Friday, August 22, 2008
Amazing sisters and brothers each day, encouraging me, catching their passion, flame, fervour for life, for others... choosing to respond positvely ; not react. Sabrina "you steal christian people's book I pray for you! Pray that God will bless you, touch your life! Padan muka steal christian people's book!" Lost and Found, lets Celebrate! :-0 Christy Never failing encouragement and time, hearing me out, sharing and walking with me in life...notes+lunches+conversations =] Eunice Amazing sister, amazing heart for God, burden for others... See work Divine done in you each day, strong foundation strong heart new generation anointed birthed... Angeline thanks for the immense blessing in our short period of friendship and sisterhood...encouragement+sharing cg+blessings you're an amazing sister you'll do well in Manchester Uni, I know God goes with you, goes before you... :) Friends Sook, CS and others lame jokes+food+notes=D 3 musketeers Nicholas baby my deawie awwshum :') thanks for being my shining bright star :] you'll forever be my baby...
And many more...
I am blessed...
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend’s house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.
The Moores framed a copy of Brian’s essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. ‘I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it,’ Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son’s vision of life after death. ‘I’m happy for Brian. I know he’s in heaven. I know I’ll see him.’
Brian’s Essay: The Room…
In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read ‘Girls I have liked.’ I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.
This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn’t match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.
A file named ‘Friends’ was next to one marked ‘Friends I have betrayed.’ The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird ‘Books I Have Read,’ ‘Lies I Have Told,’ ‘Comfort I have Given,’ ‘Jokes I Have Laughed at .’ Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: ‘Things I’ve yelled at my brothers.’ Others I couldn’t laugh at: ‘Things I Have Done in My Anger’, ‘Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents.’ I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.
Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature.
When I pulled out the file marked ‘TV Shows I have watched’, I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn’t found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.
When I came to a file marked ‘Lustful Thoughts,’ I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.
I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!’ In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn’t matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.
Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.
And then I saw it.. The title bore ‘People I Have Shared the Gospel With.’ The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.
And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt. They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.
No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn’t bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.
He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn’t anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn’t say a word. He just cried with me.
Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. ‘No!’ I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was ‘No, no,’ as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn’t be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side.
He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, ‘It is finished.’ I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’-John 3:16. ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. ‘-Phil. 4:13. If you feel the same way, forward it so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My ‘People I shared the gospel with’ file just got bigger, how about yours?
Was web/blog browsing tonight...(this is from taylor's cf pj http://taylorscf.blogspot.com/ )came across this ever so touching, so challenging article. I can't say I felt entirely comfortable reading it, reflecting myself, my life. And yet there is grace. Grace. Grace so amazing, it covers me. Grace so unbelievable ,it humbles me. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound ; that saved a wretch like me ; I once was lost , but now am found, was blind,but now I see. No, unlike what my mom commented when she heard me humming the song, it is NOT a funeral song. It is a song that speaks of live, of grace, of Life, and Life Eternal by Jesus alone.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
I will always be right here, Wiping away your tears;
I'm here to give a hug,*hugz
Then followed by a smuck *muax
I love to see my baby's smile
Above many things I'd do in life, it's just the most worthwhile
I put my arms around and hold my baby close
Any girl I'd rather be with? I love my baby the most
Studying medicine in IMU, I know that's kinda hard
But I known my baby for so long, she's just so strong and smart
Who say? who say? baby asked, I added she's even good at art
Even though we're far apart, I'll be always in your heart
Nick Chew, 8/8/08. Posted with permission
moments to treasure, moments where I wish times could stop...
Friday, August 15, 2008
A visit to the cake shop... they even have "bom cake" there *points to the half round one "mee sua", so that you panjang umur like the panjang panjang mee
The fella, my very good sense of humour brother...
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
And less than a year ago, we took this picture... it will always remain as one of my favouritest-favourite picture, a few people even called it our "wedding photo"...
Missing you lots. Wish you were here by my side.
I love you.And Life is a road and I want to keep going
Love is a river I want to keep flowing
Life is a road now and forever
A Wonderful journey
I'll be there when the world stops turning
I'll be there when the storm is through
In the end I wanna be standing
At the beginning with you
Saturday, August 9, 2008
The joy and pleasure of cooking one's dinner... you can cook whatever "rojak" u want, experiment...me like :)Variety that gives meaning and joy in life...
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Been thinking alot. Well, a little. Many things, many triggers, many thoughts. How much I don't know what to expect in life. Many responsibilities which I take seriously, and feel a little like an acrobat, juggling the balls, only diference is trying to find a balance. Not easy and strength is limited. Looking at my messed up table, books, mostly notes and many other things strewn across, I can't help but shake my head at my disorganizement (if there is such a word).
The workload, the stuffs that comes along with living as a sem 2 student and more are no joke. many a times, I gotta just keep moving, just push myself to not give up. Routine, routine not...I dun noe.
And yet, looking at people on the streets, how they really can sing "You are my everything" as compared to us. They have no families, no home, no nothing... the little they have is their clothes on their backs, and a plastic bag with all their belongings. Some rummage bins for survival , all walk aimlessly , just finding a place for them to rest their heads at night... the streets become their home, the five foot alleys and deserted backlanes are their resting beds. and even they are robbed. They can truly sing with their hearts...but us? When we sing "You are my everything", we have more than enough food, bedding, clothes, shelter, houseload and trucks even of things... its not wrong, its good to be off the streets...but does all these call us to strive for more? in the society today, "enough" isn't enough. more. then unethical ways are used to obtain more, the more that people do not need.
Our life can be also described as a boat on the surface of the sea. When the waves are strong, current is pushing ,the boat moves forward so much, the next day it'll end up miles and miles away. if the place is calm, cool,the boat floats...there is no progress. and yet, who doesnt prefer the gentle wind that doesnt move? who likes storms and tsunamical waves? Its so easy to be peaceful, and to come to a standstill... But what if you know that rocking the boat is the only way to move forward? And you want to move forward, yet you think about the consequences but are afraid?
Microbio, pathp, immuno... I'm stuck now. Shall see how it goes.