Mini Putt

Today we went mini golfing in an indoor glow in the dark mini putt place.... very cool. This is me and my bf.

Water Park

I went to the water park last Sunday and had a blast :)

Sublimation.

“But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend

and I was gawky and she was gorgeous

and I was hopelessly boring and she was endlessly fascinating.

So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk,

thinking that if people were rain,

I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.
— Looking for Alaska, John Green”

I read this, and then thought 2 thoughts to myself: how I am a hurricane (but not in a good way), and how words always have a way with me.

When I was younger, I told myself I would marry a writer. He would be a literature teacher, someone well versed in poetry and history and literary works. Somone who would tell me about classics and the bible. He would be a fine writer, and I would get lost in the space between the sentences he wrote, between the images of sunrise and sunset he painted with words dripping with gold. Then I met someone, and I learnt good writing isn’t everything, because Don Juans and jerks have a way with vocabulary and syntax, but nothing quite more.

We just ended our Psychiatric revision module. There was no end to the fascinating things we learnt about the human psyche. But one word captured my mind the most- sublimation.

Sublimation is a defense mechanism, operating unconsciously, by which instinctual drives, consciously unacceptable, are diverted into personally and socially acceptable channels.

For example, someone with an innately aggressive nature could choose to deal with it by becoming a surgeon, because of the confrontational nature of the job. Someone with issues of anger or lonliness or lust could choose to diffuse his frustrations through sports. Aggression, anger, lonliness or lust are all frowned upon. But a job in surgery, or an engagement in sports is encouraged.

This word struck me, then stuck to me, because I realized, that all this while, a large part of my life has been a canvas of sublimation.

I study hard, I engage in endurance sports, I spend a substantial part of my time doing charitable work. In the eyes of the world, these are all seemingly wonderful. But only God knows and understands the motives of my heart.

I am searching.

It was only lately as I dealt with the disappointment of my poorly-healing injury, that I discovered that all I've been doing have also partially been acts of sublimation.

Only I know why I put in so much passion into my sport, so much enthusiasm into my work and what I do. Part of it is in my personality, because of my passion, and part of it is sublimation. I have, to some extent, extra time on my hands to be engaged in these activities with such fierce intensity, because I’m not attached to anyone. I’m not attached to anyone because of a sense of distrust- in myself, and in the opposite gender, in general.

Sublimation: a defense mechanism, operating unconsciously, by which instinctual drives, consciously unacceptable, are diverted into personally and socially acceptable channels.

My defense mechanism is my distance and busyness. My consciously "unacceptable" belief is that guys, especially the ones who start off being nice, always end up hurting me. My acceptable channel to deal with this is spending more time in my work, ministry, and sport, so my defense mechanism can be exercised.

Perhaps, we are all guilty.

And it is only in honesty, in self-reflection and in acceptance that we can come to terms with our acts of sublimation, be they our work, our hobbies or passions, and realize that very often, they reflect an inner missing piece.

My injury forced me to realize that I needed to deal with my missing piece. I used to enjoy being with my training buddies a lot because even though I was very good friends with my guy training buddies, there wasn’t much opportunity to become too close. That distance, with some humour and companionship and bonding on the road, made me feel safe. Time spent training also filled a hole.

We all have big holes somewhere inside. We need to find them so we can allow God to fill them.

But since I stopped riding, I started to develop what I call my Saturday syndrome. Since I couldn't ride with them, I then wish I had, on Saturdays, someone to take me out. But come Monday with its promise of busyness, and I would heave a sigh of relief that I was a free woman.

I realize, that I do, I keep doing, because it is a defense mechanism, a socially accepted channel.

It masks my distrust, my hurts, my disappointments I have had with previous male friends. So I keep a very, very safe distance with all of them now, not that I ever let any one of them get close enough in the first place. But through my understanding of sublimation, I began to realize that God is helping me realize that I can’t make it on my own.

One day, I will have an illness worse than a pelvic fracture or muscle injury. One day, I will realise work has no meaning without someone to share my day with. One day, I will wake up wishing I had someone to share my dreams and hopes about missions and volunteer work with.

If anything, this is what I've learnt in the past 2 weeks with my injury. That come one day, I will realise I can't make it on my own. Reading the exerpt above also made me realise that I am a hurricane. And that, too, is a problem- I'm a massive spin of hot and cold at the same time. A hurricane who stops in her tracks to pick up snails and toss them lightly into grass when no one’s looking because she’s afraid they might get crushed under someone’s unforgiving shoe. But a hurricane is a hurricane, whether it saves tiny lives in tiny shells or not- that scares me, too.

So from here to there, I can only say, God, thank you for revealing my defense mechanims to me, help me overcome my fears and anxieties, bitterness and hurts, because only You can help me.

Not my Battle.

* Wai Jia has been busy with preparations for the upcoming book, called A Taste of Rainbow. There have been meetings to attend, proposals and letters to write and filming to do... all on top of a final year medical curriculum. But she is thankful for the many angels who have come along her path to help.

At church today, I was reminded that when our dreams seem attainable and we do attain them, it is called human endeavour. But a seemingly unattainable dream, an impossible idea and a daunting task invites God to take control and to move for us.

When I started out, I thought recovery was unattainable, much less material to write about in a picture book; when I thought of using it to raise awareness of and reach out to people suffering, in partnership with a national hospital, I thought it would be... impossible, ludicrous, stupid; and when I conceived the idea of making an artistic video and setting up a website, I was incredibly daunted by the overwhelming task. I'm in final year of medical school, doing this now is crazy, I thought.

I was afraid, and dismayed.

So I prayed.

But I suppose, God didn't think so. And so sent my publisher along who happily supported every endeavour, sent a generous sponsor who is putting in what is likely to be a five-figure sum, sent a group of passionate individuals who have been so enthusiastic and helpful in the artistic conception of the video I had in mind, sent a complete stranger who's a professional, who bought me tea and said, "Before I met you, God had already spoken to me. So I'm going to do this for free, not for you, but for God. I want you to know it's not me, but God who is helping you, and I'm just glad to be a part of this."

And I suppose He has the best timing, for isn't it strange and funny how I'm back at the same department where I was treated for my medical attachment- this time, not as a patient, but as a medical professional, a partner with the department who has shown excitement, support and enthusiasm for this project.

"Aren't you excited?" said Dr. Y that day after morning ward rounds.

"Yeah, sort of," I said. "Heh, I guess so."

And then we laughed. A few years ago, I was arguing with her at her clinic because I refused to take her medicine. Now, we were working together for the same dream, to help people learn about this illness, to help youth fortify themselves against this sort of tragedy.

I suppose, there isn't such a thing as having too big a dream, or too small a faith. There isn't such a thing as too outrageous a prayer. Is there something in your life too big for you to overcome on your own? Is there a battle too big for you to fight? Indeed, our shoulders alone were meant to bear smaller things, lighter loads.

We fool ourselves when we think our battles are ours alone to fight.

This dream was too big, the battle too large, my faith was too small, too broken, but I suppose, that's where God likes to come charging in and take over.

" Do not be afraid nor be dismayed because of this great multitude,

for the battle is not yours,

but God's."

- 2 Chronicles 20:15

*Wai Jia would appreciate prayer for her upcoming book, her studies and her injury,

which has not been healing well.

Sometimes things get hard and it feels a little lonely on this journey,

but she is thankful for all the help and prayer received.

Shepherd's Voice.

Perhaps, one of the hardest lessons I have had to learn, was to stop listening to so many people. Even though there were many risk factors for the severity of my injury, the primary reason for it was my taking the bad advice of a pushy athlete who would criticise the fit of my bike every time we met. This is wrong, that is wrong, you should adjust this here, not doing this would just be stupid, listen to me…

Have you been in a situation like that before? Everybody has their own 2 cents to give you, and their advice, sometimes conflicting with one another, only leaves you more confused than you were to begin with.

I remember, just before a race, people would give me all sorts of advice. Because I was the only girl in my cycling group, I think some of the Big Boys saw it as their obligation to dish out advice from their personal experience. Don’t do this, don’t do that, remember this, remember that. What? I can’t believe he told you to do that, believe ME, that’s utter rubbish, do it my way, when I did THAT, I nearly died, oh my goodness don’t be a fool and take that sorta advice…

That’s the problem. Personal experience. Everyone has a different personal experience.

Recently, I had dinner with a Singaporean missionary doctor who has been serving the poor in Nigeria. With application dates for our specialty of choice looming ahead, I had many questions to face. What specialty do I choose? At which insititution? The one which has the best training or the nicest people? God, what did your signs mean? Were they even signs or mere coincidence?

For many months, I had been speaking to doctors, professors, my mentors, friends and my family for their opinions, perspectives and counsel. That day, the missionary doctor told me, “I can see you’ve done your research, Wai Jia. The thing is, I have no advice to give you other than for you to listen to the Shepherd’s voice. Giving you my opinion would simply be shaping you according to my own personal experience. I don’t want to do that because God has a brilliantly unique plan for every individual. And you are special.”

That was the best advice I'd received in months.

He went on to tell me how the cows in Nigeria from different farms would sometimes all get mixed up in the same field. But each time a farmer came and called out, only his own cattle would follow him home. “Listen to your Shepherd’s Voice,” was his advice.

They say there is safety in a multitude of counselors. But I am also learning, that too many cooks spoil the broth, and a crowd drowns out the True Voice which we ought to listen to. My injury taught me a good lesson. Had I listened to my instincts and left my bike the way it was, I might not have suffered so severe a blow. That day was the first day I had biked on it, trying out all the new advice I had received.

So I’m making my own decision about my specialty of choice, and about a crazy decision regarding an important issue. Unfortunately, it will not be an easy one because this decision will not please everyone. When you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. This will upset some people, and disappoint others, but it is a decision I must make. After all, no missionary who went into the field to serve the poor ever pleased everybody before they took off. This is just a small simulation.

When I went to Nepal for 6 weeks to live in an orphanage by myself because I said I heard “God’s call”, even though it was the peak of the political unrest, my family thought I had gone mad. (They eventually sent me with their blessings, albeit with reservations as well.) When I finished writing A Taste of Rainbow and sent it to my publisher, with the intention of being open about my journey with depression to help other people find the courage to seek help and move forward, some people thought it was career suicide. Don’t do it, you’re foolish. Don’t you see, we’re stopping for your own good. Well, the soft launch is going to be in October.

When you’ve got to do it, you’ve just got to do it. I thank God He’s given me enough recklessness and foolhardiness. Someday, I think I will have to exercise the same resolve when it comes to marriage and my place for missions. I don’t think I will marry a normal person. And I don’t think I will necessarily go to a nice place for missions. But in other ways, I can sometimes be so overwhelmed by other people’s opinions. Do you think I should go? What should I do? Really? But what if?

I sometimes end up asking half the world, before deciding upon something. I forgot, the old me was always more independent, more single-minded. So I’ve decided, and I’m sorry you can’t stop me because I’m not telling. I’ve already told the people who need to know. Even some of the people close to me have been excluded from knowing, because sometimes, you just can’t please everyone.

I heard God calling me, it was the Shepherd’s Voice. Period. So it’s okay if people think I’m mad. What’s new anyway? I’ve decided. And if I haven’t already told you, I don’t intend to until I'm about to... take off.

Who are you listening to today?

"My sheep hear My voice,

and I know them,

and they follow Me."

-John 10:27

Little piece of heaven.

I got an email today from a special friend:

"...in your post about heaven, in the last picture, you mentioned that God being with you is what heaven is about.... If this is true, does this mean we are in heaven now? :) Because Jesus did mention He will be with us until the end of the very age... (Matthew 28:20) :D...just to pick your brains and see what you think...(or if you are like me- most of the time, I don't think :D)"

I like to think our life on earth, is a little piece of heaven :)

Text messages.

I suppose, it's true when they say we learn much about ourselves through how we respond to the people around us, what they say and do to us.

"So where's a good place to celebrate JT's birthday?" I asked, sending a text message to a male training buddy.

"Oh, this place at Queen's Street is awesome. Great place I go to for my dates and special occasions."

That kind of left me with one eyebrow up.

Because forgive if I'm being oversensitive or some kind of a prude, but "for my dates" kind of sounded like there were different girls in the same place, tried on like polo shirts on different occasions, as if it were some sort of retail therapy.

I never realised how naive I was. Just some time back when I saw him (not my training buddy)standing there, I felt so relieved I had said no. I said no because I’m not the dating type. I don't like to try. I don't like the word nice or the word like, which is what people say all the time when they're trying out. Nice is what people use when they don't think someone or something is breathtaking or amazing. Like is what people use when they're not committed or fired up. Have you met a triathlete who just liked his sport? Have you met an artist who didn't love his work?
Like. It reminds me of the Facebook button you click on.

And though you kept saying you were all for missions and the poor and were the serious kind who takes everything seriously, I said no. Because I guess I never told you I had a dream about you entering my house wearing a black mask- God speaks to me like that. So when I saw you standing there that day, not quite buff or in shape anymore, I suddenly remembered that day when we were in the lift and you mentioned there was something on my face. "Is it gone now?" I kept saying, rubbing the spot. And you kept saying no, it's still there, took one step waaaay too close to me to advance which alarmed me, totally frightened me. I whipped around to avoid that unecessary closeness. I kept telling myself to give you the benefit of the doubt, that maybe you were trying to be helpful. But looking back, seeing how you turned out with someone else, and remembering how the speck miraculously disappeared after I whipped away from you to avoid your closeness, I realised how close I was to a yucky memory. I was so naive.

I'm not that sort of girl. I'm glad you know it now.

Which brings me back to the text message: "for my dates".

Not that I could ever understand how someone could return to the place where things didn't work out. The whole place would be filled with memories. All over the place- from the menu to being plastered all over the walls to the smell and the texture of the food. I could never eat there again.

I never mentioned it but I really, really hate it when my training buddies sometimes treat me like a boy and slap my shoulder like a buddy. Too close, keep the distance, brother. It's nice that way.

I guess, I shoudn't have been surprised that this confirmed, that I’m a serious relationship kind of person. It's always been all or nothing, for most things. (Extreme? Maybe. Good? Not necessarily- I mean, ask me how 4 torn muscles and a pelvic fracture occurred while...cycling. I don't know.) It made me think about the times people took me out and bought me meals... because you know, I wish I could say it didn't count, or at least I don't want it to, ha, because I thought I was paying. Because until the right one comes along, I'm not available and not interested. Even though I'm bored to tears on a weekend night because I can neither ride, run or swim without pain. God, have mercy.

For now, I suppose, there's only one groom.

And this is a site I think worth visiting.

What Heaven is.

At church last Sunday, " JIEJIE WAI JIA, WHAT DOES HEAVEN LOOK LIKE?"

"YAH, WHAT DO ANGELS LOOK LIKE UH?"

" ARE THERE FLOWERS IN HEAVEN?"

"OF COURSE THERE ARE FLOWERS IN HEAVEN!!"

"JIE JIE WAI JIA, HOW COME BIBLE HAS THE S-E-X WORD? MEANS WHAT?"

"JIEJIE WAI JIA YOU GOT BOYFRIEND OR NOT?"

Kids say the darnedest things sometimes, don't they. And in the worst form of Singlish, ha. But it makes me love them all the more.

"Children, okay, I need you to pay attention so I can answer you. Nobody knows exactly how heaven looks like, but the bible does give us some clues. Well, we know there will be a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God. -Rev 22:1 We also know there will be on either side of the river, the tree of life -Rev 22:2"

"AND RAINBOW. JIEJIE WAIJIA, YOU FORGOT. HEAVEN GOT RAINBOW!!"

"Yes, dear, there's also a rainbow in heaven. ("... and there was a rainbow around the throne- Rev4:3")

No one has seen heaven before, children, but as we read the bible, we have some sort of an idea. Heaven is a happy place, where God'll wipe every tear from each eye.(Rev 21)"

"THEN WHY DOES THE POWERPOINT SLIDE HAVE THE S-E-X WORD?"

" That's because it says those who are sexually immoral cannot enter heaven."

"WHAT IS SEXUALLY IMMORAL?"

I looked at my children's faces and realised that my 7-year olds were pure as pure can be. Only 1 boy seemed to know what it meant because he was giggling and sniggering.

"Okay children, I know this sounds very yucky and you all don't like to talk about holding hands and having boyfriends and girlfriends right?"

"EWWWWW!!!" Everybody was squirmish.

"But when you get to my age, you will have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, or you will want to, okay. That means, you can only have ONE at a time. Can you have 2 boyfriends or 2 girlfriends at the same time? Can your mummy have 2 'daddies', or your daddy have 2 'mummies'?"

They were all shouting NOOOOOO with such conviction and volume I thought it would bring the whole building down. That was the closest I could get to explaining what "sexual immorality" was to the 7-year olds. I definitely was not ready to explain it in any more detail.

Children, have such clear senses of right and wrong. I remembered the times my friends confessed to me about their two-timing, the times they enjoyed physical intimacy without commitment. How did we stray so far? And I always told myself not to judge, for it could happen to any of us, too.

Then finally my girl G stood up in front of the class and shouted, "JIEJIE WAIJIA YOU GOT BOYFRIEND OR NOT?"

I wanted very much to correct her english but I said NO, DON'T HAVE. REALLY, MY DEAR, very firmly and very crisply so I could get on with the lesson.

At the end, they each drew what they thought heaven looked like, and were each so eager to show me their drawings...

Trees of life beside the river

"... a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God." -Rev 22:1

IK showing me his drawing and explaining it to me

Rainbow!

Haha... ducks and trees... (Not sure about ducks in heaven but ah well...)

Fruits of the spirit, and a rainbow bridge over the river!

I never knew angels had long hair and bangs, heh.

A river of purple crystals and lots of trees and flowers flanking the paths of heaven

And the one I liked the most,

because it reminded me that maybe it doesn't really matter

what there is or isn't in heaven,

as long as there's God and me.

(And hopefully apple crumble with vanilla icecream, too.)

Weak Leg, Strong Father.

It's amazing how God finds ways to speak to us in our weakest moments.

Two days ago, our newly-appointed Vice-Dean of the School of Medicine addressed my entire batch formally. As we stepped into final year, he wanted to leave us with some nuggets of wisdom. He said many things, of which I remember one the most:

"Medicine is a journey, some of you may feel like you are hobbling. But remember, we have one another, and together, we'll finish the race."

He showed us a video of Derek Redmond, an Olympian athlete favored to win the 1992 Olympic Games for his event, but didn't... because halfway through his sprint, he tore his hamstrings.

As I watched it and felt the pain, anguish and reality of it all, I suddenly felt God smiling down at me, putting His finger right on me- that was my injury. He has a sense of humour.

That injury which we watched in the video, was what I had, still have. Except that besides my hamstrings, I also tore another tiny muscle called the gracilis, and another large muscle called the adductor magnus, which, on tearing, caused the fracture of my pelvis as well.

I've had a bumpy recovery, mainly because my muscles tense too easily and overcompensate, resulting in soreness, pain and tightness. Some days I wanted to give up. It's been more than 3 months. The exhausting search for the right practitioner, the bewildering search for answers... all take time, and eventually its toll on you. Today, after an intense physiotherapy session of trigger muscle releases (deep tissue massage), every part of both legs ached tremendously.

Have you ever felt like some event in your life hit you expectedly and threw you off-course? Have you ever doubted that you would finish your race?

You should. Because a torn hamstring in the middle of an athlete's race of a lifetime is no easy setback.

But as Derek Redmond hobbled to the finish line in pain and anguish, Somebody came to see him through to the very end.

And it reminds me, no matter what we're going through, we just need to trust, God will send angels to see us cross the finish line. No matter how anguished, despondent or bitter we are at our setbacks, we need to trust that He will give us the courage to finish the race.

I could only imagine Derek's anguish. All those years of training for a moment's glory, all gone down the drain. Sometimes, I look back at anorexia and that time of depression, think about what could've been had it not been for that throwing me off-course, think about how little faith I had in recovering... but now realise that as my Vice-Dean said, no matter what happens, we have one another to help us all finish the race together.

So even though both my legs hurt badly today, I'm holding on. I'm saying, God, thank you for the little things- for sending random angels who ask me out for swims on random days when my injury gets me down, thank you for sending me AL (my current physiotherapist) who is genuine about seeing me get better and back on track, thank you for seeing me through medical school, through life's ups and downs.

I know, you didn't leave our side, not once.

Together, we'll make it till the end.

"And the LORD,

He is the one who goes before you.

He will be with you,

He will not leave you nor forsake you."

- Deuteronomy 31:8

Your place.

I had been stalling it for ages. Deliberating about it deliberately because I still wanted it, wanted it in my house, wanted to see it, wanted to be reminded of the memories it brought back.

Then, with the injury and God teaching me about idolatry and letting things go, I decided I had to take the initiative to sell my old bike, the one my friends knew was too big for me and hence had bought me my new one called Faith.

Friends were pretty darned sure I could fetch a good price for it, egging me to post it up for more than I had paid for it.

I did so. But somehow, it just didn't feel right. And I held on to it even longer.

Months later, I changed the price online to a lower one. Three hundred dollars, negotiable.

The boy who wanted my bike contacted me. I could sense his earnesty over the many text messages he sent to me, making great efforts to my place to view the bike. He was 16 years old.

"My bike is pretty whacked up, you know," I said. "Look at all these scars."

"Yea, more than 3000 kilometres in a year is quite a lot."

"Yup, it's my first bike, so I've fallen quite a bit on it. Crashed on my first race."

" Well, could you give me a discount?" he said.

"Like what?" I was expecting him to mark the price down far lower, then bargain upwards.

"$270."

My heart broke- he was such an earnest boy, I thought he could've made a hard bargain to $200. He knew this bike was whacked up. I was honest about the lousy brakes, the basic groupset, the number of times I crashed and fell on it. One of the spokes was even faulty. Still, he wanted it, without finding fault and making things difficult for me- even though he really was an experienced biker, biking since he was five.

"All these are small things," he said. "I can fix them or make adjustments, don't worry."

"Where'd you get your money from? You had to save?"

"I sold my old mountain bike. And I got some money for my birthday 5 days ago."

"You sold your bike for?"

"$200."

He put $200 in my hands, and asked if he could give it to me as a deposit, so he could pick it up and pass me the balance another day. It was most bizarre, but it felt truly right to say, "Can I charge you $200 for it. Like, take it as a belated birthday present or something-your birthday was 5 days ago, right? I don't know, just feel I'd really like for you to enjoy the bike for what it's worth."

"Wow. Thank you." He was kind of stunned. Then awkwardly, he stretched out his hand to give me a handshake.

He didn't realise, he had done me a bigger favor than I did him.

That bike money didn't mean much to me. He was studying, he had saved up, he was so earnest. He wasn't poor or anything, but I knew that extra saving meant more to him than a few extra dollars would to me. It was about letting go of material idols and possessions (the bike), of the enslavement to money (the thrill of getting a good deal), and of the need to ride.

Pastor Y said before, we should never try to make money out of someone else, especially when we know how much we had paid for the original- never mind if the other person was agreeable to the quoted high price.

"If this first bike means so much to you, why don't you keep it as a momento?" he asked.

"I've got only 2 legs, not 4, friend," I joked.

As I mulled over how money has usurped a part of each of us, and yet how few of us are willing to admit our greed, it made me conscious of our consumeristic, me-centric culture. I like. I try. I buy. We less often think twice when we're spending on ourselves, because unconsciously, we measure ourselves against the people around us, and surely, there are those better-off than us, those who spend more than us. I find myself unconsciously reminding myself that I hardly ever buy branded things and when I do buy from MANGO, it's always during a warehouse sale. I've never bought an item at TOPSHOP, Dorothy Perkins or Forever 21. Ever. (See how I try to justify myself, even here.)

But I buy things all the same, even when I already have enough tops, enough shirts, enough shoes. And then I find myself stinging on people. Calculating. How much of a discount should I give you, how good a deal can I clinch. As I was buying groceries for Uncle Z, my friend said to me, "Here, this brand is cheaper."

"No," I said. "Let's get something better."

Why should buying groceries for the disadvantaged always be a look-out for discount items? Why can't I spend the money I would use for that extra shirt on myself to buy something a little more decent for someone else who may not have the privilege to enjoy it?

I sound very noble for now, but only I know my consistent inconsistency.

So the boy came, very sportingly allowed me to take a picture of him and my last look at my first roadbicycle and wheeled him off. An hour later, another friend came to collect the bike-trainer he had lent me. (A bike trainer is a contraption one places on one's bike so one can do stationary cycling at home.) Now, I truly can't train anymore on my roadbike.

I went to an osteopath today for the newly discovered scoliosis they found and he said, "I'm not sure if you should ever return to doing triathlons." The tears just came. I couldn't stop them.

Thank you God, for teaching me to release my idols slowly, be they a possession or money or a hobby. Nothing else should take Your place.

10 out of 10.

Nothing prepared me for the intensity of the pain. It hit me like a dummy crash-car into a wall and strangled the life out of me, draining strength from my legs, tummy and chest. God, what is happening?

The pain came at the wrong time. I was on my way to deliver groceries to Uncle Z. A day ago when I checked in on Uncle Z, he said that his son had run away. His 20-year old son had threatened to take all the furniture in their one-room flat except the bed, and said he wanted to move out. Uncle Z had just been discharged from the hospital for another near-death episode as he does not comply with his blood-thinning medication, essential for his condition of having 2 prosthetic heart valves from previous open-chest surgery. His wife, Mdm N, was diagnosed with severe hypertension and dementia last year. Uncle Z said, "Ever since our son left, she cries every day. She sings and cries, sings and cries."

My friend, D, had agreed to come with me and pray with them. My pain lingered, I tolerated it, but even D could tell I was suffering.

"You okay?"

"Yea," I said, in between breaths, "This is very unusual, I never have this sort of pain normally. But I got to say, this pain, is definitely worse than the pain of a half-marathon."

By the time we reached Uncle Z's home, and sat to chat, I knew the pain was only growing in intensity, but I kept a straight face, and Uncle Z didn't suspect a thing.

As soon as we left and his door closed, my upper body collapsed in pain. I then realised this was what guys are most afraid of hearing, "D, I think it's cramps. Crap. I usually never have pain- at all. This is really unusual."

D had to rush back to work, and so left me. He knew I'd be okay. I knew it too.

Little did I realise that the pain only worsened. By the time D had left, I could hardly walk.

God, I said, you have such a sense of humour. Today's the first day I don't feel pain in my fracture site and this is what you replace it with? Okay, like, please talk to me now if there's something you're trying to tell me. My ears are peeled.

At once, the words of my physiotherapist, AL, rang in my ears.

That day as she meticulously recorded the events of my injury, she asked, "When did they do the X-ray for you?"

"About 6 weeks post-injury."

"What? How come they didn't do it immediately?"

"I guess they weren't really suspecting it. They said muscle tears can be excruciating, too."

"What was your pain score at the Emergency department?"

I remembered myself being in so much pain I had to be put on a wheelchair. "I told them 8 out of 10."

"Really? It was 8/10? You sure? Then how bad was your pain 6 weeks later?"

"Er... 4 out of 10."

"Yeah right. They won't do an X-ray 6 weeks post-injury for a pain score of 4/10. It was more like 6/10, wasn't it."

"Maybe."

"Trying to be a hero."

Trying to be a hero. Yeah.

It was then, in the spasms on my pain, that I suddenly realised that therein lay pride, too. As my menstrual pain escalated progressively, I felt God was showing me what a pain score of 8/10 really was, and what the pain that day should've been.

It was 12 out of 10. And I only took 2 tablets of painkillers, refusing the rest.

By the time I had realised this, people at the train station were watching me and giving up their seats for me because I probably looked like I was about to collapse. As soon as I reached the train station near home, I bought Paracetemol, then deliberated about taking it. It's the freaking wrong time of the month for this sort of pain, I cursed inwardly. My pain score continued to increase, it went beyond 8/10 to 10/10. I could hardly stand anymore, much less walk. So I took the medication. Shortly afterward at home, the pain left. But I was so tired it felt like I had just finished a triathlon.

Today's pain taught me, that I really do need to surrender, more things than I thought. It taught me, that I have deeper idols to release.

Yesterday, I read that while our idols can be money, possessions, people etc, within us lie deeper idols, such as a sense of security, control or vanity. As I sat at the botanical gardens this week watching swans go by, I suddenly realised that the deepest false god in my life was not anorexia, or sports, or myself, even. It was a sense of needing to be in control. When things at home started to spin out of control years back, Ed became a way to regain that sense of stability; I enjoy cycling and long to learn horseriding because that sense of control on a bike, an animal is incredible; but the scariest revelation I received as I prayed was that, I am single, have been single, largely because...

... it gives me a sense of control. Being in a relationship makes me feel... vulnerable, and out of control. Who's to say the person doesn't turn out to be a jerk? I've met them before.

What is your deepest idol? Look at the patterns in your life, identify all your false gods, then see if you can find something in common. I did.

These days, I have been praying for God's mercy, that I will learn these lessons now and not when it's too late. I pray I learn to let go of self-sufficiency and the importance of a strong spiritual core before I rip my muscle again and cause a recurrent fracture. (The fracture was a non-contact injury- it broke where the muscle was attached too because the muscle tore too forcefully.) I pray I'll learn to destroy Aphrodite before she destroys me. I pray God'll help me to trust Him for my life partner and not let me realise this when I'm 45 and dying of loneliness in a mission field.

I have spent the last week by myself. It is our break now, my parents went overseas, my good friends are attached, some getting married, and I was unable to train. Some days were depressing. I had a lot of time to myself, and for one of the first times, wished someone would drive me out on Saturday night with the likes of Coldplay and Beatles on the stereo to Dempsey Hill for waffles and ice-cream.

God has never let me down- every time I prayed for company, like today in delivering groceries, someone always would show up. But I realised, that in the tough moments to bear, only someone who really loves you would go the extra mile for you. I don't blame D for returning back to work. But I know when I was hobbling home in pain, I really wished someone would call a cab for me, lug me back home, buy Paracetemol for me.

Today's pain showed me that I have to surrender. I need to learn how to say God, I am weak. I need help. I can't do this on my own. I have to realise many factors in life cannot be controlled. I cannot control when or how severe my menstrual pain will be (who cares if it's the wrong time of the month?), I cannot control who will love me and who I will love in return. I have to stop chasing things which give me a sense of control and security, because that pursuit will ultimately end in an uncontrolled manner.

God, not me, controls my life.

And I guess what I'm most relieved to know, is that He who controls our lives is indefinitely loving and kind, righteous and true. So because of that, I can let go, I can say okay, I won't resist You or love or run away anymore.

Because of that, I can finally say, I'm broken, and my pain score was 10 out of 10.

"If you are too afraid or too enamoured by love,

it has assumed godlike power,

distorting your perceptions and your life."

- Timothy Keller, Counterfeit gods

" Be shattered, O you peoples,

and be broken in pieces!"

-Isaiah 8:9

Loving Amy.

I suppose, you can figure out, why there's more than one reason I like this video.

Enjoy.



Things which don't matter:

1. thunder thighs

2. flat feet

3. big hair

4. bad nails

5. crooked teeth

6. hairy skin

7. chubby cheeks

8. stubby nose

9. big butt

10. small boobs

11. boyish calves

12. stretch marks

Because only one thing matters:

We are dearly, dearly loved by the Creator of the Universe.

(I wonder if God rides a bike.

Just, wondering.)

"... for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth...

... How precious are your thoughts to me, O God!
How great is the sum of them!"

-Psalm 139:14-17

New Stardoll Layout

The new stardoll layout isn't very good and I don't like it but... what can we do really except try to get used to it :(

Destroying Aphrodite.

"Something is safe for us to maintain in our lives

only if it has really stopped being an idol.

That can happen only if we are

truly willing to live without it,

when we truly say from the heart, '

Because I have God, I can live without you.'

Sometimes, God seems to be killing us when he's actually saving us."

- Counterfeit gods by Timothy Keller

Most, if not all girls take some pride in their appearance. Conventionally pretty or not, females were made with the desire to be beautiful. Vanity becomes a problem when beauty and pride become central. Eating disorders, shopping addictions and insecurities manifest.

It was not until today that I realised, God was not only asking me to let go of my sport, but my security in fleshly things too- things I never thought were wrong. After all, which human being doesn't take some pride in his appearance?

I was at my church bookstore buying the last copy of Counterfeit Gods when at the counter, a parent of one of my sunday school kids came up to tell me, in a perfectly matter-of-fact manner, "Oh, you've put on weight, yea?" And I looked at her, momentarily stunned, and wondered if that tone of voice would have been more appropriate at commenting on the weather. I smiled. "Yes I have... I fractured something lately so have been unable to train." I said it after hesitating a little, not too defensively, yet, as if I had to have explanation for how I am now.

In the female world, commenting on somebody else's weight has many implications- there are typically undercurrents suggesting one's lack of control and one's inability to manage oneself. It is not a topic to bring up unless it goes in one direction-downwards. Yes, the female species is complex, indeed.

As I made my purchase of the book at the counter with this lady in front of me, I knew, God was testing me. What was my counterfeit god? Triathlon, my bike, and... Aphrodite.

It wasn't until then that I realised, I have always taken a lot of pride in how I projected myself. Aphrodite, is an earthen goddess- horses are sacred to her; Beauty, is my a false idol- my bike is paramount to me-for more reasons than meet the eye.

Just very recently, I finally found the physiotherapist I had been praying for. Out of so many contacts I had been given and I had spoken with, she is the only one who clearly understands this particular injury of mine. When she heard of my case through a friend's friend, she buzzed me and said, "How old are you?"

"23."

"Are you a runner and a biker?"

"Yes."

"Are you vegetarian?"

It was then that I knew she understood. The fracture of the inferior ramus at the site of insertion of the adductor magnus is a very rare sports injury, common only in a specific subgroup of athletes- the young female athlete with a past history of a poor diet, eating disorder, amenorrhea or all of the above. My history was classic.

"Oh, you must be surprised," she said. "That's because my research project was based on adductor tears and these type of fractures. Sure, I'd love to help."

Most physiotherapists have hardly even heard of this injury, much less encountered it. AL was the first one who knew what she was talking about, who understood with such depth the intricate relations of all the muscles, tendons and bones involved in this painfully slow-healing injury. She predicted my sites of pain even before I told her, understood exactly why I was hurting in both my legs even though I had hurt only one. She spent a long time with me. I had never seen anyone so meticulous before.

Our first session was not easy. A lot of my strength had left me. I had put on weight. I was tired of exercising in any way, because of the pain. Doing core exercises and pilates looked slow and effortless but was in fact, very tiring. As we went through rehab exercise after rehab exercise, I suddenly understood the humour in the whole thing: God had given me exactly what I had prayed for months ago, when I asked Him to teach me what it meant to work from a posture of rest. I wasn't moving from my spot, but it sure was a lot of hard work.

All this while, I realised, my appearance had been my counterfeit god, my source of security, something I knew the world could see. My training in triathlon was my counterfeit god, because it helped me control my weight, maintain my tan, and was a great conversation topic to boost my self-esteem. I never did core exercises because I didn't see the value of strengthening myself from the inside, since no one would see the results anyway. Running, swimming and biking and being constantly on the adrenalish rush-go was far more exciting. I didn't realise till today, how superficial my mindset has been, all this while, all these years.

Do you sometimes, in some ways, live for others too? For just, a brief moment of their applause?

In the same way, running around being involved in projects and ministries and being busy was also a false god in itself. I knew it was something the world could see. Like cardiovascular exercise, the spiritual endorphins made me feel good about myself. But I neglected my spiritual core, not taking enough time to study the bible in depth. After all, doing things has always been far more glamorous, a much easier way to gain praise and honour from men.

Who enjoys sitting in one place doing painful core exercises? Who likes to sit in one place studying the bible? Boring, isn't it, compared to being on stage performing an acrobatic act. I didn't realise, that I had always made myself my own god.

"Wai Jia, you know, one's cardiovascular activity must be matched with one's core strength. This was like a time-bomb inside of you. With your history, diet, weak core muscles, and scoliosis, this would have happened, sooner or later. It was a ticking time bomb. "

I know. My activity should have been matched with taking time to strengthen my spiritual core, too. And the time bomb blew because I had allowed training and Aphrodite to rival God's place in my life. That day, I compromised on my work ethic. The junior doctor said it was a public holiday and a sunday, hence I needn't show up at the hospital for my shift. But I knew, deep down, that I ought to have showed up. Why should I base my actions on other people's standards? I compromised on my work ethic that day because something else, something counterfeit, took priority that day. I wanted one last training session before my race. I relied on my own strength. I wanted to burn more calories. And I adjusted my bike seat higher than it should have been because someone said I would go faster.

Idolatry, insecurity, self-sufficiency. Foolishness. That's when the time bomb blew.

Hence, I got injured, spiritually and physically. It would have been sooner or later. I never knew I had scoliosis.

In the bible, there's a story about a man whose central prayer in his life was to have a son. When God finally did bless him with a son named Isaac and promised that he would have many descendants, He told him to kill Isaac. God told him to bring Isaac, the son he so dearly loved, up the mountain to kill him. And the man obeyed, because he trusted God. Just at the moment of slaughter, God intervened and Isaac was spared.

How can God be so masochistic. On the outside, it seems like He was being cruel. But really, He was dealing with the destructive idols in the man's life and teaching him to put his value and security in God alone, rather than in his son. Nothing on earth belongs to us, nothing.

A friend had jokingly asked me a week ago whether his wife could ride my bike since I was now injured. I laughed out loud, because surely he knew it was an almost $3000 gift, and almost brandnew. Days later, I wrote to him saying he could come anytime, because God was teaching me to cling loose, to let go.

As I walked out from my phyiotherapist's home, a tree with sinewy roots caught my eye. It reminded me of a dream and vision I had years ago, and served to remind me not to make physiotherapy, pilates or anything else for that matter, my new god.

I am learning, that it's time for me to go up the mountain and lay my Isaac down. I've to let triathlon go, have to accept there could be a possibility of me never biking with my biking buddies again or taking part in another race. I have to accept that I will inevitably gain some weight during this process and learn to have more compassion for myself and others. And I must realise, that I could possibly gain the weight and never lose it again. Would I be okay with that?

The pain at the fracture site lingers still. "Be patient Wai Jia, this sort of fracture takes a really long time to heal because it's very hard to immobilise that muscle. I understand it's painful."

My publisher says my next book, A Taste of Rainbow should be out by October, that's also when my self-imposed 100-day bike fast ends. May that healing (spiritual, physical and emotional) be wholly complete by then.

Meanwhile, I'm going up the mountain with my Isaacs. Aphrodite must be destroyed.

"We need to find a way to keep from clutching them too tightly,

of being enslaved to them...

As many have learned and later taught,

you don't realise God is all you need

until God is all you have."

-Timothy Keller

"I also want women to dress modestly,

with decency and propriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or expensive clothes,

but with good deeds,

appropriate for women who profess to worship God. "

-1 Tim 2:9

Stay on the Road

“Lovers, keep on the road you’re on.

Runners, until the race is done.”

-Coldplay, Lovers in Osaka

Even God did not leave this road unscathed.

Just because we’re injured, doesn’t mean we get off the road. We stay on. We may slow down, but it doesn’t mean we give up.

When I first flew off my bike two-thirds into the race that day, I picked myself up and finished it, even though it was a painful fall. Why should things be different now? Just because this particular hospital is not treating me right and has absolutely disappointed me and left me in despair about my recovery, doesn’t mean I should be discouraged. I’ve had it. I now understand why people affectionately dub that place the Cannot-Go-Home hospital (excuse the grammatical error), I’m finding my own help and I’m going to get well.

Same for you. Just because you’re injured doesn’t mean you stop and get off the road. Just because your mentor doesn’t know how to help you doesn’t mean you’re a gone case. We’re more resilient than we think. Get down. Pray. Then get up. Walk. Find your own mentor, your own doctor. Get your own help. God sends angels on a regular basis. Why should you give up?

Get your feet back on the road.

I remember two years ago when I was in therapy, I thought I would never run again. I thought they would make me stop forever. But we forget, that life goes on in seasons. Winter comes but winter goes, and spring will surely arrive. The break was essential. And when God put me back on the road, I was not only running, but swimming and biking, too.

We return stronger when we allow God to do the work which needs to be done in a season of rest.

When God stops us and forces us to rest, we can use it as an opportunity to disqualify ourselves from the race, or use it as a rest-stop to return stronger- both physically and emotionally. But we must first let go. God, I’m going to have to accept, that I’ll still love you just as much even if you tell me I can never do another triathlon again. Through this injury, I discovered, that I love the triathlon sport truly for what it is. But I’m letting it go. I have to.

I found out, my pelvic stress fracture injury was due to many factors, and I had most of the high-risk ones: The females athelete’s triad consists of a history of amenorrhea, an eating disorder and osteoperosis; Another physiotherapist discovered I have scoliosis (an S-shaped spine), which aggravates hamstring injuries; they told me I have very tight and weak back and core muscles, and very flat feet, which add severe stress on my pelvis when I run or bike. The injury is due to an overextension of the leg muscles, which happened when I took the wrong advice of someone to raise my bike seat higher, when it already had been fitted well.

Most of all, I was greedy. And proud. And self-sufficient. All those factors had been there for years, but my flesh pushed myself over the cliff.

But it’s not over. God is a God of mercy and grace. His grace allows for second chances. So I’m not giving up. Both my legs feel like Styrofoam when I walk now, but it’s not over. I’m going to get proper help. I’m going to learn from my mistakes and get back up on the road. If Ezzy and Fungus can get back on the road, you and I can too.

So I’m going to keep walking, walking.

Stay on the road, finish the journey.


From a friend

"Be thankful that the road is long and challenging,

because that is where you’ll find the best that life has to offer."

— Ralph Marston

"The Lord gives wisdom . . .

guards the course of the just and protects the way of his faithful ones.

Then you will understand what is right and just and fair

-- every good path."
-Proverbs 2:6, 8-9 (NIV)

Thoughtful notes

Thoughtful things in my mailbox today:

Hey Wai Jia!

How've you been? I just got promoted (yay!) and it comes with a payrise so I wanted to help with Grandpa Zhou's bills and Uncle Zainol's groceries. How are they by the way? Is that all right?

- from the kind army boy

" Hey Wai Jia,

I was reading someone's site and found this quote....

"God who comes to us in revelation is not a projection, but a person. He wrestles us to the ground, takes away our pride, and leaves us walking away from the match with a limp so that we will never forget the encounter.

-Too Good To Be True: Finding Hope in a World of Hype

Hmm how true is that..

Have a blessed day!"

-C

Thank you D, and thank you C, for reminding me this season in my injury, that this world, for all its bitterness, coldness and pain, is still a warm, kind and thoughtful place. God is good.

Counterfeit.

"In ancient times, the gods were bloodthirsty and hard to appease.

They still are."

"... the human heart is an 'idol factory.'

God was saying that the human heart takes good things like

a successful career, love, material possessions, even family,

and turns them into ultimate things.

Our hearts deify them as the center of our lives, because, we think,

they can give us significance and security, safety and fulfillment,

if we attain them."

- Counterfeit Gods by Timothy Keller

I was just sharing with a close friend about my injury and what I had learnt from it when she said in all love and honesty, "There's a pattern in your life, Jia. And I'm amused... You're so... extreme."

When have I heard that before.

Just three days ago, one of my biking buddies said to me, "You dive into things in life with such intensity- I know not because I've seen you at work. I know, from the way you ride. Sports can reflect many things."

Bloodthirsty. I can be bloodthirsty when I ride.

It was then that I realised, quite solemnly, that unless I learn the lesson of balance and moderation, of trusting in God instead of striving in my own self-sufficient ways, I would make the same mistake, over and over. The next injury could be far worse. It made me wonder why I pursue things with such intensity and rigor, and how I could learn to temper it with self-restraint.

At Sunday School two days ago, God spoke to me in a still small voice.

Last Sunday's lesson was about what heaven is like, and who can get to heaven.

I had prepared cards for the children to hold up during the lesson, so the children could participate. Mr. Clever, Miss Kind, Mr. Rich, Miss Pretty, Mr. Big-Bible, and Mr. Sporty stood in line. Mr. Christian was the last one.

"Children, who do you think can get to heaven?"

"MISS KIND!!"

" MR. BIG-BIBLE!!"

"AND MR. CHRISTIAN!!!"

So I asked them, "Oh really? But what if Mr. Clever studies so hard that he becomes a missionary doctor and serves the poor? What if Mr. Rich donates A LOT of money to hungry children in Africa? And what if Miss Kind does good things only because she wants other people to praise her? And what if Mr. Big Bible..."

"DOESN'T READ HIS BIBLE AT ALL!" shouted a boy from the back.

"Exactly. And what if Mr. Christian disobeys God? What if he does something very, very wrong?"

"THEN THEY CANNOT GO TO HEAVEN."

"Really? Oh, but Jiejie (big sister) Wai Jia has disobeyed God many times. So does that mean I won't go to heaven either? Haven't any of you disobeyed God before when you were rude to your mummies or daddies?"

I was messing with them. I wanted them to see that the answers aren't in black and white, and that no one but God can judge us. Who but God is to say who goes where?

"Okay, now I want to ask, what if.... say, Jiejie Wai Jia is very clever, and kind and rich and pretty and sporty and reads her bible every day- does this mean I'll get to heaven?"

This time, sensing that the answer wouldn't be so straightforward, the kids weren't so quick to answer. Some said yes, some said, maybe.

It was then when those words left my mouth that I suddenly realised how so many of us try to be and do things for an ultimate aim, and that these things can be idols. I suddenly realised that each card represented a false hope, and each child holding the card symbolised the idols of our age. Intelligence, self-righteousness, greed, and pride are familiar enemies. And I had definitely been guilty, at some point, of making idols for myself. My hot pursuit of my interests was perhaps, an outflow of my passionate character or perhaps, also a reflection of idolatry.

Idol after idol.

An idol isn't just a wooden carving one sees in a voodoo shop. According to Tim Keller, an idol is anything more fundamental than God to one's happiness, meaning in life or identity. They aren't even bad things- they're merely good things turned into ultimate things. Anything can be an idol. It is anything that absorbs one's heart and imagination more than God, even if transiently, anything one seeks to give one what only God can give. It is more than money, sex and power.

Idols can be our beauty (Miss Pretty) or brains (Mr. Clever), family and children, career and making money (Mr. Rich), achievement (Mr. Sporty) and critical acclaim, or saving “face” (Miss Kind) and social standing. It can be a romantic relationship, peer approval, competence and skill, secure and comfortable circumstances, or even a commitment to one's religion (Mr. Big Bible).

It sounds pretty extreme, but really, I think most, if not all of us have or have had idols. Timothy Keller writes, "An idol is whatever you look at and say, in your heart of hearts, “If I have that, then I’ll feel my life has meaning, then I’ll know I have value, then I’ll feel significant and secure.”

It's never so straightforward, though. We never know what things stand as idols in our hearts till... we lose them. Or when God, in His love, chooses to take them away. We cannot understand our own hearts or own culture until we understand idols.

In his book, Keller says the central plot device of The Lord of the Rings is the Dark Lord Sauron’s Ring of Power, which corrupts anyone who tries to use it, however good his or her intentions. The Ring is what Professor Ttom Shippey calls “a psychic amplifier,” which takes the heart’s fondest desires and magnifies them to idolatrous proportions. Some good characters in the book want to liberate slaves, or preserve their people’s land, or visit wrongdoers with just punishment. These are all good objectives.

But the Ring makes them willing to do any thing to achieve them, anything at all. It turns the good thing into an absolute that overturns every other allegiance or value. The wearer of the Ring becomes increasingly enslaved and addicted to it, for an idol is something we cannot live without. We must have it, and therefore it drives us to break rules we once honored, to harm others and even ourselves in order to get it. Idols are spiritual addictions that lead to terrible evil, in Ttolkien’s novel and real life.

It reminded me of how I had at some point, placed my security in the approval of others, in my appearance, in my work, in my sport, in my achievements and my ministry. And then it suddenly dawned upon me that my injury was a test from God, to see if it had become an idol in my life. It was also a gift, a way of God answering my prayer to help me cling loosely to all things, and to always put Him, and not things or myself, first in my life.

I thought about my injury, felt the pain there and reflected on how God had been faithful to answer all my prayers, albeit in a rather painful way. I had prayed, God, help me to cling loosely to all my possessions, especially my bike. God, help me to focus more on my studies in my final year. God, help me to spend my time wisely.

As I looked at the line of children holding up the cards, they reminded me of how at some point, I too, had worshipped or taken pride in my own intelligence, character, wealth, beauty, religiousness and sport.

Mr. Clever, Miss Kind, Mr. Rich, Miss Pretty, Mr. Big-bible, Mr. Sporty, Mr. Christian and haha, Miss Tan!

As I became better at cycling, I remember praying one day, for God to give me strength and courage should I lose my legs one day, either through an accident or cancer. Because of my love for running, dancing, swimming, and riding, God knows my legs mean much to me, and so I asked Him to help me surrender them, lest I lose them one day. Ah, dangerous prayers.

I suppose, having a pelvic stress fracture and tearing so many muscles was His version of mercy, heh.

I learnt, how our trials, instead of achievements in life are often stepping stones for us to climb the stairway of heaven, to draw closer to God to understand His true nature. I learnt, how many things in life can distract us from the truth. I learnt, how important it is for us to learn our lessons properly, so we don't commit the same mistakes, over and over.

"So children, you see, it's not so straightforward. Going to heaven isn't about ticking off a checklist of all the things you've done. It's not about how you strive to be a certain way to hit a certain mark. It's not about doing things to become like any of these people here. It's all about believing and trusting in God. It's that simple."

And then I heard a voice saying to me, "And trusting in the true, not counterfeit one, too."

"The only way to free ourselves from the destructive influence of counterfeit gods

is to turn back to the true one living God,

who revealed himself both at Mount Sinai and on the Cross.

He is the only Lord who, if you find him, can truly fulfill you,

and, if you fail him,

can truly forgive you."

- Timothy Keller

"... and do not go after other gods to serve them and to worship them..."

-Jeremiah 25:6

FINALLY

So we moved into our new house on Wednesday and I have had no internet since!!! The cable guy came today and finally installed our internet..... yippeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

Angels along the way.

Thank God for angels,

for their heaven-sent messages which really helped me through the week.

Just want to remember God's goodness:

" Hallo Wai Jia...

hey everyone has pride just like some addiction we cling to.

Just that we choose to ignore it. Like my coffee :P

It takes a lot of courage and pain to acknowledge that

something that feels so right can be wrong.

Aren't we all learning that day by day?

I'll also try to remind myself with these words,

"Today, with all its challenges, is a gift."

Guess that's The Journey...

Thank you dear sister :*"

- a text message from a patient's mom, S

Hi Wai Jia,

Always love reading your blog story after story, reflection after reflection.

Sometimes I tear after reading some of the real-life stories ..

b'cos I know that your heart probably went out to those who are suffering/

whom you are trying to help.

I truly believe that God is in the process of moulding all of us.

After my close encounter with the hospital,

I saw the helplessness of some Medical Officers,

the curt-ness of some nurses,

the blunt-ness of seasoned doctors and etc.

But life is as such - no one is prefect

and we all have a bad day or bad days. :)

Still believing that you will turn out to be just the doctor God wants you to be. :)

He used you to touch my life

and I know He will use you greatly to touch many other lives. :)

Heard this recently: "It is not just the vision, but the process that makes a person."

Enjoy the process! :)

Love, E & family

- from a special patient, who became a special friend.

"Don't be too discouraged, you never know what each step entails.

Maybe you'll miraculously recover soon,

maybe you'll pick up a new hobby and never look back,

maybe you'll meet the man of your dreams on the way to your physiotherapist.

There're bound to be ups and downs

but I trust that you'll be strong to face

whatever that comes along.

Cheer up dear!

I'm behind you always!"

- from Js, who was the one who put my bike Faith together in the first place.

Hope you had a very happy birthday dear.

Thank you S, E and Js, for always supporting and loving me,

in spite of all my failings and foibles,

for reminding me how much God forgives my stupidity,

and how He's there for us.

You're such a big blessing.

Apples and Wine.

Some things just don't make sense. I suppose, that's why they call life, Life.

A lot of people don't understand why I don't drink, not even a drop. On social occasions, there'll inevitably be someone asking me to try an alcoholic drink. Last night was no exception. Just a bit, it's mixed with a lot of other stuff, don't worry, it'll be nice. Just try it. They tell me it's very mild, they're not trying to get me drunk, it'll be fun, they'll drive me home, it's just for me to know the taste... and they always fail. Because they just don't get it. Even I don't.

This has nothing to do with the morality of alcohol. Yes, even Jesus drank wine, I know. And it's not just that I don't like the taste.

You know, I never knew how much impact a person could make on someone else till you confessed it to me. You did so, so terribly sheepishly because for as long as I've known you, you've refused to tell me why you won't eat apples. I offer them to you, I tell you about their antioxidant properties, we're both convinced they're not poisonous, but you just won't touch the darn thing, even if it's masked in cinnamon and sugar. The funniest thing is, you insist it is not the taste you don't like. Your dislike for them is almost pathological. One can tell by your response.

I never understood. So I stopped asking.

Just like how most people don't understand my reason for not touching a drop of alcohol. They stopped asking eventually.

Then one day, I asked. And you told me.

Your mother died when you were very young. And she hated apples. And that's why, since then, you've never touched the forbidden fruit.

Because she hated them. Period.

That was that.

Suddenly, when you told me that, a million things went off in my head. Because, my reason doesn't make sense in the exact same way yours doesn't, too. Our reasons don't make sense, they're completely embarrassing, and yet, they make total, complete rational sense, too. Since that day, I began to muster the courage to attempt to articulate and piece together my reason for not drinking.

It's not a morality issue. And it's not about a holier-than-thou attitude.

I've always looked up to you. I don't drink because you hate it. Period. End of story. I don't drink because you never did, because you told yourself you'd spend time with us instead of socialising unecessarily. And while I know perfectly responsible parents who drink and enjoy wine-tasting, I also respect you deeply for the choice you made. I don't drink because you've spent decades fending off peer pressure when people ask you to drink because you always want to be 100% safe for us, and you never want to be caught in a situation of a slippery slope. I don't drink because I saw that look of utter disappointment on your face when you found out J was drinking, even if it was only socially. I don't drink because I promised that for all my foolhardiness for travelling overseas and doing things too adventurous for your liking, I would never find myself in a compromising situation. I don't drink because I hate what drinking reminds me of, how its indulgence ruins lives, how it sits there like a screaming temptation, how it causes liver disease and all the awful things which make me depressed at the hospital wards, how I know it is an evil that could destroy mine because it opens doors to things I rather not ever know, how I'd rather shut off those doors than to allow them to linger as an option.

You always told me, "Keep good habits. Drinking is not one of them."

I guess, I wouldn't mind trying something new- I'm usually quite adventurous. But I don't drink, not even a drop, not even tasting now, because when I do, I feel I am betraying you.

It doesn't make sense. That is the closest to what I can make out of my pathological dislike for alcohol. That is all. I never talk about it because it doesn't make sense, and nobody needs to know. People can laugh, but doesn't matter to me.

Friends who love me enough don't pressure me. They don't even ask me why. Once, I had a friend bring a bottle of juice specially for me and only for me because he brought red wine for everybody else on his birthday picnic. There's nothing wrong with alcohol, but I do save special admiration for a person who can say no to it at all times. You've got to be wholeheartedly convicted for that sort of commitment.

One night you couldn't sleep so I kept you company and talked till past midnight. We were having one of those conversations again. "Remember to marry a patient man. And remember, Jia, don't be so difficult- you know how difficult you can be. And you just be sure about these 4 things- he mustn't smoke, mustn't gamble, mustn't womanise and mustn't drink. "

"Mustn't drink. How about socially? Like wine or cocktails and stuff."

"Alcoholism always starts off with social drinking."

Senior Pastor also encourages us not to, but he acknowledges it's something between ourselves and God. I didn't press you further, I knew your answer would be the same. I never judged you for not eating apples anyway.

Three times a week, you would faithfully walk three streets from your office to buy me the sweetest and costliest american apples you could find, and lug them three streets back to the carpark. You know how much I love apples, how I eat them every day. Your text message would be, "Bought you apples today. Enough to last till I get back."

Till you get back.

Because you travel all the time. So I've stopped caring when the occasional person makes fun of me about not having a night life and for always needing to leave early to go home, because I know for all your life, you made it a point to be home early for us too, and you'd like to see me home before you go to bed. I know you're tired. You are always tired, now. So I often say I have to go so I don't keep you waiting. I don't care what they say anymore, the looks they give one another when I say I've got to go, see you guys next time, have fun. I have to go home to see you, because as it is, we have so little time for each other. It saddens me when I go home, to see you... asleep already. Again. And you're flying off the next day.

Some things in life just... don't make sense.

And yet, it makes total complete sense. Like how I eat bittergourd not because I think I grew up liking them, but because when I eat them, it reminds me of you. Like how I enjoy sitting at the front seat of the car at night (no matter whose car it is and how old and creaky the car is)because it reminds me of how we used to go for spins when I was little. Like how I still buy the really cheap 70-cent Macdonalds icecream cone even though I now think it's really awful in comparison to REAL icecream, simply because it reminds me of how you always specially drove me out for half an hour just to get me one, whenever I felt down and needed a little cheering up.

Love, very often doesn't make sense, and yet, completely does.

Love you.