Ordinary Things

I'm thankful for chance meetings with friends, sitting in the Mezz Bar, chatting an hour away, feeling all the poison of the soul drain away in the antidote of each other's company.

I'm thankful for the long hours spent in the library, sitting down at a desktop while people drift in and out like when I fast-forward a bit of a movie. And soon the fast-forwarding ends and it's time to go back and try to drag out each minute when I'm doing something I really like.

I'm amused when sales people come up to me trying to pitch some hair salon or other with an 85% discount on £350 because I look like the kind who would care that much about myself.

I laugh when I read in a journal about "genetic devices" and the author wonders on paper whether such an expression is admissible.

I'm thankful for ordinary days, routines, thankful for things I become used to. I'm thankful for familiar conversations, familiar faces, for care and concern which hide beneath familiar cliches:

"I see friends shaking hands, saying, 'how do you do? They're really saying, 'I, I love you..."

And even though I groan when I look at the sky o'mornings, I'm thankful for the snow that falls without fail every day, and I'm starting to notice minute differences in the way snow falls and can understand how the Eskimos can have more than a hundred different words for snow.

I'm glad for friends who come and go, because even after they go, they leave something behind in my soul and life is so much richer for having known them, even if only for that short period of time.

I'm thankful for friendships, and I'm thankful that it's always possible to pull up roots and root yourself in another place. I'm thankful for the closeness and warmth of friendships I have, and glad that none of us are afraid to give our all to the other, regardless of impending separation in the future.

I'm thankful for new people I meet, learning from them; knowing that every single person has something to give.

I am glad for sleep, that I can sink down in my bed and dream dreams, and know that even when dreams seem too good to be true, realities can be even better.

I am glad for stress, thankful that there are things I have to do, things to carry out; because I know that I am doing something with my life, and because I have a reason to wake up everyday. I am thankful for all these things, because when they get done I will heave a sigh of satisfaction and see the fruit of my labour.

I am glad for every single ordinary thing about the life I'm living. For when something we take for granted goes missing, we realise that its impact on our lives was actually extraordinary; because every ordinary thing that goes leaves an extraordinary sense of loss.

And I am thankful for being myself and thankful for this life I've been given to live.

No Time To Waste

In Secondary School I had a classmate I'll call Amy, who was tall and pretty and in the basketball team. She wasn't popular with us because she had a habit of talking only about herself, and because she just didn't seem interested in our lives. She never did her work and always got thrown out of class, and she had one boyfriend after another outside of school. Even the teachers disliked her, and she was classed as a "hopeless" person, one who would never change.

She wrote well. Her stories were always slightly morbid, about girls who cut themselves after fights with their mothers, about broken relationships, about twisted things. She wrote poetry. Transparent poetry. I remember one of her poems, "i dont ask for any advice. all i ask for is a listening ear."

She was Catholic and I remember having frequent friendly debates with her over my faith and hers.

Her parents were separated and she frequently hung out after school shooting hoops in the basketball court.

She didn't do well for her O-levels. We never saw her after secondary school, she didn't come back to get her O-level results. She was brilliant, but somehow never put her potential to its fullest use.

In Junior College word trickled through the grapevine that she had sold photographs of herself to a pornography site and one of my classmates told me to call her. "You're the only one who can talk to her," he said.

And I couldn't, I thought. I wasn't close to her; true, I had been nice to her in school but we had never been good friends, I wouldn't have the words to say, etc. And I didn't call, someone else would, I thought; there's always someone else to do anything.

A year later I got a call from an old classmate of mine saying that Amy was dead. We went to her home and there she was, eyes closed, face swollen and garish makeup painted on by the undertaker, killed from a fall no-one knew was intentional or accidental. She was gone. She would never play basketball again, never write a poem again. Never ask for a listening ear.

Because there's only one life, and once it's gone, you have nothing. No other chance to be alive, no other chance to do the things you used to.

And there's no time to waste because the friends you have around you won't be around for long. You have to seize every hour, every minute, every second, to show them you care, to build up relationships, to give something of yourself to other people, because - why are we doing the things we do? What are we aiming for in life? We want to leave a legacy.

And my mistake of not caring for that one person needing me so much at that instant cost a life. Help me not to live in regret... help me to continue praying and being a friend to those who need someone just to listen.

I've been thinking about this because a dear life has been taken back recently, and I wish that we had had greater fellowship. I wish that I had overcome my shyness and had talked more to her, I wish that I had encouraged her more, I wish that I had struggled more in prayer for her.

And life goes on, friends around me still laugh and joke and everything carries on as per normal, and that's what makes me a little wistful; only the few will remember you as a burning brand imprinted on their hearts, and the many will just remember you as a dear name. And the majority will not care at all, save a few sighs and regrets. And in the end, if life is so short, what's the point of living our lives for the smaller goals, for our own petty purposes? Would it not be better to look in the perspective of eternity, and focus on what is really important?

Will I not treasure the people around me more dearly, will I not make more effort to show I care, will I not agonise more in prayer, if I realise that there's no time to waste, that all our lives we're searching for fulfillment, for legacy, and this can only be found in knowing God's purpose for your life? There's no time to waste because one day we are going to have to give an account to God. What we have done with our lives. And you know, deep in your heart, that if you do not know the One who created you, then there is really nothing worth living for.

If you want to know more, please click here...

O, that all of us would find the greater purpose, would seize every day with such urgency, and set our hearts on the important and eternal.

Misadventures Along The Warm Route

There's a covered route that runs along our university from the Roger Stevens lecture theatre to the library and also to the Bragg cluster and the Geology department. It's called the Red Route because it's painted red. It's very convenient for students who want to get from one part of the university to another in a hurry.

I walk to my lectures everyday by what I call the Warm Route.

It's only half a minute from my hall to the Warm Route. I manage to get onto the Warm Route by entering the Geology department, which starts on the 8th floor, take the lift up to the 10th floor, and then go out of the Geology department and get onto the Red Route, from which I can go to lectures or to the library or to the computer cluster.

I was halfway through completing the Warm Route, waiting for the lift in the Geology Department, when an old, stooped man shuffled next to me. We looked at each other and smiled and then we looked away; me at the staircase, him at the ceiling. Saw Jason, one of my hallmates, coming down the stairs, and said "hi" just as the old man said, "Which level are you aiming for then?"

"Ten", I said.

"Oh, me too," and we nodded at each other in mutual recognition of our selecting the same level to get out on.

The lift came and we both got in together, and he pressed "10" with trembling fingers a few times before the light came on on the button. Was embarrassed to reach out and press it because I didn't want to make him embarrassed too.

The lift rose and he looked at me and hummed, then looked at the lift buttons and hummed. I smiled, wondering if he was a professor.

We both got out at the tenth floor when the lift stopped, and I walked out through the Geology exit onto the Red Route when I passed a familiar-looking old man. Did a double take when I realised it was the same one who had been in the lift with me. Wondering why we'd been going in opposite directions I realised that he'd taken the nearer Geology exit and as a result I was bumping into him again.

It was one of those incidents which makes everything seem slightly surreal, and so on that note I walked to lectures thinking that I would write it down, and thinking of an adjective to describe the whole thing and how it seemed to me at that time.

And I found it. Whimsical. That was it. Whimsical.

Of Snow. and him. and Him.

The snow was falling thick and fast yesterday as I walked back from the Bragg cluster and the whole world was blanketed in white. When I got back to halls some of them were embroiled in a snow fight and David yelled "Ruth!" and ran toward me, so I quickly ran in to avoid getting another soaking! Had already gotten very soaked earlier by Davis and the rest who for some strange reason went mad at the sight of all that good lovely snow piled on the hoods of cars going to waste by not being thrown at someone else. Ahaha.

I hung my jeans to dry and sat down looking out of the huge window in front of my desk at all the loveliness - the snow coming down and the dim yellow street lamps misty in the icy cold. And everything was so beautiful that I felt sad.

Sometime long ago in my childhood something so sad happened that it was almost funny and I talked about that with my brother before. Some things can be so sad that they're funny, and now I know that some things can be so beautiful that their very loveliness causes a pain inside.

It was past midnight, just the right time for calling home (eight in the morning), and I called and told my dad about the snow, about ice-skating, about everything. And he was most sympathetic, and funny, and practical, as he always is. He gave me the best advice - to stop worrying, because a worrier cannot do the Lord's work. Worry isn't a good thing; we have to learn to let whatever it is go and commit it to God in prayer. Prayer is surrendering control to God, and acknowledging that He can work in people's hearts.

Concerning the future and direction I was looking for, my dad said something so pithy and simple and yet profound I was just blown over by it. He said that I should commit all my desires to the Lord and trust that He would do His will in my life because my life was committed to Him. Because if something was the Lord's will, nothing could go against His will being accomplished and carried out; and if something wasn't His will, why then nothing could force His Hand otherwise. And His will would be the best way, and the best years of my life would be those lived under His will, and the most abundant life would be that lived in His purpose.

So a little less burdened I fell into a quiet sleep that night and this morning told my Father, too, about all that was on my heart. And talking to him and Him helped so much; because he gave sound humourous advice and the best listening ear, and because He did all that and He is more - He is in control over everything.

Thoughts

Went ice-skating tonight and although I fell so many times, the snow and the people whirling around me worked their magic and I tried to look up and focus on the snow and slip and slide my way around the circle. Reminded me of the days roller-blading on East Coast Beach, only much more slippery and much colder and less comfortable! However, I had a good time.

It was our first time, Sunny and I, and I was so impressed watching Sunny slide her way around the ice. She was unsteady on her feet but kept at it for two hours and by the end I thought she was really good for a beginner. I saw a determination in her I really admired. And she was smiling and enjoying herself so much even though she was imbalanced and would fall at times. She was so happy. And I was so blessed, just by being her friend.

This past week has been rather tough, and the days ahead look set to be tough as well. Work is piling up and there are so many things to do. Emotions threaten to overwhelm at times. Situations don't work out the way I want them to, and people won't behave the way I want them to. The waves seem to be crowding in thick and fast...

But nothing is under my control, and I am truly helpless. All I can do is look to You for help and direction and guidance. Capture me with Your grace.

The Sky Pilot

Snow is beautiful because it isn't static. It is always dynamic, always moving, always changing the landscape, always alive. It makes the world look like it's constantly shifting and you have to peer between a moving curtain of snowflakes to see buildings normally ugly, metallic, become alluring and attractive once they're coated with a coat of snow.

Yeah from the above paragraph you can probably tell it's snowing now, and that I'm in a "poetic" fit (which has led to much inane doggeral in previous entries).

Snow reminds me that the great Sky Pilot is so alive. Not just alive as in He exists, but alive in the fact that He's always active and in control, I think. He sings* "He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing".He dances*- "He will dance with shouts of joy for you as on the day of a festival". He moves and He acts** - "And God will wipe the tears from every face. He will remove every sign of disgrace from His people, wherever they are".

And I think that He's constantly on the move, and He delights in seeing things dance and move and become better and sing His praises with no words or music but just by their loveliness and reflection of who He is. I think that may have been why He made the seasons, where the trees bud and then the leaves change from green to red and gold and brown and drift gently down the trees in a constant stream of confetti; I think that may have been why He made the sky with its ever-changing colours and the clouds moving across it in an endless variety of shapes and symbols, I think that may have been why He made the wind with its lovely song and invisible form and eternal, unrelieved journey.

And I think that may have been why He made snow.


*Zephaniah 3:17
**Isaiah 25: 8

I Want To Be Bald*

Some want to be the loyal dog with eyes of strong devotion
some want to be the cat, with sly feline seduction.
Some say they like the eagle, as it with piercing eyes
spies and traps the field mouse, with loud victorious cries.

Some say they want to be a monkey full of jokes and fun
some want to be a sloth asleep in coat of comfy dun
But I, who am a lady, and as everyone as some
I want to be a little worm a-snuggled in a lump.

I think the worm is humble, and he's much overlooked.
He crawls along the ground all day with faeces as his food.
He makes the soil good soil for the crops and flowers to grow,
his arms are nonexistent but their extent I cannot show.

He has no hair, he's proudly bald and cares not for his face
And yet his beauty shines through in his slender quiet grace.
His silence, and his diligence, and contentment with his lot
Are qualities which were often over many decades fought.

He wriggles funnily sometimes, he's not devoid of humour
And cares naught for the "early bird" sort of terrifying rumour
He loves his gentle life which each day may bring to end
And lives it, giving all, treating all as welcome friend.

I want to be the humble worm, who trodden on w'out mercy
Makes no protest or upcry but lies broken on the ground.
I want to be like him, who despised and lowly treated
Immobolised and helpless still clings on without a sound.

O lovely worm, as you lie there, do you in quiet faith know
That someday for your cursed life more lives will breathe and grow
O fragment of a bruised existence do you ever feel the pain
of the crushing, of the suffering, that brings to life again?

My balding friend, I think he knows, that just an hour later
His two split halves will walk away, life not one whit abated.
He cannot grin, he has no eyes, he crawls away again.
And when he comes of length must he another time face pain.

But I know, like the placid worm, that I am helping in the garden
Of thorny soils, of rocky soils, I am the unseen warden
And though the way to multiply is sorrowful and long
I must content and faithful be to work among the pong.

*crap

Susana's Birthday

Hiding in front of her house with the cake we waited breathlessly for Clarissa to come back and open the door for us so that we could hide in Susana's room and spring out to surprise her.

The lights were all off and our lightsticks (a.k.a. mobile phones) were lit and ready. "Shall we sing 'Happy Birthday' or 'Oh Susanna'?" I said and Andrew giggled.

A moment of great shock and anguish when Clarissa got a phone call saying that Susana had gone to the computer clusters and we clutched each other wondering what to do with Clarissa lamenting in her pretty Brazilian accent.

And as we were holding each other the object of our grief came in unconsciously and stood framed in the doorway for a moment.

We recovered ourselves and shooed her out frantically, switched off the lights and sang happy birthday when she entered again.

And Brazilian music was playing in the background with those beautiful beats and everyone was sitting around chatting in perfect harmony.

Taiwan, Singapore, Brazil, China, Malaysia, Indonesia, all happily nattering away as though there weren't any differences between us.

It was a beautiful time, one of those moments I wish I could freeze and look back on, over and over again, and the only way I can do that is by writing it all down here.

And ending the night with prayer for Susana and hopes of going to Brazil on our repective honeymoons.

Thank You, that even though we're so different we can have so much to talk about and so much in common. Thank You for the unity in everyone's hearts, and thank You that each of us has a part to play.

Slivers of Time

I freeze perfect moments in my mind
And sometimes in quiet live them over and over again
Like watching a video I slip into the past vicariously
There are too many moments like these now
And I fear that I cling on to things substanceless
They disappear, they evaporate, with the ticking of a second they are gone.

As the second hand moves I comfort myself
With the thought that no one else has ever done what I'm doing now
No one else has ever been who I am
No one else can be right in my place right at that moment
And yet it is relentless, this second hand
The time it ticks off is moved away in little slivers
But soon the little slivers add up to a quarter, a third, a whole.

I wish perfect moments could be
the little slivers adding up to a whole of my life
But maybe the bitterest chunks of living
Will cause me to savour perfection more.
And maybe, just maybe
this bitterness is but a part of perfection.

Only One Thing

This morning I woke up after a series of disturbing dreams, and showered still in a daze, came out of the shower and put this song* on repeat:

What can take a dying man,
raise him up to life again?
What can heal a wounded soul?
What can make us white as snow?
What can fill the emptiness?
What can mend our brokenness...brokenness?

Mighty, awesome, wonderful
Is the holy cross
Where the Lamb laid down His life
To lift us from the fall...
Mighty is
the power of the cross.

What restores our faith in God?
What reveals the Father's love?
What can lead the wayward home?
What can melt a heart of stone?
What can free the guilty ones?
What can save and overcome...overcome?

It's still a miracle to me
It's still a mystery
It's still a miracle to me
The power of God
For those who believe.

I told Him everything then... my envy, my strife, my competition, my pride, everything about myself and the kind of person I was. And it was a relief to ask for His forgiveness, knowing that He would change me and help me to obey Him. Even though I've enjoyed myself the last few weeks, had friends up, was going out to eat almost everyday, had everything I could ever want or ask for, nothing can compare to talking to Him, and knowing Him.

Even if it should bring me great sorrow or suffering, I do want to follow Him. Because I have found the greatest treasure in all the world, and there is only one thing I ask - that I may dwell in His courts all the days of my life, and gaze upon His beauty.

I think I can say with Solomon that I have tasted pleasure and that it is meaningless and empty. And if you want to find out more, you can read on:

"I said to myself, come now, let's give pleasure a try. Let's look for the good things in life. But I found that this, too, was meaningless. 'It is silly to be laughing all the time', I said. 'What good does it do to seek only pleasure?' After much thought, I decided to cheer myself with wine. While still seeking wisdom, I clutched at foolishness. In this way, I hoped to experience the only happiness most people find during their brief time in the world.

I also tried to find meaning by building huge homes for myself and by planting beautiful vineyards. I made gardens and parks, filling them with all kinds of fruit trees. I built reservoirs to collect the water to irrigate my many flourishing groves. I bought slaves, both men and women, and others were born into my household. I also owned great herds and flocks, more than any of the kings who lived before me. I collected great sums of silver and gold, the treasure of many kings and provinces. I hired wonderful singers, both men and women, and had many beautiful concubines. I had everything a man could desire!

...Anything I wanted, I took. I did not restrain myself from any joy. I even found great pleasure in hard work, an additional reward for all my labours. But as I looked at everything I had worked so hard to achieve, it was all so meaningless. It was like chasing the wind. There was really nothing worthwhile anywhere."1

Wine - symbolising unrestrained pleasure, silver and gold - symbolising wealth and possesions, singers - symbolising art and music, and concubines - symbolising love and sexual pleasure, afforded Solomon no satisfaction, nor can it afford me any satisfaction, although none of these are wrong in themselves in their proper context and used wisely. However, in the end, the only conclusion one can come to is this:

"Don't let the excitement of youth cause you to forget your Creator. Honour him in your youth before you grow too old and don't enjoy living. It will be too late then to remember him, when the light of the sun and moon and stars is dim to your old eyes, and there is no silver lining left among the clouds. Your limbs will tremble with age, and your strong legs will grow weak. Your teeth will be too few to do their work, and you will be blind, too. And when your teeth are gone, keep your lips tightly closed when you eat! (I see Solomon has a sense of humour) Even the chirping of birds will wake you up. But you yourself will be deaf and tuneless, with a quavering voice. You will be afraid of heights and of falling, white-haired and withered, dragging along without any sexual desire. You will be standing at death's door. And as you near your everlasting home, the mourners will walk along the streets.

Yes, remember your Creator now while you are young, before the silver cord of life snaps and the golden bowl is broken. Don't wait until the water jar is smashed at the spring and the pulley is broken at the well. For then the dust will return to the earth, and the spirit will return to God who gave it."2

And again, many centuries later, Paul echoed this line of thought when he said,

"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ - the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith.

I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.

Not that I have already attained this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. "3

I hope that one day you too may realise that there is no better thing, and I hope that all of us may press on - press on.

* Mighty Is the Power of the Cross by Chris Tomlin
1 Ecclesiastes 2 : 1 - 11
2 Ecclesiastes 12 : 1 - 7
3 Philippians 3 : 7 - 14

Cosi Fan Tutte

I've been feeling a little cranky lately. Nothing serious, but I hope that the mood swings will go away soon. Cosi Fan Tutte, but I would like to be an extraordinary woman.

The crocuses are out and some of the daffodils are out. And tonight while walking home en route from Parkinson's steps to the library the sky was glittering with stars. It was such a clear night and so beautiful. Perhaps I've been feeling discontent in my heart recently. But just looking up at the stars I think to myself, if God really does have a plan for my life then it's enough to just do my best and trust Him, and there's really nothing to get upset or worried about; all things small and big are in His hands. Even though I feel I am so imperfect sometimes, I have just to leave myself in His hands...

Last Friday I went to Fruity again, and the tallest and hunkiest guy (I thought) in there was somewhere near me. We smiled at each other a few times, and he came up and said, "I never thought I would say this, but you must be the most attractive girl here."

I knew it was a line. I really knew it but how needy a human being can be sometimes. I didn't believe what he said, and yet I wanted to. Said thank you and we danced a little together. But I didn't like that we hadn't said more than 10 words to each other, I didn't like that he knew nothing of the sort of person I was and I didn't know anything about him except that he was studying aviation and his good looks. And I didn't like the way he was smiling, and I didn't like many things about the situation I was in.

And I said, "I'm sorry but I have to go to the loo" and went out and gathered my thoughts for a bit, and came back in when everyone decided to leave.

So nothing happened and that was good. There was a time sometime ago when I wouldn't have had the will or strength to walk away, I think, but somehow I just couldn't continue dancing with him then. Something just made me walk away, but walking away was painful too. I can't explain it. It's like doing what you know is best for yourself even though you don't enjoy it, like how I eat a banana everyday for my digestion even though I don't like it.

There isn't any black-and-white about the situation. It's perfectly clear. You go out to clubs and enjoy the music, and whatever guys come up to you, well, you know that it's perfectly clear that it's all based on superficial attraction. Unless you can carry on a proper conversation with them, I seriously see no good that can come out of these kinds of situations...

And the only thing that can help you to walk away is knowing that God has something far, far better. Even if the "better" turns out to be harder, longer, even if it's something you have to wait for, cry about, trust Him for, give up, leave behind. No turning back, no compromise, no idolising; but obedience, trust, and surrender.

Beautiful

In His time,
In His time.
He makes all things beautiful
In His time...
Lord, please show me everyday
As you're teaching me your way
That you do just what you say
In Your time.

In Your time,
In Your time.
You make all things beautiful
In Your time...
Lord, my life to you I bring
May each song I have to sing
Be to you a lovely thing
In your time.

This was my favourite Sunday School songs which always brought tears to my eyes as a little kid, and we always used to sing this song after:

Beautiful, Beautiful
Jesus makes beautiful
Jesus makes beautiful
The things of my life
touching me, changing me
causing my eyes to see
Jesus makes beautiful
the things of my life.

Everyday when I look in the mirror I always remember that He makes all things beautiful in His time so I won't despair : )

And when everything in my life seems so ugly and worthless, why I know that He will change me and give me a tender heart for my heart of stone. And He will beautify, and I will continue on trusting in His perfect timing.

A Little Bit Rambly And Preachy

I have been trying to start another blog to address questions and issues we all think about, but haven't gotten down to it yet. Argh...

Started today in a bad mood because I was very indisciplined last night. Even while talking to a friend about the seven sins mentioned in Proverbs I realise that I have them all and especially I am so lazy! Yesterday I don't know what came over me and I got out two DVDs from the library and watched them all in one go! Chocolat and Romeo + Juliet. Both were really good but it was an overdose of indulgence really. As a result I felt horrible and hungover and headachy this morning.

Chocolat was interesting. It was about indulging yourself rather than denying yourself pleasure. A staid, traditional Catholic village is turned upside down when a pretty atheist woman turns up selling almost magically delicious chocolates. Little by little the villagers learn to give in to their own desires and do what's good for them rather than what the mayor says. In the end, the mayor also succumbs to the chocolate and becomes a better and humbler and more human man.

It was funny watching it because I liked it and understood and appreciated it, from the worldly point of view, but I could also see things from a Christian point of view. To everyone else it seems strange to deny yourself and to do what isn't natural to do; and it seems so restrictive and altogether frigid and unaccepting and humourless and narrow. I think, though, that it is the better way.

To let go always means making room for something better. I think that there's always a perfect and correct plan for each of us. Following your natural desires makes you a slave to them at times. Of course I'm not saying that we should not eat or that we should cut ourselves with knives. However freedom isn't just doing what you want, and freedom isn't being enslaved and consumed by what you want. Freedom is unrestriction in perfection, and the perfection can only come about by knowing God's plan.

Alot of people may think that the Christian God just pounces on things we don't want to do and says, "Do that. Sacrifice your son Isaac. Give up your life. Deny yourself, leave your loved ones, and follow me." It is true, He does ask us to sacrifice and there is a cost involved in following Him. But this is the better way, because to know Him is the greatest purpose and the greatest thing we can ever be called to do or fulfill.

I guess we just have to correct our views on God. He wants all the best for us and we have to believe that. We're all looking for fulfillment in life. But however free you think you are, you aren't free if -

"What I do not want to do I do, but what I hate I do... For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do, this I keep on doing."

Yet God has a better way for us. Life abundant is available and free. Sorry, I didn't mean to preach, so I will write about it in the other blog and you can read it if you want and if you're interested.

I hope for freedom in my own life, too, greater freedom from things I possess and want, til in the end there is only one thing that compels me, one thing that enslaves me - love.

If I am out of my mind, it is for the sake of God; if I am in my right mind, it is for you. For Christ's love compels me, because I am convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again.

DON'T complain, criticise, condemn

Events of the past few days have led me to wonder where the fine line is between gossip and being concerned for other people, revealing private information about your friends' friends and making light entertaining conversation, genuinely loving people and being nosy and judgemental. No doubt, examining my private life, I have been guilty of the worst of all three. Perhaps I need to watch what I say more closely.

I remember as a little kid when I used to be babysat by my aunt, I always used to play around my cousin's bed which had a number of stickers and quotes stuck on it and one of them, a bright yellow sticker, said in huge blue letters, "Don't Complain, Criticise, Condemn." As a little child I had no idea what any of these words meant but I liked it and memorised it because of the alliteration (fine kid!). Really "hope and expect" that this will be the kind of person I will become.

When Paul said, "I eagerly hope and expect that I will in no way be ashamed, but that Christ will be glorified in my body whether by life or by death", I was glad and encouraged to read that. For he didn't know, nor was he certain, but he only had hope and expectation. I often wonder whether one day if or when someone holds a gun to my head and says in a foreign tongue, "orrrguuhg nfeuyy arrrrrghhhuuuu Christ?" (translation - do you believe in Christ?) I will have the guts to say "Yes". But I hope and expect, too, that Christ will be glorified in my body whether by life or by death, and even though I'm not certain, I know that I don't really have to worry about the future if I walk with Him now.

Along the lines of "Don't complain, criticise, condemn", Daniel said something yesterday which struck me alot, and that was something from one of John Maxwell's books about leadership. He said that making a list of all the things you didn't want to do, and then doing them, was leadership. I don't know whether that really is leadership; I have my doubts about that kind of definition, but I do know that doing things you don't like (in moderation) builds character and discipline. And that's good.

So since then I've been trying to do more things I don't like, but I don't think I've done enough of them yet. So here is a small list of things I'll try to do.

1. Pray for blessings for people I don't like/ am annoyed with
2. Go out with my friend's friends
3. Talk to people I am unfamiliar with (in halls or in church)
4. Do more work in the library
5. Run errands for people if they ask me to.

Yeah... sorry if this is rambly or boring or preachy. I guess you must be used to it by now, anyway, if you're still reading this blog. Anyway, am off to the gym now with Katie. If the cycling machine doesn't crack under my weight, it should end up being a productive time.

Chinese New Year

It's Chinese New Year today.

Woke up early in the morning to a phone call from my dad and talked to all the members of my family one by one. Told my mum about the sugar-fried rice and she cackled loudly (my mum is the person I get my cackle from!) Was very, very touched and glad that I'd managed to talk to them first thing in the morning. When they hung up, the tears just came because I was so touched and because I really missed them then.

It's Chinese New Year today and people back home are gathering for reunion dinners and wearing new clothes. My dad and mum are sleeping soundly after a full day of cooking and fellowship and fun and laughter and my brother and sister-in-law are probably watching a movie together at home or listening to him play his Steinway. My cousin is awake feeding her little baby and my friends are comparing what they got in their red packets.

It's Chinese New Year today and I'm dressed in white, not red. I've not received any ang pows this year. I'm not with my family, and I've not had jellyfish or sea slug or chicken feet or black fungus or any of the (disgusting?) exotic things the Chinese eat on New Year's Day, and I've not heard any Chinese songs on the streets which are not decorated in red. I've not had any mandarin oranges nor offered anybody any, and there isn't an upside-down "fu" on my door.

I have spent this day with my dearest friends, though, and we had Charco's chicken (a real rip-off of Nandos!) Instead of Chinese music, we were subjected to Portuguese (possibly Indian?) music, and instead of jellyfish or sea slug or chicken feet or black fungus or any of the (disgusting?) exotic things the Chinese eat on New Year's day, we had chicken and after that chocolate cake and ice-cream. Instead of giving each other mandarin oranges and asking for ang pows we shared and joked and laughed and enjoyed each other's company. And even though I may not have had a very traditional Chinese New Year, I can't imagine a better one really - a quiet one spent with my Leeds family.

It's Chinese New Year today and after typing out this blog, I'm going to walk home jeans dragging in the streets shining with rain and hair damp in the drizzle. I'm going to tidy up my room to Chris' CD and watch Casablanca on my laptop while my dad and mum stir from their sleep and get ready for another new day. And as my dad puts the kettle on and makes the sandwiches, I'll brush my teeth and sit on my bed and think about my day.

And as I finally close my diary to Satie's Gymnopedies and open the curtains so that the sunlight will wake me up and snuggle down under the quilt, my dad sits down in the early morning light to write out his sermon for Sunday and my mum stands in front of the classroom "moulding the future of our nation" :oP

It's Chinese New Year - and on the other side of the world, it's already over; but I'm thinking of you and I hope you all had a meaningful one.

Fried Rice Escapades and other Stories

Was at Andrew's place making fried rice for the gathering yesterday, and because it was late at night and I was tired, was frying the rice in batches of three cups per batch and using all his condiments (fine word!) without really knowing what they were. So I was on the phone with Julee, having already seasoned two batches of eggs and rice with a fine white powder in a little blue container that looked for all the world like very innocent salt.

I'd tasted the first two batches and wondered why they seemed a little sweet, and I thought to myself that the five-spice powder I'd been using was very strong or that I'd used too much of it, and that it'd made the rice sweet. I was pretty amazed at the efficacy of the five-spice powder.

So half-onthephonewithJulee and half-stirringtherice I suddenly got it into my head to smell the "salt" and realised that it didn't smell anything like salt at all. It smelt, in fact, like sugar.

And then I burst into loud cackles and told Julee that the first two batches of egg and rice were seasoned with sugar. We didn't breathe a word to the rest of the people who ate it though, except Sunny, Jean, Daniel, Andrew, and Katie... oops... that's alot of people isn't it?

This is the kind of thing you only read about in books but which happens to me on a regular basis.

Amazing Grace

I went to watch an opera yesterday with Katie. It was performed by Opera North at the Grand Theatre (a lovely old theatre tucked away in a dodgy alley) and we only paid £5 to see it because of the student rates for Opera North perfomances! We were sitting right in the middle of the theatre and could even see the orchestra pit! It was marvellous marvellous marvellous and Katie's cherry drops were marvellous and Ninetta's voice was indescribable.

It was called "The Thieving Magpie", and was about a woman sentenced to death for stealing when the culprit was actually a magpie. There were a couple of funny lines, one about wine: "Even the milk from his mother's nipple can't compare" - repeated and tossed around by various singers vibrato, tremolo and goodness knows what else - and another one, when Ninetta was trying to ward off a suitor - "I hate you, I abhor you, you disgust me!" - only when sung it sounded more like "Oooiiiiiii hate yoooooooooou, I abhorrrrrrr yoooooouuuuuu, yoooooooouuu disGUST me!"; they made Katie and I glance sideways at each other and smile.

Yesterday, though, I felt as though I'd wasted alot of time. After I got back I tried to get some journals out from the library but the maze of shelves lost me entirely and I was half-afraid, it being close to midnight, that the shelves would suddenly close and smash me like a little invertebrate in between. I couldn't find what I was looking for so I went home and did my laundry until 3 in the morning, while watching Shakespeare in Love, so I went to sleep with my head all muggy and unclear and woke up feeling horrible and unfocussed at 9 today.

I felt horrible all the way to uni, and then went in to the Maths department to get my results (Biology ones haven't come out yet). As I walked down towards the room of doom, I remembered that painful week of exams, that one night where I'd felt I'd been in the valley of the shadow of death, how I hadn't eaten anything until my exam ended at 5 on two days, how after one particular exam I'd had the sinking feeling that I would fail, how the night before that exam I'd hardly slept and cried every half an hour and had felt so alone. How I'd walked those days entirely in God's strength, because if I'd relied on my own strength I would have collapsed long ago. How it had been a very dark week for me.

Opened the envelope expecting to see barely passing marks, but instead I saw impossibly good marks and the reality sank in that I'd done well. The past year had been full of downs and my results had suffered, but now, for the first time, I was doing well again. And for the module I hadn't understood and thought I'd fail, I'd passed with a good mark. Thinking back, I knew that I hadn't written anything of myself worth getting such marks for! I remember thinking after that paper that I'd written a load of rubbish. But He who had turned the water into wine had done it again. How, I didn't know, but I knew that He had done it.

As I walked up the stairs I was so overwhelmed with a sense of God's grace. I hadn't studied enough, I'd tried to predict which questions would come out, I'd studied selectively, I hadn't done my tutorials consistently, I hadn't even understood what I was studying at times, I didn't deserve to do well. But He had pulled me through. He had given me strength, and now His grace overwhelmed me with my results. Was blinking hard and sniffling as I walked blindly to my next lecture... His grace was so real, and so good.

These few days I've realised how very weak I am of myself. But I am glad, and I will boast of my weaknesses, for where I am weak, there He is strong, and there is His grace sufficient for me.

One day, if I ever have a daughter, I think I might just name her Grace

Imagination

I went to see my professor over my dissertation today and there were several of us there, so we ended up spending almost an hour in that stuffy room and because most of the things he was talking about were in the module handbook already, I ended up gazing at him and the others and dreaming away. I remember thinking that he had a ridiculously young nose, and writing "ridiculously young nose" on the palm of my hand to save for blogging later.

One of the guys who works at The Terrace in the Union (for convenience's sake, let's call him GWWATTITU) has the same nose - large, snub, very distinct - as the professor; and I was wondering whether he would look like him when he grew up; staring at the professor's large bulging eyes that never seemed to focus on you when you were speaking, his wide frog-like mouth, and the mass of his body settled ponderously on an office chair, I wondered whether the professor was some kind of species totally different from ours - a new highly evolved species surrounded by books and files and notes stacked in messy piles around the room.

I could imagine GWWATTITU growing up to be almost exactly like the professor - expanding a little in girth, with masses of fluffy grey hair shooting in all directions and settling neatly in a nice ironed suit of clothes and a ludicrous green checkered bowtie.

The girls in our group were interesting as well, two of them looking almost exactly like the caricatures of British girls I used to see in Asterix and Obelix comic books. I remember reading Asterix in Britian and thinking what a funny thing it was that Asterix's cousin (who was British) kept on saying "Jolly good, wot" and "rather!" and thinking how interesting the girls looked with the lips always apart and their very large protruding teeth. These girls in my tutorial group looked like living, breathing caricatures. Though I think, of course, that the average British girl is very pretty.

Another of the girls was very quiet and shy and you could tell by the way she sat with her hands folded on her lap. When the professor made a droll comment, she would smile slightly while the rest of us would giggle. She barely lifted her eyes to look at anyone, and had them cast down to the floor most of the time. She was very simply and awkwardly dressed. I thought she was very sweet and would have liked to talk to her, but didn't get the chance, and I know I shouldn't have been wandering off while the professor was talking but I found myself wondering why she was so shy and pensive; had her parents been very strict or had she grown up like the Bronte sisters on a moor with few companions save the sheep and horses?

Think my imagination has been running wild these few days - too much imagination can affect the emotions, too, sometimes. Sorry for such an incoherent entry, will write a better one next time!

Going to The Ant

"As the door turns on his hinges, so does the sluggard on his bed." - Proverbs 26:14

This proverb, apart from making me laugh because the image it conjures is really funny, reminds me of a question Andy asked us at his last house party when we were all sitting on the settee chatting the night away - "Why do you get out of bed?"

I think I get out of bed just because I have to, but I would like to think the world would have been made a little different just because I'd got out of bed. I can't waste the day away, because if I do, I might as well stay in bed (which I have done before). I can remember countless unproductive days lying on my bed in my second year surfing the internet for goodness knows what, becoming a sort of fat green capsicum. It's a good thing I don't have internet now, but there are many more ways I can be more productive in what I do.

I remember countless report cards saying, "Easily distracted during class" and long periods of dreaming away and automatically switching off during lectures. I remember frantic last-minute rushes to hand in essays and assignments. Even now, I only work hard for the things I like doing, like preparing for cell group or thinking of things to do with cell group, and push everything else aside to the last minute (including coursework and even eating, sometimes). What can I do to change this laziness? It sometimes seems as though I will never change. But worse things in me have been changed by God before, and I think He will change this too. Ripping some verses off a website linked by the side, the cure for laziness is:-

In all things, whatsoever you do:
1. Do all to the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31)
2. Do all in the name of the Lord Jesus (Colossians 3:17)
3. With all your heart as though working for the Lord (Colossians 3: 23)

I really want to be diligent right now and endeavour in myself to do everything with all my heart, rather than learn the hard way through bad results or discipline or knowing that I could have done better. This is a lesson I have to learn, and I don't want to be learning it all my life through regrets and pain. Teach me to be disciplined, to do what I say I will, and to do my best in everything.

Rhythms

After church on Sunday we were walking home and I was daydreaming and looking up at the sky. It was like the smoothest piece of blue canvas with candy floss clouds scattered randomly across it and I exclaimed, "The sky is so nice!" To my surprise, no one looked upwards but they all turned their heads and Susana said, "Is it this guy?" and some of them attempted to wave at a random guy who was walking past us at that moment. It turned out that they'd all heard, "This guy is so nice!"

So obviously have to work on my pronunciation!

These past few days have been packed and they're flying by so quickly that I'm afraid the time will come soon that I have to pack my bags and leave for the summer. The weather's getting warmer and I'm afraid spring will come soon and everything will start to grow and change. Not that I don't want spring to come; I just know that every day that passes by in a wink hastens the day when I'll have to go back and tear up all the little rootlets I've planted in Leeds over the last three years.

I went with Katie to Strawberry Fields yesterday for a "poetry slam". I'm not too sure what they called it; but some of our coursemates from philosophy last year organised it. They gather once every few weeks to read their poetry aloud to each other. Not lovely, romantic poetry; but poetry quite real and blunt and reflective, and crude, at times. Didn't know what to expect when we were going, but it turned out that we were so absorbed in listening to the poems that we quite forgot ourselves and I had a great time.

One of the women, a frank, humorous, drily self-deprecating woman recited the best poems of the night, I thought. One of the poems was about being mediocre at everything, and I thought it was so funny, and real, and honest! Another of the poems had the loveliest line which I've forgotten already - think it was something like "running my fingers over his perfect ribcage" - am not very helpful, am I?

So this got me to thinking about the state of my writing, and how I need to start being more observant and jotting down my thoughts - photocopied some of my notes today and noticed how one of the guys in front was organising his notes on a little table. From time to time one of the sheets would flutter down to the ground with a curious rhythm, falling and then sweeping back up again and falling again in the briefest of seconds, and he would respond a second too late also mimicking the rhythm of the paper falling, and I thought it was peculiarly poetic. Life is made up of beats - the little breaks between which we do things, the pauses between conversations, irregular tap-taps of our eyelids and the flicking of our heads, sometimes, to look at whither and whom; the silences and the rhythms of our actions sometimes say more than doing ever could.

Better get back to proper work - The Geophysics and Astrophysics of Fluids calls.