VirtuaLife

FOR FULL DETAILS PLEASE READ PREVIOUS POSTS

Okay, now we’re getting to territory you guys and girls may be familiar with.

The prospect of university was a tremendously exciting and liberating one for me. No more compulsory school. No accountability to teachers. No homework. No mixing with boys only (I went to a boys-only school). No limits. No restrictions. Just me… and my naïve visions of world domination (hey, I DID plan to run a multinational by the time I was 24… that gives me umm, just over two years to achieve that. Hah!).

The 924 still looked pretty good but having driven it for almost 4 years I knew that among its many weaknesses was that it wasn’t built for the big league (even though it looked like it and was certainly more than capable in its own right). If it’s 2L van engine was happy to take me places with minimum fuss, I was looking for the rocket-propelled motorcycle (read: shortcut). So I got myself into a Chevrolet Corvette. The peoples’ choice for an affordable sports car, these cars became popular in the hotrod community for their application in a drag racing context. Essentially, that was what I was doing. I had my sights set on an end goal, I’d found my rocket ship, and now all I wanted to do was buckle up and hit those 11s quarter mile times.

Why did I think this? Well, for starters I was sick of being told what to do. 12 years of schooling in a culture that strongly emphasises independence seems a bit counterintuitive, even if it is for the best. I also wanted to increase my desirability and expand my audience simultaneously. Untouchable was not the theme of the day anymore. I figured that if I couldn’t manipulate uni so that it did what I wanted it to, I wasn’t worth my two cents. Secondly, I believed I had a bulletproof vision. I wanted to go out and save the world through revolutionary and evidence-based healthcare. Why would I compromise on a vision like that? And thirdly, money may be the route to all evil, but unfortunately out of necessity it is the route to a lot of other things as well! So I wanted to earn bucketloads of money early on in my career, dump them into positive cashflow investments, achieve earnings equity within a decade (sorry, I believe I am misusing terms for the more financially savvy among you?), and then retire and devote my time to philanthropy or some other notable good deed.

The most notable change that occurred during this period was that I modernised. I began to stay in touch with things that were happening in the world. I blame in on my economics class in secondary school, but I began thinking a lot about how the world works, economically and socially. I realised if I continued to stay at home, play computer games and be so singularly focussed on any given thing, work included, I would never be taken seriously. Instead of making tidal waves, I’d have made a ripple, or maybe two. And I’m glad that the realisation hit me early, because even now as I look around at my friends and other more distant acquaintances, I still see that same, fundamental struggle of reasoning happening in their own lives.

Another defining factor subsequent to this realisation was about my pride. What was once used as a tool for demeaning and belittling others evolved into a… hmm, I still lack proper words for it even now. Even as I completed my 180 turn from introversion into extroversion I began to utilise my pride as a means to sustain my momentum. If I was too slow I’d have nothing to boast about. If I was too stupid I’d have had nothing to show. If I was too unsuccessful I’d never be able to tick of my planning milestones, poor me. The fear of failure kept me pushing ever forward, determined not to be consumed by the incompetence of procrastination. While I’m not advocating pride as a sustainable force for character change, it more or less did the job for me.

There was another thing about this time that I remember. The change was so dramatic; I remember thinking that I could only orchestrate it with any chance of success during the transition to university, with a new audience who knew nothing about my past. For example, not many people believe me when I tell them I used to be super quiet. Not many people believe me when I tell them I used to spend days playing computer games without ever seeing a peep of sunshine. Not many people believe me when I say that I used to hate sport. And nobody believes me when I say that I used to work overtime at Dick Smith and refuse money because I was doing it for personal development (the minimum I demand these days is $35 an hour, direct deposit into bank please =)). Luckily my escape vehicle, the Corvette, was suitable. It was raw. It was forgivingly sexy. If it was a woman she’d be dressed in a sparkling red evening gown with the split up to her thighs and a cocktail held delicately in one hand, eyebrows arched questioningly.

I did many things during this period, some of which were laughable, others cringeworthy. In my first year of university I stepped into leadership of a student organization, encouraged drinking competitions, promoted promiscuity and in some (thankfully few!) instances, landed myself in some very compromising situations. Because I wanted to touch base with girls, I ‘metrosexualised’ my life. As the resident poster boy for my newfound coterie of pimple-faced followers, I felt obliged to become a gossip dissemination hub, matchmaker, facilitator of diffused spontaneity, KPI (key performance indicators – I was in a business club) whipmaster, and a source of constant controversy. In living and breathing the ‘work hard, party hard’ ethos of this organisation, I met every single objective I’d set out for myself at the start of the year. And totally destroyed my life in the process.

Second year of university brought about another transformation and the downfall of my corvette-driven life. My supercharged, liquid-nitrogen propelled trajectory forward was suddenly destabilised by a relatively light crosswind, so to speak. I exited from business (was always going to happen) and into physiotherapy, finally convinced that I didn’t want to do dentistry. I also began to realise how much I’d compromised myself in order to achieve my goals. Popularity was interesting but it wasn’t all it was cut out to be. So what was I looking for, now? I’d tasted leadership and liked the power. I’d mixed with girls and found a much greater depth of understanding and conversation –in some of them, at least – than I had in boys. I liked that. I had pushed the very limits of my promiscuity and found that quite stressful, not only for the unwanted attention, but also because it set me against a lot of other boys (namely the ones with girlfriends, hahaha). I’d become metrosexual and hated it… almost all the girls whose attention I didn’t attract thought I was gay. So what vehicle would I choose for this new (current) era of my life?

Find out in the next post!

PLEASE SEE PREVIOUS POSTS FOR THE FULL STORY

So, if my life could be embodied by a car, my formative years would have been spent as a Ford Pinto. What next?

By the time Year 12 had rolled around, I’d upgraded myself into a Porsche 924. That’s right, the one with the van engine. Because, as you’ll soon see, I was more show than go. I was reliable and had pedigree of sorts (academically and sporting-wise), but I wasn’t the sort of person that things’ happened’ around.


Didn't go as fast as it looked. It had more in common with 'Joe Blow' than you'd think?

In a human context, I was a generally athletic 17 year old who became a general enigma in my school, and even to my friends! I was smart but unhealthily elitist. I was asked to lead groups (soccer and study sessions) but the only reason I led them was because I had a point to prove rather than actually being a proper leader. All the younger Asians in school knew me (how? I never talked to them…) and wanted to get to know me, but because I was racist, that proved a bit… difficult. I was both a slob (used to wear my pants around my knees until a funny epiphany mid-Year 12) and a scholar… and having one foot in each camp meant that I was accepted by both, but when I wanted to race with either, I felt my life tearing apart. There was no cohesion in my life. While I became much more interesting because of my pursuits I compromised on how accessible my person was. And I had a venomous tongue, being hardly ever short of words to inflict upon people. And my humour was as dry as dust.

You know, I actually liked this period of my life. Sure, I could have done better – much better – in many areas, but for what I was worth back then, I think I hit the marks I needed to. I was supremely focused in subjects like English, Ancient History, and Religion, which have been the foundation of a lot of things I do today. I lament my rubbishing of subjects lie Drama, Metalworking and Graphics Design, which may have steered me more towards the business side of things. However, what did, I did well at, with a minimum of fuss and a good deal of motivation.

While the other boys toyed around with their sexuality and social life, I chose to remain stagnant. I never touched a girl inappropriately or compromised my own integrity, although I came horribly, horribly close during schoolies (luckily an altercation with a tree saved me, huh?). I sat back, observed, and thought about things. I thought about things very hard. I had many crushes (lasting 1 week or less), two romantic interests that I never pursued, and a lot of mocking from my friends to tell for it. Such is life. I’ve always tried to be aware of and resist peer pressure. As a result, when it came to the ‘happening’ parties, I was always the odd person out. I tried to make it seem like I was the one having the party while everyone else was clueless, but the difference between now (read: today) and back then was that I lacked the conviction to pull it off. A pity that, really. I wonder what lives I could have changed if I really believed what I said.

While every girl dreams of Prince Charming, every guy dreams about winning. Conquering things. If life was a fight, most guys would be in pubs brawls every day. Despite my inclination towards inactivity, I felt no different. I was looking for something to accelerate me. Something that could bring me to a new level of functioning. And that’s what I found in the Porsche. Slightly too flashy for what it offered but ultimately a decent drive that would stand the test of time. And that’s what I did (I think).



My formal pictures were highly illustrative of what I'd become. Physically there was a huge transformation, which was not just the result of puberty but also indicative of a transformation in lifestyle. However, if you looked close enough you could see some cracks. I was smiling but not happy. I wanted to show off but didn't know what to show off. I'd achieved quite a bit yet was relativley clueless of how I'd gotten there. My formal partner was so many classes above me (socially, physically and emotionally) that I wonder why she said yes in the first place. And asking her out was an accident because the many guys who wanted to ask her were too shy (we'd just met her at a party some weeks before) and dared me to ask her out. If there was one phrase my life must have embodied at this point in time, it was 'fake it till you make it'. Yughhh.

Still, desensitisation is a human thing, and soon I wanted more. More power. More acceleration. More more more!! What would come next? Find out in the next post!

In Faith, Hope and Love!

Part 1 of 4
WARNING: BIG words and MATURE concepts

I’ve been thinking about myself a lot lately.

That would be self-evident in many of my recent postings. Self-reflection can be a ‘dirty’ habit for some – it’s a chance to look inwards and be surprised by the detritus that has silently accumulated on the treasures that you hold in your heart. A dirty habit because people tend not to like to do it; it’s an uncomfortable, ignorance-banishing process that often necessitates action as radical as the realisations it creates. But I like the fact that it is a habit… once you start doing it, it gets strangely addictive. You get this kick of euphoria every time you do it because something exciting is about to happen.

Last night, I was reading about the dangers of letting petrol tanks in cars run empty. When the car is down to its last few litres of petrol, the fuel level descends into a layer of sludge (that builds up over time), sucking it into the fuel lines and potentially causing engine failure. How horrible! I thought, while skimming through the article. How horrible that something seemingly so insignificant can cause so much trouble just because I didn’t fill my tank up in time.

Ponder this with me… in what ways are our lives like cars? What manner of muck builds up over time, only to be exposed in the most ungainly fashion when we begin to get stressed? What kinds of things fuel our lives? Good quality petrol? Or cheap ad-hoc stuff that gets mixed up in somebody’s backyard? And what happens when the muck accumulates? How hard is it to get this stuff out so it won’t cause a breakdown and cause you – God forbid – to lose momentum?

Notwithstanding the myriad analogies that can be created in terms of car types, individual lifestyles and whatnot, I am going to attempt to retrace my life history (and future) – in four easy stages – for you to follow. You might be surprised at the cars I used to drive, and how I treated them.

STAGE 1 – Year 4 – Year 9

Throughout my formative years I was a fat, ignorant, and self-serving blob of lard who lived only for the joy of computer games. Inherently competitive, computer games have been a staple of the adolescent male’s diet for many years, now, shifting the focus away from more wholesome activities such as sports or social outings. I fell victim to its influences, along with all the side-effects, most of them bad, that came with it.

I wasn’t a bad kind of boy, inherently. One could argue that I was essentially average, and therefore profoundly uninteresting, unless you cater for the fact that I was only one of a handful of ‘foreigners’ in my school. Supporting me also was the fact that I hadn’t matured – cognitively or physically – enough to embrace a more encompassing perspective.


scary. do you recognise me? I don't *shivers*

In absolute terms, though, I was pretty horrible. It wasn’t that I was proud… I was too young to even know what to be proud about. It was more a reflection of the company I found myself in. Socially challenged boys and other niche societies, namely, exerting influence over me. I picked up some bad slang and equally naughty habits from them. I also wore my heart on my sleeve, something that got me into a whole heap of trouble with my more traditional Chinese relatives. Only my cousins seemed to think I was cute, and I have a sneaking suspicion that was more out of family loyalty than any specific endearment. I grew up with the understanding that I had lots of potential, I just hadn’t managed to realise any of it. And that annoyed me lots. By the time year 9 rolled around, I knew I had to change.


A picture of this car NOT on fire was... well, not the norm.

If my body was the car and my mind was its engine, I’d have had to be the Ford Pinto, a car whose image will be forever linked to images of exploding engine bays and the deathly wails of its occupants. I was a safety hazard – to myself, namely – and was prone to blowing up in panic when challenged. In terms of mileage I would have been surprised if I could get myself down the road and back without any serious complications! I’d been running myself to empty almost every week, and I lived for each day as it came not because I was smart, but because I had no conception of a future. The sludge had been sucked down the fuel lines and was choking my engine. Not good.

In summary, then, I hadn’t started life in a particularly good vehicle, to say the least. If I’d stuck with the Pinto, I was never going to get very far, impress anyone, or leave any legacy worth mentioning. Apart from something involving flames and lots of pain. Very obviously, however, that was not where I ended up. So, what changed? Find out in the next post!

In Faith, Hope and Love!

This article is dedicated to potatoH in Singapore, who was amused by my tart fetish. Yes, I do love tarts! They're simple, unpretentious things that give mouthfuls of taste and alot of bang for your buck (although I baulked at the price of the sweetened condensed milk last week).

Anyway, the homestays have been pestering me to cook these again.

Was feeling rather whimsical when I got home last night. I set up Mummy Lim's present in the kitchen (a deLux 45cm fan - hahah probbly not too appropriate for winter) which Dot topped off with a bowtie and a reflective card. The artsiness of positioning the present perfectly in the kitchen(hahaha) resulted in a total overrunning of my creative juices and I began to think about some of the recipees I've been meaning to improve upon - prime among them, my delectable tarts.

So this is how I changed the recipee from last time...
. 1 cup of self-raising flour (changed from normal flour)
. 4 tbspn margarine (up from 2 1/2 - give more fragrance)
. 1 400g can sweetened condensed milk
. 2 cups milk
. 1 cup brown sugar (from white sugar)
. 3 eggs (up from 2, I wanted a more custardy inner)
. 1 tbspn cinnamon (wanted to see if it would make the tart more appealing)
. 2 tbspn almond essence (confused with bee-sting cake, this did nothing)

Mix all the ingredients together; there's nothing hard to it. Melt the margarine beforehand. I tend to use a manual egg-beater but if you feel lazy go with the electronic mixers. The original recipe recommends straining the flour to achieve a smoother texture, but I did that in previous iterations and it didn't make an iota of diference. Once the mixture is smooth, spoon it into a greased muffin tray. See below:



I find that the optimum height of the tart (for my oven (gas-fired) seems to be between 1-1.5 cm. Under that and you're making crispy coinage, over that and you get these bloated entities that collapse on themselves once all the hot air moves out of them.

Bake for 20 minutes at 200C. Without opening the door (just use a torch to shine in if you're curious about the colour) lower the heat to 180C and let it sit for another 15 minutes.



The final result should look something like that. The picture was taken 1-minute post-removal, no photoshopping (hah!) Use a fork to scrape out the tart from the sides of its enclosure, lever it out and turn it upside down to cool.

It can be eaten hot or at room temp, I normally do room temperature but it also works well being toasted for a minute or two and then being served with vanilla ice-cream.



Then, just for fun, I tried to do an edible impression of the Sydney Opera house. Supplement sails with tarty circumferences and I'm almost there, right?

Eat it... and be prepared for the tart-shaped tummy that will come soon after! There's enough sugar in one of these things to make your teeth rot on the spot ^^.

EVALUATION
The taste was good, first batch (brown ones) achieved a good layer of chewy crust with a creamy and firm inner. However, I think due to the extensive baking it ended up visually unorgasmic and didn't smell as nice as I hoped (yes I did smell all of them...)The second batch, on the other hand, was slightly underdone, probably because they were thicker and I used less time to cook them (it was 2am, puh-lease) Colour was nicer, but... well, rather too pallid for my taste. The inner was soft and steamy when cracked open but had some trouble holding its shape.

The two colours and sizes was me experimenting with tart depth and cooking time. But I reasoned that the dark ones were from South Africa, and the yellow ones from China O.o. I liked the darker ones, although they were a tad (hah! more like 10 minutes) overcooked because I was wasting time on Facebook.

Baking is so therapeutic. So fun! I don't think I could go out with a girl who doesn't like cooking. They're missing out ^^. Oops, there I go again, thinking about relationships. The bug is back. =_=.

In Faith, Hope and Love!

Last Friday I skipped life group to catch up with a few dear friends... and meet many new ones!

The BeeDee girl was, as always, making me laugh (or at least smirk violently) just by her presence - nothing new there. But oh! Tell you what was new, though - her perfume! Very fruitylicious ^^. Great taste jodydody; that is a knock-out perfume (for me at least hahaha). Also caught up with VenVenVen (means comecomecome! in Spanish?) who was waging mental war against fleas, and Joanna, who went on to wage war against a waiter with social issues :D. We haven't been together as a group since... Joanna's party last year! I think. Vaguely, anyway. Also saw Aaron! But the Mista Man was quiet as usual, and I didn't have the right mentailty to poke him ;). Another time, promise!

And then the new peeps whom I got significant (read: >5mins) runtime with - I tried to talk to everyone but inevitably there were a few convos that dominated the night. In order of meeting - Bjorn (he told me he had a hearing difficulty but I couldn't hear him half the time! =S sorry, man!); Ron and Yoshimi, in my second encounter with them - funny funny couple, I luv ya guys, you make me smile; Melanie, with whom I now seem to have an asian-asian disclosure agreement? *coughcough*; Helen, whose relentless teasing I seem to have attracted (what did I ever do to deserve it apart from saying you came from the moon? *attempts to look pathetic and fails*) and Yao-Yang, who amused me for reasons I cannot remember anymore... O.o

But enough talking. Here's some photos:


half-serious picture


not-serious-at-all picture. Who takes out the title of camwhore between the two of us?


venecia's moment to shine


the sneeze-and-cleave shot. you had to be there to appreciate it


group pic! sorry I seem not to have taken individual photos of everyone... =|


picture-in-picture? with face recognition?

In-in all it was a good night, with good company and good, clean fun. Thankies to all of you peeps!

In Faith, Hope and Love!

I must admit that sports medicine is scary. It requires a certain level of…. spontaneity to one’s actions that I seem to fundamentally lack. It requires you to be loving and yet tough as nails (otherwise the players will chew you up, being the big hunks of muscle that they are), gentle yet firm, and authoritative yet open to suggestion. Not to mention being a team player, when you are perhaps the only person on field who can’t dribble a ball (or shoot hoops) properly. Talk about starting with a disadvantage.

Because the sports medic is a team player, I am principally against the idea of casual sports trainers for weekly sporting events – it’s very difficult to ‘own’ your team when that changes every time the whistle blows. So I tend to reject most requests for help - not good for my finances, unfortunately.

Back to my context. So I’m attending to my team – let’s call them the EebeeGeeBees (EBGBs)- for the first time (the other times were trial runs with someone to assist me). In my head I was wondering whether I could keep it up. Sports medicine is hard – you gotta be prepared to travel long distances, be ignored (a sure killer for me) and have swearwords thrown around you like some kind of expletive festival. You need to steel yourself against childish anger, petty commentary and the palpable sensation of defeat, which can linger around long after the carnage has ended.

I honestly didn’t know if I could make it. Me, with my big mouth and bigger ego, but with a seemingly shrinking supply of clinically useful skills in a physiotherapy context; I didn’t know whether I could cut it in this job.

And I didn’t know whether I had the team’s acceptance, and whether my services were provided to a satisfactory standard. That’s another thing. There's hardly ever any feedback, in this area.

But something happened tonight as I watched the game played out. I watched the boys burn scars into the field with their relentless sprinting and attacking runs, felt their grief as they missed tackles, squandered opportunities, or were outclassed (or just outbeefed) by their opposition. I forgot about how much I hated their swearing, or lewd language. I forgot about their ‘crowd’ mentalities, and began to see them – each and every one – as precious individuals struggling to achieve excellence. And I commited myself, right there and then, to pursue excellence in my services – strapping, first aid, and massage – such that I would not let them down.

When the match ended there was a little lump in my throat. No, it wasn’t a cough lozenge. It was a ball of tightness that resonated with the hearts of my EBGBs (they lost the match).

I’ve talked in my blog before about passion. I’d like to extend that concept, now. Passion cannot happen without ownership – it’s like discipline; a commitment without that extra ‘ooomph!’ of heartfelt emotion. Discipline is not a bad thing. But it pales in comparison against passion as an inspirational force.

I came back tonight, aching, sore after 7 hours on the field, over 2 hours in the car, and 3 hours spent car-hunting with Sharon. But was elated that I'd reaffirmed something to myself - in God (I've been praying so much the last few day I seem to randomly spit 'amen's out), nothing is impossible. Like taking the ego out of Theo. Or putting the commitment back in.

And the most beautiful thing? At the end of this game, one of the guys came up to me and said, “Hey Theo! Thanks mate, you did an awesome job.”

Thank you, God, for remembering me. And thank you for each and every wonderful person that you have placed in my life.

In Faith, Hope and Love!

At the moment, I own a rather cluttered mind (which, unsurprisingly, looks like the current state of my room). In it prowl the spectres of unresolved matters, unclaimed finances and distant notions of academic excellence. Cemented into one corner is a relational burden that no amount of dynamite blasting (figuratively) seems to have removed despite God’s own reassurances. In another corner is a growing spiritual burden for my life, my friends’ lives, and the continued commission of my new church.

I sat down today to nut a few of these issues out with God.

Chorus from ‘Nothing Compares’, Third Day:
Nothing compares
to the greatness of knowing You, Lord
Nothing compares
to the greatness of knowing You, Lord

Nothing compares. Do you believe it? Do you really? Sometimes I look back at my life and have to shake my head in wonderment at the…. exposure I‘ve had to God and His miracle works. To see people getting out of wheelchairs as I watch, to have my own relatives manifest demonically in front of me… makes it very hard to deny the existence of a God. But… NOTHING compares to the greatness of knowing my God, of having Him do miracles in me. Nothing compares to His direct guidance or caring intervention. Yes, there’s more to it than just knowing there is a God. It’s about experiencing Him up close and personal.


From millions of miles away, the Sun is already too bright to be looked at directly. Imagine its 'presence' if it were to suddenly draw closer to us. Such is the magnitude of the power of God.

I was reflecting on this because of a testimony that Cait and Cass had to share about the exercising of their faith in God. But it wasn’t my central focus. In fact, I was praying about UNIDUS. Praying for some kind of explicit, personal revelation that would seal the deal, no questions asked (or at least no room for intelligent debate, as I so like to do). And then I stumbled upon Zechariah 3.

(v1 – 4)Then he showed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the LORD, and Satan standing at his right side to accuse him. The LORD said to Satan, "The LORD rebuke you, Satan! The LORD, who has chosen Jerusalem, rebuke you! Is not this man a burning stick snatched from the fire?"
Now Joshua was dressed in filthy clothes as he stood before the angel. The angel said to those who were standing before him, "Take off his filthy clothes." Then he said to Joshua, "See, I have taken away your sin, and I will put rich garments on you." (v6 - 7)The angel of the LORD gave this charge to Joshua: 7 "This is what the LORD Almighty says: 'If you will walk in my ways and keep my requirements, then you will govern my house and have charge of my courts, and I will give you a place among these standing here.

At first I must admit that I thought this reading was rather erroneous and I flipped to another area, Hebrews 3:15:

As has just been said: "Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts as you did in the rebellion.”

Oops.

I re-read Zechariah a second time and it dawned upon me that these two verses actually addressed quite a few issues I’d been stuck in a perpetual stalemate against, namely the idea of repetitive sin and the notion of perfection in God versus perfection for God. When I read Hebrews, I felt God prompting me, saying (in essence) “I’m not interested in how generous you are. The reason you haven’t seen My full blessings is because I’ve shown you areas of your life that need fixing but you have resisted that. You cannot buy your way out of sin. And you can’t help UNIDUS if you are not availing yourself to me, because then you are doing it for selfish reasons. So get yourself right before I give you a target.”

Oowch.

Notwithstanding my desire to give despite being essentially unemployed, that was a very, very touchy revelation =|.

Zechariah 3:6-7 speaks of the charge given to Joshua, the high priest, the spiritual leader of the remnant Israelites who were rebuilding the Temple. Once again, gifts that I have been seeking or desiring progress upon, God answered by telling me that I first had to be obedient before I could begin to claim His blessings. I had to step out from the areas of repetitive sin He revealed to me and not continue to palm them off as unresolvable. And, just as He took the burning stick of Jeshua from the fire, absolved the priest’s sins and clothed him in new garments, so too would I require God’s strength more than ever to overcome these issues.

Lawlessness against God. That was God’s charge against a rebellious Israel. What to do? Well, it goes back several weeks to the Love/Fear sermon at Hope, or several years to the Love/Fear debate at OCF, but the issue rears its ugly head once again. Obviously I never integrated my findings, hahaha. It was beautifully expressed to me, once, in the following way (by I-can’t-remember-who):

“If we were to seek a remedy for our legalistic ways, we should pray for more love. But if we were to seek a remedy for our lawlessness, we should pray for more fear.”

Only when both love and fear operate in tandem can we begin to have unshakeable faith in our God. And only when we begin to understand Him more, do we have the opportunity to invite Him in and make Him personal to our lives.

Every day, every hour, every BREATH! I want my God to be personal to me.

In Faith, Hope and Love!

Understanding Behaviour

"Many things - such as loving, going to sleep, or behaving unaffectedly - are done worst when we try hardest to do them." C.S. Lewis

"The outward man is the swinging door; the inner man is the still hinge.” Meister Eckhart

Behaviour should not be the means to an end but rather an end unto itself, for it is the outward expression of one's thoughts. Only when this is achieved can integrity be fostered.

If you behave in a manner you don't like, you restrict/limit your behaviour, but it is your heart that you change.

In Faith, Hope and Love!

An excerpt from my reflections (03.05.08)

I’m in one of my ‘why me?’ moments to God. Last night, when Lemuel was promoting the HBC touch footy event, I was both dismayed and appalled by the lack of response to the event. I’m sorry, but that’s exactly how I felt. A grand total of NOBODY wanted to come for the day. Righteous anger? I was ready to do some smiting by myself, right there and then!

The problem with any group is that its central vision ends up being trumpeted and pushed by a few people, and exploited (unwittingly or otherwise) by the rest. Lack of ownership in a group is the equivalent of building a wonderful house for people to live and grow up in, only to burn it down because someone wants to see how long the infrastructure can sustain a fire.

I nominated myself, anyway, because even though I’d committed to spend the Saturday studying I felt that some exercise couldn’t do me harm, I wanted to scope out HBC and see whether it was something suitable to invite my friends to and I wanted to spend time outdoors admiring God’s creation. So along I went.

Snaps to Cass and Cait for making it along, even though they didn’t participate in the games… their presence brought my anger down (retrospectively) from boiling point to a more controllable simmering. Even though I didn’t talk to them, I was encouraged by their effort (even if it was coincidental) to make it to the day and… well, contribute just by being there. I think people sometimes underestimate the power of physical presence. Not me. Thanks girls; even if nobody else says it, I am grateful and appreciative of you just being there.

As the day droned on, I was also struck by how badly we (the playing people) functioned as a team. In team games, the individual is required to step down in order to let the team shine. I’m not accusing anybody of anything here since this was a social event, but it was interesting to observe how frustrations arose (see my ‘patience’ post!) from a lack of goal-scoring and certain team members began to play more individualistically. God really put a burden on my heart for team relationships (a logical extension from boy-girl relationships?); so much so that, right now, everywhere I look I am overwhelmed by the paucity of unity displayed in teams, and even more so, sometimes by the very people who trumpet it. Hmmm.

Then there was the back (or pelvic) pain. It engulfed me as I was bending over to scoop up the ball to play it on. Felt a little twinge in my back like it was releasing a catch and then this whole wave of pain washed over my back and bumbum. Oh no, not good. In the five seconds it took to stand up, try to pass the ball on, and then spasm with pain again I recalled that this was probably a recurrence from another episode three weeks ago, my first ever of low back pain. I had a bit of a dramatic moment after I assured Jazzy and Joseph I was okay, looking to the sky and rolling my eyes. In my mind I was like, ‘God! I gave up my day to encourage your events explicitly and you let this happen to me? Unsurprisingly, there was no response, unless you call the sun poking out from behind the clouds and radiating me with more UV a response.

Overall, it was an interesting day, with some troubling realisations, one or two convictions, much food for thought, and… a very unfriendly companion of low back pain (LBP) to keep me company, now.

In Faith, Hope and Love!

I thought I understood what patience was. To me, it meant tolerating other peoples’ incompetence or delays. A quick search of the internet reveals as much.

I haven’t always been patient. There was a time when I used to make other people’s problems my own for the sake of achieving that ‘perfect world’. In some ways (although no where near as consistently) I still lapse back into this old mode of thinking. I was pretty pleased with myself for beginning to develop patience.

Lately though, I’ve begun to appreciate how… facile… this understanding is.

One of my friends always runs late for his appointments. Sometimes I am over at his house and he asks me to tag along with him. I find it hilarious how, for every minute after his planned departure (to the appointment destination), he begins to move more and more frantically, yet he doesn’t seem to prepare any faster. I could wait for him for hours and not feel fussed. Is that called patience?

Some of the boys at my old church used to have get-togethers where the inevitable topic of relationships would surface. Every time (or thereabouts) it was the same old story, someone had done a booboo that needed attention or fixing. Of course, the issue never got truly fixed… unless you count the three or four weeks of non-reporting in between as a good thing. And me? I was a badly dressed, introverted 14 year old guy who called these blokes (median age 20) my friends despite their incompetence. I never took them up on the issue, either. Was I patient?

A rolling debate about feminism leaves me at odds with many girls (not mine, though) who believe it is their ‘right’ to make boys wait for them, especially when getting ready for outings, etc. With interest areas in psychology, relationships and culture, I am both fascinated and horrified at a mainstream attitude that in reality is an emotional and spiritual dead-end. Yet, I’m quite happy to let it sit with these girls (and some guys). Once again, I ask the question: Is this patience?

Perhaps it is. But perhaps patience is much, much more.

You see, tolerating incompetence has no intrinsic cost to self if it doesn’t affect you. In all three above instances I was aware of incompetence, but this had no effect on my interaction with the involved parties. I’d already budgeted extra time to muck around with so it wasn’t costing me anything I hadn’t expected. If something does not have an identifiable cost, then it’s reasonable to assume that it will have a negligible effect on the way that I function. Hence, there is no reason on my behalf to spit sticks and feel all narky in general.

Patience is more than that. Patience is biting your tongue when people do something that affects you negatively. It’s about learning to smile with your heart – not just your mouth - when you know it’s only going to be poked and prodded. It’s about… offering someone your left cheek when they have just struck at the right, and doing it with a heart of love (Matthew 5:39).


A snail crossing... if you were in a rush for a big meeting would you wait for something as miniscule as a snail to cross, or would you drive straight over it?

Didn’t think about it that way, did you? Aha! Don’t worry. Until a week ago, I didn’t either *gringrin* Just as a side note, I really, really love taking clichéd, overused and undervalued Bible verses to expose their true meaning… that is how the Bible is meant to be read.

Patience. Do you have it? I thought I did, in parts. I used to wonder why I could be as patient as a rock in some situations and as fiery as a matchstick in others. Well, now I wonder no longer. I’m going to take patience to the next level. And I hope you guys will join me.

In Faith, Hope and Love!