Sobered.

My medical mission internship to the jungle hospital in Kalimantan ended on a sober note.

While it was inspiring to see the missionary doctors serving the poor there, eye-opening to see the potential for Ophthalmology in the rural community and mind-blowing to hear what God had taught me, there was also much time for reflection, to think about who I had become and am becoming. And that, was sobering.

As we left in the jeep on the 5-hour ride out of the jungle to the nearest big town, the missionaries and mission trippers heaped tonnes of thanks and praise on us. Just before leaving, an Amercian team of 3 women, one in her fifties, one in her sixties and one in her seventies had asked me to help them with painting a mural for them in the paediatric ward. These women had flown halfway across the globe just so they could turn one dingy, smelly, depressing room housing screaming, sickly, scrawny village children into a clean and cheery place, and they needed a picture on the wall. They were old enough to be my parents and grandparents, yet chose to come out of their comfort zones to simply, paint a room. Seeing how a 67-year old grandmother sat on the dirty floor with her head nearly pressed to the floor for hours just so she could paint the rims of the walls was absolutely heartwrenching and heartwarming at the same time. What humility, what sincerity, and what love.

But I digress. Praise was generously doled out to me at our departure regarding the mural. But instead of invoking joy, it left a dead, heavy feeling inside of me.

"Oh what a beautiful mural you did for us."

"Oh, God has really blessed you with many gifts."

Driving away from the waving crowd, I suddenly saw a picture in my mind, that of a Christmas tree, and a peach tree heavy with sun-ripened fruit. Something gripped me, and sobered me. I knew God was speaking. I didn't deserve the praise, and God knew it too.

Each of us are blessed with gifts, some more than others. The gifts tucked beneath a Christmas tree, however, tell us nothing about the nature of the tree itself. Gifts, then, reflect not us, but the Giver of such gifts.

Each of us are also blessed with the ability to bear fruit in our lives. Fruit, unlike gifts, is produced by a steady process of cultivation and development. Good trees bear good fruit and bad trees bear bad fruit. Fruits, then, reflect everything about the nature of the tree, that is, us.

In the same light, we may see how while gifts are like talents, fruits are like character. In the long run and in God's sight, undoubtedly, character is more important. Our gifts shall one day perish with the world, while our characters will determine eternity.

Consolidating all the thoughts I had journalled down during my personal reflection was not easy. I left, sobered, for I saw how my close friend Jw's life was embodied in the fruit tree, and mine, in the Christmas tree.

Living with her for 3 weeks in the jungle hospital opened my eyes to her deep sense of gentleness, kindness and patience, in every and any circumstance. These virtues are described as fruits in the bible. In so many ways, I am thankful we met and journey together. And while on the surface, it may have seemed like I was "more talented" (what with the murals, my varied hobbies back home and my training in the mornings), my life on a day-to-day basis certainly did not reflect the depth of character and maturity of spirit which she inspired in me to develop. Looking inwards, I realised I had 22 years of impulsiveness and impatience, among other bad habits to strip away.

I closed my eyes and saw a Christmas tree ornamented with gaudy lights and cheap streamers, with opened boxes and torn gift-wrapping at its feet. They were all very exciting gifts, but nothing as beautiful, as fragrant or as life-sustaining as the beautiful fruit of the peach tree.

I had painted the mural, but I didn't do it with total joy, peace and goodness. At one point I remember complaining to God about how big a task it was and how I hadn't the time nor energy to do it. It was a task "well-done" in the public eye, and probably earned me another ornament on my tree, but certainly, any fruit borne out of that spirit must have been sour, or rancid, even. Jw and the elderly ladies from America, however, did the outline of my painting ever so gingerly and gladly, and out of that came a fruit of sweet humility and sun-ripened goodness.

There were many other things I uncovered about myself, and it grieved me to see how, for a moment, I no longer recognised the straightforward, strong-willed, moody, task-oriented person before me. My strengths, untempered by fruits of love, patience and gentleness, had become only but weaknesses.

By the time my plane landed in Singapore, I was exhausted. I lugged my baggage (both literally and metaphorically) to the arrival hall and slumped down in a chair, a little overwhelmed. Oh God, the mural was a bad fruit, wasn't it? How am I going to change 22 years-worth of bad habits? Impatience, intolerance, single-mindedness, oh the list goes on and on.

A taxi rumbled past me, and a shimmer caught my eye. There on the floor was a rainbow, reminding me of God's promise to perfect and complete us, to have faith and to take heart.

Floating into my mind, came the verse which I had scrawled on the mural in the paediatric ward. The writing on the wall written in the indonesian language was, "... if anyone is in God, he is a new creation..." -2 Cor 5:17a

No matter what sort of tree we are, there is hope for each of us.

And so I pray, that someday when I close my eyes, I would see myself embodied in the picture of a peach tree, heavy laden with Son-ripened fruit, and its gifts neatly gracing its roots.

"... we do not need to choose one at the expense of the other.

Gifts do not exclude fruits; fruit does not exclude gifts.

Rather, they should complement each other.

Gifts should provide practical expression for character...
and balance one another in a combination that
glorifies God and serves humanity."

- Faith to Live By,
by Derek Prince

" ... not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think,

but to think soberly..."

-Romans 12:3

Rotting Wood.

* Wai Jia has almost completed her 3-week attachment to a mission hospital at a jungle in Kalimantan during her holidays. It is her last day here before she heads to an Indonesian city to stay for a night, before heading home tomorrow. She writes from a place with wireless connection (in a jungle, yes) and will be back soon.

It was just a rotting piece of wood. Or perhaps, had I been blind to what it really was? Perhaps, everything is simply a matter of perspective.

I remember how I went about the day in a stupor, amazed by what I had experienced. Dr. Steve (the American Ophthalmologist) and his family had invited us for lunch at his humble home in the hospital compound. After a beautifully simple meal, we went hiking together with his wife and three young children. As we hiked up the jungle trails on the hills, it began to rain. Dr Steve’s eyes lit up with excitement, “Hey guys! Lets go for a swim!”

Swim? In a jungle? I was stunned for a moment. Suddenly the sight of my own pool back home, with clear, chlorine water in a perfect rectangle where expatriates would sunbathe next to floated into my mind. The kids squealed with excitement. Before I knew it, we were in front of a primitive reservoir filled with rainwater. The water was green. There was a large rotting wooden crate floating in the middle. It had a metallic smell.

“Here?” I asked, half in shock, looking at the rotting piece of wood in the middle of the jungle pool.

“Yeah, come on right in! It’s AWESOME!” Dr Steve, who’s almost fifty by the way, and the children scrambled in.

It took me a while before I overcame my shock- I wonder if they saw how perplexed I was. I thought to myself: this family must certainly have had a large home, a clean environment and a chance to swim in a luxurious pool back home. Yet, by looking at how enthusiastic they were, you would’ve thought they were swimming in a water amusement park.

I joined them.

"RAFT!!" They squealed. Jw ( my close friend whose parents are missionaries too) had a great time making games up. Before we knew it, the rotting crate had transformed into a boat, a surfer, a raft, and as we squealed and splashed and played water games and laughed ourselves silly, I suddenly realized just how beautiful that moment was, how it represented life here.

People don’t have much here, and yet, live in abundance.

These doctors are likely like you and I- from well-to-do backgrounds, with a comfortable life waiting for them back home. All their lives, they’ve lived in big cities, shopped at malls, had the ability to buy whatever they fancied. Living in a small community, away from home and their familiar community, away from familiar foods and places, away from their usual routine and recreation means learning to find joy in the simple things, and being grateful for them.

As we tried to cook lunch, the power went off and we had to wait for it to come on. As we made spinach quiche and baked potatoes together, I learnt that cheese, milk, spice and butter are rare here- they were all gifts from visitors overseas. As I ate in their simply furnished home, I learnt that it is the people inside and not the things which make a home, Home. As we talked and exchanged stories, I learnt that generosity, especially in scarcity, is a beautiful quality.

Every time I enter a house of a missionary doctor, the starkness of the furnishing never fail to amaze me. Dirty walls, grey, dank cement floors, cheap wooden and plastic furniture, typically a map on the wall, plastic cutlery and a tiny stove are the usual sights. When these met my eyes, I must have shut them for a moment to take it all in. Oh God, I never knew. But what was I expecting?

But they aren’t saints either. “Some days are really hard too. Little things get into you.”

Simple things- like not having had a bite of an apple for months, or cheese or tomato sauce- things we typically take for granted back home. Simple things, like not having been to a mall for ages. Simple things, like missing home. There are days one wakes up feeling absolutely nostalgic, wishing madly for a glimpse of home.

I remember my first week here was the hardest. I missed simple things- my friends, clean water, my bicycle, taking the train and apples. By Day 4 I wondered how I would pass the 3 weeks here. As the days went by, however, the strong sense of community and camaraderie took over. The breathtaking scenery of the jungle landscape glistening in the golden and purple sunset every evening reminded one of God’s purpose for placing one here.

I missed my friends, but made new ones; I didn’t have clean or warm water to bathe in but learnt to enjoy bathing with cold water in a bucket; I didn’t have my bicycle but started jogging to the village school in the early mornings, enjoying the sight of low clouds shrouding the hilly jungle and smiling at the village children walking to school; I didn’t have apples, but started to enjoy pineapple, mangosteen and langsat- fruits I hardly ate back home.

Now that my 3 weeks here are over, and I am about to leave, I finally understand how life here is not only possible, but beautiful too.

As time goes by, what may be considered frugal becomes beautifully simple; what may be considered spartan becomes rustic; what may seem boring (no cinemas, malls or sport complexes here) comes to life with a little creativity.

Perhaps, purpose and gratitude truly make all the difference. Perhaps, being rich is a matter of perspective. Perhaps, joy really does depend on one’s inner haven and not on external circumstances. With thanksgiving and a pure heart, rotting wood can become a raft, simplicity can become beauty, and suffering can become divine.

“Sure, life back home is more comfortable, but we’re happier here.” Dr. Y and his wife, 12 years his senior, said they wouldn’t be happier anywhere else. It seems to be the sentiment of all the doctors here, too.

So as I thought about the raft and the meals we had, the inconveniences, the homes I saw, and my longing for my old way of life, I saw how how heading out here by myself would be absolutely impossible. But with God and His provision- for His assurance, for a like-minded spouse, a family, strength and trust, life here serving the poor, could not only be possible, but abundant, too.

There're no malls here, but there is peace. I don't have my roadbike, but there're hills to hike, jungle trails to climb. There aren't art galleries or big bookstores or museums to visit, but there's God's creation written in the heavens at every sunset.

People here don't have a lot, but have life in abundance anyway. Serving the poor, can be fulfilling beyond words.

I suppose, it's just a matter of perspective.

" ... for I have learned, in whatever state I am,

to be content:

I know how to be abased, and I know how to abound.

Everywhere and in all things I have learned both to be full and to be hungry,

both to abound and to suffer need.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

- Phillipians 4:11-13

"Blessed is he who has regard for the poor...

... he will be blessed on the earth..."

-Psalm 41: 1-2

Pedas.

*Wai Jia is 2 and a half weeks into her holidays, on an attachment to a mission hospital at a jungle in Kalimantan. She writes from a place with wireless connection (in a jungle, yes) and will be back by the end of the week.

I love chilli. I eat it with everything. The hotter it is, the better. I believe the good ones should make your nose smoke. Being able to take spicy food has helped me enjoy food tremendously at the jungle hospital, as the locals never fail to add more than a touch of Pedas to their food.

Pedas. It’s their brand of hot chilli sauce. In the Indonesian language, it means “hot and spicy”.

Over a meal one day as I poured another dollopful of chilli onto my plate, a friend jokingly said to me, “You’re quite like that, aren’t you? Pedas, haha.”

It made me sit up. I always knew I was rather intense, but Pedas was quite an interesting description.

Coming to visit this mission hospital with a close friend of mine for almost 3 weeks has been a tremendous blessing. The scarcity of material comforts, the lack of city distractions like window-shopping and text-messaging, and the beautiful scenery gives one much time for self-reflection, sharing, journalling and time with God. The word Pedas stuck with me for days, and as I mulled over it, began to uncover certain truths.

Observing the lives of the missionaries here has been an enriching experience. While they all have distinct personalities, some things stand out- their single-mindedness to love the poor, and their tremendous sense of joy, peace, goodness, patience and yes, gentleness. As I watched them serve the poor, run their families and host visitors with grace and warmth, it suddenly occurred to me that while my intense personality is God-given, there are certainly large chunks which need to be pruned away- rotting branches of reactivity, intolerance, moodiness and impatience, things which grate against the fruit of the spirit which God so desires us to have.

Pedas. Me? For many days, I thought about that description. People who know me long enough know how I pursue interests and support causes with great intensity and passion. They also know I’ve a lot of energy to expend- hence the necessity to release it through a daily dose of exercise. They know I’ve a mind of my own, a voice, and what people may call “a strong personality”. Double-edged traits, no doubt.

It made me think. Chilli has a distinct aroma which brings out the flavour of food, giving us that extra kick and oomph. Without it, life would be bland and boring. But too much spoils the dish, and can leave a caustic burn in your throat. There’s nothing wrong with chilli- God certainly made it hot that way, but one must be careful in how one uses it.

In the same way, we must not reject our unique personalities to desire another’s. While it is important to embrace our God-given personalities, however, perhaps, we must also acknowledge their inherent flaws and seek to correct them. As with all our weaknesses and strengths, our personalities can make or break us.

I am learning, that while my intensity has helped me to excel and give to people around me, and is central to my artistic style and personality, I also need to make efforts to be less reactive, more tolerant, less labile and more patient. My pedas-ness has made me who I am, is the quality behind what I do, but has also made me difficult to be around with at times. Our greatest strength can be our greatest weakness, and vice versa.

Many of my friends with a heart for mission work are in a stage of their lives where they’re ready to settle down with a partner. I, on the other hand, am thankful to be single, still, because I realise I haven’t learnt the art of using the right amount of chilli, and might very well burn someone's throat by accident. More than once, I’ve poured more chilli than necessary on my plate, and oh, how it burns. Something tells me, God will let the right person find me once I’ve mastered the art of genteel and temperance. I suppose, a little bit of pedas is all one really needs. With prayer, may God help me to channel all that energy into something more productive, and less destructive.

It won’t be an overnight change, but simply being conscious of this weakness over the past week has helped me hold my tongue at times, say things with a spirit of gentleness and kindness instead of being curt, or too forthcoming. I am learning, I can ignore insensitive comments, let God deal with those people, and show more compassion for more people. I am learning, I am more task-oriented than I was conscious of, and can learn to be more people-centred, still. I am learning, that to be a good doctor, I must learn to control my emotions, learn to be hardier, and be more aware of how my moods, emotions and actions affect the people around me. It is part of being a responsible person, part of working in a team, and vital to sustaining any long-term relationship.

I think, I would like to go back with a different spirit. Pedas still, but in a way which makes a meal memorable and flavorful, and not overpowering or stinging.

I think I still quite enjoy my chilli- surely God made it for a reason. But I promise to be more conscious of what it does and can do, and to take it in moderation.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is

love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness,

gentleness, self-control.”

– Galatians 5:22-23

Open Eyes.

* Wai Jia is 2 weeks into her holidays, on an attachment to a mission hospital at a jungle in Kalimantan. She writes from a place with wireless connection (in a jungle, yes) and will be back in a week's time.

"The key to obtaining our requests from God

is to appropriate them, by faith,

at the very moment we make them.

Doing this sets us free

from continuing struggle or anxiety and brings us into

inner rest."

- Faith to Live By, by Derek Prince

Perhaps, there are just some things in life which we shall never fully comprehend, some things which seem too uncanny to be mere coincidences, which make us feel small in the hands of a really big God.

The past week has been for me, like the experience of a blind man seeing for the very first time. Terrifying, awesome and overwhelming- all at the same time. This is why:

Before arriving at the jungle hospital, I had prayed for God to use this period to refine His calling for my life. Because of my love for O&G, I was excited to learn all about women's health and childcare in the rural setting. Medical school has given us 4 months from February till May to pursue whatever specialty we enjoy for exposure, and I decided to use my holidays as well (this period now) to learn about medicine in the setting of rural missions. Little did I realize that instead of sharpening my call in O&G, God did the one thing He does best, and pulled the carpet from under my feet.

I had a love-hate relationship with Ophthalomology. I like the subject very much but I'll never do it, God. Because of my many fears, I determined in my heart that I would never pursue it. It's too technology-intensive to be of any use in the rural setting anyway-I made excuses.

After seeing one eye operation after another in the rural community here, seeing how incredibly versatile and portable eye surgery can be, and travelling to the village with Dr. Steve's team, however, my eyes were unveiled.

Dr. Steve gave up a life of luxury and a lucrative 12-year practice in USA for a life of simplicity in a Kalimantan jungle to serve the poor, uprooting his family and travelling to villages to restore sight to the blind.

His life helped me to see how it is not external temptations visible to the eye, but the invisible, inner sanctity we guard which determine the kind of life we can lead to serve others.

What an uncanny coincidence it was for me to meet Dr Edy too, an ophthalmologist and Dr. Steve's partner, who was well known in the mission hospital for his obstetric skills too. "As a doctor in the mission field setting, you can most certainly be involved in a wide variety of fields. As an ophthalmologist, you can still deliver babies. But as an obstetrician, I don't think you might ever do eye surgery. It's a very specialised skill."

Suddenly, I was filled with that familiar longing to get my hands on a scalpel to heal a blind eye. I saw very clearly how one doesn't need to be an obstetrician to do simple deliveries or uncomplicated Caesearean sections- it is a basic requirement in many mission hospitals.

I remembered the Ophthalmology attachment I had cancelled off my list, remembered a comment someone had once posted here questioning why I didn't think Ophthalmology was useful to the poor, remembered how many people had told me not to narrow my options so soon, and regret started to well up within me. A melancholic, lost feeling came over me.

Had I been too rash to forgo my attachment in Ophthalmology, God? It's a pity I'm too late. This is too competitive a field, and without an attachment, the chances of me entering the specialty in future may just be too slim.

I wanted to turn back time.

That night, I couldn't sleep till 2am, and awoke at 4am with a heavy spirit. All I could think about was the mistake I had made, how I was now too late, and how I had given up, too soon, an option which was so incredibly useful to the poor. How blind I was, I thought.

A friend travelling with me commented that I needn't worry, that God would put me in Ophthalmology if He really wanted to, anyway. That night, however, a story on this prayer site I visit every night, entitled Prayer Plus Action, stirred my spirit within me. It talked about how even as we pray, we need to take action, too. God won't move the mountain if we sit around like couch potatoes. Are you telling me something, God? Something niggled at me.

The next day in the car, as we drove up to the village clinic, Dr Steve shared a piece of writing for the day, 20th January, from his prayer book. Almost as if it were freak coincidence, it was the story about God asking a blind man what he needed from Him. The story challenged us to think about why we need to learn how to pray specific prayers, even though God knows our every need.

Dr. Steve read:

Perhaps it is so that when the answer comes we will clearly see how His will differs from our own limited vision. Perhaps it is so we well remember, having voiced our request, to give thanks when it is granted. Perhaps the asking and receving witness to the world in a way that the presumption of providence would not. We wonder why God has not met a certain need. Our first step, often neglected, is to be specific. We must ask.

As we drove up the bumpy road filled with potholes, I closed my eyes and, to my amazement, began to pray silently and boldly for God to show me what He wanted me to do, and for an attachment in Ophthalmology. I prayed specifically, for the university to consider my last minute request for an amendment, and for an ophthalmology professor to take me in, even though I knew it was likely too late. Is that specific enough God?

The odds were against me. Applications had closed. Students applying for Ophthamology attachments apply months in advance to get a place. The only time I could make it for the attachment was in February, which is in less than 2 weeks. What chance did I have? Still, I prayed. What Dr Steve shared that morning and what I had read the previous night tugged hard at me. Almost foolishly, I emailed the university and a professor. Prayer Plus Action, I thought.

If anything happens, it'll have to be you, God. My friend tried to comfort me- Just because you don't do an attachment in the eye centre doesn't mean anything.

That afternoon when we got back from the eye camp at the village, I realised my roommate had locked me out. It was strange almost, for she'd always remembered to leave the key behind for me. Exasperated and tired, I went to the doctors' office, closed my eyes to pray, then turned my bible open to Hebrews 11:1-"Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." The word “seen” suddenly leaped out at me, and it almost felt as if God were speaking to me. Have faith, I felt a powerful force telling me. It seemed that for this whole season, this was the message God was teaching me.

Somehow, the little things which my eyes were opened to within the short time frame seemed a little too uncanny and jarring to be mere coincidence. I tried to brush it off, and thought to myself that I was paranoid, or thinking too much into things.

Just as I was reading through that chapter on Faith, the same friend called out to me, “Wai Jia, come out! Rainbow in the sky!”

I had goosebumps immediately. Right there, in front of me, was a half rainbow in the grey sky, right outside the doctors' office of the missions hospital.

I stood there for ages, speechless and in shock, till the beautiful arc faded away into the sunset.

Faith. Rainbow. In the bible, the rainbow represents God's promise.

My second book, entitled A Taste of Rainbow (hopefully to be published next year), begins with the quote on Faith on its first page (Hebrews 11:1). The day I had finished writing the first draft and showed it to a friend, there was a rainbow in the sky, right before us, too.

Suddenly at that moment, I felt a divine assurance that something greater than myself was at work, something I could not understand nor comprehend. That evening, after I saw the rainbow, I received an email from the staff at the university office saying they would "make an exception", just for me. Nonetheless, chances were slim that an eye doctor would take me in at such short and late notice.

Two days later in a village church during Sunday School, the bible scripture for the day read:

" I, God, have called you in righteousness, And will hold your hand.

I will keep you... as a light...
To open blind eyes, To bring our prisoners from the prison,
Those who sit in darkness from the prison house.

- Isaiah 42:6-7"

I remember feeling stunned, disturbed and amazed reading that. Another 'coincidence', maybe? When I shared what had happened with Dr Steve and his wife, they both, too, were shocked. No, we don't think what has happened is silly or mere coincidence at all. Please tell us how things go, it looks like God's really speaking something special to you. Pray, wait, and trust God completely.

Interestingly, I spoke to the lady directing the public health programme for women and children's health in the rural areas surrounding the hospital and was surprised to realise how she, too, thought Ophthalmology is a field full of potential to serve the needy, "because though the eye is very small, a person is paralysed, physically, emotionally and mentally when he is blind. When you do serve as an eye doctor, Wai Jia, remember to open their spiritual eyes, too."

A few days later at chapel in the hospital, someone sharing about the uncertainties of tomorrow reminded me of how we can only walk one step at a time, for we know not what the future holds. But surely, God knows best and we needn't worry. The needs in both eyecare and women's health among the poor are great, but surely God has a plan and will make clear my path when the time comes.

a baby whom I helped to insert a feeding tube into.

She's many weeks born premature,

and was sent to the witch doctor for a week before being sent to our hospital.

Days passed without news from the Eye Centre.

One evening, my friend asked me to watch the sunset with her. As we walked to the field, I saw another rainbow, very faintly, just above the hills behind the hospital. Somehow, a great peace called Faith descended over me. It was a naive faith.

That night, I received another email:

Dear Ms Tan,
I am pleased to inform you that Dr S, Consultant, has just confirmed

that he is able to accommodate you for an elective in February.

The Glaucoma team already has a few students with them, however,

they are happy to include you in the same glaucoma research study that you refer to below.

Please call me or email if you have any concerns.

I slumped back into my chair, quite stunned for the night. I didn't know how to react. All I knew was that through a series of little experiences, I learnt big lessons about the power of prayer and faith. It does seem like something to scoff at, doesn't it, but I learnt, that God speaks to different people through different means. I thought it was quite funny too, how it was an obstetrician who had recommended me to visit this mission hospital, and she who had advised me to "keep an open mind" with regards to my future.

I'm not saying I will be an Ophthalmologist. The truth is, nobody but God knows. All I know is that for now, I will keep an open mind, open heart, and open eyes- to whatever He might want to reveal my eyes to. My feet must follow where He guides me to, even to places I feared treading, to places I had not imagined myself going to. If God has called me to serve the poor, surely He will be faithful to see me through it.

With open eyes, I now see more clearly indeed, that rainbows and miracles and answered prayers don't just happen in stories, but truly, are very real indeed.

"Blessed is he who remembers the poor..."

-Psalm 41:1a

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for,

the evidence of things unseen.”

-Hebrews 11:1

I See.

*Today is Day 9 of my trip at a mission hospital in the middle of a jungle hospital with wireless connection in Kalimantan.

" Faith enables us to 'see the unseen'

and thus to endure

when the visible world offers us no hope for encouragement."

- Faith to Live By

by Derek Prince

I remembered it scared me so much I wanted to close my eyes and will it away.

During my short exposure to Ophthalmology during my curriculum, I had taken a fancy to the subject. The poetic nature of making blind eyes see and the beauty of the intricate eye surgeries had drawn my heart to the subject. My family and close friends had advised me to keep an open mind with regards to Ophthalmology, but what I had heard about the Eye Centre scared me, and I willed my interest away.

“It’s a money-making business.”

“Oh yeah, you’re guaranteed a good life.”

“Haven’t you heard? That’s where all the money-grubbers flock to...”

I was afraid of myself, afraid of the possibility of me becoming so rich and comfortable that I could forget about missions altogether. I could end up making hundreds of thousands in a private practice, spending my time going for facials, pedicures and spas.

What I didn't want to admit to myself, was really how petrified I was by what I had seen at the Eye Centre. The well-dressed doctors, Gucci bags, Ninewest shoes and diamond rings caught my eye, and the realisation that these material things, too, held a strange enchantment for me scared me. I was afraid to come face to face with my own materialism, and afraid of where it may lead me. I was afraid of coming face to face with the realisation of my superficiality, that other people may stereotype me as a money-grubber if I pursued Ophthalmology, and afraid of my discovering my insecurity, that people might not see me as a real doctor.

I knew I liked Ophthalmology- I had dreamed of going to villages to perform cataract surgeries on blind patients. Because of my fears, however, I closed my eyes to that possibility and directed my gaze to obstetrics and gynaecology (O&G) instead. What I don’t see, I will not want, I thought. And so I chucked it aside. Ophthalmology is too technology-dependent to be useful for missions, I said to myself.

I was sorely wrong.

This week, on an outfield trip to a clinic in the village, my eyes were opened to what I had been blind to all this while. Dr. Steve Anderson, an ophthalmologist from USA and who now heads Global Eye Missions, opened my eyes to a field I had closed my eyes to too soon. After giving up his lucrative 12-year private practice and life of luxury, he came with his wife and 3 children to come stay in the jungle hospital to train local doctors to prevent and treat blindness among the poor.

“Over 300 million people in the world are visually impaired and 40 million of them are blind, Wai Jia. 80% of blindness is avoidable and 90% of the blind are from developing countries. Cataract surgery is a 20-minute operation that can reverse blindness and change lives dramtically... Come with me for the eye camp in the village. I want you to see for yourself how incredibly valuable Ophthalmology is to the poor.”

And so I did. Villager after villager streamed into the clinic, set up in the middle of the jungle. The village chiefs had told them we were coming and lined up expectantly. Some had blurry vision, some were blind, some had eye injuries. Dr Steve, together with a local doctor he is training, screened the eager patients one by one, scheduling needy ones for surgery.

On the previous day, Dr Steve had invited me to be in the operating theatre with him, and I saw how fast, cost effective and efficient eye surgery can be, and how life-changing it can be. 20 minutes is all that is needed to remove a cataract which makes an eye blind. One’s vision is restored almost instantaneously. The elderly blind no longer need to be ostracized, the middle-aged blind need not lose their livelihoods, and the younger women no longer need to turn to prostitution in desperation. For the first time, I was truly awed by the gift of making the blind eyes of the poor see.

"Portable microscopes have made eye surgery so accessible to the poor, even in villages. Have you heard of Dr Ruit? Look at the amazing work he's done."

It’s amazing how thrilled one can be just to regain the gift of sight. We watched a video of an elderly lady seeing again, and it was both heartwarming and hilarious to see the withered woman dance and leap with joy. She was beside herself. It was at the village clinic, when I saw the smile of a woman who was given a pair of spectacles that I realised how simple and beautiful it was to restore another's sight. I didn't need to be a hot-shot doctor to do that, what I needed was a willing heart to serve the needy. I had a choice not to do it in a place already teeming with Ophthalmologists, but in places where people desperately need eyecare.

a villager with poor eyesight who had just been given a pair of spectacles

I realised, that I was scared, and out of fear, fixed my eyes on O&G because I thought Ophthalmology offered me too cushy a world and a universe of material things which might discourage me from my true calling. (O&G has far less cushy lifestyle- think waking up an unearthly hours.) And what an uncanny coincidence it was, too, for me to meet Dr Steve's partner, an Indonosian Ophthalmologist who is well-known in the hospital for delivering babies and doing Caesearean sections. "In a missions hospital setting, an ophthalmologist may still be required to deliver babies and look after women and children, but an obstetrician will not be able to do cataract surgery."

I felt God opening my eyes to help me gain a wider perspective, so I wouldn't limit my options so soon.

What I saw reminded me, that really, we needn't let what we see paralyse us with fear. It doesn't matter if Prada, Gucci or Kate Spade catches my eye. For when the visible world offers us no hope for encouragement and becomes potentially distracting, faith is God's divine gift to help us refocus and endure, so we reach our dreams in the end. Faith in the unseen, has the power to dispel fear. As long as I continued to focus my eyes on God and the poor, He would lead me to where my heart belonged, be it in Obstetrics and Gynaecology (O&G) or Ophthalmology.

"Don't be afraid, Wai Jia. Have faith. Whatever you choose will certainly be useful to the poor. Just stay close to God, follow your heart and everything will fall into place."

Ah, I see.

" For the things which are seen are temporary,

but the things which are not seen are eternal."

- 2 Cor 4:18

Special place.

Staying here amidst the flora and fauna has been as refreshing as a shower in a cold waterfall on a hot summer's day. There's just something so special about this place that I can't put my finger on. Each person has their own reason for being here, their own mountains they've had to overcome before arriving, and their own unique story.

Staying at the hospital observing the doctors scuttle in and out of their clinic rooms attending to the multitude amazes me in a way I cannot describe. They're busy, they must be tired; Because most of the equipment is second-hand or donated, they often have to contend with second class technology, balancing it with more astute clinical judgement; Sometimes, the power gets cut off (even in the middle of surgery) and everyone is thrown, if only for a moment, into pitch-black darkness. One has to cope with the stresses of uncertainty and have the fortitude to overcome unpredictable situations. Working in a missions hospital should be just as, if not, far more stressful than working in a top-class hospital. Yet, the quiet warriors plough through the day with steadfast patience- there is tiredness but never weariness, a smile never far from the edges of their lips.

There is something so different in the air here. Perhaps, it is everyone's presence in this place itself which glues the entire community together. There is an unspoken understanding that each person had sacrificed something, had left loved ones behind, had made a firm and weighted decision in order to live a different kind of life- one of meaning and purpose, no matter if the world thought they were stupid.

There's Dr H and Dr Mel (whom we affectionately call Ibu, which means Mother) who gave up promising careers in the cities to head the jungle hospital. They've been here for the past 20 years, serving not only the poor, but taking time and effort always to look after the junior doctors and hospital staff, throwing house parties, driving them hours away to town on weekends... simply because, "we don't want the junior doctors to feel lonely. They have no family here, so we are their family, you know." It was yesterday that I found out, that Ibu, who cooks and hosts us, drives us around, laughs and jokes and mothers us on top of caring for patients at the hospital and supervising the junior doctors, had been diagnosed with a late-stage breast cancer. Even now, she is undergoing chemotherapy- we realised, that all this while, we never knew because of the wig she wears.

Today, she threw another feast at her home with simple but wholesome food, and she did not wear her wig. Thus is the level of trust, community and friendship amongst the doctors. Hierarchy loses its meaning here.

Why didn't she return to the city? Why does she and Dr H continue to stay?

There's Dr Hussin and his wife, Dr Wiwik. They married each other in medical school because they both had a heart for the needy. They've stuck around in the jungle hospital for more than a three decades, spearheading community outreach projects in villages, and starting more than 70 satellite clinics all over Kalimantan. When they were waiting for the right someone, did they not question that they may not ever find the right person?

That day, when I shared with him my fears and doubts about the great sacrifice of doing medical mission work full-time in future, Dr Hussin told me, " Sacrifice? What sacrficice?" He smiled a strange, fatherly smile, "There is no sacrifice, Wai Jia. All these years, God has blessed me far more than I could ever imagine."

"But how about loneliness? Dont you ever get lonely here? I mean, your friends and family... there're all far away."

"Ah, does this not then draw us closer to God? Imagine how He felt when He left heaven to walk, talk and be with us, just so he could participate in our suffering."

There's Dr Steve, who left a 12-year lucrative career in his private practice in Ophthalmology in the USA to bring his beautiful wife and 3 children to stay long-term right here in the middle of nowhere just so he can help the local doctors start up an eyecare centre. Thousands of people suffer from blindness because of cataracts, and the many eyecamps he has helped to lead have relieved many of this needless suffering. Compare Minnesota and a jungle in Serukam, Kalimantan. There is nothing here- no cinemas, proper schools, cities, public transport... there is nothing here but a jungle, and more jungle. They homeschool their children. But why?

"There're other things to do, you know. We love it here, really. Yea, I know we left behind certain things. And people can call us stupid or foolish. But wow, being supported as missionaries to do this sort of work has just brought our family so much closer together, and ourselves so much closer to God. There is just nothing else we would rather do."" His eyes did not lie.

And of course, there's Dr G and his wife Becki, whose parents were the ones who built the hospital from scratch, as well as the hydroelectric plant 10 miles away to power the hospital. Dr G said he had never wanted to be a doctor- the last thing he wanted was to take over his parents' work because that was exactly where he grew up in- the jungle. But after seeing how great the need is among the poor, he simply decided he had to return to the place he had grown up in. "Ah. Why do I stay here?" he asked whimsically, " That's for you to find out in the next 3 weeks."

Today, as Dr Yo introduced me to his patients with a smile on his face and attended to one patient after another with such tenderness and joy, as Dr Steve patiently tried to communicate to his patients with the limited Bahasa Melayu he spoke, as Ibu Mel lovingly taught me how to put a feeding tube into a 29-week old premature baby who had been brought in by a couple who had seen the witch doctor, I suddenly understood, with such crystal clarity, why I joined medicine, and why I wanted, still want to be a missionary doctor.

Something deep inside tells me, that in spite of all my worries and fears, doubts and anxieties, the very thing that called all these doctors to this remote place on the earth, which awakens them each morning to serve with such commitment, joy and freedom, which calls them to add and not subtract from humanity, is also the same thing which calls and is still calling me to a place like this to serve in the future.

There is something in the air here, something which adds and not subtracts, something wholesome, true and real here.

It is a special place.

Dr P visiting his dying patient,

speaking to her in perfect Bahasa Melayu

We are here to add what we can to life,

not to get what we can from it.

- Sir William Osler,

the father of modern medicine

The Importance of Having Fun.

*Today is Day 5 of my trip at a mission hospital in the middle of a jungle hospital with wireless connection in Kalimantan.

As much as I may not like to admit it, I think I’ve always been rather serious. I was taught that work was important, and everything else ought to fit itself around it. Growing up with a strict work ethic, having fun often felt guilty, and I never enjoyed playing card games, pool or bowling. Even after knowing God, I was still very serious. I prayed, I ran alone, I studied medicine, I counted calories. Even during my holidays, I went on mission trips.

Cycling, however, as well as staying here at the jungle hospital and being a part of the closeknit community, has taught and is teaching me how fun is not only important, but absolutely central to the heart of God.

Arriving in Serukam of West Kalimantan, I was full of hopes and dreams of helping the poor, aiding the needy and loving the lonely. Being my 10th mission trip overseas, I felt I had been more informed of the realities of a missionary’s life. Yet, how every trip teaches one new insights, and it didn’t take long before I was hit hard by another self-discovery.

I learnt, possibly for the first time, that I often don't quite know how to have fun. At parties, I am looking at my watch because I don’t like late nights. I don’t like to drink, not even a drop. I used to run, and only alone. Card games, small talk and playing pool bore me to death- I would much rather sit by the beach in pensive thought.

Little did I know how much of a hindrance this would be to being a good missionary doctor.

Mission work, unlike what I always envisioned, is not just about helping the poor in an under-developed country. These are very grand and very serious ideals indeed. Instead, I am learning how it takes many forms and comes in many guises.

Staying in a jungle hospital means being miles away from civilisation. This means that the doctors, from well-developed places like where you and I come from, have to adapt to being content with the simple pleasures of life. Going to town to buy your weekly groceries or to get a haircut means a five-hour drive up bumpy roads. Recreation means not going to the cinema or roadcycling or going to the mall, but spending your leisure time hosting visitors, extending hospitality to them, cooking up a feast and celebrating one another’s birthdays. Life becomes not just about what one does, or how high one can climb up the urban ladder, but about how much one can thrive, with joy and freedom, in a tight community in the middle of nowhere. Most of the doctors working here are on a one-year stint. Only two couples have stayed for twenty years, another one for more than a decade. Most cannot bear it.

One then realises, that learning how to have fun, then becomes not only important, but essential to being a missionary who can stay on for the long haul. Having fun, is as much serious humanitarian business as it is sitting in a clinic attending to a sick, needy patient.

Little did I realize that all this while when I picked up group roadcycling over the year, God was teaching me a profound lesson I never understood.

For cycling and its company taught me how to lighten up and to celebrate life. It taught me how to be relational, how to laugh and horse around, how it’s really okay to have more than one breakfast and how to stop counting calories. It taught me that taking time outside work, not doing work, actually creates time and this amazingly effervescent yet divinely ethereal substance called fun.

Seeing how the missionary doctors live and work here reinforced that lesson. They are always joking. Having fun is like breathing oxygen. For in a remote place miles away from civilization, living in a different culture with a limited community, recreation and resources, it is not only important but crucial to know how to have fun, how to while time away, how to belly-laugh and eat and make merry. It sounds complacent and decadent almost, but in the midst of a jungle far away from the comforts of home, it is an achievement to be able to enjoy life, and not to be utterly consumed or burnt out with the daily neverending demands and needs of the poor here.

There are poor people every day. There is always work to be done. What does one do?

Last night, as we celebrated the birthdays of 5 hospital staff, had a simple feast to introduce the visitors to the hospital (namely my 2 friends and I) and bid farewell to staff who were leaving, I learnt that celebrating life through having fun expresses the heart of God as much as treating a blind patient. The missionary doctors who have stayed here for decades are those who know best how to pick the best rambutans from the hospital yard, how to take a rendezvous to the city once in a while, cook up a feast for the community and throw a good party. Those who were too serious, always left.

So perhaps it may sound silly, that I’ve travelled all the way here with the intention of learning what it means to be a missionary doctor, only to learn my first lesson which is that of having fun.

But it is a breakthrough nonetheless. Yesterday, as we hiked up a mountain and ran all the way down giggling in the pouring rain, and sang and laughed together, and joked and smiled and poked fun at one another even in between seeing patients at the hospital today, even in the face of a large patient load, I think I learnt a little about the simple pleasures of life, the simplicity of living in a jungle, and the importance of having fun again.

* a picture I took during my morning run before ward rounds started.
The hospital is tucked neatly behind the trees to the top left of the picture.
The house you see is the church.

Pre-Kalimantan thoughts.

* links highlighted in blue

As it's that time of the year again, Wai Jia has been busy hitting the books and scrutinizing pots, which are specimens of preserved, diseased organs for her upcoming final exams for her 4th year of medical school. Thanks to her friends and Mr. Rajendren, she has found much joy in studying for what ought to be rather dead subject (no pun intended).

She is excited about flying off after her exams next week to visit a mission hospital in Kalimantan with two of her close friends. Last year, she had a dream of being lost in a jungle in Borneo with her passport and couldn't figure out what it meant. Many months later, when a doctor highly recommended her to visit this particular hospital in Kalimantan well known for its great service to the indigenous people (even people from the city fly in to get treated), she was rather reluctant, until her father told her that Borneo was the old name for Kalimantan. It was then that she also learnt that the hospital was situated in a jungle. Remembering her dream, she thought it was a pleasant coincidence or divine confirmation indeed.

Talk about making your dreams come true.

Coincidences or divine arrangements aside, she's excited about learning a little more about what it means to be a missionary doctor, and nervous about learning more about God's calling for her life.

She hopes you'll have a blessed start to your new year. Remember, even in your valleys, when you don't understand your plight, God has a purpose and plan in the grand scheme of things. Stay true to your vision, your dreams will come to pass someday.