The Colour of Disappointment.

I should have known all along. And I think I knew from the start, but I always give people the benefit of the doubt.

I find it intriguing, that such a large part of this illness is linked to the hurts inflicted by Fallen men on the unsuspecting hearts of women- be they fathers, brothers, failed role models or the ambiguously wide category of Bad Fallen Men.

I thought I would have been smashed by the shock and disappointment from the news. There should have been a Great Depression. But all there was, was a calmness, and a strength and peace in my heart which I do not understand.

And disappointment. Grievous disappointment.

I have been so naive, child-like and innocent for so long to the point of ignorance, oblivious to the happenings of this crazy world. These crazy stories used to shock me, but not anymore. Just, not anymore.

I try to keep my life simple, you know-keep it around God, medicine, art, sunshine, and children. I try to avoid the dark places, alleys, smoke, booze and Bad Things. But the craziest things keep happening, and they knock on my door incessantly like desperate theives.

What do you want from me? I'm unavailable at the moment- I'm on the other line with Mister God.

But the knocks keep coming, from different men of the Fallen kind, and I keep telling them to go away, because I'm not free at the moment. I'm not free. I'm on the line and it's an important, long-distance call.


And through it all, I've learnt one thing. That the heart of a person, of a woman especially, of a woman who used to be abused by Ed especially, is a treasure to be guarded and protected at all costs. They say you take one of the greatest risks in life, when you give a part, any part of your heart away.

I've had it, I've had enough of listening to heartbreaking stories of unsuspecting hearts trampled brutally upon by men, Fallen because we are all so fallen.

Hearts are given away every day like free brochures at the entrance of a cheap warehouse sale, only to be thrown away at the foot of a public dustbin, strewn on walkways, trampled upon by people in a rush, who don't care. I've had it, and yet the Stories keep pouring in through the crevices under the door, the same sort of Stories with the same Fallen men, and I listen in disgust, trepidation and reverence with open ears lest it should happen to me, too.

We keep thinking that our hearts belong to ourselves, and hence ours to decide who to give to. But we forget, that it belongs to Mister God- totally and entirely. And if He's on the line, then every other call can wait, because surely, there's no long-distance call dialling farther than His?


How sweet the grace of God was, that just last night, my own father had a chat with me for more than an hour, about the red flags of Bad Fallen men. " It's hard to find someone faithful."


At the news, I should have been completely undone, immediately. But I wasn't- still, am not.

Grey is also the colour of Disappointment. Even the pronunciation of the word, the little heavy emphasis in the middle of it, reflects one's utterly grievous disillionment. Disappointment.


And if I've learnt anything through this, it's that I should listen to my gut feeling more than anybody's words of glib persuasion; I've learnt I should listen to the whispering voice coming in through God's line; I've learnt that God speaks through famous and spirit-filled speakers, and parents, but also through simple people like Grandpa Zhou- "Young lady, remember to study hard and graduate to become a good doctor. Don't let any man distract you from your calling."

Indeed, God was faithful through it all. He did His part by protecting me, by whispering to me that all this while, I should be solely focused on answering His calls.

And because I did my part to try and guard what was His in the first place with all my might, there is little that could destroy what belongs, totally and entirely to Him.

I do think, though, that I made some mistakes along the way, but I thank God in gratitude for His mercies in protecting me and my heart, still- for all my naivety, innocence and rebellion.


The grief and Disappointment will seep in slowly, I know. I am human after all. But I've learnt the greatest lesson of all. That a woman's heart cannot belong mostly to God, but only entirely and completely. Only then will it be completely Safe.


And I'm amazed, so amazed, that my heart is intact, still. Stronger, still, because of His love and grace poured out into it.


I do not know the source of this inner resilience except the grace of God.


Perhaps some must think I've missed out on so much. What with all the clubbing and pub-crawling and flirting and cheap (or expensive) alcohol I've missed, some must think I must be missing out on the glorious tones and hues of the colourful, hedonistic life I ought to be indulging in right now before it's too late. I must be daft to be busying myself with patients in the hospital instead of networking in a club, reading instead of watching television and movies, attending mission conferences instead of dating, spending my weekends teaching Sunday school children bible songs and stories and training for runs instead of partying, finding my colour in my amateurish colorpencil sketches instead of a disco ball, spending my time talking to Mister God and old people playing the harmonica or selling tissue paper by train stations instead of answering the occasionally seductive and persistent knock on the door.

I must be daft. And extremely boring.


And so be it.


So maybe not everyone sees the rainbow of splattering hues and glorious tones in my White Place. Maybe not everyone understands that White is the final result of all the colours of life mixed in together. Maybe not everyone will agree that godliness with contentment is great gain. (1 Timothy 6:6), that there is the danger of falling into godliness without its saving power. (2 Timothy 3:5)

Today I learnt, that I've no regrets, for all the knocks on the door I've ignored and will continue to pass by. I used to wonder what life could be on the other side- after all, I am an artist, am I not? But this Incident has proven, taught me that there is no call more worthwhile answering than the call of God Himself, no cause worth protecting more than the heart which belongs to God alone. My own.

I used to and still marvel in awe at the many women I know personally who have consecrated themselves to the call of God upon their lives, pouring themselves out absolutely fostering children not their own, travelling to countries serving the poor, reaching out to people unsheltered by their broken homes, giving them the love of God, hope and a future. And the world may mock, despise or give them sympathy for all their sacrifice. But what sacrifice is it to find joy in obedience?


The hurt, grief and Disappointment may seep through like a weeping sore, slowly. For all my strength, I am human after all. But I thank God for the friends He's placed around me, who've always been there for me, through rain and sunshine. In times like these, who needs loud reggae and mixed cocktails more than the vibrant singing of little children in a rainbow-painted room, pristine, Whitewashed walls, and a sip of red wine with a communion wafer?




So Life must go on.




And for now, will you excuse me- I've patients to see, runs to train for, mission conferences to attend, Sunday school children to teach, and calls from Mister God to answer.


For urgent matters, please leave a message.


Only Mister God can truly be faithful, through it all, through the colour of Disappointment.

"... and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

- Phil 4:7