Many sparrows.

I had lunch with the mother of an ex-patient, E, yesterday. He was a 2 year-old boy then, swollen from nephrotic syndrome, a kind of kidney illness; she is the heroic caregiver who constantly inspires me with her courage to see her child through all his ups and downs. It was his third birthday last week and she had invited me to their zoo outing. I had school.

Over lunch with her, I had a missed call. It was M, the patient I had met a few weeks ago, who was orphaned from birth and whose foster mother died on her 14th birthday.

Later, when I called her back, she said, "I've no money to talk to you, my phone bill is expensive. Let's sms. I can sms for free. "

" No," I said, "What's up? Tell me briefly, I want to hear from you." I knew text messaging would simply not convey her situation to me accurately.

"I need twenty dollars."

What a tragic request. I was at Starbucks, my favourite hangout now, in the midst of blue jazz, mahogany furniture and swanky businesspeople smoking cigarettes coolly outside the glass panels in the business district.

"Why do you need twenty dollars? Is something wrong?"

"Yea, I just ran out of money, that's all. I need twenty dollars to tide me over for two weeks before I get my next paycheck."

"Why did you run out of money?"

"Medication."

She had a chronic skin condition, but I wasn't sure if she was recently hospitalised again. A few weeks ago, she had text messaged me to say that she had lost her job.

"I kena sack le," she had sms-ed in Singaporean slang. "My boss say customer see my face get scared of me." I remember, she once shared that her colleagues had made fun of her before, that she had AIDS or some incurable venereal disease, when the truth was, eczema isn't even contagious.

"M, twenty dollars is not the solution, you know. I've got to know the underlying problem so I can help you better. Tell me more. Where are you staying at now?"

"You know, I'm so sick and tired of answering all these questions. Everybody asks me the same questions! I'm so tired. Look, I'm just asking for twenty dollars. Twenty dollars to tide me through these 2 weeks for my transport fare and I'll return it to you when I get my pay, okay? I called you because I thought you were my friend, I've seen the social workers already, they can't help me, so I don't want to be asked the same questions all over again. I'm tired, I'm tired!"

She was obviously at the end of her means.

I thought of Uncle Z, the malay patient with heart failure whom I visit once in a few months. He was jobless, his wife had dementia, his son ran away, his electricity got cut off and we eventually gave him monthly food vouchers and a small job cleaning desks at my church twice a week so he had something to do, some pay to call his own. It didn't matter that he had a different faith.

But two weeks ago, he called me from hospital. He was in the high dependency unit. I should have known. After all, he had been labelled from day 1 as a recalcitrant patient.

"Doctor Wai Jia," he said, even though he knows I graduate only next year, " I'm in hospital again. I titrated my own medicines, took a lot of warfarin yesterday cos I felt like I was going to die."

Warfarin is a blood-thinning agent taken by patients with heart valve replacements. Uncle Z had two prosthetic valves in his heart because of his multiple heart problems. "And now I want to go home. My wife is alone. She has dementia."

"No," I said firmly in my Sunday school teacher voice. I was on the way to church to teach my children. "You stay where you are. The doctor has not allowed you to leave. Don't repeat the same mistake. It's very dangerous for you to go home now. If you pass out at home, you will let her down more. Pastor Freddy says he'll come and see you and help you. Be good and stay at hospital, okay?"

He self-discharged anyway.

M kept text messaging me, "Have you transferred the money? I want to meet you. You got church on friday? I'm free."

I didn't. I said I would pass it to her personally when we met at church tomorrow, when I would introduce her to my friend in charge of social services. She had helped Uncle Z previously.

There I was in Starbucks, studying another chapter about fractures and surgical complications and high-tech procedures, when somewhere not too far away, someone my age was struggling to make ends meet.

I was very troubled that evening. Troubled by M, by Uncle Z's recalcitrance in spite of all our love and help, by my parents' unwillingness to let me visit and help dumpsite children because it was in Manila, "a dangerous place".

So I took my bike out again and rode with the Big Boys on their dangerously fast Wednesday night rides. I was the only girl, it was my first time riding with them and only my 3rd ride since I recovered. We tore down the road at 40kmph, and as I saw myself surrounded by swanky four, five, six-thousand dollar bikes, I found myself overwhelmed by the injustice of it all.

"I know you want to help people, but you can't help everyone, Wai Jia," said my friend who cycled next to me, when I lamented that there was nowhere really safe where children were suffering. I was struggling with the conflict of respecting my parents and making my own decision.

If I keep reasoning about this and that, I will never step out of my comfort zone. Of course these places are dangerous- why else are the children suffering? Nepal was dangerous, India was crazy, Sichuan just had an earthquake- why is this different? Mission work and public health in developing countries is dangerous. I didn't want to tell him about M, or Uncle Z- I knew it would only exasperate him.

I rode faster.

Then I remember what I had taught at Sunday school last week. I remember, it was the day I was preparing the craft for the children that I heard the news about my classmate who passed away. Did he not know how precious he was?

The lesson was for them to think of someone whom they knew could do with some encouragement, someone who was struggling or unpopular or rejected by others. They had to colour the sparrow, stick a feathered ribbon on its breast and address it to someone they wanted to bless, writing a note behind it. I wrote mine to Jordanna, my 7-year old kid. She is very, very ill now.



Maybe it was the 40kmph ride in the inky blackness, maybe it was realising my legs were truly and completely healed, or maybe it was the reminder that each of us was precious to God- but I didn't feel so frustrated any more.

Even though I couldn't quite reconcile my desire to serve the poor in dirty, dangerous places with other people's concern for me. Even though thinking about Uncle Z makes me feel exasperated and helpless. Even though wondering if M will show up tomorrow makes me feel slightly jaded.

We're each worth more than many sparrows.

And so I've just got to trust, that He'll take care of them, of E and his mother, of Jordanna with her unresectable brain tumor, of Uncle Z with his heart failure, of M and her skin condition and her messed up life, of the thousands and millions of children picking up trash for food all over the world, and take care of me, too.

*photo published with permission

a picture of Jordanna and I taken a few months ago.

She's wearing a gold medal won by my penpal in Canada,

who survived liver cancer when he was 11 after a liver transplant.

He got first prize in one of his international Transplant Games races

and mailed this medal to me to encourage her.

He is also an Iron Man.

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny?

Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from the will of your Father.

And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered.

So don't be afraid;

you are worth more than many sparrows. "

- Mathew 10:29-31

Back on the bike.

They say, you know you've let something go when you can live life without it. That's why they say fasting can be so powerful.

Fasting from the television, games, computer and other pleasures in life help us to realise our vulnerabilities, surrender our dependency and realign ourselves with the important, more divine things of this world.

My 100-day bike fast ended this week. In those 100 days of abstinence, there was a lot I learnt about myself and my needs. I also learnt much about what I didn't need.

I took my bike out for my first ride yesterday. Unlike what I had thought, however, it was very difficult to ride again. I was fearful, and it took a great deal of courage to do so.

So, it was only after a great deal of cajoling from my biking buddies to pick my bike up again that I took off, albeit on my own, for an easy ride in the evening. And surprisingly, it was neither liberating nor joyful. It was, instead, (and this is where you laugh) very stressful.

My biking buddies had been asking me when I'd be back. They missed my company as much as I missed theirs. But I also realised, there was a possibility I could never be as fast as them again. That scared me. I dare not ride with them for fear I would be left behind. I have a neurotic fear of being left behind. Having to press on by yourself, against the headwind without help, can be incredibly painful.

It was Jn, who gave me a revelation. For months I was suffering from the guilt of injuring myself, thinking it was God who had punished me for my self-striving attitude. Till now I cannot fathom why in spite of all that's happened, my opinion of God has always been Him being a harsh figure. It was Jn who audaciously suggested that the message from this incident was not about God's punishment but rather, God's love. Put very simply, the message was, I didn't need to earn God's love.

There was a long pause between us. It was like I had just found out bread didn't grow on trees.

Do you try, unconsciously, to earn God's love too? Do you feel that you have to do everything well and beat yourself up for it.

I know I do. I do, all the time, unconsciously.

And it cost me dearly. It cost me 4 torn muscles, one hip fracture from the torn muscles (I didn't even fall, mind you), an exorbidant amount of money to undergo rehabilitation and physiotherapy, and a 6-month hiatus to reflect upon my attitudes and worldview.

So I rode yesterday, on my bike Faith, and found myself learning how I strive too much. I keep striving, as if God were an unpleasable Being who wanted me to s-t-r-e-t-c-h myself till I imploded. I live life as if I have to earn points to gain his affection.

But that is so untrue- God never needs us to earn His love.

God's love is given freely, and till now, that is one thing I have been unable to grasp fully. You must work hard to get into medical school, you must torture yourself and get 9As to enter. You must suffer greatly and push yourself before you are worthy enough to be noticed.

Treacherous lies, seeded from a long, long time ago. Lies, which served me well till now.

Yesterday during a gathering, I heard the Big Boys complaining about how excruciatingly slow some of the new riders were, and how they were slowing them down.

I chuckled, half-worryingly, "Haha, don't be cruel. When I get back on the bike next week, I could be just as slow or slower!"

To which they kept reassuring me that I wouldn't be. Even then, they still wanted me back. When are you joining us again?

I keep forgetting, I don't need to do anything more to be loved any more. God loves us the way we are, just the way we are. And I keep needing to remind the little insecure girl inside myself, that my friends don't love me because I used to ride with them at 43kmph down the roads. They love me because of who I am. I didn't need to try to earn their love. They took pains to give me my new bike, Faith, because they loved me for being someone to give my bike money away to someone else who needed it more. They loved me for me.

Why don't I get that?

They don't love me for my achievements, for my swim timing, or my training schedule. They don't love me for how many medals I've got.

And neither does God.

He loves me that I like cycling, that even after so long, I still have trouble balancing with one hand. He loves me that I'm not stick-thin and that sometimes, I can let go and eat whatever everyone else is eating. He loves me that I sometimes talk too fast and laugh too loud, that I have to speak up when I see injustice, even if sometimes my mouth works faster than my head.

Why does it take us so long to realise, that He doesn't love us for what we can do, but for who we are.

Like my bike Faith, spiritual faith isn't earned, but a gift.

So I think I'll join my cycling buddies on their ride again this week. I'm going back on my bike, Faith.

You are loved just the way you are.

"For by grace you are saved through faith;

and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:
Not of works, lest any man should boast. "

- Ephesians 2:8-9

Listening Well.

It seemed like just yesterday when I heard about Alisha's story. It seemed like just a while back when a surgeon willing to waive a large part of $100'000 worth of surgical fees was finally found, when I lost the money for my dream-bike in exchange for learning the lesson of faith and trust in God's provision, and when $40'000 was finally raised for her. It seemed so recent when her mother thought it might be impossible for Alisha to ever hear again, ever attend school because of a bad infection when she was little.

Alisha came back this week for her follow-up speech and hearing therapy sessions. I'm always amazed at how I have always been "coincidentally" assigned to this particular hospital for my clinical attachments each time she visits from Nepal. Jo (my missionary friend) flies Alisha and her mother in from Nepal for regular follow-up sessions here in Singapore.

Alisha, and Jo speaking to one of the therapists outside the Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) clinic.

Alisha absolutely loves arranging things in a neat and tidy fashion.

She wears an orange pouch round her neck all the time,

which contains extra batteries for her implant.

Alisha occupied with colouring, while the therapist fine-tunes the volume of her hearing implant.

The device has to be adjusted every few months so Alisha can adapt to hearing a greater range of sound volumes.

This week, Alisha was at the hospital on 3 occasions, each time to fine-tune her hearing implant, to undergo hearing as well as speech therapy. Today, I sat in to watch Alisha go through a variety of picture cards, as the therapist taught her mother how to teach Alisha to attach meaningful sounds to the pictures.

(Clockwise) Alisha, her mother, Jo and the speech therapist.

As I sat down by her side and watched her imitating sounds and learning to link pictures meaningfully to the sounds of words, I marvelled at the opportunity that was now opened to her because of the love and faith of my missionary friend, the surgeon, the many generous donors (including many of you!), and her speech and hearing therapists, who sometimes see her for free on weekends, and even went to Nepal to visit Alisha during their leave in January when they decided to go trekking there.

It made me think, just as how Alisha is learning how to decipher sounds and put meaning to them, are we too, learning how to hear God too? Is He really silent, or perhaps, is the noise of the crowd or our own obstinance stifling the sound of His voice? Are we staying tuned at the right frequency?

As I sat down on a chair watching Alisha, feeling the pain of my fracture in my pelvis, I remembered the pain during the time God had asked me to give up my bike money for Alisha's operation, the anguish, the disbelief, and the final act of surrender. I watched her laughing and listened to her mother say how her ability to hear had made her more sociable and manageable as a child, how she could respond to verbal warnings instead of being susceptible to dangers when she could not hear people calling out for her safety. I listened as her mother shared how she no longer had to avoid church meetings because of Alisha's incessant and loud screaming, since now she could hear herself and hence knew how to control her voice. I listened as she shared how Alisha was now beginning to understand words and was doing well in school.

Deafness doesn't just mean a loss of hearing. It implies developmental delay, mental retardation, irritable and inappropriate behaviour, a loss of educational opportunities and hence employment, and possibly a gate to prostitution, abuse and slavery. Your generosity has given her a chance at a whole new life.

"Do the kids at school make fun of her?" I asked. After all, childen can be very cruel.

"No," she said in Nepalese. "Not at all. Her friends love her to bits. She really enjoys school now, and her teacher says she's doing well. We never imagined she would have the chance to attend a class. She can even tell her friends to 'come' or 'sit'." My missionary translated her words into english.

Alisha grinned at me.

And she reminded me, of how important it is for us to live our lives surrendered to God, if we truly want to experience the fullness of His goodness and amazing grace in our lives. If I had not obeyed God during that time, and if He had not given me strength to give up what meant so much to me, I would not have met the donor who sponsored her remaining surgical fees and who decided to sponsor my next book, would not have met amazing friends who came together to buy me my real dreambike after knowing about Alisha, would not have understood the meaning of God's generosity and provision.

She reminded me, of just like how I had given up what meant much to me before, I must do it again and give up biking, running and any form of sport for now, so that my injuries can heal. I have to confess, I have had stress fractures elsewhere in my feet this year, and they are signs that I must rest, must drink my milk and be a good girl to sit at God's feet.

Alisha grinned again, this time waving her hand and saying "bye bye" to the therapist. Just like how my pain of losing something dear to me before birthed into something beautiful, Alisha reminded me, that surely this pain has a purpose too. She reminded me, of the importance of not only hearing, but of listening to God's voice. There're many sounds in the environment, but one must attach both meaning and value to the sounds and words before they become anything meaningful.

Does God's voice sound audible to you today? Do you need to quiet yourself down, and fine-tune your 'hearing implant' too? I know I do.

She reminded me, that when God calls us to surrender and obey, we must listen. Because surely, something good, something as good as a deaf child gaining her sense of hearing, would come out of this.

"He who has ears to hear, let him hear. "

-Matthew 11:15

*Thank you to those of you who have given to Alisha so generously and sacrificially. Jo flies her mother and her in every few months for her follow-up therapy sessions. This will be for the long-haul, and finances are always an issue, but we're trusting God as usual for His timely provision. Do drop me a note at tanwaijia@gmail.com if you'd like to help in any way.

My Rainbow Umbrella.

When I saw it, I froze. Then, I ran. God, you've got to be kidding. (And please protect my fracture while I make a dash.)


Many months back while I was on a medical elective in a missions hospital at Kalimantan, I saw the Indonesian people in the small town carrying these huge rainbow-coloured umbrellas. Years ago in Nepal while visiting the orphanage, I saw them quite frequently too. They were cheap. They were massive. They were practical.

Most of all, I thought they were beautiful.

A rainbow-colored umbrella. What a poignant metaphor.

So you can imagine my gratitude and utter joy when a new friend I had made in Kalimantan had gone out of his way to get that rainbow-coloured umbrella for me as a parting gift. It touched me deeply.

It was very precious, even more so because I had plans to use it for a photoshoot for my next book, A Taste of Rainbow. I placed it in my living room. It was very precious.


Then, it got lost.


How, I do not know. I never had the chance to even bring it out of the house. Our home helper, W, insisted she had never seen it, even though it was huge. I remember showing it to her many months ago. She claimed to have searched the entire house, which isn't very big if you've seen my place. It was around that time I lost it when my loved ones claimed to have lost some items from their drawers as well. After pressing W persistently, the lost items mysteriously re-appeared. Of late, many horror stories about maids on the newspapers had left us quite disillusioned, too. But of all things, I knew an umbrella was hardly worth stealing. Yet as the days went by, as I became increasingly sure of where I had placed it, as this lost item continually niggled at me, and as I became irritated, the thoughts of it being stolen became... less impossible.
It seemed a stupid thing to be so preoccupied by an item so seemingly unimportant. It seemed even more stupid to be suspicious that it was stolen.

But a friend had just lost a maid because she started to steal. That's how we also lost our previous home-helper who'd served us for 13 years faithfully.

Don't we keep score of our emotional debts this way too? Some of them are hardly worth remembering, yet we keep score anyway.

I searched everywhere. I combed the house for weeks-my house isn't big to begin with. I went to the stores to see if I could find it. I scoured the internet. And I also asked friends travelling to Indonesia to keep a lookout for it for me. It was ridiculous. It's just an umbrella. Let it go.

Don't we like to harbour our debts in the same way too? We hunt the wrongs done to us down, almost pathologically.

What I didn't realise was how relevant this incident was to God's lesson to me this season. My accident was a mark of the end of the season for learning about Faith. After my fracture and torn gracilis muscle, I saw how God was consistently speaking to me about the meaning of Grace. Grace is what we receive from God when we are given what we don't deserve. It is what we need every day, if only we were humble enough to admit so. In the same way, grace is what we extend to others when we choose to give them what we think they may not deserve, too.

It was only recently at church that I saw how closely bitterness is linked to grace, or rather, a lack of it. It hit me like a tonne of bricks to read one day, ".. lest anyone fall short of the grace of God, lest any root of bitterness springing up cause trouble..."-Hebrews 12:15.

I knew, that there were roots of bitterness in the soil of my heart, and they had left me sick, frustrated, angry at certain people in my life. For months, I had prayed about certain broken relationships. God finally revealed to me that Grace was needed. I couldn't forgive on my own.

Over breakfast today, before I shared anything much about myself, Aunty Ay shared that her maid had left. Aunty Ay admitted she was bitter because her maid had stolen things, and her family had, in their opinion, treated her as best as they could. It was then when it hit the both of us, that we both needed God's grace to overcome our situation, and we needed to extend grace to people around us. After all, what is something stolen compared to the hurt of accusation or the price to pay for bitterness? We both agreed that the missing items, in the light of relationships and the value of grace which God was teaching us through these situations, were absolutely insignificant.

I went home, silent. Silly me. It's just an umbrella. So what if I'll never find it. So what if it was really stolen. Does it really matter? W has been serving us faithfully for the past 9 years. It is because of her that our home is kept in order. So what if she took it and could not admit it? Maybe she gave it to a friend who really needed it. And perhaps, she didn't take it at all. It could still be somewhere at home, hiding.

I went into my room and prayed. This wasn't about an umbrella. This was a prayer for Grace, to uproot all the roots of bitterness I had allowed to sink into my life. This was a prayer for God's divine spirit to help me forgive the people whom I felt had hurt and wronged me.

A quick prayer and I was out of the house again, rushing out to meet a friend for lunch. I was about to cross the road when I saw a man in a jet-black shirt and pants carrying the most iridescent and beautiful rainbow umbrella!

I froze.

Then, I ran.

God, I don't believe this. You've got to be kidding.


"Hi." I stopped him. And then, I did what I often do. I said hello and made small talk with a complete stranger. It was awkward. He wasn't even Singaporean.

"I know this sounds really strange, but I've been looking all over for a rainbow umbrella just like yours, and I was wondering, if... if I could buy it from you."

He was stunned.

"No."

"No?"

The word crushed me like an ant beneath an anvil.

I didn't know what else to do. "Then could you tell me where you got this from? So I can buy one, too?"

"It's from Durham."

"Durham? Like USA?"

Great.

So I start to tell him about the umbrella I lost, about what rainbows mean to me, and about the book and the photoshoot I am going to do, and maybe he felt sorry, or surprised or amused or genuinely moved, but he said, "Here you go."

"How much would you like for it?"

"Take it," he smiled. The Filipino man in black smiled.

I gave him my jet-black umbrella in return. "Here," I said. "For you."

"Oh, an exchange!" He said, bemused.

And so that is how my rainbow umbrella got united with me again.

Sometimes, I think it startles me to know how real and personal God can be. And dramatic, too. All this happened within the hour I told Aunty Ay about my umbrella, and within minutes of my prayer for Grace.

I am learning, He doesn't care about what we lose, what we fracture, or what we think as much as what we learn, what we gain and how we grow as people. Today I learnt about the power of Grace, about its necessity to remove bitterness, and its immense power to unleash the infinite grace of God into our lives.

Grace-it means getting what we don't really deserve.

So that's the story of my rainbow umbrella. I brought it all the way to town today, and I couldn't stop beaming. I was visiting my favorite art gallery, and staring at the display windows of Kate Spade, wondering why on earth these handbags are so expensive, when a mime performer tapped my shoulder, asked for my rainbow umbrella and started performing in public with it. The mime performer took my umbrella, balanced it on her hand, tossed her black tophat upon it, then balanced it on her chin and demanded, in mock enthusiasm, for me to clap. I did. It was hilarious, and it made my day.

Thank you, God, for giving me my rainbow umbrella today. It made me so iridescently happy.

And thank You, for showing me what it means to extend grace to others, and for extending your unending, amazing grace to me, too.

Love You.

pic from llcheesell.tumblr.com

".. lest anyone fall short of the grace of God,

lest any root of bitterness springing up cause trouble..."

-Hebrews 12:15.

Jet Plane.

"Oh look, it's a giant Disney spaceship!"

"No, mummy, it's not. It's NOT a Disney spaceship."

Going for an MRI scan can be very scary, even for adults. One has to stay very, very still and go through a very, very noisy tunnel to allow a powerful magnetic field to align the nuclear magnetization of ions in the body. The rotating magnetic field detected by the scanner then constructs an image of the body which the doctors interpret. To find out what was wrong, they had to do an MRI scan for Jordanna.

"Yes it is a spaceship, imagine... it's a Disney spaceship..." Her mother was sharing with us how she coaxed her child. Even adults find it extremely unpleasant to go through an MRI scan. Some find it claustrophic and even require sedation.

But instead of squirming, throwing a tantrum or kicking a fuss like most kids would, little Jordanna merely said, "No, mummy, it's not... it's... IT'S A JETPLANE!! Like the one we saw on TV!!"

A jetplane.

So is this what courage sounds like- the ability to see all things from a different perspective.


These children from my Sunday School class just never fail to amaze me. Her courage makes my challenges and mountains seem altogether surmountable, altogether small.

The pain in my fracture is still there. Some people have still been worried about how I am coping. To be honest, I do miss being well. But I realise, that seeing this whole ordeal from an entirely different perspective has been most liberating, too.

When we find ourselves going through a black, scary, noisy tunnel, and are told to be still, to remain paralysed, do we find ourselves caught up in fear? Or can we, like little Jordanna, look at the ordeal from an entirely different perspective.

I realise, that seeing the world through the eyes of a child can be most refreshing.

It was not that she downplayed the situation or denied its reality. After all, private jetplanes can be very cramped, and very, very noisy at take-off, too.

Courage, I suppose, is the ability to accept reality and yet making the choice to see things differently.


Today, I tried deep-water running. It's something my physiotherapist has recommended me to do. It involves tying a hydration belt around oneself and running against resistance, quite a tiring feat indeed.

The day she brought me to the pool to teach me this form of physiotherapy, I insisted it was most embarrassing. "Lean, Mean Triathlete" had now been reduced to a float-user in the pool, haa- like all the other elderly aunties in the public pool. (Yes, pride gets in the way.)

But today, looking through Jordanna's eyes, I saw how it was merely, different. And it turned out to be quite fun. Refreshing.

Have you been forced into a place you don't really want to be in, too? Are you made to do something you wish you didn't have to? Are you forced to be still?

Close your eyes. In the face of Jordanna's challenges, everything seems so small, now.

So now, when people ask me what I've been up to, how I'm coping, I simply smile. And wish I could tell them, "I'm on holiday, on a jet plane. And it feels quite... right. "

Fracture.

"I have kept the faith.

In spite of every opposition and affliction

he has remained true."

-2 Timothy 4:7,

People's New Testament version

It's been 6 weeks. I want to talk about it.

People have been concerned. Are you okay? Have you been coping? Are you depressed?

Yes. Yes. No.

They were worried because they knew a large part of my life would be gone. They were concerned because they knew it was important to me.

Yesterday, at my followup appointment, the doctor took an X-ray for me. "From your persistent symptoms, I think you may have a stress fracture. You need an X-ray."

"I thought you said it wasn't necessary. Anyway, if it really is a hairline fracture like you said, we won't be able to pick it up on the X-ray."

"Yes. But if we can, it's probably serious then."

To my juniors doing Emergency Medicine and Orthopedics at the moment, please spot the pathology:

To be fair to you, this isn't a very good photo, but there is an obvious fracture on the left inferior ramus of the pelvis and a callus formed around it.

"No running at all for the next 3 months. No racing for the next 9 months.You can start biking on the roads, maybe in July."

"9 months? That's like, next year."

"Yes. It's always best to recover fully before starting out again."

I'd to trust him. He's Ben Tan after all, Singapore's most renowned sports doctor. He himself is a triathlete, an ASEAN gold-medallist and boasts a sub 3-hour marathon timing.

"How did it happen?"

"It's accummulative."

"But I wasn't even training a lot."

"Everybody's threshold is different. This fracture is common in female athletes."

Apparently, it wasn't only my gracilis muscle which was torn. All the other muscles around it including the adductor magnus and 2 hamstrings were torn, too. The adductor magnus tugged so hard at the pelvic bone that a part of it got fractured.

Some friends have been worried about how I am taking the news. Can you walk? Does it hurt when you walk? Are you okay?

Yes. Sometimes. Yes.

It's very strange how an incident which ought to have devastated me has been one I am most grateful for. God taught me much through this, and I am still learning much now.

Perhaps the greatest lesson I've learnt is not to strive by myself, but to trust more in God. I am amazed by how my injury parallels that of a man named Jacob in the bible. Jacob loved God a lot, but he often relied on himself to get God's work done. One day, an angel wrestled with him and injured his hip and sinew, as it was God's way of getting his attention, to humble and teach him. After that incident, Jacob was forever changed.

Isn't that just like what He did to me?

Like Jacob, who walked with a limp after an angel touched his hip and caused his sinew to shrink, I feel like I have gone through a spiritual experience as well.

This incident has changed me, and I'm thankful. It has taught me self-control. If I hadn't injured myself that day, I believe it would have happened later. It is just like me to want to be valedictorian in everything (a terrible trait, indeed)- if given the task of cleaning windows I think I would have cleaned them so I could be Valedictorian of the Window Cleaning Association. If I did not injure myself, I think my studies would have suffered- because I would try to be good at both, and fail. Dr. L did warn me.

In Mandarin, there's a saying- yi xn bu neng er yong.

It literally means, you can't use one heart for two things. Metaphorically. it means one must be wholehearted and devoted to only one thing at a time. If not, the heart becomes divided. This season, I want to dedicate myself to being a good doctor. I am in my final year, it is the final lap.

I do think about that fateful day often- it runs in my mind like a bad video. If I had been wholehearted about my work and gone back to the hospital that Sunday, this may not have happened. Nonetheless, there is a peace about this all. There is beauty in knowing that this may be God's way of chastening me. And His love for me grants me profound relief.

People have been worried for me, that I may blame, question or suspect God. But they have instead come up to me telling me how encouraged and downright surprised they are at my response. It's hard not be grateful, because deep down inside, I know God has a reason, and his plan is always good and best.

Because of my injury. I have learnt to rest. Because of it, I have learnt to be humble and patient. Because of it, I have had the chance to sort out my work and refresh myself in my studies. It has done me a whole lot of good.

But perhaps what I'm secretly most joyful about and relieved for, is knowing that God has used this for good.

You know, I always doubted myself when I was training. A Taste of Rainbow, a book birthed from my recovery from my illness, was getting published, and I often wondered if triathlon training was merely a facade I hid behind to mask the old fears and hang-ups I had about my weight, and self-esteem. How long could I keep up with it? Had I "recovered" only because I had found a new crutch to lean on? Was I eating well only because I was doing so much sports?

Training to that extent was becoming unrealistic, and I did not want to know that that was my new master. I did not want to be enslaved to a new regime that I would be emotionally and physically bound to. In Hiding from Love, John Townsend writes of how many of us use "legitimate" activities to fill the holes in our lives. Unlike alcohol or smoking which are obviously bad, many of us use work, sports, charitable acts etc to fill the empty spaces we have inside.

It's true. I find I can almost always swim, bike or run indefinitely when I'm having a bad day.

But being injured and at peace with my injury made me realise, how God has set me free. Seeing how uncannily similar my injury is to Jacob's, and how uncannily similar the lessons to be learnt are, I find myself at peace with this pain. Though I miss running, I am also refreshed by my new lifestyle. I am fine with training, and with not training; I can rejoice in plenty, and rejoice in want.

This for me, has been incredibly liberating. I can finally stop doubting myself. I have recovered from my illness. I can be sure of that when A Taste of Rainbow gets published. I am convinced.

Knowing that nobody will bug me to compete in any more races this year as I take on my final exams has also been a source of relief. For now, I am estatic to return to my book writing and publishing, my missionary book-reading, my studies, photography, Sunday-school teaching and poetry. Suddenly my mind has been freed up to pursue other things. Some days are harder than others, especially when I long for a long run, but I am mostly happy.

Training for triathlons was a season in my life. There were many precious life and spiritual lessons I learnt from racing, many lessons about Faith. That season has now ended. And I'm ready to let it go, revisit it when and if God permits. I want to move on. Exciting things await.

I remember Pastor's last words to me a week before my race, a day before my injury, "Wai Jia, just finish the race." There was a twinkle in his eye, of genuine love.

I still think about what he said. Finish the race.

I now see, it is a different sort of race. I learnt, that nothing can bring us down when we count it all joy when we fall into various trials, because overcoming our setbacks produces patience, endurance and character, which are needed for us to complete the real race in life, the spiritual marathon of faith, that we have been called to finish. There will be times of grief to overcome, but God's grace will be enough.

To all my friends, who've poured out your concern, love and support on me, I appreciate it very much. You've made this journey bearable and memorable in every way.

The fracture will take a long while to heal, but it will.

" In this you greatly rejoice,

though now for a little while... you have been grieved by various trials...

- 1Peter 1:6

"And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations,
knowing that tribulation produces perseverence;
and perseverence, character,
and character, hope."

- Romans 5:3-4

Light Afflictions.

I suppose, we all do what we do for reasons only fathomable to ourselves. What is reasonable to one may sound completely illogical to another. To each his own.

Some people don't understand why sportspeople do what they do. It is as if they are perversely attracted to pain. Medically speaking, endurance sports does cause the body to produce hormones similar to those produced when one is happy. Nonetheless, it was not only till recently I could put into words a resemblence of why I "enjoy" pain, too.

I mean, who in the right mind would want to or actually do a half Iron Man, right? A 1.9km swim, a 90km bike ride right before a 21.2km half-marathon just sounds... crazy. At the Aviva half Iron Man race supporting many of my friends who were participating in the full long-distance triathlon last week, I stood speechless.

Yet, I understood. Everyone has a different reason, but as I climbed the slopes for the biking relay under the hot, hot sun, I finally understood mine- to be stronger, not merely physically, but mentally, emotionally and spiritually as well. I want to be comfortable with pain, and learn to withstand, overcome, conquer it. A friend once shared with me, that the mission field isn't easy, and physical training does play a part in developing endurance and perserverence. I realised, it's true.

My fall on Faith last week was a milestone. My friends said it was the sporting equivalent of baptism, where one finally surrenders to the challenges, trials and sufferings of the sport. They used the word baptism. And it reminded me of the spiritual parallel- who said trusting and walking with God was ever easy? Do we not need to surrender to the afflictions and sufferings which come in our spiritual journeys, too?

I could never understand my grief in recollecting that period of depression and suffering in my past, especially since I know God had a purpose for it. I could never understand why I'm adverse to that sort of pain, and yet indulge in hobbies which to some, just smack of masochism- think endurance sports, and going on mission trips to developing countries.

But when I fell, when I was "baptized" into the sport, when I felt God's peace about going for longer races in the future, I understood why.

I realised, that suffering is bearable, even desirable, when we know we have chosen it. We can grit our teeth up formidable slopes, bear the pain of burning legs, brush off battlescars when we know we have chosen this form of suffering, when we know it has a purpose to make one stronger, better, when we know it is temporal in contrast to the eternal qualities it builds in us.

In contrast, during our dark periods of depression, most of us do not understand why such suffering has befallen us. We feel helpless: God, why do you choose to inflict this pain on me? What have I done wrong? In the face of this kind of suffering, we feel we have lost control. We question God. One feels defeated, not victorious; one feels like a puppet, not a conqueror.

It then struck me, that the difference between one form of suffering and the other is simply this- our perception of being victims, and having the power to exercise choice.

I could not reconcile a good God with my suffering because I felt I did not choose this life or this depression. Have you felt that way before? Tormented and helpless, because we felt we had no part to play in our circumstance?

Pursuing dreams which cost us, which bring us pain in the process on the other hand, being a result of a choice, gives one a form of control and helps one to become a conqueror, a victor in the face of challenges. That suffering empowers, strengthens us. I learnt, that I enjoy the pain in training because it is a privilege to choose one's suffering. Think about it- who but the blessed have the privilege to choose one's suffering? I am not in hunger, or poverty, I am not sold to prostitution. I face difficulties and trials at work in the hospital, on the training ground, during mission trips, but I am empowered to know that I have chosen this, that it is only for a little while in the light of an eternal pilgrimage. It is like the athlete who continues to go faster even though his legs are burning, burning- because he knows that the short period of pain will go miles to improve his efficiency in the long-run.

In that choice of suffering, self-actualisation becomes a driving force, a means to build one's character. Perhaps, hence why people pursue sports, adventure, careers, worthy causes, and dreams with such passion in spite of suffering ordeals. Great things come with great sacrifices, and we are willing to pay the price for a goal that has eternal or substantial value.

It was then that I learnt, that it is not the type of suffering that determines how we respond to it and our growth, but how we respond to our suffering that determines how much we grow.

The question really is- do I acknowledge my choice in my suffering.

There is a story in the bible I am fascinated by, about a man called Job (pronounced Jobe). He was a good man, but in a short time suffered great affliction-his family died, all this property was wiped out and his health was destroyed suddenly. He was a righteous man, but his agony was real and he railed against God and pleaded for justice, even as his friends rubbed salt into his wound by trying to convince him that he must have done some evil to deserve such punishment. I remember, during that period of depression years ago, I read that story over and over. I could relate to Job's pain, his shame, his guilt, his suffering. In those circumstances, one feels like a forgotten victim.

After my fall last week, I realised, that perhaps, it is all a matter of perspective, and we can choose to be a victim or a victor in our sufferings.

To be victors, perhaps all we need is to own that choice, to acknowledge that we have chosen our sufferings, and do have control over it. We can't control our cirmcumstances but we can control our response to it: Life is hard, but I have chosen to live, to keep living, and hence, I am a conqueror; Being mocked at for my values and belief in God is tragic, but I continue to choose believe in God because I trust Him-thus, my suffering becomes pursposeful, worthwhile; Races are tough, but I choose to keep training, and I persevere till the end, thus I am a winner, not a quitter. In this light, suffering becomes worthwhile, if not welcome, because something so transient strengthens us for an eternity.

The pain that comes along no longer becomes an enemy but a friend, a tool to sharpen and mould our characters. It is like in labour when the midwives often tell the women to make use of the contraction pangs by squeezing forcefully when the pain comes, so as to "push the pain away". Pain becomes their friend, a tool which helps them achieve their purpose.

Can we view our sufferings that way, too?

That is what cycling and training for triathlons have been teaching me- to take ownership of my suffering, and to be less of a complaining, whiney girly girl. It honestly surprised me when so many of my guy friends hardly batted an eyelid (stark contrast to the reaction of my girlfriends) when they heard of my accident last week. Pick yourself up, it's no big deal, was their reply. You've chosen this sport and it's tough, so toughen up and move on.

Two nights ago, at the hospital interning in the Obstetric and Gynaecology department under a rigorous internship programme, we were still seeing patients past midnight. We were on call, which means we see all new patients who come in during our 36-hour shift. Yes, being on call means working from 7am through the night till 1pm the next day. The junior doctor I was shadowing was tired, dehydrated and had 5 different nurses from 3 different places located a great distance from one another calling him to attend to patients. In addition, his superior was upset with him because of a misunderstanding. As we were walking, almost running from one ward to another, I saw his suffering. Yet, he was laughing, joking about how he had needed to go to the toilet since 8pm but had held on for so long that his bladder no longer had any sensation. It was midnight when he shared that. We were roaring with laughter, and he continued to joke with the nurses, to pull my leg even after a tongue-lashing by his senior.

And then I realised, that we were enduring this pain because we chose to do medicine. We endured the pain because we know that housemanship will only be but for a year, and the suffering would teach us skills which would equip us for life as a doctor.

Toughen up and move on. Stop being such a girly girl. Finish the race.

In the same way, I now understand that I need not mourn over that season of depression and grapple with asking God why anymore, because I chose to walk with God. And walking with God is not easy. It can be even more difficult because reconciling pain and suffering with the concept of a good God is undoubtedly a moral dilemma, a feat of faith.

So I fell last week. So I'm exhausted from reporting at 6.45am every morning at the hospital furthest from my home and from being on call once a week. So I'm planning my next trip to a developing country soon.

But it's all good. I chose this path. The suffering is worthwhile, for sure.

As what my friends told me, I've just got to toughen up and move on. Because this suffering is only temporary, it is surely worthwhile, and builds a kingdom of eternal value in heavenly places we cannot see.

*photo by Bernard Soh

"For our light affliction, which is for the moment,

works for us more and more exceedingly

an eternal weight of glory..."

- 2 Cor 4:17

Fall on Faith.

During a mission trip to Sri Lanka last year, I remember teaching a group of children about the having the strength to stand strong in the midst of life's storms. The night before Sunday's gruelling race, I read a similar story. The story's lesson point was this: Life's storms can show us the strength of our faith. Those who are deeply and firmly rooted are able to rebound and keep going when storms come.


Interesting passage to read the night before my race on Faith, I thought- especially if you read the word faith as my bicycle. Life's storms can show us the strength of our faith.

Someone from a relay team for the long distance triathlon no longer wanted to cycle, and so I had the chance to stand in for her for free, so that together with another swimmer and another runner, we would form a triathlon team for the 70.3 miles Aviva Half-Iron Man race. The half Iron Man race comprises of a 1.9km swim in the sea, a 90km bike ride and a 21.2km run. At least 20 of my friends participated in completing the full distance today. I, on the other hand, was happy to have the chance to be part of a relay team, to have a taste of what the full course would be like.

I was mentally prepared for a tough ride: 90km without drafting, not having trained much for it (since I was given the slot only 5 days before race day), lots of hills and climbs, lots of other cyclists and curves to manouvre and a hot, hot sun to battle.

I wish I could've told you that when I finished my part of the race, my tears were those of joy. I wish I could've told you I ended the race feeling proud and good about myself. But I didn't. I ended on a very low note, and I teared.

I fell. I fell on Faith. And it was not like any fall I had before.

It happened so fast. My helmet hit the road and my body went limp for a moment. When it happened, I felt pain all through my lower body, and for a moment I could feel nothing at all. I don't know exactly how it happened, but I was flung a fair distance, and landed with a significant impact. It was my lower body which hurt the most. A genuine feeling of fear gushed into my blood. I was afraid that my worst fears might be realised, and quickly wiggled my fingers and toes to make sure I wasn't paralysed or hadn't broken any bones. A gentleman came to my aid, hauled me to the side and kept reassuring me. Are you okay?

My first words were, "Where is my phone?" followed by, "I want to finish the race. Pass me my bike, thank you."

I had already done 2 out of 3 loops. There was another 30km to go, and I wanted to finish it. My runner was waiting for me. At the time my heart had sunk a little but I kept my spirits up by thanking God I hadn't broken anything. Finish what you started.

Faith, in both sense of the word, though battered, was intact.

By that time, the sun was beating down mercilessly, burning my skin to a crisp. Yet, there was a quiet joy as I continued pedalling up the ferocious slopes. It was then that I started to feel immense gratitude for the prolonged period of 'suffering' on my previous too-heavy, too-big bike, because the slopes now felt manageable on Faith, which was much lighter; It was then that I realised that no journey can be underestimated, because we never know what can happen. Only when I finally reached the end to hand my timing chip to the runner of the team, did I take in what had happened. The fall kept replaying in my mind over and over, my butt, shoulder and back were still sore. Traumatized by the impact, I felt so down I didn't want to talk to anybody.

It was just a fall. Yet, it made me feel disappointed and discouraged.


At the end of the race, M asked me how I did. M is a stranger I met on the road that day, an experienced triathlete from New Zealand. He has now become not only a friend, but a coach, too. He qualified for the World Championships last year and tops his category for races quite regularly. Our meeting was utterly random, we agree it was by divine appointment and he now attends my church regularly. Since our meeting, he has blessed me tremendously by giving me tips, advice, and a strategic training programme to fit into my tight schedule, but most importantly, spiritual input into my physical training too. He's very strict, very harsh at times, but very effective as well.

"I fell," was all I could muster. He saw the disappointment on my face.


"Well, did you finish?"


"Yes."


"Well done."


That night, he called me. "Hey you W. J, how ya doing?"


"I fell," If I had been expecting a pep talk or some fluffy empathy, I would have been sorely disappointed.

" Hey. The triathlon is not an easy sport. A half Iron Man is 70.3 miles. 90km on the bike's gotta be tough-it's not to be underestimated, okay? It builds character. If you ask me, I'd say you got off real easy today because you only did the biking leg, and you didn't break any bones. I'm reeeaaallly glad you had a tough and rough day. This is good, it's all positive. You're wanting to do a half Iron Man so this is how it is. You're tough, you'll bounce back. This is a reality check, okay? Triathlons, like life, are tough and rough-like the kingdom of God. You wanna do this, it's not easy. Rejoice, rejoice in your affliction."

Silence. "Do you think I did well?"


"Yes. As long as you learnt something, you did well. I'm glad you had that fall."


Perhaps, the greatest lesson I learnt today was Resilience- the ability to bounce back when one faces a setback, when one lands an unexpected fall. It reminded me of the story I told to the children in Sri Lanka, about the coconut tree being tall and slender, but strong enough to withstand strong gales.


I fell today. I fell on my bike, Faith. But my faith, though battered, remained intact.

Later at the end, I learnt that many of my friends who are experienced triathletes had bad crashes and falls, too, but each of them shrugged it off easily without feeling too traumatised. Some of them couldn't race because they fell ill, but resolved to complete the race another time. I saw a cyclist cycling with his mouth bandaged- later, I learnt that he had crashed head first but continued to complete the race after plastering his lips. Each of these warriors rebounded from their setbacks because they had developed an inner resilience within them.

I suppose it's true, that life's storms really do reveal to us the strength of our faith. Perhaps, no journey is complete without having one's Faith tried and tested. In our storms and setbacks, do we give up and give in, or do we choose to pick ourselves up?

It was then that I realised, how precious suffering is. For affliction helps us perservere, and teaches us to endure when our faith suffers a fall.

I learnt a lot from my friends and other participants who took part in the race. Toward the end, every minute was excruciating but they pressed on, and perservered. I became thankful, that God has chosen to use sports to teach me some of life's deepest lessons. And as long as I guard my heart against pride, He will continue to use this amazing witness of human and divine strength to strengthen and deepen my faith.

The story I read writes: Life's storms can show us the strength of our faith. Those who are deeply and firmly rooted are able to rebound and keep going when storms come. I fell, but I learnt that what mattered was that I got up, brushed it off, and finished the race.

Someday, in God's time and way, I would like to finish a half Iron Man, too.

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith,

we have peace with God...

we also rejoice in our sufferings,

because we know that suffering produces perseverance;

perseverance, character;

and character, hope.

And hope does not disappoint us,

because God has poured out his love into our hearts..."

-Romans 1:5

Sweet adversity.

Sweet are the uses of adversity,

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.

-Shakespeare

Suffering is the common experience of mankind. It is something I am both anguished by and enthralled with.

It seems, that God often uses the most painful experiences in our lives to grow, teach and humble us. They are not for nothing.

But in our suffering, it can be hard to see that.

Last week, I attended a talk about Suffering and Evil. It was about the problem of pain, and how suffering poses a deep dilemma for us, even more so for the most fervent lovers of God. For undeserved suffering poses a great moral dilemma: How can a good God bring me so much pain? The sufferer is in deep perplexity: Is God for me or against me? It is baffling, guilt-riddling, isolating: Have I sinned so badly to deserve this, does God not love me?

At the end of the talk, during the Question and Answer session, I asked how one ought to respond to a sufferer. In the light of sin, empathy and that unfathomable space of not knowing what God is doing, how do we bring comfort to another? LT Jeyachandran, a well-known speaker, answered, "It is not our part to judge the sufferer for his suffering. Sometimes, suffering happens to good people. It is not always punishment. But only when the dust has settled shall we fathom even a little of it. Only God knows, and it is merely our duty to listen, to love, and to comfort."

How true.

I don't know why but I started to tear. Because of those 2 years of utter depression and darkness, I understood the taste of suffering, of what it means to sleep in fear and depression and to awaken in despair, to lose everything one values and gain only but pain, to withstand despicion and struggle with guilt, to grapple with a silent, withdrawn God and to wrestle with Him day after day, with a blank world, white pills and isolation. You will understand only after the dust has settled, he said.

Suffering has no answer in its presence. It is only when it has ended, does some semblance of an answer come to one.

Now that that period of clinical depression has ended, and God has promised me a Rainbow, I now understand that period of suffering as a form of cleansing for me, a period of intense stripping and rebuilding, a terrible and beautiful moulding process. That suffering made me grow. It gave me a story to tell. It gave me a new life.

Yet, suffering always bears the quality of having no complete answers. Even as the answers for my suffering reveal themselves slowly, and I am convinced of God's immense love for me, the tears still came because still, I asked, God, did it have to be this way? Did I have to suffer so much?

I suppose the answer is yes. Suffering is not only important, but necessary for our growth.

Today, at the pre-race briefing for the Half-Iron Man race this Sunday, I found part of my answer.

As they went through the rules for the triathlon, I was cringing in my seat. I had agreed to stand in for a friend for the cycling part of a relay team, comprising of 2 others who would swim 1.9km and run a half-marathon. Little did I realize what I had agreed to. The 90km race was in less than a week, and even though I often biked extra distance during training, I had not been training with the race in mind. According to a newspaper article yesterday, the bike leg was invariably the longest and toughest. Said a seasoned triathlete at an interview, "When you've cycled 60km already, going up the slope the 5th and 6th time becomes a case of mind over body."

The cycling leg has been termed "a stiff test" for the athletes, with the most number of rules and points of disqualification, with a route going 6 times up the formidable slope on Benjamin Sheares Bridge under a hot sun, with one surely having to eat and drink while riding on the bike (quite a balancing feat), and the worst rule was, each bike had to be at least 7 metres away from the next one. This ensures nobody drafts, which means tailing behind a bike so as to avoid the extra effort of breaking the headwind.

No drafting. I’d never gone even close to 90km without drafting before.

What had I done. The same feeling of dread and realisation of my folly that I have every time I sign up for a mission trip came into my heart. Silly girl, now look what you’ve done.

“Oh, I’m so silly,” I said aloud to a friend. "No drafting!"

“I see your training group often drafts along long stretches, yes?”

“Yes, you’re right. Now I’m really done for.”

As those words left my mouth, something suddenly hit me. No, it was not true. Yes, the Big, Fast Boys in my training group often found it a great thrill to draft down long stretches at incredibly high speeds, but because God had withheld providing me with a new bike by giving my money away for Alisha’s hearing implant operation, I suffered with training on a much heavier, larger, lower-speed and poorer-grade bike for a prolonged period of time. Even though I pushed so hard, I was still the slowest in the group for a long time, so slow that almost always, I was thrown behind to ride alone, pushing against the headwind, with no one to draft behind.

Little did I realise, that that was the best ground for training.

Suffering is like that. It perplexes us while we're in it. But on retrospection, always helps us to see how it disciplines, moulds and strengthens us.

During the time after I had given away the money my father had given me for my new bike, every ride hurt, physically and emotionally. Many times, when I was thrown behind to ride all alone against the brutal headwind, with my friends soaring ahead, my heart would sink like a rock. My father had told me it was not that he couldn’t buy me a bicycle, but it was a matter of principle that he would not get me the bike. “It was a decision you made to give your money away, so you’ll have to live with it. It’s a matter of Principle, a lesson you must learn. I cannot pamper you.”

Riding alone with the pain in my legs, the discouragement of being left behind and the hurt that I mightn’t ever get a new bike… that was, in a way, a form of suffering, even though this suffering is incomparable to the suffering of poverty and hunger. Those rides were awful. I wanted to give my roadbike away and stop cycling altogether. For a few weeks, I refused to touch or even look at it.

But we forget, how suffering makes us grow, how it has a purpose, even if we don’t see it at the time.

What I didn’t realize was how God allowed that suffering for a greater purpose. Is that hard to believe? That a good God allows us to suffer? It was precisely because I had trained so much and pushed so hard on a terribly heavy and ill-fitted bike for so long that my legs bring me much faster and further on Faith, my new bike now. Because of that prolonged period of suffering and training, Faith can ride with the Big Boys now. And because of that, even though I'm a little worried, I have faith that God will see us through.

Are you suffering in some way, in some aspect of your life, and does it perplex you too?

Know that it is not for naught. As Shakespeare puts it, “Sweet are the uses of adversity/ Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous/Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.”

Suffering often prepares us for the races which we don’t even know lie ahead of us. They train our characters and grow our spirits, so we’ll be ready when an unexpected trial or race befalls us, when we have to rough it out alone, with nobody to draft or seek guidance from. I never knew, but those times of grief in solitude, whether cycling alone behind the pack or simply living through clinical depression, were excellent times of training the mind, body and spirit. I now see how those dark periods of adversity not only humbled, but also strengthened and refined my character, too. The greater the suffering, the greater the glory and beauty at the end.

And I suppose, it brings me greatest comfort to know that God suffered the biggest suffering known to mankind, and finished the toughest race known to humanity, to exchange a crown of thorns for a bejewelled crown of honour. Because of that, surely, we can delight in our sufferings, persevere through them, and finish our races, too.

Adversity is sweet and purposeful, if only we persevere till the end.

“Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial,

because when he has stood the test,

he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.”

-James 1:12

And after you have suffered for a little while,

the God of all grace,

who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself

restore, support, strengthen,

and establish you.

-1 Peter 5: 7-10

She hears.

“Pani. PAH- NEE.”

I pointed to my water bottle and said the words slowly, deliberately. Pani means water in Nepalese.

She looked at me, half bewildered, then mouthed, “Pani”.

“She spoke! She said Pani, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” said my missionary friend, who has just brought Alisha and her mother to Singapore again for their follow-up in hearing and speech therapy. “The therapists say she is learning very fast, nearly twice as fast as one normally would.”

I met them at the hospital just yesterday. I looked at Alisha, marveled at the miracle of her regaining her sense of hearing and having a fresh shot at life through your generosity and stood, speechless.

When I first heard of my missionary friend's request to find a doctor and sponsors to help this 4-year old Nepalese girl with a $100'000 hearing implant operation, my faith was shamefully weak. Why help her? Why so much money and effort for one person? How do we fly her into Singapore, and what about follow-up? Her mother had suffered from a meningeal infection during her pregnancy, resulting in the destruction of Alisha's cochlear. But her's isn't the only sob story-what do you expect me to do?

Sometimes, it amazes me to know the extent that God loves us, and how far He sometimes wants us to go for someone else. Who knows what God can do, when we put in just that little bit of faith, in what seems impossible.

Months ago, when God gave the money I was given for the roadbike I wanted away to her, I am embarrassed to say I was depressed for many weeks after that. Cycling became painful, so for a period I stopped, in spite of my friends’ persistent invitations to train with them, since not cycling relieved that acute sense of longing and struggle to grapple with my desires and God’s.

I shared with my missionary friend how God had orchestrated a beautiful series of events not only to bless me with my new bike, Faith, but with the sponsorship of my next book about Faith, and many lessons of trust, sacrifice and obedience.

We both had a moment of silence, taking in the beauty of all that had happened: Because of Alisha, the bike I originally wanted had to go. Because of that sacrifice and blind act of faith, a sponsor who knew about the case intervened to not only sponsor Alisha but my next book about Faith. Because of this turn of events, my friends and family made the story complete by surprising me with such a beautifully well-fitted, light and fast bike called… Faith, too. This bike is infinitely more meaningful and precious to me than the one I had originally wanted to buy out of self-centredness. It is precisely of this beautiful story behind my bicycle that I go so much faster and have gained so much more motivation and confidence to ride. I got a free seat again to help a friend ride 90km for this Sunday’s Aviva Half-Iron Man race. I’m scared, but I think faith will see us through.

Thank you for your generosity. For those of you who have given sacrificially to Alisha’s cause, know that you have not only given her the chance to hear, but to speak, to learn, to work and to have a chance at a potentially bright future as well. Her teachers say she is so expressive, participative and bright in her class, in spite of her late start in speaking. You have saved her from a lifetime of discrimination, unemployment, and possibly, prostitution too.

Just remember, that whatever you give, will be given back to you in return- in abundance, in grace, more than you could ever ask or think. Perhaps not in the way you demand, perhaps in a painful, longsuffering way, but surely in the best, and most beautiful way, in God's time.

"... I pray that out of God's glorious riches

he may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being,

so that God may dwell in your hearts through faith.

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,

may have power...

to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of God..."

-Ephesians 3

Fixing a wheel.

I could hear the disappointment in her voice when the words left my mouth. But I was just being honest.

I didn't think it would hurt her that way, but it did. What I said did, and only because she loves me so much. She is like a mother to me.

Aunty Ay was sharing with me her thoughts about what I had confessed about my weaknesses and was trying to encourage me. "We all have faults, and someday, when you find someone, marriage will be another journey of faith altogether, and..."

I cut her short.

And nothing prepared me for her disappointment that ensued, a thick, heavy disappointment which ossified that moment when I said what I did.

There was a long silence. And I simply shrugged, wanted to say sorry but couldn't.

"Wai Jia..." she said, in exasperation. "But why?"

No one ever says this out loud because it's too cheesy, but most little girls spend their lives dreaming of a prince on a white horse to ride into their lives to take them away. As they grow older, they pour their eyes out in movies, gorge on romantic novels and dream of the day they can wear their wedding dress in a happily-ever-after story. I hated chick-flicks and romance-novels, but once, not too long ago too, Disney fascinated me. For me, it was real.

I've always been an idealist. It's always been all or nothing. I remember being being so full of hope and faith that God had the right person for me. In spite of all my weaknesses and disappointments with myself, my "difficult" vocation and my beliefs, I had the faith that someday, I would reach a place where a special someone's path would cross mine, and we would fit. Yes, someone who dreamed to do mission work and feed the hungry and clothe the poor and who loved my idiosyncrasies and who I am, and someone whom I could love in return.

And then, I don't even know when it happened, it could've possibly been over my birthday, that suddenly, I just felt... content by myself.

Many of my friends have been getting together, and sometimes, especially when I was feeling low or on a long train ride home from the hospital back home, I had wished I had someone to ask me how my day went, whether I was okay, whether I needed a lift. Then over my 23rd birthday, when my bicycle Faith was built, and when my faith in God and the world had been simultaneously restored, I suddenly became most content to be... by myself.

It felt very strange. I felt so loved, and un-lonely.

The strangest part was, it was not that I had grown disillusioned or embittered with the world, or that I had lost hope. I remind myself that I have also met many missionary families who do God's work beautifully amidst the poor and hungry.

I don't know when it happened, why it did, or how. But I woke up one day discovering my life was full to the brim, and I was... content.

I began to keep track of my time, of what I had been doing, because the older people at church have been asking me when I would ever slow down, and find time to let someone else be a part of my life. But they don't seem to understand, that God's time is not here, yet- and may not ever be.

I realised, that most of my time is spent in the hospital, at church or bible study, on training (biking, swimming or running), on drawing/writing/painting/reading/photography and on individuals who matter to me-Grandpa Zhou, lonely strangers whom I let into my home, and other random projects. My life runs at such an intense pace, with pockets of solitude and complete rest with God and God alone. I realised, that I have so many friends and people in my life who love me that I do not feel lonely. I realised, that I no longer feel I have to share my experiences with a particular someone and I'm no longer lonely because God has such a big part to play in my life. Most, if not all of my training buddies are guys-they treat me well; most, if not all of the people I help, show me immense appreciation; most of my friends are older than me, and pamper me ever so often.

I hardly get frustrated now because my excess energy goes into cycling, swimming and running. I hardly get lonely now because someone never fails to drop me a message to ask how I'm doing. I hardly get envious anymore because someone I know has either broken up, divorced or is having an affair.

It sounds absolutely ridiculous, I know, but after my bicycle Faith was built, I was actually a little disappointed that my faith with regards to this aspect of my life was still empty. Then a week later, I realised my front wheel hub was faulty.

It seems an apt parallel, that while my faith in all other parts of my life has been restored, this is still one area that has not yet been built properly. It's like the faulty wheel hub in my life.

I just don't quite see how someone else would fit in, how I would fit in elsewhere. I have too much a mind of my own. I am weird- I dance in church, I think frogs are cute and
I can't wait to become a missionary doctor.

I run, I swim, I bike. I have mood swings (which I am working on). Ever so often, I have sudden whims to do impetuous things. I live on impulse. I visit art galleries alone. I will wake up one day and decide I just want to watch the rain and melt into it, or go back to Nepal again, or spend time by myself to write another book. I have decided, with room for God's direction, what I would like to do with my life in the next ten years. (I don't have much of a choice anyway- I've a bond to serve in government hospitals). I'm in hospital from 6.45am till at 5.30pm for this module in Obstetrics, and go on 36-hour calls once a week. It is possible I will be overseas for a year very soon, details of which I will reveal only later. My experience with the men (or boys) in my life who ever got slightly closer to me (besides my father) have been memorable in the wrong way- I now prefer to keep them as training buddies or at 2 arm's length. I keep meeting random people who literally come in and out of my home for food, company and a dose of God. Maybe, just maybe, all these reasons add up.

So I suppose, I feel complete, and happy already, being by myself- simply because, I'm not by myself. God's family is so big, and so impossibly loving that I don't feel lonely anymore. When I do, I know there are ten other poor or needy people who'd appreciate my time just visiting them. Sometimes, I do.

I used to think I was too proud. I think I used to be lonely in bits and pieces. But now I think I have learnt to respect my brothers. I hardly feel lonely anymore, even when I am alone, moody or not. I feel beautiful and content, even without having someone of the opposite gender validate me.

Maybe it is a good sign. I have come to a place of greater security and peace with God and myself.

But it felt strange, nonetheless. To feel so light and happy about this newfound contentment and seeing the disappointment in the eyes of Aunty Ay, J, my parents and other people who love me and have probably dreamt of seeing the day they could see me say, " I do" but now hear that I'm... Content.

A part of me admits that maybe, that part of my faith just hasn't been built yet. Maybe it'll take time. My friends keep asking me when I'll fix my wheel- I keep putting it off. In the same way, maybe I am content not to fix the problem because I've another set of wheels to use as a stand-in for now. For now, perhaps it is training.

"But you can still prepare yourself for it. I always believe God has planned someone for most people."

"Most people, Aunty Ay. Most. "

Don't be disappointed- if it's meant to happen, it will happen. And if it doesn't, at least you know that I'm happy.

And I'll try to fix my wheel soon, so that Faith can really be complete. But if I don't, know that I'm content now, too, okay?