Remembering

A mouth full of spaghetti isn't a good way to receive surprises. But in the good old fashioned way that events seem to befall me, that was exactly how it happened.

"It's Father's Day today! Did you know? Have you called home yet?" chimed Wency.

Shawn and Kat both let out a knowing nod, while I spluttered and choked. And let out a big gasp.

"Oh no! I forgot!" I exclaimed, rather horrified.

And then after a brief second, I remembered. I remembered why I would forget. I wouldn't have to call, just like I haven't had to call for the past four years. I was sitting with mum in the cold corridors of the Singapore General Hospital outside the ICU at around this time in 2003.

I tracked back my journal entries and found this one. I suppose this is my way of calling home, of remembering.


Dad
July 15, 2003

I have no words left
A soul that’s been poured out unto death
Strangely how my tears are trapped
Within a heart that strains to hear

Its own beat

These nights have felt as dark
As the valley of the shadow of death
Yet as morning breaks
Will I choose to walk down this road again

I would gladly weep
If tears could wash away this anguish
And drown out every memory
I can only stand

And remember

The legacy he’s left behind
The part of him that’s who I am
He lives even though he dies
In my heart, never too far away from my mind

Quieted ambition

Lectio. Psalm 131.

-TNIV-

My heart is not proud, LORD,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed myself
and quieted my ambitions.
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.

Israel, put your hope in the LORD
both now and forevermore.


Meditatio. Psalm 131.

Calmed myself. Quited my ambition.


Lectio. Second Reading.

-The Message-

God, I'm not trying to rule the roost,
I don't want to be king of the mountain.
I haven't meddled where I have no business
or fantasized grandiose plans.

I've kept my feet on the ground,
I've cultivated a quiet heart.
Like a baby content in its mother's arms,
my soul is a baby content.

Wait, Israel, for God. Wait with hope.
Hope now; hope always!


Meditatio. Psalm 131.

The point about work, is that it is centred upon what I can do, the difference I can make, the value I can add. We jump past one hoop, leap over a hurdle, and look for another chance to conquer a mountain that's bigger than the last. The achiever that I am, I'm constantly on the look out for new opportunities to do something worthwhile.

A quiet heart requires cultivating. Our ambitions need to be quieted that we may hear His voice calling, that we may patiently wait and hope, with the type of faith that's centred upon the understanding that God is still at work in our world.

Lectio. Third Reading.

-TNIV-

My heart is not proud, LORD,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed myself
and quieted my ambitions.
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.

Israel, put your hope in the LORD
both now and forevermore.


Meditatio. Psalm 131.

There are many things I can do, but the one needful thing I must do is to be still and listen. To calm myself and quiet my ambition, and relegate even my precious notebook of creative ideas and works in progress to the holding bay, in recognition of the One who breathed inspiration into me in the first place. I shall not usurp His throne, but take my place in His created order.

Prayer. A Response.

Father in heaven, your name is holy. Let your kingdom come, your will be done, here on earth as it is in heaven. Give me this day my daily bread, forgive me for my shortcomings, as I also forgive those who have sinned against me. Lead me not into a place of testing, but deliver me from evil. For yours is the kingdom, yours is the power, yours is the glory, forever and ever. Amen.

Party's Over

The party's over
She's been a good trooper
Gave the hosts a hand
Pottered about like she was the chef

Bruschetta, pear salad, stuffed vol-au-vents
Pizzas and pasta, arancinnis with passata
They filled the hungry tummies
The hearth was warm and comfy

The party's over
This trooper takes a breather
The ache in her heart feels all too familiar
But she's too tired

The party's over
No more reserve to consider
She'll have to save her thoughts for later
Too late in the night for anything to matter

She

She sits in a corner and weeps
Anger has thrown his tantrum
He's had his run of her heart
Spending her like a callous lover
He walks away and leaves her naked
Barren, broken, bruised and bloodied

She sits in a corner and weeps
Hurt has ravaged her
Running his dirty fingers over her
He tightens his grip like a twisted lover
Chokes and throws her by the wayside
Gasping, sputtering, limp and flailing

She sits in a corner and weeps
There is nothing left in her
Only Silence remains to accompany her
Gathers her in his arms and soothes her
Grace shall be enough for her
Beauty, dust, love and ashes.