Warrior Princess.

When they told me you had left, I didn't cry. I only felt like the news I had been half-expecting was now here. I felt a little guilty, even, because we were all praying that somehow, God would reverse this bad dream and make you all better again. And you didn't. I somehow felt defeated, lost.

But I think you never did. I think you never allowed yourself to.

Yours, was the most beautiful funeral I'd ever been to. I just want you to know that. You're a very special brave little girl to us all, and I just want you to know what a champion you've been. We were at your funeral, but it didn't feel like we were mourning as much as we were celebrating your short life with us.

There were balloons. There were lots and lots of Balloons! And Colourful! Flowers! Everywhere! Snow white, Winnie the Pooh, Beauty and the Beast... and castles and sprinkles and shiny things everywhere. Your daddy came up to say how death... did not win, even though it may seem like it did. Your two best friends, 7 and 12 years old respectively, came up to share a minute's worth of who you were to them. One of them, like you, was from my Sunday School class. I was so proud of her. Just like how I was and still am proud of you that even when the tumour took you away, you refused to let it win.

When it paralysed your right hand, you wrote with your left. When you could not walk straight, you used a handrail. When you could not swallow and they had to put a tube through your nose into your stomach, you joked that you looked like a little mouse. And when they shaved your hair for the brain biopsy and it totally shattered you and drove you crazy and made you cry ( I would, too), you said it was okay. You coped courageously. Your family triumped. You drew a cross on a piece of paper, you said God was good, in spite of your illness. You lived life bravely, till the very end.

How could death have won? Surely, it only produced the circumstance to which your courage shone through, the way stars do in the dark.

I don't know why I cried when we sang at your funeral. After all, I should know, you're a in a better place, a place where you had always wanted to go anyway. But I guess I cried still, because... I miss you.

When we went to see you in the coffin, it gripped me to see the medal I gave you folded neatly next to your body. It was the medal my overseas friend (who had liver cancer when he was 11 and then went on to do an Iron Man event later in life) had mailed to me to encourage you with. It gripped me also to see a stack of heart-shaped cards at your feet- they were they art and craft letters which I had taught my sunday school children to make, for a friend they wanted to encourage. Some of them made them for you.

And if anything, I guess I just want to say I miss you. Thank you for living life in a way that would not let death triumph. Thank you for living in a way that puts life in all of us my dear.

Love you. You're our brave little warrior princess.

Jesus said to her,

"I am the resurrection and the life.

He who believes in me will live, even though he dies;

and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.

Do you believe this?"

-John 11

Happy Teachers' Day.

Last Sunday, we celebrated Teachers' Day at Sunday School.

We enjoyed a ruckus of a time. Games were held, and the children were asked to choose their teachers to participate. To see the children from my class, who were once withdrawn from me and unwilling to open up when we first met, cheering and screaming my name to represent their class was a special feeling, to say the least.

I wish each of you knew, you have transformed my life much more than I think you will ever know.

I've always admired the teaching profession. Had I not been called to medicine, I would've gladly become a pre-school teacher. Now that I'm in medicine, I continue to enjoy teaching my juniors whenever I can. I admire many of my pre-university teachers so much, because at every point, they showed me the way and guided me, gave me not only interests to pursue, but saw me as not who I was, but who I could become.

And I realised, I wanted the same for you, too.

There was a segment where one representative from each class was to come forward to say a little prayer for the teacher. So it was most special for me, when you, little Darius (you're not even from my class, ha) came up to me with your big toothless grin and said, "I WANT TO PRAY FOR YOU."

You're only five, and your courage to come forward made me beam madly with joy. Most of all, I was moved.

And you prayed, clearly and beautifully, with much earnestness and sincerity, "DEAR GOD, PLEASE BLESS JIEJIE WAIJIA, SO SHE CAN BE HEALTHY AND STRONG... er.... AMEN!"

There were tears in my eyes, because I guess you didn't know I had cried my eyes out just 2 days ago when I drew those drawings, because I had had enough of being injured, had had enough of feeling, in some way, mad at God. And you didn't know that you gave me the confidence to try and run again in spite of the pain. And I realised, after 2 short slow runs this week, that the doctor was right, that if I can just bear with the pain for a bit this week, it should go away, because I am just trying to rehabilitate a disused muscle back to its original state. My leg feels better already.

And then you hugged me and planted a huge toothless kiss on my cheek.

little Darius saying a prayer for me

my little princesses!

and my heart-throb haha.

I really love teaching you all.

Happy Teachers' Day to all the teachers out there who have made a difference to my life.

You have taught me more than math or chemistry or literature or science.

You have taught me about life and how to live.

And to the doctors who have inspired me,

thank you for teaching me what it means to love my patients.

If all goes well,

I will be a doctor next year

because of how you gave of yourself to people like me,

because of what you invested into my life,

and because of your faith in me.

I teach now, both in Sunday School, and my juniors in hospital,

because of your example to me.

Happy Teachers' Day.

Heart-throb.

So my heart got stolen by a little tyke at Sunday School again.

"Jiejie Wai Jia, why are your hands so cold? Come, I WARM THEM FOR YOU."

And little Darius proceeded to rub my hands against his.

Later when church had ended and I was in the bookshop queuing up, a little face popped out of nowhere and he shouted, "I FOUND YOUR FACE!!!"

As if my face were lost in a crowd or something, like how I sometimes feel lost in this big world out there, as if he had to search it out because part of it belonged to him and he wanted me to know it. I wondered if anyone would ever take that kind of effort to find me someday.

He is five years old.

Second service.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken.

If you want to make sure of keeping it intact,

you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal.

Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries;

avoid all entanglements;

lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness.

But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-

-it will change.

It will not be broken;

it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

- C. S Lewis

Love anything at all, and your heart will certainly be broken.

I suppose, it was only a matter of time I got hurt. I left church with a bad taste in my mouth yesterday. I wanted to cry but I couldn't. I love that place, the people too much. A few incidents shouldn't change things. Nonetheless, I was disappointed with what had happened. I felt like crying but I didn't.

I was about to leave when little Andrew, with his big bambi eyes popped up in front of me.

"Jiejie Wai Jia, we learnt a lot today."

I wasn't on duty teaching Sunday school so another teacher had taught his class.

"Oh really, that's awesome Andrew. What did you learn?"

"Er, we did a recap. Of everything!"

"Which was?"

" A recap!!"

I was about to leave when you gave me a big hug. You were so small your hands only reached up to my waist and your head was buried in my belly.

"See Jiejie Wai Jia, I have a box. I let Keean have the present. Cos I remembered the first shall be last and the last shall be first, so I took the box. And see, I've one sweet inside this big box. I like my box. Do you want a sweet?"

"No dear, it's okay. You save it for yourself."

His mother comes over, asks about his son in my class. I tell her he's WONDERFUL to have and she beams with pride.

"But I didn't teach him today, I wasn't on duty. I'll be teaching him next week."

"Oh," I said as an afterthought, "But I'm teaching the second service, not the first, so looks like I won't see you Andrew."

And then almost immediately, he turns on his bambi charm with mummy and says, "Mummy, can I attend second service next week? Jiejie Wai Jia is teaching during second service."

I am embarrassed by this, but his mother says, "Sure, Andrew. Okay."

And then just about this time I really feel like crying. Love you too, Andrew.

I love this place and the people too much.

What Heaven is.

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

"YAH, WHAT DO ANGELS LOOK LIKE UH?"

" ARE THERE FLOWERS IN HEAVEN?"

"OF COURSE THERE ARE FLOWERS IN HEAVEN!!"

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

"JIEJIE WAI JIA YOU GOT BOYFRIEND OR NOT?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"WHAT IS SEXUALLY IMMORAL?"

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

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

"EWWWWW!!!" Everybody was squirmish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trees of life beside the river

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

IK showing me his drawing and explaining it to me

Rainbow!

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

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

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

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

And the one I liked the most,

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

what there is or isn't in heaven,

as long as there's God and me.

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

Counterfeit.

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

They still are."

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

God was saying that the human heart takes good things like

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

and turns them into ultimate things.

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

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

if we attain them."

- Counterfeit Gods by Timothy Keller

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

When have I heard that before.

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

Bloodthirsty. I can be bloodthirsty when I ride.

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

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

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

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

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

"MISS KIND!!"

" MR. BIG-BIBLE!!"

"AND MR. CHRISTIAN!!!"

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

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

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

"THEN THEY CANNOT GO TO HEAVEN."

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

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

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

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

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

Idol after idol.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

is to turn back to the true one living God,

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

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

and, if you fail him,

can truly forgive you."

- Timothy Keller

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

-Jeremiah 25:6

Nobody's nobody.

"I'm not the nobody! YOU'RE THE NOBODY!"

"NOO!! YOU!! YOOUU AAARRREE THHE NOOOBODY!!"

That sounded like a situation which really needed a time-out. Both boys were tearing one another's hair out and yelling at each other like angry porcupines. The big boy was about 4 times the height of the younger one, but both were sizing each other up like gladiators in an arena ring.

"I'M the REAL Noah. YOU'RE the NOBODY!"

"NOOO! I'M THE REAL NOAH. YOOUUUU ARE THE NOBODY!!"

This went on, back and forth. Big Noah was 12 years old. Little Noah was just about 4. Both boys, with the same name, were arguing who deserved to be the REAL Noah.

Like boys, seriously, I wanted to say. You can fight about girls later on, but this? Man. But I reminded myself they were kids and that I used to say really dumb things myself (still do sometimes) and so instead I said to the two of them at Sunday School during church camp, "Hey! Who's calling who names?"

Both stopped. Then both started at once, "I'M THE REAL NOAH. HE'S THE NOBODY!!"

With the amount of vigor and conviction they both said it, you would have thought they were running for presidency against Obama.

"BOYS," I said firmly in my teaching voice, " Hey. Nobody's a nobody here, okay? You are BOTH precious to God. And you're BOTH the real Noahs."

Looking at Big Noah, I said very firmly, "Just because you were born first doesn't make you more real."

And looking at small Noah, I said, "And just because you're younger doesn't mean he's the fake one."

"Okay? Both of you listen to me. It's not nice to call someone else a NOBODY, okay? If you wanna talk about age and who's real, then both of you must be fake, because the REAL NOAH with the BIG ARK was born many many many years ago, waaaaay before either of you, okay? Look at this. You guys just did this exercise. What did you learn?"

I pointed to the charts the children had put up on the classroom wall. They had written down their confessions about how they had disobeyed God and how they could stop doing those things.

"Both of you, this is BULLYING. This is NOT KIND."

(Yes, I thought it was kind of scary reading the charts as well. Scary- both because of the content and the... grammar. )

Both fell silent.

Looking at Big Noah, I said, "Noah, I think Noah deserves an apology."

"Sorry Noah."

Looking at little Noah, I said, "I think Noah deserves an apology, too."

"Sor-wee, Noah."

"Noah, do you forgive Noah?"

"Yes."

"Noah, do you forgive Noah too?"

"Yes."

"Love one another. Remember, love one another, okay?"

It was hilarious on hindsight, and yet sobering, too.

And it reminded me, how like children, we can, so very often, learn a lesson then forget it almost immediately. It reminded me, how powerfully dangerous our tongues can be, how we use it aimlessly and thoughtlessly like children to maim one another. If only we knew how much our teasing and unecessary words brought destruction and not edification, hurt and not restoration.

Love one another. It reminded me of that ever resonant voice which would permeate through the walls of the orphanage in Nepal when the house parent would say over and over to the orphans whenever they got into arguments, "Love one another."

Love one another.

It was then that I realised, that the lesson was for me, too.

"If someone says, "I love God," and hates his brother, he is a liar;

for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen,

cannot love God whom he has not seen."

-1 John 4:20

"For though by this time you ought to be teachers,

you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God.

You need milk, not solid food... "

-Hebrews 5:12

Highlight of Camp.

That morning, I saw A, the 7-year old charmer who professes to be her boyfriend and I asked him if he was okay.

"Are you happy?" I asked.

"YES I AM!!! SHE IS WALKING NOW!!!!"

I was just about to leave church camp early for another event when I caught sight of that familiar face, with a bright green, animal print bandana over her head. She was wearing the medal I had passed to her from my friend, who had a liver transplant 18 years ago and went on to do an Iron Man event. Last week she was bedbound, and a day ago, she was in a wheelchair. Now, she was walking, and very well, too.

"Just last night, someone prayed for us, that she would run with God... And you know, after being chair-bound, she got up and walked... So we've been letting her wear the medal the whole day," said her mother. "What you shared with us is such a great encouragement. It's such a precious medal from your friend."

" Yes. He won it by 1.7s at the World Transplant Games. He really wanted her to have it. "

And so there and then, I took a picture with you, just before you had to go for another round of chemotherapy. And that moment, was so precious.

You be strong, dear.

And that is how I have come to realise, I can never take enough pictures of my kids.




(My picture with you is with your mother :) )

Champion.

I went to the hospital to visit. To be honest, I had put it off time and again. Some part of me knew she might have too many visitors. And indeed, while I was there and another group of visitors were about to arrive, I heard her say weakly, "I don't want everybody here."

I left very shortly. Just wanted you to know Jiejie (big sister) Wai Jia is waiting for you to come back to my class for Sunday School.

" These are for you. You pick one for yourself, and one for your younger sister."

"I pick this one. Rainbow! Rainbow bear for me and this is... Sunshine. Sunshine bear for mei-mei (younger sister)!

That was the one out of the two I had originally picked for her.

To which her mother replied, "Yes, Rainbow. It means holding on to God's promises."

That evening, when I got home, I received a package in the mail. The scrawly handwriting on the envelope made me smile.

My friend had liver cancer when he was 11. The doctors gave him 6 months to live. He had a liver transplant. They talk about prolonging life spans up till 10 years. He is now 30. That's 18 years of life lived well. And, did I forget to mention, he did an Iron Man event? That's like... a 3.8km swim, 180km bike ride and a full 42.2km marathon event. That's... crazy. Yeah, I know. And amazing, too. Read his inspiring story here.

I was in awe when I opened the package. It contained a card for her, and the gold medal he won for Canada in the World Transplant Games Australia Gold Coast 2009.

His card:

His gold medal:

He doesn't even know her. He hasn't even met her. She's my Sunday school kid who's suffering. It's his gold medal. It's a champion's medal. Not just for any small race, but for the World Transplant Games.

This just completely blows my mind.

I suppose, he understands completely, how it feels like to be sick when one is still a child.

Be strong, darling. You're a champion in our hearts already. Sometimes, I don't really know how to pray for you, I don't know what to tell God. But you're in our hearts dear. And we'll be by your side. Be strong, because Rainbow Bear and Sunshine Bear want to play, too.

Love you.

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. "

Please don't go.

It was like a cruel joke: It was during my Palliative Medicine module that my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and we were considering home-nursing care; it was during my Emergency Medicine module where we lost numerous patients every day that she passed away; it was during my Psychiatric module that my mother was battling the bereavement grief; it was shortly after my Orthopedics module that she fractured her wrist... and now that I'm doing my Neurology module on the brain, I find out that one of the children in my Sunday School class, whom I dearly love, has a brain tumour.

It cannot be removed. She is 7 years old.

Oh God, please don't take her away.

You've always been such a good girl. You often volunteer in my class, you're polite, and you very often turn your head around during class just to smile at me or make sure I'm actually watching you. I remember once, you came to tell me how young I looked compared to the other teachers and you were so amazed by that, that most of the teachers were mothers and I was so... young. And when I asked you how old you thought I was, you said TEN! TEN YEARS OLD!! and we both giggled ourselves silly.

One Sunday, you shared with me Lolly's story. Your mother was telling that story to the entire children's church and you volunteered to act as the sunflower. Your hands were your petals, and you were looking to the sun. Sunflowers always look heavenward.

Last Sunday, I went to the children's church extra early. I wanted to give you a flower made by Zhang Qing. I wasn't scheduled to teach that day but I just wanted to see you.

You weren't there. They said "something cropped up" and I wondered what it was. Were you ill, had you gotten worse. I didn't dare ask more. Because if I did, I wouldn't know where to stop. What happened to you. How did they find out. What were your symptoms like. What does this mean. Why can't they operate on it. What is the diagnosis. Is it a high or low-grade lesion. Does this mean chemotherapy or radiotherapy. When will you get well. Does this mean you are leaving us.

No. Please don't go.

I blame myself somewhat. Because I saw your squint from the start. A squint is a divergent or convergent gaze in the eyes, what some people may unpleasantly describe as being "cock-eyed". Another child and you in my class had squints and I had asked you both about it, about whether you had seen the doctor. Because a squint could mean having a harmless lazy eye which could be easily corrected by wearing an eye patch, or could imply a raised pressure in the brain because of a growth. I spoke to the other girl's parents, and they assured me she was seeing a doctor. I remember that day when I tried to confirm your squint by getting you to play some "eye games" with me, which really were clinical tests, and you said to me, "How did you know I have a problem with my eyes? How did you know? Mummy took me to see the doctor already. They make me wear an eye patch." I was worried I had hit a raw nerve with you but I forgot, you are still a child, and you only giggled it away. You were so tickled that "I knew".

So I left it at that.

I didn't know, your squint was a sign of something growing in your brain. It was a classic 6th cranial nerve palsy because of increased intracranial pressure. I saw it from the start.


And now they say you have a tumor in your brainstem that cannot be resected. How can this be. It's so unfair.

So I was relieved to see you later at the adult service sitting with your parents near the pulpit. In the middle of the sermon, I came to sit next to you and passed you the flower, because I was worried you might rush off later. You really liked it. I held your hand.

"Are you scared?"

"Yes," she said. "I was scared last week. I have a plaster on my head. They made me sleep from 2pm till 7pm. I was scared."

That was the brain biopsy. That means they had to take out a bit of your brain to test the tumour to see if it is... bad. Is it bad? I didn't even dare to ask.

"You dyed your hair?" I asked, stupidly.

"No, I'm wearing a wig," you whispered very quietly in my ear. Silly me, of course. Of course they had to shave your hair for the biopsy. Of course it was a wig. Stupid me.

I looked into your face and saw your squint was worse. You jumped to sit on the floor by the steps and as you got up, you nearly tripped because you lost your balance.

Ataxia due to brainstem compression. We've been learning about brainstem abnormalities in the Neurology department for 3 weeks now. It causes one to lose one's balance and sense of coordination.

I asked you for a hug and kissed you as I always, always do. You have always been precious to me.

Did you know that that morning, all the children at Sunday School were praying for you? We gave out colourful cards and all of us wrote our prayers and well wishes for you on those cards. I asked the children if they knew you were sick, and each of them understood. Those I asked were 6 and 7 years old, from our class, and they said they knew.

They used the word Cancer, the word we are never allowed to say at the hospital. We must say mitotic lesion or neoplastic growth. Or carcinoma. But we never say the word cancer. It is taboo. It is as if saying the word places a curse on someone. Did you know, we get marked down for using the word Cancer during our examinations- the word must not exist. But children do not care for euphemisms, and each of them believed God would heal you.

God, will you?

Please don't make her suffer.

I'm scared, too.

After church I went for my flute lesson as usual and I played all the sad songs really well, and the happy ones badly. Some of my notes were shaky because my nose went sour and I was trying hard not to cry. I was angry with myself for feeling so sad, when it would be impossible for me to imagine what it must be like for your parents. I was angry for being scared, when I cannot imagine how it must be like for you. You are so brave.

I won't forget your smile, I won't forget the story you shared with me- it was the story of a girl named Lolly, who knew she could be secure in God's love, no matter what the world threw at her. It was a story you liked very much.

Aaron is another 7-year old in our class. I remember he often sits next you. 2 weeks ago, I heard him say you were his "GIRLFRIEND!" He was so proud of it! He was beaming. And you were giggling yourself silly because you were his "GIRLFRIEND!" Worried that he would be crushed by the news, I talked to him today to find out how he was coping. But he was smiling, and he said, "I am praying for her." And we both put fingers to our lips because it was our little secret that you are his "GIRLFRIEND!!"

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" He smiled cheekily at me. You, Aaron, are such a charmer, the slick and smooth kind, precisely the kind of boyfriend I would never want to have. But I just laughed. And wondered what you would do to me if you found out I wrote about your love story here on this space! But I am proud of you, Aaron, because you like her for who she is and not how she looks- I don't know many men my age who would see past a squint. And you like her still even though she is... sick. Is it true that boys treat girls better when they're still boys? I hope not.

For all our knowledge and wisdom, life can hit us in the face. That day, was a stark reminder of our fragility in this life, and the frustrating limitations of medicine.

It cannot be resected.

Be strong okay, dear? Be strong and brave like Lolly when she met the bad witch, and the crafty fox and the evil rabbits. And when you are well and better, I can read it to you and you can be the sunflower again.


* Prayer request: Please, if you could spend a minute or two, pray for her.

Holding Your hand.

When I let go of my grasp, you continued to fiddle with my fingers. Even when my hand went limp, you kept holding on. Every time I thought you would release me, it was but for a deceptive moment, before you fondled my hand to find another position you could entwine my fingers into yours. Our palms were sweaty but it didn't bother you one bit. Our fingers were entangled with one another. And then, when you lopped my hand onto your chest, these funny, fuzzy warm feelings started coursing up my hand and arm like a lush rush of liquor and entered my heart as you leaned into me. Your body was so warm. It was as if you planned to take my hand captive.

I liked that.

At Sunday school, the children I teach like to take my hand. Today, as we sang and danced, one of you darlings took my hand and held it throughout the session, lightly, gingerly and yet, so faithfully. When you got tired, you simply tossed my hand to your bosom so you could still hang on to it loosely.

You never let me go.

Today, my fracture site hurt. It hurt when I sit and when I stood. I think the pain has become more pronounced only because I have become more aware of it. I thought about the intensity of my personality, what J had spoken to me and warned me about- that it is both my greatest strength and weakness; I thought about how the fracture could possibly have happened; I thought about the ways I could've possibly grieved God with my own self-striving attitude.

All this while, He never let me go. Even as I ran away, time and again, because I wanted more control, because I thought I knew better, because I wanted to be sure I could hit the mark, He never let me go. He never chained my hands or gripped them cruelly. But up or down, swayed left or right, He always held my hand, lightly, gingerly, even when my grasp went limp.

Holding hands is a 2-person thing, isn't it. It is tiring to hold on to a hand which doesn't cooperate. It is hard to love someone who doesn't love you back. But even when I let go today, my little child never let my hand go. She just played with it, wanted a sense of being close to me.

My heart is not completely surrendered. There are days I still want to keep doing things, to keep my time occupied, when I know you have asked me to rest, to pray, to simply be. Even then you are patient. You could choose to dispose of me- surely you can afford it. But you are furiously in love with me, with us, how could you bear it?

A friend told me about the story of a shepherd, who loved his sheep so much that he had to break a leg of one of them because it kept straying. If he had not done so, it would have gone astray and got eaten by a wolf. Yet, it was the injured one which grew closest to the shepherd.

The doctor said, no races for 9 months. That's about the duration from now till my final exams- it's not a lot of time if you think about what I've missed out on because of my illness. I always prayed that you would tell me when to stop, when to let go; I often prayed you would help me cling loosely to all my possessions, especially my bike which I love; I prayed hard you would help me to be a competent, compassionate and professional doctor. I guess, with this fracture, you answered all my prayers, in the most perfect and painful way. In some way, you broke my leg, too. Call me crazy, but it makes me love you more.

Pain is sweet. This is a different sort of pain for a different season.

Thank you for reminding me, that in spite of it all, you are always there, ever so patient with our repeated failings. When will you tire of my rebellion.

So God, help me to be still. Help me to stop doing things, to stop running away.

I just want this moment to savour, just to hold your hand, too.

" Thus my heart was grieved...

I was so foolish...

Nevertheless I am continually with You;

You hold me by my right hand.

You will guide me with Your counsel,

And afterward receive me to glory."

-Psalm 21-24

Lolly's story.

I sat there, and just marvelled.

Such simple lessons, and yet, they were so profound.

Perhaps, it is not only because I love to teach and love children that I enjoy Sunday School at the children's church so much, but because of how much I learn there as well. So often I find myself marvelling at the simple lessons of life taught to the children, lessons that I madly wished I had known, if only I had believed in God from the beginning.

On Sunday, during a combined teaching session, Pastor S told a story of Lolly, a little girl who was told by the world that she had to be this-and-that to be beautiful and accepted. The deceitful rabbit, wiley orange fox and wicked witch made her believe she needed to exchange her beautiful basket of sunflowers and lollipops for rabbit shoes, an orange coat and a tight belt in order to be beautiful and accepted into the royal kingdom.

It was at this point that Zenon turned around, gave me his cheeky grin then whispered seriously to me, "Jiejie (big sister) Wai Jia, I know this story. It's going to rain soon! Lolly's rabbit shoes become muddy, her coat shrinks in the rainwater and her belt loses its shine!"

"Oh really?"

" YES. REALLY!"

Pastor S continued, "Children, do you know that you are all beautiful and precious in God's eyes? You don't need to believe other people if they make you feel lesser. You don't need other people to tell you what kind of clothes you need to wear, how you ought to be- because you are beautiful and precious to God as you are."

What a beautiful lesson. I looked at little Darrell and said, "God loves you just as you are, okay?"

Lolly's story reminded me of how important it is to recognise where we place our sense of security. Do we place it on our looks, our talents, our abilities or in... God?

It made me think. For years I placed it in my work. When I was ill, it was because I put it in my appearance. Triathlon was a way for me to regain my health and to kickstart healthy eating habits again. This season, God has, out of love, chosen to take even that, the strength to train for triathlons, away from me. Now, in my peace and joy in simply resting, in simply being, I can safely say that I've found where my security lies. I am relieved to realise, I don't need my training to feel adequate or to get by. Perhaps at one point I did, but I've graduated from that school of thinking and moved on to a better, more secure place.

Sunday School has taught me, that if I really love my kids and want to teach them well, I too, have to inculcate and apply the lessons learnt at Sunday School in my life. Because of you, I want to love myself more, too.

On Sunday, I taught you all the lesson of Thinking Before We Speak. That's little Darrell being my volunteer, taking a tube of toothpaste from me so he could help me squeeze the paste out onto a piece of paper.

"Darrell, can you try to put the toothpaste back into the tube?"

He tried.

"Yar," he replied with all earnestness.

There was a huge mess left behind on the piece of paper.

Lesson: Our words are like toothpaste. The words we speak can be hard to take back. When we try to, just as how we tried to put the paste back into the tube, we usually end up...

"MAKING A MESS!"

"NASTY MESS!"

"DIRTY NASTY MESSY MESS!"

The children squealed with enthusiasm.

Indeed. Why do I find myself learning more from you at Sunday School than from what I teach.

Reflecting upon the entire series of Conflict Resolution lessons I had to teach you, you made me see how much unforgiveness I had, how I needed to let go, and how I ought to manage people situations better. Why am I not as much of a people-person as I would like to be?

Just keep it between you and me as a secret. But I'm in Sunday School because you teach me so much, too. I genuinely want to listen whenever you say, "Jiejie Wai Jia, I have something to tell you", even if it's about the BIG RED BUS!! you saw this week, or the NEW SHIRT MUMMY BOUGHT ME YESTERDAY!!

And I love it when you come up to me just to ask, "Jiejie Wai Jia, are you teaching today?"

Love you guys to bits.

Tell me Lolly's story again.

Think before you Speak

"Reckless words pierce like a sword."

-Proverbs 12:18

"He who guards his mouth and his tongue keeps himself from calamity." -

Proverbs 21:23

Men in Pink.

Maybe it was because I had told him quite directly how handsome and smart he was, or maybe, he simply knew that his disarming charm had won my heart from Day one. Every time he calls my name, my heart melts.

"Zenon darling. Are you wearing the same shirt as you did last week? Yes, you look very handsome in it." (*Read this.)


"Er, Yes!"


They always say children grow up so fast. Before you know it, they're ladies and men already. I wondered if a week had any effect on pushing him along the journey of growth and self-discovery.

Out of curiosity, I asked, cheekily, the same question I asked him last week, "So Zenon, what colour is your shirt?"

"A-LITTLE-BIT-RED... and... A-LITTLE-BIT-PINK-ALSO!"

All right. I'M JUST GLAD YOU'RE NO LONGER IN DENIAL.

A-little-bit-red-and-a-little-bit-pink-also.

I can live with that.

Love you.

Real men wear pink :) Go Zenon!

Bright and Sunny Sundays.

"Good morning Liron."

"Good morning Jiejie (big sister) Wai Jia," you say sheepily as you fiddle with your socks, trying to take them off before entering the classroom.

"Hey," I said cheekily. "I'm teaching your class today. Is that all right?"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY!!!!!"

That was the biggest YAY I'd heard in ages.

You make my Sundays bright and sunny too.

Hug.

The New Pink.

My 7 to 8 year-old Sunday School children gathered together for class. Chatting away like a hive of bees, the raucous boys were so absorbed in conversation that I needed to get their attention to start class. So I said, loudly and clearly, very slowly and deliberately, with just a hint of mystery just so I could get their attention,

" Hmmm... I notice something veerrry in-ter-est-ing about the boys in my class."

The boys, stunned, froze at once in mid-action as they executed their super-hero superpower moves.

"Hmmm...." I continued, "I notice thaaaaat...." I deliberately dragged my words for suspense.

".... thaaaaat...... so many of you are dressed in RED today! One, two, three, four, five and hey, look, Zenon is in..."

I don't know what it was but something gripped me and shut my mouth before that wretched word came out of my mouth. Some boys had already begun giggling, and I stopped myself mid-sentence immediately, deleted the word from my verbal brain bank and said instead, "... and Zenon is looking VERY SMART AND HANDSOME today."


Phew.

Zenon was in a beautiful rich PINK collared shirt. But I realised, there are some things you should never EVER say to a 7-year old boy in front of his macho friends, unless you intend to scar him for life.

Right after, as the other boys became engrossed in their man-talk again, I asked Zenon very cautiously, away from the other boys, "Zenon, I really like your shirt you know. Are you wearing...."

I was almost whispering now, ".... pink?"

He looked up from whatever he was doing and said matter-of-factly, "No, Jiejie Wai Jia, it's A-LITTLE-BIT-RED. I'm wearing A-LITTLE-BIT-RED."

You know, the inner Obessive-compulsive freak within me corrects my kids when they speak bad english, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it this time.

"Oh, I see," I replied.

I see, A-LITTLE-BIT-RED is now the new "in" colour, the new Pink, I might say. No pun intended.

Okay. A-LITTLE-BIT-RED it is, Zenon.

JUST SO I DON'T SCAR YOU FOR LIFE.

I love you.

Faith Flew.

It's funny how one thinks the story is over when really, it has only just begun.

I thought about how amazingly orchestrated the entire series of events was- how the bicycle, Faith, was linked to Alisha, which was linked to my faith in God, which was linked to A Taste of Rainbow, which was linked to a real rainbow, which was linked to my illness, which was linked to pride, which was linked to Kitesong, which was linked to my dreams as a kid... and it made me marvel at the thought that perhaps, God really did plan everything from beginning to the end, at the moment we were born.

There was a nationwide cycling race on Sunday which I didn't sign up for because I thought it was a little too expensive. To be honest, I was afraid. Afraid of crashing my new bike, afraid of riding 40km by myself amidst an angry mob of adrenalin-filled athletes and afraid that it exposed my insecurity about missing church.

But J, a dear friend, gave me a free race seat under her husband's name because he didn't want to participate anymore. It turned out that I could attend church on Saturday instead, and the race began so early that I would have more than enough time to make it for the sunday school class I had to teach in the late morning. So I went.

And Faith flew.

I didn't know my race number was in the competitive category so when I got there, and found myself in the midst of a group of muscular, charged-up and competitive-looking men, I started to wonder if I had been crazy. On my first mini-triathlon race, I had fallen off my bike because I didn't brake hard enough on a sharp hairpin turn. This nationwide race had 5400 cyclists, and was well-known for causing crashes. On the day, many people suffered falls, fractures, bike accidents.

God, it'll be a miracle if I don't fall off Faith.

Cyclist after cyclist overtook me. There were only a handful of female cyclists in sight. I couldn't draft (cycle close to someone so as to cut out the headwind for an easier ride), and my legs were burning from the starting point from the 70km training ride and swim I did a day ago. What a mistake, I thought. Never train a day before race day if you don't want to perform badly.

Nonetheless, this race was special because it was my first race on Faith. It was special because my wheels were faulty and J had to lend me hers, reminding me again that our faith really is built up not by ourselves, but by our friends and loved ones, too. It was special because for the first time, I raced and pushed myself till the very end, instead of giving up and losing steam at the last leg, which I have done so for almost all my previous races. I remembered what J told me- keep pushing till the very end. Always do your best. Always.

I had never been on a bicycle so light before. For once, I could reach the brakes and they didn't screech. For once, the gears changed smoothly without causing trouble.

My friends had done so much for me to own a bike I could enjoy. They gave me a new jersey which I wore that day, a new triathlon suit, new tyres, a bike light, a bike pouch. One of them, Batman, even drove to my place one day to pass me a custom-made decal sticker so my name would be on my bicycle. And instead of selling her race seat, J, knowing I would otherwise not partcipate in the cycling race, chose to pass it on to me. So my legs were burning, even from the very beginning of the race, but faith helped to see me till the end.

I learnt, that our faith, when built in us by our loved ones, can make us fly. I also learnt, that our faith never quite comes full circle till the day we die- for just when I thought Faith, the bicycle, was completed, I learnt that my wheel hub was faulty and had to be sent back to the store. I learnt, that the perfection of our Faith is an ongoing process, indeed. A lot of patience is needed.

When I got to church to teach my 7-year olds, I shared with them some photos of my new bicycle, because they had insisted I show them what God had blessed me with, especially since they had been following the trailer.

"WOW JIEJIE (big sister) WAIJIA, IS THAT REAL? THAT BICYCLE- IT'S REAL?"

"Yes dear Isaiah, of course it's real," I smiled.

And I just thank God for reminding me time and again of His blessings, that I received this all not because of my own ability or doing, but simply, because of His grace. Over my birthday, I received everything I ever needed and more- Aunty M said she'd paid for my skincare which'd last me till the end of the year. I realised, that it amounted to more than a thousand dollars. I hardly even know her. But God knows how training in the sun and the stress of medical school really ruins my skin- and so He chose to provide for me.

With faith, we can believe that He will provide for all our needs.

It reminded me so clearly of what Aunty Ay had shared with me many months back when God gave my bike money away- that He is no man's debtor. When we give up, surely He will return us measure for measure, pressed down and overflowing.

Today, the race results were out. My name wasn't on the list because it was under my friend's husband's name. Taking the timing, I put it against the results of my age group and was shocked to realise that it was 7th in place of 161 participants in my category had I registered under my name.

Seventh. 7th.

Nothing to shout about, but I secretly thanked God that my name wasn't there, a safeguard against my own pride. To be honest, if I had signed up by myself, I don't think I would've done as well. Part of my strength came from knowing the faith J had in me, to want to give up her race seat for me when she could've sold it off easily.

Thank you for the bicycle, guys. More than a beautiful ride, it has blessed me with your friendship, a community I can rely on, a very special story to cherish and to tell. (On Sunday after church service, people kept coming up to ask me if I had talked to senior pastor lately. I didn't know, that while I was teaching at sunday school, senior pastor told the congregation that he met a girl that week, a 4th year medical student, who told him a story which impacted him so deeply. I smiled, because I had shared with him the story of Finding Faith and what God had done in my life.)

Just a little more than a year back, I didn't even know how to cycle on 2 wheels, because I was too afraid. Just a year ago, every ride I rode was a big act of faith. Thank you for giving me more than a bicycle, but also courage and faith- in myself.

It was an awesome ride. And even more awesome to be there with you all. It was a surprise to receive a medal at the end.

Faith flew. And, I didn't fall.

"Without faith,

a man can do nothing;

With it,

all things are possible."

- Sir William Osler

Why I Love my Sunday School kids.

"JIEJIE (big sister) WAI JIA, HOW OLD ARE YOU?"

"Twenty-two. And turning twenty-three this Wednesday."

"HUH? REAAALLEEEE? I thought you were MUCH YOUNGER."

I laugh. "Like how old?"

"Like... LIKE TEN YEARS OLD!!!"

So, antioxidants do have their benefits.

What the eye cannot see.

"Happiness cannot come from without.

It must come from within.

It is not what we see and touch or that which others do for us which makes us happy;

it is that which we think and feel and do,

first for the other fellow

and then for ourselves."

- Helen Keller

Have you ever watched butterfly-lovers flitting against a piece of blue sky on a crisp sunshine day? The fragile glass-winged creatures whisper in the wind before they disappear so completely into nothing. If you try to touch or chase them, they disappear even faster.

They say happiness is like that- elusive, especially so when chased. What makes you happy? Things, people, work? Or a combination of them all.

I thought it was hilarious when I was assigned to teach my Sunday school class of 7 and 8-year olds about the subject of being thankful, just as I was struggling with it. Somehow, I knew God's lesson to me about my bike wasn't over just yet. How I find myself being comforted, inspired and nourished by the very lessons I am assigned to teach. "Be joyful always, pray continually, and in everything give thanks..."- 1 Thess 5;16-18a. That was yesterday's lesson.

As I taught my kids about thankfulness through role-playing, and sharing my personal anecdotes on previous mission trips, I felt a part of my heart, which had been shifted out of its original place, being settled back into where it belonged.

"Children. What does it mean to 'be joyful always, to pray continually'? This is very hard to understand, can someone explain to Jiejie Wai Jia?"

"IT MEANS BE HAPPY! ALL THE TIME!"

"IT MEANS PRAYING AGAIN AND AGAIN!!"

"... Hm... But Jiejie Wai Jia, when Mummy scolds me, DOES THAT MEAN I HAVE TO BE HAPPY TOO?"

"No dear, God gives us feelings and it's not wrong to be sad. But after feeling sad and telling God about it, and after making our corrections... we can be happy again yes? Okay, children, I need a volunteer." Hands shot up. I picked little Tim.

" Imagine Tim here is a poor, scrawny boy who lives in a mudhouse and has no clothes to wear okay? And one day, a little angel sends him something." I make Tim close his eyes while another child pretends to be an angel, flapping its wings, and takes an old shirt from me and presents it to him.

Tim plays his role very well and appears very happy to receive it.

I repeat the scenario with different children, with each child, however, getting a nicer and nicer shirt each time. I come back to Tim and asks him how he feels about his faded, oversized T-shirt.

"A bit jealous," he says candidly, "Now, not as happy." And understandably so.

Don't you sometimes look at butterflies and wonder why they're so far away? Why is it that other people seem so close to them, and have what you want? What makes you happy.

Even as I was preparing for the lesson all week, the whole incident regarding Alisha, the cheque and my bike kept flashing in my head over and over. I realised, that God was teaching me the lesson in such a profoundly personal way so that I could deliver that message to the children, too.

Being in my Opthalomology module now has opened my eyes to many things I wish I didn't have to see. It is well-known that opthalmologists are a different breed of doctors altogether- Rich, is taken to a different level altogether. And many aren't afraid to show it. I realised, that I too, could become like one of them. I could buy more and more expensive things, and still want more. I could justify my expenses with all my hard work. I could marry an opthalmologist. I could earn a lot of money and be too comfortable where I am to do medical missions in a developing country.

There is something in this department which scares me. I could work and buy, buy and show, and never be happy.

Or I could learn to live on less, way below my means, and learn the priceless gift of thankfulness.

Perhaps the key to being joyful always, is truly to be able to give thanks for all things.

On Saturday, the day before I taught the lesson on thankfulness, a friend pulled me along to shop for a brand-new bike with him. We were in this branded store, with him putting his eye on the latest fashion and myself being surrounded with all the road-bikes which would have served my every desire just a few months ago.

Suddenly, just standing there, I suddenly realised, that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, in that shop which I wanted. That very morning, I had gone for my usual cycling training with my training group, with their expensive roadbikes and all, and had thoroughly enjoyed it. Determined to be content, I had willed joyfulness into existence, even with my present bike. Suddenly, in that shop, surrounded by objects of desire, I realised, that truly, without them (perhaps even precisely without them), I was at peace and happy.

I don't know if my journey with my bike had any bearing on God's unfolding of plans, but that Saturday night, during a medical missions fundraising dinner, I made an appeal for Alisha. A man came up to me to give a thousand-dollar note. Another thousand came in today. We collected five hundred dollars from all the students there.

And finally, I met a doctor who linked me up via email with a woman who owns a Trust to help needy patients. It was only last night that I realised that by divine appointment, she had sat next to me during the fundraising dinner where Kitesong was featured, and we had had coffee together just weeks ago. "I will be happy to help. Will also sort out the post cochlear arrangements with you before committing as this will be very important to ensure the success of the implant."

Money. Perhaps, how it makes us happy really depends on how we use it, and on whom we use it on. Whether we fold them into paper butterflies to be taken by the wind, or used to bless someone else. I am learning, that the things which satisfy come for free.

They are also often invisible to the naked eye.

Opthalmology will bring good money. A few of my friends say I could be very good at it because of how much fine work eye surgery demands. I am attracted to it because unlike O&G (Obstetrics and Gynaecology), it will give me time and space to write, paint and continue teaching children. But I am afraid- of who it might make me become. Unlike my teacher Mr. Ho who has infinite faith in my moral strength, I am not sure if I am capable of holding my ground. There is something about the seeming ostentatiousness about the specialty which disturbs me at the moment. (But I must add a disclaimer, that this is a stereotyped generalisation.) I am afraid of wanting what I see, and becoming who I did not intend to be. I have to keep reminding myself, that while my eyes are opened to endless possibilties of worldly riches here, what is truly important is what the eye cannot see. God, what do you want me to do with my life?

At the end of my Sunday school lesson, I shared with the children Alisha's outcome and how God had provided people- people like you, to help and love her. The children remembered her story.

And then came the question -again- which surprised me in such a profound way. "Jiejie Wai Jia, so do you have your bike now?" 2 weeks ago, another child had just asked me that, and I had to muster enough strength before answering it.

This time, my answer came with much ease.

"No dear. I don't. But I'm happy. I truly, truly am. Jiejie Wai Jia has learnt to be thankful for whatever she has. Some children don't even have bicycles, right? Why should I complain?"

It was at this point that little Tim raised his hand and said, "Ya, Jiejie Wai Jia, I don't have a bicycle too!"

"Come children, read with me our verse for today before we end our lesson,

' Be joyful always, pray continually,

and in everything, give thanks.' "

" ... you who have no money,

Come, buy and eat...without money and without price.

Why do you spend...

... your wages for what does not satisfy?

Let your soul delight itself in abundance..."

-Isaiah 55:1-2