A YEAR OF THANKSGIVING

I was organising my ribbon stash - those left over bits and pieces after we have opened the Christmas presents- that I do not have the heart to throw away because they are too pretty and perhaps one day I might have use for them, when I decided to look for the cellotape to stick the loose ends together.

That is when I saw that the end of the cellotape was neatly folded over so that the next person using it would have no problem finding the end of the tape. Believe me, finding the end of the cellotape could be tricky business if you have short nails. The whole procedure could end up in frustration especially when the tape decides to split into two lengthwise.

Now, I knew I didn’t fold the end of the tape and my daughter Sonya was the last one who used it, so probably she did it. That certainly spelt focus, forward thinking and most of all consideration for the next user.  

Thinking of the whole 365 days, I can only sum it up with one word: THANKSGIVING.

In Malaysia, we have Thanksgiving night on 31 December, and I sorely miss this.

We would go to church around 9pm and after praise and worship, we would testify of what the Lord had done for us for the year. It was altogether very spontaneous and after the initial hesitation, more and more would go up to the pulpit and grab the microphone because our hearts were bursting with joy and gratitude. When the children were young, we would even bring pillows, bolsters and comforters along. Then the countdown began and we would usher in the new year.

I am thankful for my family and for the privilege of being a wife and a mother. I am thankful for my beloved because he is constant and a great support. I am especially proud of my children and my friends ask me how I have raised them to be who they are today: focussed, independent, forward thinking and considerate.

People say there is no guidebook for parenting, but I choose to differ. I rely heavily on 3 great sources: the Bible, the good practices of my parents/culture and the knowledge that I am the parent.

The Bible is the basis of love, forgiveness and discipline. It is the moral yardstick of bringing up a child to worship God and to live a life set apart from the acceptable but unhealthy practices of the world. The child knows how much he is loved even in his mother’s womb. (Psalms 139). I wouldn’t have a clue about parenting if God hadn’t given me the full proof guidelines.

I am thankful for the fact that I am born Asian. The values of respect and honour for others, especially our parents and those who are older than us, are ingrained in us from a very young age. My son Samuel would buy back supper (chilly clams - my favourite) for me when he returned home late at night or drive me to IKEA just to browse.

When I was in Dublin having lunch with my daughter Audrey, she made sure I started my meal first before she ate her first bite. (媽媽，請吃飯). Another mother who was sitting at the next table overheard what she said and jokingly chastised her daughter for not doing likewise.

I am thankful that I am not afraid to be the parent - to call a spade a spade or to address the elephant in the room. I am not afraid to set boundaries and to discipline or to let go and let the child reap the consequences of his mistakes and I will not be too quick to rescue him. Believe me, the parent feels more pain when the child suffers for his follies. I have the privilege and the authority to stand in the gap and intercede in prayer and fast so that they will grow in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man. (Job 1:5; Luke 2:52)

I am not afraid to teach even though it could be difficult when viewpoints differ.I asked my daughter the other day to videotape herself doing some winding down exercises because I wasn’t doing enough cooling off exercises after the gym and I needed to learn how. When I told her that the recording was splendid and very clear, she said, ‘I learn from the best teacher.’

 
 

I am thankful for the bountiful harvest. Everything that we planted and nurtured, blossomed and fruited. There was a great abundance of food. I pickled and froze the surplus (and that will last us till next summer) and we blessed others with our produce.

I am thankful for the many friends that I have. Friends who are caring and loyal and encouraging. Friends in different parts of the world who have touched my heart.

I am thankful for all the trips that He has given us this year - some for pleasure and some for necessity. I went home three times this year and He proved His faithfulness over and over again. Miracles happened and health was restored. Transgressions were forgiven and reconciliation occurred.

God has given us so much and He has been very faithful to us in every sense of the word. He has never failed me and in Him we have no lack. His blessings have been poured out on us, pressed down, shaken together and running over. (Luke 6:38)

Like Michael Caine in the Muppet Christmas Carol, I will sing on this last day of 2018…

‘Yes and every night will end, and every day will start

With a grateful prayer and a thankful heart…’

A LITTLE BIT OF CHARITY THIS CHRISTMAS

It was an icy cold Sunday morning and I was thankful that I had found a parking spot. It wasn’t easy to find one as the streets were busy and people were rushing here and there. I headed towards the church, head bent low against the ferocious wind and feet shuffling on the side walk as fast as I could to keep warm and to get out of the cold quickly. The thought of  colder days ahead wasn’t exactly very pleasing.

Then I heard a voice, ‘Any spare change for the homeless?’

I looked up and saw an elderly man with dishevelled hair sitting on the steps of a public building. He held out an upturned hat to me.

My head told me to move on quickly because he might not be a genuine case of someone in need of help. He could be part of a bigger syndicate, he could be an ex-murderer having served time or he could have been irresponsible in his youth (which led to his present predicament). In fact I never forgot the time when my father gave ten ringgit (2 euro) to a beggar who upon receiving the money, instantaneously headed to the nearest alcohol store to spend his new found wealth. But my heart told me he could have fallen between the cracks or was just a victim of unfortunate circumstances.

Why are there so many homeless and displaced people on the streets?

Homelessness in Ireland is an evolving social issue.

According to FocusIreland, the number of families becoming homeless had increased by 24% since July 2017. If before it was due to the pervasive impact of  the Great Famine (1845 - 1852), 20th century homelessness was associated with senior males who might have alcoholism or addiction problems.

The present day homeless population includes women and children as well. The reasons given are possibly the economic downturn coupled with the impact of reduced familial incomes, mortgage arrears and rental increases.

Having a home is a basic need that many of us take for granted. I have never been without a home. I cannot imagine what it is like to be caught in such a situation - to not know where your next bed is, to be constantly on the move and to be surrounded by fear and uncertainty.

The street lights are all up now and the stores are beautifully decorated for the season. People are busy doing last minute shopping to get all the presents to put under the tree. Chimneys are puffing smoke as fireplaces are lit. Mothers or fathers are labouring over the hearth preparing the children’s favourite meals. Even pets have their own special treats and tiny coats to keep their bodies warm.

And amidst it all,we do not see or we choose not to see the needy who are lying in our path. When a homeless person is found dead in a derelict building in Limerick, then there is public outcry and tributes start pouring in.

So I walked on and entered the church and soon the congregation started to sing. Except that I couldn’t sing.

I walked out and went to the nearest cafe and bought a takeaway meal and a cup of hot tea. Then I walked back to my car.

The elderly man was still sitting on the stairs.

I put some money into his hat and I gave him the packed meal and tea.

‘Is this for me?’ he said barely looking up.

I replied in the affirmative and decided to chat with him. Did he have children? Yes, a son who is living with his girlfriend. He had been sleeping rough for sometime now.

After that I walked back to the church for the rest of the sermon.

I know I can’t help all the homeless but just for that day, someone who could be my father or my brother, had a hot meal on the steps of a building on O’Connell street.

            Have a Blessed Christmas.

STEPPING INTO NARNIA

When I was a child I didn’t dream of visiting Disneyland. Instead I wanted to go to the land beyond the wardrobe. I wanted to go to Narnia, where it was perfectly normal for animals to talk and there was a free flow of Turkish delight. My sister had bought us a complete set of The Chronicles of Narnia and at ten they were the best books ever!

So like Lucy Pevensie, I pushed the soft folds of the clothes in my mother’s wardrobe hoping that I could go deeper and deeper beyond the back of the wardrobe so that I would feel something soft and powdery and extremely cold beneath my feet. I was hoping that I would see the lamp post and that Mr. Tumnus the faun would be waiting for me.

 C. S. Lewis had captivated children of all ages with his Narnia tales which had sold 100 million copies worldwide. As a young boy, Lewis spent much holiday time in the Mournes and Rostrevor in particular. He is reported to have written a letter to his brother saying: “That part of Rostrevor which overlooks Carlingford Lough is my idea of Narnia”

And the wonder was still there when I followed the Narnia trail in Kilbroney Park in Rostrevor, County Down and entered the magical doorway. The door has become an icon in ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ which is the first book in the series,I saw the beaver’s house, the castle Cair Paravel, the dancing lawn, the four thrones and most of all the lion Aslan himself.

The image of the door captivates me.

Whether in ancient mythology or in dreams, the door symbolizes the transition and passageway from one place to another. It stands like a divide between belief and disbelief, between cowardice and valour, between betrayal and reconciliation and between life and death.

It is the process of transition that is the most difficult. We can come out of challenges remaining unchanged or we can experience significant character development. Lucy Pervensie in her simple trusting nature embraces a new life beyond the door but the other characters did not believe her initially.

The door is both full of potential and limiting because we do not know what lies beyond. We can open the door to new knowledge, to liberty and to change. We can open the door to a new self or we can choose not to open the door.

What is it that prevents us from opening the door?

Most times it is the ego. The ego that resists change. The ego that resists being taught. The ego that resists being humbled. The ego that struggles to say I am wrong and you are right. Or we can keep the door closed to harbour a secret. We feel safe behind a closed door because we are familiar with the same old, same old.

At the end of the first book, the Pevensies asked Professor Kirke how they could return to Narnia if they wanted to. His advice was, “Indeed, don’t try to get there at all. It’ll happen when you are not looking for it.”

There is wisdom in that. It takes time for someone to be ready to open the door to something totally different. And just when you are not trying so hard, all at once everything falls into place and the transition becomes effortless.

MUCH TALK ABOUT NOTHING

I was in a confined space for 20 minutes with 2 strangers. It was a totally relaxed space and there was nothing to prevent me from listening to their conversation unless I had ear plugs on. Let’s call the two men Paddy and Ollie.

Paddy: ‘ I was driving to the stadium yesterday for the match. **** the jam was so long you couldn’t bear it in this cold! And the lads were getting hungry and were asking for Supermac’s! **** asking for chicken when the cars are choc-a-bloc! So I called my aunt and asked how she was doing. Grand she said. She was watching the match on telly. And here I was in this ****jam. By the time we reached there it was half time! Then there was this….

Ollie: My lad’s going to San Francisco this weekend for a match. Imagine, all the way there. He’s in Cork you know. Did Masters in Education there and never came back to Clare…..

And both of them went on and on and I wished I could record it all because the talk was so colourful, so random and so peppered with expletives that even your grandmother would blush. I couldn’t find any full-stops in that talk.

Was that a conversation?

It certainly wasn’t a heart to heart or a head to head conversation. At best, it was a talk, albeit an informal one, between two  people, in which news and ideas were exchanged. Paddy and Ollie probably met each other before and knew each other by sight. They were busy talking about themselves and I wonder how anyone could keep track with all the meandering of topics. Was that a dialogue?

A dialogue can mean a focused and intentional conversation - a space where those who differ may listen and speak. It can also mean a way of being - mindful and creative relating - where we set aside the need to win, so we can hear other voices and possibilities. In this respect, no, it wasn’t a dialogue.

Both were too absorbed in talking. You couldn’t get in a word erstwhile and I was actually counting the seconds when Paddy would stop talking and Ollie begin. I wouldn’t be surprised if no one was listening except me.

I am told that this is the way conversations go in pubs as well. It is no wonder when the beloved goes to a local and I ask him what did you lads talk about? He said, ‘Nothing’.

I always wonder why people talk so much and listen so little. I say listen because people hear more than they listen.

According to the dictionary, hearing is simply the act of perceiving sounds by the ear. If you are not hearing-impaired, hearing simply happens. Listening, however, is something you consciously choose to do. Listening requires concentration so that your brain processes meaning from words and sentences.

We choose to hear what we want to hear and we jump to conclusions. Then we react because we think we heard what we imagined we heard. Give me one person who listens before he speaks then a thousand who hear and babble. If only we engage more in appreciative listening, critical listening, relationship listening and discriminating listening.

And when we actually talk, make the talk worthwhile.

There is a place for small talk like being caught in a jam or going to Supermac's 
for a chicken dinner. 

 But that should not be the be all and end all of conversations. 

Certainly it is very ‘safe talk’ because you are not sharing anything substantial. 

But this is very superficial and I can’t see that as a basis for friendships. 

It’s always nice  when some one says, ‘It was a pleasure talking to you.’

I enjoy good conversation where you can walk away sharing a little of yourself and knowing a  bit more about your friend to appreciate her better.. Even if I were to be in the midst of strangers, it would be such a delight where everyone is given a chance to participate in a discusssion on things that they know or do not know.

So after a good 20 minutes, Paddy and Ollie decided to leave. And they turned to me and said,  bye, see you later.

So at least they knew I was there.

IF STONES COULD SPEAK

I am a collector of many things, big and small. One of them is stones - stones to remind me of the places that I had visited and stones to commemorate a significant event or memory.

I am intrigued by early civilisations and archaelogy. There is so much that is buried and yet to be discovered. There is so much that is standing and yet not understood. Huge megalithic standing stones that have withstood the passage of time are both magnificent and mysterious. But the silent and sombre sentinels of the past refuse to give up their secrets.

If only stones could speak.

Clochafarmore is a menhir (standing stone) and national monument in County Louth, Ireland. It is located 1.4 km east-northeast of Knockbridge, Dundalk on the left bank of the River Fane.The 3 metre high standing stone is believed to be from the Bronze Age.

When I first read about the stone I knew I had to see it, more so because it is traditionally associated with the death of legendary hero Cú chulainn. 

Unfortunately access to the stone wasn’t easy. Google map clearly indicated that we had reached the standing stone but it was no where to be seen. I asked a youngish lady nearby but she shrugged her shoulders and said she never heard of it. So we pulled up at a local grocery store and I saw an elderly Irish man whom I was sure would know its exact location. Knowledge comes with age I hoped. He was sitting on a kerb outside the store. I sat down on the kerb next to him and showed him the image on my phone and he was all excited to tell me that he knew the exact location.

‘It is opposite the priest’s house,’ he said assuming everyone knew where the priest lived.

‘Is there a sign showing that it is the priest’s house?’ I asked.

‘No, no, no…I think I had better ask that man over there to show you’ he said as another man in his forties came closer. It wasn’t everyday that a stranger of Asian origin would sit down with a local on a kerb outside the grocery store.

Immediately the younger man said, follow my white car. I’ll take you there.

I was extremely thankful. This is exactly what village friendliness and helpfulness is all about.

When we reached the site there was a brown sign shrouded among leaves pointing to the location. How could anyone in a moving car see the sign with all those leaves? It was no wonder that I missed it.

He lamented that more attention should be given to such a fine relic. A disused space nearby could be turned into a parking lot. School children could come in droves on organised trips to see what’s left of an epic hero for one euro each, he said. If only.

We had to cross a main road where cars were flying and then climb over a low fence into a potato field. And there it was, standing right before our eyes .

Someone had made a path to the stone and covered the path with fresh straw. I touched the stone and closed my eyes. In that moment, I felt a sense of awe as I saw Cú Chulainn mustering his final bit of strength to fight his enemies. He was hit by a magical spear, mortally wounding him and he tied himself to a standing stone — traditionally the "Stone of the Big Man", which had been erected to mark the grave of a past great warrior - so he could face his enemies standing up. I could see the enemies closing in, nearer and nearer with a loud war cry chant. It was only when a raven (the bird of death) landed on his shoulder that his enemies believed he was dead.

The region is known as An Breisleach Mór, “The Great Carnage", while the field in which this stone stands is called the Field of Slaughter. In the 1920s a bronze spearhead was found in the field, perhaps showing it to be a genuine ancient battle-site.

As I said goodbye to the silent stone, I felt as if I had shared a personal moment with a hero from civilisations past.

We all need our champions, the bigger than life personalities that we can look up to. We see everyday heroes who dedicate their lives to improve the lives of others.Heroes also undergo life transformations and we see them as powerful and yet vulnerable like ourselves. Their stories comfort us and are a salve to our wounds. Re-telling of stories from one generation to another cements social bonds.

And we then tell ourselves if they can achieve what they purpose to do, so can we.

THE THINGS THAT BLIND US

As Felix the deer is crossing the road, he stops to stare at the headlights of an approaching car.

Peter Rabbit: Felix blink! Blink!

Felix: Headlights

The above is an excerpt from the movie Peter Rabbit based on Beatrice Potter’s much loved creation. Deer are crepuscular. Crepuscular, a word drawn from the Latin word for “twilight,” is a term for animals that are active primarily at dawn and dusk. This means that their vision is optimized for very low light. Therefore, confronted with headlight beams, the deer’s eyes are fully dilated to capture as much light as possible. It cannot see at all until the eyes are adjusted. So basically they are blinded by the light and they just freeze.

Somehow the image of the deer transfixed by the lights strikes a chord in me because we too can be blinded at times and I can think of four occasions.

1. Shakespeare wrote in Merchant of Venice, Act 2, scene 6, "Love is blind, and lovers cannot see the pretty follies that themselves commit."

Partly to blame are those ‘feel-good’ chemicals in our brains when we fall in love that we tend to overlook or gloss over huge character flaws especially during the courting stage. We can be so blinded that we fail to realise that only one party gives in or apologizes most of the time in the hope of making the relationship work. Surmounting lies and constant disagreements or shouting matches wear the relationship thin. To be expected to fix a partner’s problems most of the time and to listen all the time are shifty grounds to build a relationship on. On hindsight, most of us would agree that we’ve been there and done that and now feel a little foolish.

2. Helen Keller said that the only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.

Vision is about having a dream and pursuing it. It is about seeing with the mind’s eye and planning. The corporate world has vision statements and we should have our own personal vision that drives us. Vision is built on what we do and with whom we interact. It is what we want to do, become or accomplish. It goes beyond surviving daily.

An individual with vision soars above the mundane. Gossiping or idle talk is of no interest to her. It is interesting to note that those who gossip also hear a lot of gossip themselves because like minds congregate. There is this all too familiar: Have you heard? This is usually accompanied by the right palm half covering the mouth so that whoever in the vicinity who is not supposed to hear it will not hear it. In smaller towns especially it becomes a national past time.

When people ask me why I do not gravitate towards tittle tattle, my reply is always the same: I have only 18 waking hours and I intend to use them productively pursuing my passion.

3. Someone said the eyes are useless when the mind is blind.

I think one of the greatest tragedies of mankind is when we refuse to embrace the new - whether it is new food, new language, new people or new ideas. There were several occasions when people asked my opinion about what Asians do. Take child raising for example. In all sincerity I shared some of the methods that worked for me and I was very surprised that they were not open to them at all. I understood later that they were asking for the sake of asking but not to learn. I remember as a young mother, I valued the advice of mothers who had raised wonderful children.

4. Mark Twain said kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see

If we look at the headlines of any newspaper, it is obvious that there is very little kindness left. Kindness is when we make time to visit someone, to sit and have coffee with her or show concern over her welfare. Kindness is when we speak a word of encouragement and lift someone up in prayer. I cannot help but feel touched when a friend told me how she would leave some chicken for the hungry foxes who come a-calling at night. Another makes sure the hedgehog families are safe when she cuts the hedgerows.

Towards the end of the Peter Rabbit movie, Felix the deer managed to use his ‘blindness’ for a good cause.

Many are blinded by their own ego, their own upbringing, their own culture or their own perceived superiority complex. If only we can be blinded by good stuff like generosity, selflessness, and everything that is positive instead.