter attitude toward those who hurt me 

What if worship looked like...

I play in a worship band in church. We are a relatively small congregation of about a hundred or so; keyboardists are not great in number. Being on rotation with three other pianists, I get rostered to play about once a month. I began learning the piano in the early primary school years, and completed my grade 8 ABRSM examinations by the time I finished secondary school. Sometime in my early adult years, I found many of my peers in church getting plugged into the church community by serving. Somehow, it seemed that most would gravitate toward some kind of youth, cell group, or worship team-related ministry. Not wanting to be left out, perhaps, but also with a real desire to play the piano during worship service, I joined in too. I had long been a "closet pianist", and always had a vague desire to be able to play as freely as the keyboardists I heard during worship service.

To be honest, I have never considered myself an accomplished pianist. Even as a classical pianist, I was never very fluent, and always felt very inadequate as I never sounded as impressive as my elder sister with four more years of piano training! For an audience, I have only ever had my piano teacher, the piano examiner (once a year), and my family members who, I assumed, had to put up with my clumsy playing.

And when I moved on to improvising and playing by ear after grade 8, I found that even when I was able to play the correct chords, and could hear well, I struggled to translate what I heard to the notes my fingers would play. I became a closet pianist, as I felt shy about letting others hear my stilted attempts. When I joined the worship team, there would be a new series of challenges awaiting me. Playing alone is one thing, playing with others in a band quite another. It would take me several years before finally realising what that meant.

Now, I daresay I can play my role in the worship band - most of the time - to the extent that I am able to fit in (by more than just playing quietly so as not to be heard!). I understand the importance of keeping to the tempo set by the drummer, and to contribute to the dynamics of the song.

That much has changed. Yet, some things haven't. Still, I find myself terribly self-conscious, which often means I am not bold enough to experiment freely with different ways of playing when playing with the band. 

What more, playing in the worship team often feels like a lot of work - hard work. There is often a lot to remember - modulations, dynamics, number of repetitions, points to cuts, notes to play (especially when in an unfamiliar key), and anything else that could arise during the worship session itself. Some worship leaders can be more exacting than others, and when that's the case, it becomes doubly stressful.

So, what if "worship" looks like a lot of work, as might be convey sometimes? On the very surface, what people are seeing on a Sunday morning during "praise and worship" is this - musicians playing skilfully (or otherwise). Music is a God-given gift, which is often an instrument used by God to accompany prophecy and spiritual warfare in the Bible. The church deserves nothing less than skilful musicians! When musicians struggle to be skilful, when patisserie chefs persist in tempering the glossiest chocolate, when artists spend sleepless nights perfecting a painting, it can look like much hard work. Why would it not? 

During the praise and worship segment of the worship service, what is seen is musicians presenting their bodies as living sacrifices, their spiritual act of worship - what is required of all followers of Christ - in the context of their service as worship musicians. It is no wonder, if we should notice the elements which make up that sacrificing. Perhaps, that gratitude and reverence for God can sometimes be seen not because of how skilfully the musician has played, but in how faithfully they have persevered to keep on coming before God - with whatever they have - in contrition of heart. 

What if, the images pulled up in a Google search for church worship do little to capture the essence of genuine, God-pleasing worship? And if expectations are being set up based on those sorts of images, and all that is required in conjuring them up, it may be time to question those expectations. 

And so, playing in a worship band is, and should be much hard work, when musicians give sacrificially to hone their craft to fulfil their God-assigned office. Yet, great comfort is to be found in that worship is also rest. God's invitation to come to Him are for all - and He asks that we do so with childlike simplicity, acknowledging who we are - sinners turned saints before a Holy God. When all is said and done, and not a moment remains for any further practice, we simply offer what we have - and with what our hearts reveal, may He be pleased. 

A Nation in a Word

A word may be so little, and yet be so packed with power. Recently, I found myself seeking the comfort of connection and simple gifts, amidst lonely days and wearisome frustrations. hygge - I found myself typing into the Overdrive search field. It was no wonder - hygge encapsulated the spirit of what my soul was searching for.

I found myself reading the first few chapters of Marie Tourell Søderberg's book on the topic, and soon realised that hygge is about more than I'd imagined. I came to learn that hygge is not just about all I find charming about the Scandinavian lifestyle - simplicity, beauty and design in everyday things, teatime rituals and the art of crafting shared living spaces. hygge has come to be recognised as a key value of the Danish people, the essence of which has been shaped by the nation's history and culture. A climate characterised by more cold and damp than sunshine and a history of being gradually made smaller over the years by external political forces have not exhausted the spirit of the Danes. Rather, they have responded by a stubborn insistence to hold on to each other through the times of testing, for both warmth, and a sense of communal identity. They have more than survived.

I found myself wondering - what about Singapore? If there were one word, that captures the essence of us, what would it be?

Sheepishly, for a while, I couldn't quite think beyond this one, equally strange word - kiasu*. It's not hard to understand why being kiasu is so deeply entrenched in our psyche. We are a tiny nation, and are thus highly dependent on other nations for natural resources. Our very survival rests upon healthy diplomatic relations. There was much threatening our sovereignty, and therefore much to be afraid of. To be accurate, perhaps it was kiasi that plagued our consciousness those earlier days, rather than kiasu. The early years of our nationhood were not easy ones - but somehow, we more than survived. The world must have been surprised by the little island nation which not only sprang up in the blink of an eye (it would be, if we consider the timeline of world history), but even boasts a world-class airline, public housing, and education system.

And once that happened, there was no turning back. From having nothing to lose, having had nothing, we found ourselves having to fight hard to defend our world-class standing. We had won, not having set out to do so, and now, we must not lose. Enter kiasu. 

There will be no book written about 'The Art of being Kiasu', for it bears negative connotations on the word cline to which it belongs. With its slew of successes, Singapore has grown proud, so much so that we would rather shrug off any suggestion that there was something we had to be afraid of. Why, we have our sovereignty to guard!

Singapore has truly grown from strength to strength over our short period of independence; it's no wonder there is much to be proud of - especially in spite of being so very small. Yet, there is also the keen awareness that our very existence hangs on a thread. We paddle furiously, for we think that it is what is needed to maintain our position on the leaderboard. Beneath that proud veneer, a frenetic energy drives the nation, almost desperately. It is almost as if our success has made us its slaves. We succumb.

Yet - that can hardly be the promised end. God has not yet been considered, though He is the author of the world's history. Should this be a Godless world, Singapore should be much afraid. Knowing that the hearts of kings lie in God's hands, and that nations are but a drop in His balance, we glimpse a new perspective. What if Singapore is merely His instrument, with a destiny of fulfilling His purpose, not ours? What if our successes are part of His sovereign plan - not only for our sake, but for the world? What if our future is determined not by how "future-ready" we make ourselves, nor how hard we work, but other factors in His consideration?

In this light, we reorient our hearts. We continue to fear - but what do we fear? It is no longer losing out, nor falling behind that we fear. We see God at the centre of the universe - and so we fear Him - and Him alone. We fear God, as this is the beginning of all wisdom. We place our hope in Him, and are rewarded with confidence - not in changing circumstances or the cleverness of human minds - but in that firm knowledge that our future lies in His hands. We are desperate - to follow His revealed will, and to please Him - and for that we fight. Beyond that, we rest - knowing that there is nothing else to be done.

With that, I think I've found the word. 義 This Chinese character for righteousness logographically depicts a sacrificial lamb serving as a covering for oneself. This is the essence of my vision for Singapore - that we would be made righteous, because of His sacrifice. Dare I dream this for our nation? I do, and must. 

 *kiasu is a Hokkien (a Chinese dialect) word meaning 'afraid to lose out'

Life Outside the Garden

In this city state where I live, more than 5 million people share a mere 721.5 square kilometres of space. There's no denying it - it's crowded here. Running into a colleague, friend, or old acquaintance is easy. Since I work a job requiring close teamwork and collaboration with people all the time, I find myself constantly surrounded by people. My after work hours are blessed with the company of family and friends - people with whom I have chosen to be with. My days are filled with countless interactions with person after person.

Why then, do I find myself longing for connection - why am I not exempt from loneliness? And while  longing for that connection with people, why do I so constantly run away from them, instead seeking out solo escapades and adventures to where I am least likely to run into anyone I know, almost on a daily basis?

The plain fact is this - that being with people simply does not equate connecting with them. Days filled with interactions are simply part and parcel of life in a city. Just imagine how different it would be, if I were holed up in a cabin in the woods (, writing)!

People are not merely flesh and blood. We are spiritual beings, at the heart. In commercial exchanges words are passed back and forth, as are goods and services. Hello, thank you, and goodbye are our accepted manners of speech. At work, so many of us have worked hard at learning the nuances of its language. Like frames of reference, they rescue us from being at a loss for words. They keep the machinery functioning. Yet, they have allowed us to simply go through the motions. We have learnt what to say, under what circumstances, and have found a way to keep our "true selves" quite uninvolved, beneath it all.

This has left me parched, thirsty for the refreshment of friendship - and yet, I have chosen time after time to refrain from letting the real me show. And why would that be a surprise? For so many of us have learnt that our real selves may not always be reciprocated the way we hoped. Instead, we were looked upon dubiously, as though we were foreigners, who did not understand the customs of the land. We resorted to the safety of having become tropes to one another, our stories hidden beneath our  scrupulously-assembled sets and costumes. We stalk each other furiously on social media, and fear not being able to keep up, while acting cool and detached in real life.

We live in the aftermath of Babel, we wander outside the garden. We have chosen to identify with Cain, who chose to pursue his brother with death, rather than love. We live among a struggling creation - so why should we be surprised at the gnawing sense of loneliness?

It has been all too easy to give up the fight for friendship, for the too-often misunderstood gift above all gifts - love. Paradoxically, the crowdedness of life here has made it possible to walk through a crowd, and not see or be seen in return. To choose the life of a recluse is dangerously easy.

Yet, the biblical mandate is to keep on hoping, to keep on loving. We were designed to live in relationship with one another, where although misunderstanding and offending one another are givens, this side of eternity, forgiveness and persevering love are available in greater measure.

Being the beloved, I can rest in the Father's sure acceptance of me, and redeem each precious moment  where paths are truly crossed. I can choose to see people, not with physical, but with spiritual eyes - which though being invisible, make the invisible visible. Thus is my hope. Thus is our hope.

Perfect in all of His ways

You are perfect in all of your ways. What comfort is often brought by refrains of truth, as was brought by these words last Sunday, heard during church service in the song 'Good, good Father'. I had gone to service upset and uptight, but could feel that tension dissipate with those words. I was reeling from a disagreement in which I had finally insisted that I should have my way. I felt I was justified, that I had been wronged for too long - that I had a better way, and that I should be allowed - finally allowed - to do things my way. Yet I felt confused - I had desperately wanted my way to be the right way - but was it really?

Those words made me realise that I could lay down fighting, and rest instead, in God's all-encompassing knowledge of me. In God's overarching plan of wisdom and love, He promises that darkness is as light to Him. He promises His presence, wherever I should find myself. I felt cords unravel. I felt free from the burden of having to go by my way. 

I sensed the invitation to commune with Him - to bring before Him plain, unsanitised thoughts, raw emotions, childish plans in all their honesty. Hiding came with that first bite of forbidden fruit; shame was nailed to the cross. All too often, I have sought to reason with man, or to figure things out myself - knowing that God was watching all of it. Now, I heard His call to no longer treat Him as a silent onlooker. I am beginning to trust that He could, would, and would always be perfect enough to handle all that I throw at Him. Not that He would do things my way - not that I would always understand His way - simply, that I could trust Him. 

And as I lean upon Him, I learn to rest. The many voices which had enticed and confused me fade, and soon, I hear only the steady rhythm of a heart beating - His heart. I become aware of a growing desire to know His ways, and to reexamine mine in the light of His. 

Silent Gems

A writer writes. - Sahara Special, Esme Codell

Maybe so. 

My earliest recollection of the desire to write (perhaps with a capital "W") was of writing, illustrating, and binding my own books when I was a little girl. The desire has stayed with me, through all of school life and beyond. Writing for academic purposes has come easily for me, and I am thankful for that. But it was not primarily for academic, or utilitarian purposes that I wanted to write. I wanted to write poetry, particularly - or just to write poetically. Then I wanted to write books. When I rediscovered children's books, I wanted to write them. I wanted to write beautifully. 

Why then have I, through the years, written so little? I have thought about writing, read about writing, and read others' writing - all at the expense of writing, or so it seems. Had I chance to reencounter those days, surely I would do differently? Perhaps not, surprise, surprise. Were those missed opportunities? I did once see them as such. Yet perhaps I have gained another perspective. Those days, even those days spent not writing, are part of my journey. They colour and paint my current world view, desire, and experience. They are to be treasured, rather than treated as dross. 

So, let these written words be a tribute to those non-writing days, which are gems in their own right because:

.: I see now that writing is indeed a worthy, complex craft. Words are powerful, and hence worthy. Writing is complex, and hence should not be a task undertaken flippantly. Gemstones are weighed by their worth, and so are words.  

.: Writing was pressure, let that pressure now yield its treasure. School’s unrelenting message was, “write well, be rewarded.” And though that meant that writing was not pure pleasure then, it is the measured incisions of the master gem cutter which bring out their beauty.   

.: Gems are measured by their clarity, and so are words. Poetry would lose its essence, if not for the generous space holding words apart. In writing, many words may mar the writer’s message. Hence it’s not the volume of words that matter, but the message.   

.: Yet-to-be gemstones remain hidden deep inside the earth for years and years, working simply on becoming, have shown me the value of silence, waiting, and just perhaps, keeping meaningfully occupied in the meantime. 

Most of all: 

I am reminded again that I am to be the bearer of the message, not its originator. And if so, I do not alone determine what I should write or when. I am to be attentive to that Voice, sometimes still and small, sometimes cedar-breaking powerful. And when He says, “write!” Then, must I.