Snapshots

What's an image of Lubriderm moisturizer doing here?

Really soothing in winter, Lubriderm was an early discovery for me when I first lived in the US. Auntie Minar introduced it in a motherly gesture. But my Indonesian librarian friend is more than sweetness and light. On pure logic alone, she once out-maneuvered a team of car salesmen to sell me a Toyota Camry (another early purchase) at a great price.

I've been taking snapshots these days, hoping to catch fleeting butterfly memories of life in America before I head home.

This afternoon, I bought Whole Food cranberry-orange scones and took a picture. A little silly. I used to love these scones a decade ago, before I scrutinized nutrition labels. Each scone weighs in at 270 calories!

Other Pictures: The house-shaped box of crayons that occupied Julie, Megan and other little visitors. Can't ship it back. The Ikea crockery that my parents packed in their luggage for me. The cherry dining table, which still conjures up guests and good times over the years.

I'm so grateful for these amazing years in the US. As Ephesians 3:20 indicates, God has been doing in my life "exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think." What's next? My good friend TS, at a really sad moment when he and his family left for Seattle, said it best: "Look ahead."

We're Transients

My prayer circle was commenting that several of us are now seeking direction. So is our little church as a whole.

The key is to be ready and available before God, Patrick said, even when we can't answer a lot of questions rationally.

I know how awkward it is to be in transition. But then our days in this world will never be fully comfortable because Heaven is our home, Beverly added. Get used to living outside comfort zones!

I often think about Hebrews 11:13 which makes it clear that we're "aliens and strangers on earth." Other translations pile on the meanings: foreigners, nomads, exiles, pilgrims, temporary residents and transients.

Transients! There it is. It also suggests how brief our earthly lives are... vapours, fleeting shadows and all. And how momentary our troubles are.

Meanwhile, like King David we can live to the utmost while waiting for God's perfect timing to play out. When David was a very young man, it was prophesized that he'd be Israel's king. It was many years before that happened, and in the meantime he'd alternate between working for Saul in the city and being a shepherd. It was an active, productive time of waiting and preparation, and he lived life fully.

Fidelis had lots to say. He's a young man from Ghana, and really discerning and on fire in his unassuming style. Relax and don't rush into the future, he said. There were times when he got a headache trying to get friends to help him reach the goal God set before him. God doesn't need our help! When He opens the door, things happen very quickly, he said. And it'll be better than we ever imagine "even if our lives are ruined!!"

As an example, he said that with his rational mind, he'd chosen to migrate to the United Kingdom cos that's where his sibling resided. But then the door to America was flung open. When he boarded the plane in Ghana, he was ushered into First Class though he was abashed and there were people far better-dressed than him.

Things like this keep happening to him. It's like he passes close to God's white-hot presence. I should blog a couple of his testimonies.

Cloud Prints

There's a "cloudiness" in recent days when I think about the months ahead. A kind of unknowing that clouds the all-Singaporean inner planner in me. But then I read Oswald Chambers, who says: "The clouds are but the dust of the Father's feet. The clouds are a sign that He is there." How uplifting! It's all about His presence!

Matthew 24:30: They will see the Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky, with power and great glory.

Cherry Blossoms in Washington

I missed Washington's cherry blossoms for the first time! Today, after returning from Singapore, I did spy several cherry trees near my house. But they were in the awkward flower-and-leaf stage and totally past their wondrous early-spring peak.

Life-transitions are like that: unbeautiful, but hiding a new day. Hopefully, our transitions are as ephemeral as those pink and white blossoms too!

During my first spring here in 1997, I wasn't going to view the blossoms. Too sweet, I imagined. Until I spent a gorgeous mid-afternoon strolling through Bethesda's affluent Kenwood neighbourhood where 1,200 Yoshino trees were in full bloom.

I joined the invasion of gawkers on the pretty streets, all of us floating slowly, it seemed, under the millions of dreamy petals held aloft on old, dark, gnarled branches.

This was where American suburbia encountered Japan too. American children set up stalls to sell home-made brownies and icy drinks.

I remember buying lemonade from a little boy whose house was far from the hubbub. His hopeful eyes had followed me as I walked up the road; that was how I made my modest 25-cent contribution to a future entrepreneur, one of America's best products.

I love the story of how in 1912, Tokyo presented Washington with 3,700 cherry trees that soon encircled the star-shaped Tidal Basin, signifying friendship.

Once, a Japanese journalist told me he much preferred Washington's sakura season. In Japan, there were karaoke and drinking contests under the trees and it gets crazier every year, he lamented.

That afternoon in Kenwood has stayed with me - the tender colours, the spark and energy of early springtime, and another Asian echo in America.

Snow!

Delicacy, purity.
Praying, remembering.
Wondrous to walk in falling snow.

Today, I walked for 1.5 hours in the snow. Someone commented that the pearly-gray sky added to the feeling of weightlessness. I stopped often. Taking pictures. Journal-ing in my mind and on an increasingly damp scrap of paper. Looking at 13 puffy-headed birds with pale yellow chests, resting on the upper twigs of a tree. Staring discreetly as an indulgent Dad took his three little colorfully wrapped children out to skitter down a baby slope on tiny snow-saucers. Kind of like the days when my own Dad, hour after hour in Singapore's burning equatorial sun, pushed the swings with me and my sisters on them. I don't think he's seen snow, much as he loves traveling to new places.

I remember another Sunday, in 2003, when a snow-storm caused our little church to worship at a home. Later we walked down the empty street, so transformed, all white beauty and exceptional hush. Our friend Peter walked ahead with exuberant little Michael on his shoulders. Two other wonderful friends later gave the middle name Snow to their lil daughter, who just turned two. How beautiful that those days of church-planting and God's favor are so embedded in my heart that the snow today easily stirs memories of my friends, now a scattered family.

Today, it was mostly the glorious solitude that made it natural to be abandoned to Jesus -- and to know it's possible and desirable to be faithful whether I'm here or there. These couple of years, I've had to embrace the transition and the absence of certainty. It's been a time of growing while waiting. Of making the utmost of my days in the US and discovering so many gems, like the dreamy Berkshires, all nations in my workplace, new creativity, an irrepressible little church, the dazzling edges of revival.

God remembers His promise to me, Jeanne said during our intercessory circle. And He makes all things new, according to Revelation 21:5. That's a verse I always quote and pray! How perfect is that?

Thanksgiving 2005

Fallen leaves swirling skyward,

A wild dance, mimicking life.

Light draining, early and indifferent,

From this city I never embraced.

The absence of all of you,

Trails --

A pearly vapour

Suffusing Thanksgiving.

Our stories disconnect,

Yet persist, suggest

Marvellous light,

Not our own, divine.

I decided to spend Thanksgiving Day in solitude and prayer, away from the celebratory hubbub that always delighted me. I longed to step into a new season of walking in God's marvellous light, and glimpse (or see with eyes of faith) the outlines of a path out from my long transition. I missed my absent best friends with whom I'd celebrated Thanksgiving and served God in our church-plant these amazing years till last December.

I believe my prayer is being answered in the heavenlies. Meanwhile, one overnight fruit (yes, 24 hrs!) of my quiet day was this poem. I'd not written for such a long time, and I thank Jinsook who sweetly, insistently, unabashedly reminded me to write, week after week. She must be one of those people who know how to knock on Heaven's door. : )

I really want to write again. Not indulgently like in my college years, but maybe to flip open a few more windows in this vast online space to God's glory.