where is my fire?

I was stunned when a non-believer friend threw this question on my face.
Where is your fire?
It is dying out.
I mumbled while my eyes were trying to avoid his.
I felt so ashamed to tell him the answer, but anyhow I told him the truth.
I am tired.
Seriously I think I should ask myself and God about this as well.
I remembered the days when I was jumping praising Him during Sunday celebrations, the mornings I woke up earlier just to pray, the afternoon I spent in orpanange teaching the childeren, the evenings when few of us gathered for prayers, and the nights when I joined the worship practise...and also the piled up books which I should study for the day itself,
were left abondoned on my study desk.
Lord, is this my limit?
I am not satisfied. It must be more than this...
but where is my fire?
Lord, I thirst and I am tired. My soul is crying out for You.
Tell me Lord, where is my fire?
Ignite the fire in my heart again, O Lord. This is for You.
I pray.

Why him?

Today was the day I really felt like crying in the dissection hall, not because of the irritating formalin. It was all because of him.
Lord, I guess I challenge You too much..is it the way You answer me? I feel so burdened in my heart. Out of so many people, why him?
I neither could understand what he was trying to teach nor feel his enthusiatism to teach us.
Lord, I know I prayed: Stretch me to the maximum.
But, is this truly the way You are stretching me and not torturing me?
I think this is the first time I need to refer at least a few books just to catch up what I missed during the two hours dissection which I had not learnt anything.
I am draining out of energy.
Lord, let me draw strength from You.
I believe that You will never give me a task which is too heavy for me.
Lord, enlarge my capacity for all the challenges lie ahead.
and I wanna to let You know that:
I never regret of challenging You.
I pray for the best to come even though I am in the worst situation now.
Because You are in control of everything.

My Future Decided

You had been looking for me
in this fallen world
You have found me and You take me into Your house
and You have clothed me with Your glory
without even looking at what is in me
You love me just as the day You had created me
in Your very own image
I am greatly humbled by the life You have given to me
times after times I feel unworthy to have Your love
yet unceasingly You remind me about Your grace
it is more than enough for me
I know that You have wonderful plans for me
though I may not know anything
yet I believe
though I may not understand things that happened to me
yet I believe
though I cried over my pain
yet I believe
though I am burning out just to give You my very best
yet I believe
my future decided
in the Potter's Hand
and this is the same loving Hands
holding me now..

Abba Father, promise me that You'll never let me go...

I love You more

I was tired, my eyes were half closed.
My spirit is willing yet my flesh is too weak.
Lord, let me draw strength from You.
I used to look at Peter, James, and John a kind when I came across the passage about Jesus in Gethsemane. Why not they stayed up just for another hour and prayed together with Jesus? Why they left Jesus alone when He needed someone to pray together with Him?
Now I undersand. We are just human and we are weak.
I pushed the piled up references books away and once again I opened my Bible.
I mumbled the short prayers and I nearly fell asleep. My heart was burdened with endless exams and tests, assignment and work.
Yet, I prayed:
Lord, let me walk this extra miles for You.
Because I love You more.

A dream or a vision

Yesterday I dreamt of my mum.
She was such a cheerful lady and being surrounded by a group of young people. Maybe it was her birthday, they came to deliver their wishes. I was standing at one corner, observing these people.
What shook me was the words came out from my mum.
She declared her faith in public.
I was so surprised, the mum I know is not yet a Christian..but this one, I meant my mum in my dream, was already accepted Christ as her personal Lord and Saviour.
I was so touched to listen to the following statement made:
" I want Christ to root in this house."
And she winked at my two other non-believers brothers...
I pray that this won't be just another dream but a vision , an answer to my prayers.

where are You?

I had a bad bad day...
and I couldn't see Your hand. I remembered I had prayed and I took that You must had heard me. Yet why things still getting in such a way?
Where are You?
where are You when I was crying in anguish, when my enemies were laughing at my failure, gloated over my shame....
Where are You?

Today, I pray again. Things do not change immediately for the best but one thing that made my eyes welled in tears was You telling me that..........

" I AM HERE.."

Split coffee

I remembered I saw her somewhere else, but I couldn't remember where I met her. I was quite frustrated because of her smile, no I mean the sacarstic kind of... My favourite white shirt was stained by hot split coffee and she walked passed me.
Then she paused and looked at me.

She is beautiful, if without the grin.
I met her in church before and worship the same Lord, I suddenly recalled.

It's true that I split my coffee, but pity her.
She had split the favor of God from her cup at the moment.

My split coffee is far more cheaper than what she had lost.

I cried

Yesterday I cried because I read this:
God didn't make a mistake when He created you.
As I thought He did.

Because of who You are

Because of who You are

It was a rainy day when the sky was weeping. I threw my sight out of the window and I saw her again. She was looking for something in the rubbish dump; the slippery land burdened her crippled leg. Her shabby clothes were all soaked wet, let her trembling in this chill cold night- Alone. The dirt on her face couldn’t hide the wrinkles on her pale face, not even the overwhelming sorrow could be hidden under the pouring raindrops. Later, she managed to find some paper box to make her a temporally shelter, for this merciless night. No one ever notice her presence, even they did, they just walked pass her; couples huddled up close to each other and sheltering under lovers’ warmth, a business man talking on the phone and cursed the raindrop split on his branded coat. A hysterical housewife was crying on the staircase begging her husband don’t go away, while a spoilt kid was throwing a tantrum over his parents in this fuzzy raining evening. My effort to look for a smile among the crowd was in vain. Unexpectedly, I saw this lovely curve at the edge of her lips. Thinking of this might be my hallucination, thus I rubbed my eyes before I took another glimpse on her- the old lady beside the rubbish dump. Yes, it was true that she was smiling. It was the sweetest smile that I’d ever seen before. Not because she rejoiced over the half-eaten frozen hotdog she found, it was she had a visitor. It was a homeless dirty stray dog. The old lady generously shared her only begotten food with her little visitor. And most importantly, she smiled all the way through.

For your heart will always be where your riches are.

It was her. She might be poor but for sure she is the richest among all. I was more than ashamed
of myself seeing the old lady. Closed my bible, I looked at the reflection of the mirror.

Who am I?

I glanced at my eyes, I remembered he once said I have the brightest eyes in the world, and I believed. No longer were they shiny, but swollen with tears. The day when our lips met, I thought he was the one but I never know that our hearts never join. His fingers once combed my black long hair now holding another girl’s hand. I remembered the days when we were jumping praising Him, and later on both of us walked away forgot His name. That day, when I met him kissing another girl at the backyard of the church, he was still wearing the cross. If a knife could pierce through my heart, betrayer twisted it within my flesh and smirked at the oozing blood.

I was fifteen when he said he loves me and I ignorantly believed in him. He was the Prince Charming among the youth, and I foolishly thought that I could be the princess. Perhaps I could blame Taylor Swift’s Love Story of its imaginary space for romance, or maybe I should curse the bottle of cheap wine and heat at the moment, for giving the pregnancy test kit double pink strips. My pregnancy symptoms couldn’t be hidden from Dad; after all, he is a doctor. On the same raining evening, both of Dad and Mum quarrelled over my pregnancy issue. Neither of them willing to admit their failure as parents, since they are well-known as devoted Christian in the church. Teen pregnancy was such a great embarrassment for the family, and this was what they concerned about.

The 6th commandments stated that: Do not murder.

Dad taught me the Ten Commandments while I was still attending Sunday school. Yet he was the one who suggested abortion as the solution, my heart sunk when I overheard the conversation. Mum wanted me to be sent to Australia so that no one would question anything about me. They were afraid that their position as cell group leaders would be affected by my shameful conduct. The atmosphere was clouded with selfishness. That time, they were both wearing platinum cross. The cross was still shiny but it looked so strange to me at the meanwhile. Suddenly I felt like I was not known them so much that I thought.

Who are they?

Burst in tears, I ran out from the house. It was the deadly evening, when the sky was still crying. I ran down the street when tears and rain had blurred my vision. I heard someone was crying for help, it was she holding an unconscious little girl in her skinny arms. Her little face was as pale as a white paper and long term malnutrition caused her body shrunk. It might be the darkest night in her life, where no hear her, more accurately, people in the city chose not to hear her.

Could somebody help my daughter?

I walked past her and I stole a glance on her. She was hopeless as I did. Her shriek in the stagnant air echoed in the rain, where no one offers her a helping hand. I was one of the deaf.

Who cares?

No one would ever hear our cries, in this dark season. I ran down the street headed to his house and begged him to settle the mess; sadly I was stormed out from his garden like a stray dog. All of his lovely promises withered like the flowers out of the sudden, my world darkened in the midst of heart-brokenness. Before I lost my consciousness, I saw a car speeding on my way...
It was the second time I met her. I was lying on bed in hospital. I looked out from the window and I saw her plucking some white flowers from the garden. Her face was like a zombie, she must had been hit by a terrible tragedy. Suddenly a familiar scene popped up in front of me.

The little girl...

My body was still too weak to move after severe bleeding for being knocked down by a car. I nudged the nurse changing my bandage, asking her about the lady. Frowned with impatience between her eye brown, still she answered.

Her daughter passed away, on the same day you are admitted into hospital. She had asthma attack; most probably she could be saved if someone did Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, I mean CPR on her. It was too late when someone sent her into hospital.

My heart sunk upon hearing this. I couldn’t help to relax my facial muscle when I saw two figures walking into the room. Dad gave a sign to the nurse to leave us room for a confidential conversation. Dad coughed discreetly, before he started.

Chloe, God had settled everything for us.

He pointed a finger to my abdomen. I would never forget the disgusting smile on his face. I was in an emotional conflict to know that I had lost my baby.

Everything is so perfectly planned. You were knocked down by a car and rushed to this hospital. Coincidentally, I was on duty that time. Without anyone notice, I aborted it from your uterus. This issue would be swept under carpet forever. God is good, ain’t He?

A wave of confusion hit my mind. Too many things happened at the same time. Few hours ago, I was pregnant and her daughter still in her arms, alive. Now my womb was empty, so did her arms. All had gone, like the flower in the garden; here today and gone tomorrow, a wave tossed in the ocean or vapour in the wind. Now no more...

Time passed and I never meet her until that raining evening. I took out a fine decorated box; it was my necklace with a gold cross pendent. It was given to me ever since I was born. I thought I had found my identity in it, but I was wrong. The bible never mentions about a gold cross, what I know is it was stained with Jesus’ blood. It is ugly and heavy, and Jesus has bore it for me. I took out my beautiful cross on it that day when I realized this shouldn’t be in this way.

I am greatly humbled by the love God has for me, though His people are truly disappointing in their conduct. Somehow this old lady, perhaps never heard about Jesus, never been invited to church, or Easter dinner, had shown me what love is.

She reminded me who am I.

I am a sinner saved by grace.

I took my umbrella and a plastic bag with apples and bread. I have ears but I was deaf, I have eyes but I was blind, I had a gold cross on my neck yet I had no Christ in my heart. I had lost a chance to tell her about Jesus, and clearly I know there wouldn’t be any second chance every times.

In the raining evening, I walked to her with this prayer in my heart: I want to meet her in heaven.

All for love

All for Love

The sun shone out from the azure sky, another brand new day, it said. The radiance of sunlight avoided anyone escaping from it. Boldly, its irritating blaze ran into a small dark room. Zion Livingstone reluctantly opened his drowsy eyes, stretched his arms and yawned. Successfully dragging his body out of bed, he stood in front of a mirror. There was something drew Zion Livingstone’s attention while he was brushing his teeth. Neither his messy brown hair nor his scruffy face with overgrown moustache froze him in front of his own reflection; it was a pair of eyes gazed with emptiness. Shouldn’t be a man in his early 30s’ be filled with the exuberance? Especially he was indulging in a kaleidoscopic of colorful world; brushes and paints were the magic tools which he used to express his esoteric inspiration. Standing at the peak of his career kept a stable stream of money, fame, and women, knocking at his door. Yet, Zion Livingstone opened not for all this worldly lust, he was different as he never thought of conforming himself to the standards of this world. Bizarre, was what the world described about Zion Livingstone. Earning big money but hiding in an undersized room; crowning with popularity yet refused to glitter his glamour; going after by countless seraphic ladies yet he locked everybody out of his icy heart. There seemed no way to peep into this tightly bolted isolated door. No one could ever understand Zion Livingstone; perhaps, he himself did not even know who he was now. Staring at the raggedly handsome mirror image, Zion Livingstone touched the platinum cross he was wearing. At least, he had one identity, Zion Livingstone was assuredly His.

********

A light drizzle was falling, birds were not singing while the green stop dancing. Clouded with a sheer of melancholy, Zion Livingstone had his ideas all cluttered up; He fell into the abyss of depression seeing his quivering right hand failed in sketching the marvelous pieces, once again. Throwing his sight at the tiny falling raindrops, a surge of loneliness was suffocating him. “At least, the raindrops know where they belong…” pondering over his imprecise color dance, Zion Livingstone murmured. Closed his emerald green eyes, Zion Livingstone knelt down before the Almighty One, the only place where he could ever rely on. A heavenly voice filled his heart as Zion Livingstone was seeking the Lord in the midst of bewilderment,” My grace is all you need, for My power is greatest when you are weak…” Amidst those tears, Zion Livingstone beheld the words of assurance of his Abba Father. He took a glimpse at the brown envelope, another one at the crumpled painting, both lying uneasily at the same horizon on a glass desk. Two heavy blows at the very same day; pushed this wonderfully talented artist away from the fantasy world of color. One deep breathe, Zion Livingstone took the medical report from the wrinkled envelope. His shaky right hand stopped him from doing the remarkably amazing dance of color. The medical report clearly stated that the dreadful neurological movement disorder; focal hand dystonia was haunting Zion Livingstone. At that point of challenge, he was extremely confused, frustrated, sorrow, bitter, and lost, everything jumbled up at the moment. Again, he threw his gloomy sight through the transparent window. The elegiac drizzle stopped. Zion Livingstone smiled as he looked at the sky, he knew that He had called him to tell His stories. He saw a rainbow. It wasn’t just an original rainbow, but a rainbow of promise, love, hope, arching in the midst of wilderness.

********

Rubbed his somnolent eyes, Zion Livingstone asked of a cup of sky juice from the hospitable stewardess. Looking down from a 4000m altitude in the sky, Zion Livingstone gluttonously captured all the picturesque scenery; be it just a small village or a garden, everything seemed so fearfully and wonderfully made. This twelve-hours flight was an exhausting journey, though unforeseen challenges might ambush this young adventurer, yet it freaked Zion Livingstone not. Clinging on to the Cross, the solemn promise from the One whom he called Abba Father, Zion Livingstone left everything he had behind, spurned the allure of the big city. Quenched his thirst; Zion Livingstone tried to rearrange his recollection during the considerably long flight. Observing the crystal clear water in the glass, he had a self-satisfied smirk on his attractive face. Zion Livingstone remembered how he quit his job as the Creative Artist in Mode Magazine Corporation; by presenting his “masterpiece”, an abstract painting of a Hine’s Emerald Dragonfly with the word “Mnemosyne” written on it, the last piece of his work, he reckoned. Zion Livingstone walked out from the room with his usual serene paces; the shriek of frustration coming out from the room few minutes later only widened his smile, he could imagine how was the grumpy Chief Editor wrathful look upon seeing a piece of childish painting. Not a masterpiece, expectation was unfulfilled and the Chief Editor himself was fooled. First laughter from Zion Livingstone but a sigh followed; Musing on his new journey, an old poem started dancing in his mind- The Road Have Not Taken by Robert Frost. Mumbling the poem, Zion Livingstone did not bother the uneasiness of the passenger sitting next to him. Ignored the attention thrown on him, he threw his on the snowy clouds. An indescribable dashing natural, it was Zion Livingstone after all.

********

The sky was dyed reddish orange at dusk. Old Rev. Kenneth Chris was sitting comfortably on the antiquated armchair. Sipping hot tea from his cup, he threw his sight out of the window. The olive tree standing a few meters away from the window was blocking the light, its illusive shadow smacked on the carpet, adding a trace of liveliness into the sluggish air in the room. Old Rev. Kenneth Chris had to admit that it was a piece of art, a magical kaleidoscope if he saw the shadow at a different angle. “Trust me. It will be a beautiful piece, one day,” A clear voice of a child ran out of his memory box, a gawky kid with such a charming smile, who was missing for the past 15 years in Rev. Kenneth Chris’s journey. As usual, Rev. Kenneth Chris took out a wooden box from his drawer, trying to track the sweetness of the past down. Rev. Kenneth Chris took his spectacles from the table, trying to see clearly the moth-eaten photo in his hand. He smiled as he looked at the kid in the photo; the wrinkles on his face could not be hidden. Those good old days as if one again replayed on the stage, the giggle of the kid still echoing in his ears. How he wished he could hear it one more time, the chuckle of delight of the kid which could melt his heart. Rev. Kenneth Chris coughed discreetly, not to scatter the only begotten pieces that he had, the pieces which were too small to be overlooked, yet too precious to be forgotten. With his shaky hands, old Rev. Kenneth Chris gripped the Hine’s Emerald Dragonfly specimen which belonged to a story from the old box. The well-preserved dragonfly looked so alive, the sparkling wings seemed like they would be spread in any minutes. Their dazzle could not be ignored under the flash of sunlight even they were just the empty skeletons without soul, waiting for a breath of life to wake them up.




********

A few heavy beats dropped on the batter face of the drums, created a piece of junky rhythm echoing in the small church. The salty crystal beads on the forehead of Raj Gopal slipped, irritated his beautiful brown eyes. Reflectively, he rubbed his eyes yet failed to sweep his disappointment away. The edge of his lips had clotted blood; the salty sweat too irritated his wound on lips and perhaps his heart felt more of the pain. It was not the first time the heavy blows of his drunkard father landed on his face, and it was not the first time he ran away from home with a broken heart. It was another gloomy day when his father’s mood swung and Raj Gopal’s mum was unluckily became the victim. The dishes on the hard concrete floor were harshly overturned. Raj Gopal’s heart sunk when his father turned into a monster again, in the rainy day. The crying sky as if mourning for the upcoming tragedy in the family. His father gave his mum a heavy slap across her pale face, and unfairly putting all blame on her. His mum fell onto the floor, silently swallowed every single blows and hurtful words which pierced through her heart. There was enough bruises and scar on her arms and legs, Raj Gopal failed to put off the bellyful of flame upon seeing his mum’s tears and blood again and again. He stood up and fought over his abusive father, yet he had not won this fight. His father was much stronger than he thought even he was crippled. His father was a captain, a wounded soldier in the battlefield and never again would he been called back for service. He lost his strong right leg, his dignity, his glorious days, and his lovely smile, all in the merciless war. That night, Raj Gopal was badly beaten up and he ran away from home again when the sky was still pouring. That night, Raj Gopal met an angel in front of the small church, a white man who kindly opened a door whenever he had no place to go.



********


Zion Livingstone was trapped in a summery afternoon. There was no way for him to look for a glass of cold water in the rural area of Bihar, India. It had been already two weeks since Zion Livingstone landed on this poor land. Some might think that he was insane to give up a much more comfortable life in his own country and ran to this slum dog place. Definitely Zion Livingstone still had his clear mind, he was so sure that he heard the calling. Even Prince of Peace gave up His glorious throne in the heaven and went down to earth, to serve His people and not to be served. This King who graciously laid down His own life even for a lowly peasant became Zion Livingstone only strength through these uncertainties. Though his right hand still juddered, Zion Livingstone’s faith was not moved. Though he had not been doing any painting, Zion Livingstone started teaching in the poverty-stricken land where education was a luxury which they could hardly afford. Zion Livingstone sat under the olive tree and writing his journal where the shadow of the olive tree changed erratically. He tilted his head into the air, not even one candy-floss- like cloud was found, but he saw an old man sitting on a rocky chair beside the church window, pondering over on an old photo. He was Rev. Kenneth Chris; a humble man of God who willingly spent his life in this despised land, still he trusted the Lord would change this land into a harvest land of the lost souls. Hence, he named the undersized church “The Lord’s Harvest”. Truly his passion for Christ was contagious and he spiritually inspired this brave adventurer. Zion Livingstone closed the journal when he saw a tan young man walking towards him. Zion Livingstone smiled as he looked at him; when his emerald green eyes met this pair of innocent brown eyes in the silent air, he knew that this young man would be a story as he had thirsty soul yearning for hope- he needs Jesus.

********


Not bothered of sweat dripping from his forehead, Raj Gopal was focusing on the mathematic questions given by the voluntary teacher from a foreign land. There was so much fun learning Mathematics and English, as Raj Gopal was hungry for knowledge instead of bread. He showed a satisfactory smile when he wrote down the last answer with the only pencil he had. Deep down in his wounded heart, Raj Gopal knew that only education could bring him out of this black void, so he must do it. Besides playing with numbers, Raj Gopal was captivated by the lively storytelling of this white man. Though there was a little language barrier between the Indian kids and this white man, still he managed to bring out the essence of the stories with rich facial expression and body language. None of the curious eyes could escape from the story session. They were intrigued by how a small boy could have killed a giant with just a sling stone, why a man would built an ark just because someone unseen asked him to do so, or maybe what made the lions shut their mouths and not to harm a good man. More and more questions popped up from these inquisitive minds, they had noticed a big hero in the stories he told. A King whose blood spilled for His people and died for sin of the world, and most importantly He has risen and His tomb is empty. Raj Gopal remembered an Indian man told him this before, still he didn’t truly understand why. 8 years ago when he was only a 6 year-old, before he could throw this question, the man left the village and never come back again. The stories again woke his fading memories, this time he was determined to know the answer. Under the blazing hot sun, he ran straight to “The Lord’s Harvest” church after finishing his work. And there, finally he met the white man Zion Livingstone, under the olive tree. In the whisper of wind, Raj Gopal heard a long awaiting answer.

********



The wind carried a trace of peace within. Old Rev. Kenneth Chris was looking out from the window, while the shadow of the leaves was mischievously disturbing him. He noticed a young man under the olive tree, carefully jotting something on a notebook. Rev. Kenneth Chris’s memories were once again being stirred up in the scorching afternoon, where the birds were attentively listened to his heart. “Zion Livingstone…” , he mumbled. He took out the flaxen photo and got an eyeful of it again. They had the same charming smile; he had to admit that, perhaps the same passion for Christ though color of skin was different.25 years ago when Rev. Kenneth Chris first came to this land, condition was far worse than ever. There he met an Indian kid who brightened his days, always so eagerly to find out more of the truth. He was like his own child; they laughed together, shared their heart and had fun together. It was times when he grew up and needed to leave the village for a good purpose, to go after his dream to become a doctor. Not for money, not for fame, but for the people, it’s all for love. Rev. Kenneth Christ has been very proud of his spiritual child, years and years they kept in touch through e-mails and calls. Distance never loosened the bond between them. Many years passed yet the shadow of the cheeky kid never seen, the trace of his adulthood never found in the land. He became a missionary doctor, as what God wants him to be. Not just to ease the physical pain but also provide spiritual medicine to the lost sheep in a foreign land. Rev. Kenneth Chris would not forget the heartbroken afternoon, when the bad news travelled in the stagnant air: the missionary doctor became a martyr for Christ’s sake. Rev. Kenneth Chris failed to hold his tears when he received a wooden box from him; it was delivered before he went to the mission. It was a Hine’s Emerald Dragonfly specimen, come with a photo and a letter. He coughed again, this time with blood stained sputum. Rev Kenneth Chris smiled as he looked at the two young men under the olive tree in the scarlet sunset. The time was near. The air was still and serene when he left with a peaceful smile.

********


The church was crowded with mourning people, those faces with dried tears. The white flowers were gracefully lying beside him. Hymns were sung, strangely accompanied by some unorganized music. An Indian young man was playing drum, he failed to keep the rhythm sometimes throughout the memorial session His brown eyes carried an elegiac portion, flooded with tears. The good old man who opened a door for him when he had no place to go, was called Home. It was not just a door of church, yet it was a door to reach his broken heart. He had had a first taste of warmth from this man and he would never forget that. The drumming was bit disappointing, he tried very hard to tell himself not to cry. Raj Gopal knew his Savior requires more than a song; He looks beyond music and melody and He searches much deeper within. Rev. Kenneth Chris told him so when he first picked up drumming. When everything sounded messy during his first trial and when this young man was the edge of giving up, it was Rev. Kenneth Chris who gave him a pat on his back. Raj Gopal turned to his drum teacher who was sitting at the front row. At the time their eyes met, he was rewarded a smile that would boost his confidence. Zion Livingstone couldn’t play anymore with his right hand, yet he generously taught Raj Gopal and the kids everything he knew. He might have nothing much, but he would give it all to Jesus the best he has. He has found himself from this old faithful man. He smiled as he looked up into the sky, it was still blue, like the same hot afternoon when he first met him. When the music faded in the air, when tears ran dry, the other brand new day quietly arrived. Time would pass but this walk of him would be remembered and God is glorified.

********

There was a wrinkled letter in Rev. Kenneth Chris’s hand.
It read:

Dearest daddy KC ,

I will never forget the day when we planted the olive tree. I am happy to see it is growing stronger each day, and the shadow on it will be a piece of great art.
Me too, a piece of great art of The Lord, is in His service. I will go to the end of the earth to tell his story. It is going to be tough but I know that He is always there for me.
I do not pray for a long life, but a full one, a life that lives for Christ. I do not dream of my name be remembered but His name be exalted.
If there is one last thing I want to tell you, is to say I love you.

Thank you for everything.

p/s: I had found your childhood hero, the Hine’s Emerald Dragonfly. It is as dazzling as you told me. I can't give you a live one; forgive me it is just a specimen.

God bless you.

With love,
Always your son Z

********
The words on the letter was fading, the sweetness of love within was not. There was some cluttered writing behind this letter, with some dark red stain on it.

My dearest son,

When I am writing this, I know I will be meeting you soon. The olive tree is growing stronger, just like you. You are right; it is a piece of art that will always remind me of you. And draw a smile on my face everyday.
My coughing is getting worse by days but I have to stay. This is the promise I have given you, to share Jesus in this land. Till death I will keep it. For Christ’s sake, I count it all as loss, including my life.
Until the day I know I had lost you, I came to realize that I had lost so much without you in the past, there was no way to get back to the good old days. How I wished I could love you more; let you ride on my shoulder, give you one more hug, and tell you more bedtime stories while your biological parents never did. How I wished I could have prayed more for you, or maybe meet you one more time, just to tell you: “I love you too, my son.”

p/s: Thank you for the present, it is not just a specimen but love from you to keep me going. It is beautiful, my son. Thank you for everything.

With love,
Always your daddy KC
********

The Smile on YOUR Face

The Smile On YOUR Face
That day, I was greatly depressed. I was carrying the burdens that I couldn’t shoulder. Kneeling down before the throne, with a broken heart, I confessed.

“I have sinned, Father. There is a lump of hatred in my heart.” A trembling voice from my mouth was thrown out as I started confessing my sin. I lowered my head as I dare not to look straight to my Father’s eyes. Reddish liquid oozing out from my lower lip as I bite it; it was the smell of blood, not the taste as I like, but it gave me courage at the moment.

Tell me what you hate and why you hate, my dearest daughter? His loving voice was echoing in my ears. A trace of encouragement was found in His voice, not to judge but to heal.

“I am sorry, Father. I hate their smile. The phoney smile on their faces was ugly...” Hesitated, I knew I was not supposed to judge the jokers, for I am neither the Judge nor the Creator. I nearly swallowed up the rest of my words but my Father gently tapped on my head. He wanted me to continue.

His eyes were filled with assurance. He wanted me to split all the bitterness from the bottom of my heart. He is my Father.

I cleared my throat,” They do not mean to smile when they stretch the edge of their lips. They have a purpose for that. They have the rotten inner self yet tried to cover it with this plastic smile, to tell people how good they are, but actually not. They smell like the dead, yet trying to cover the stink to fool the world. Shame on them! ” Frustration was gradually being stirred up and my anger was boiling.

Noticed my overflowed wrath, He cuddled my head and His eyes were telling me that He knew my pain. He nodded His head as He wished me to continue. Not even a little hold back. What He wanted was all.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I continued my case,” They hurt me, Father, after I have done so much for them. It was hard for me to open up my heart to welcome them as part of my life yet I did it. They peeped into the house of my heart like a thief, broke into it to rob my joy like a robber, and stabbed my heart with their swords and tried to kill me like a murderer. Why must they be so cruel to a harmless creature like me? I meant to be friend but I was treated like an enemy; I tried to offer help but they were plotting against me; I tried to build them up but they trash me and tore me into pieces; I pray for them and comfort them in trouble times but they left me alone without a word when I needed them the most.”

I broke down in tears as I touched the most painful part of my infected wound. It reminded me about a sad story and a sad poem written on the forgotten tomb. It reads:
Sleeps, but rested not.
Pleases, but pleased not.
Loves, but loved not.
Dead, as was alive- Alone.

The simplest poem- the most striking effect on my wounded emotion. Will I end up in such pathetic situation? I wondered. Alone in the darkness, where my friends aren’t my friend.

There’s no angel.

Amidst those tears, my Father held me in His everlasting arms close to His heart. I felt warmth and loved. He brought me to His Son.

Talk to My Son and perhaps you will find your way out. His lips curved as looked at my surprised expression.

I saw the nails pierced hands and my heart skipped a beat. He is my Saviour. He has died for me and redeemed me from the Satan. I was excited. As I was pondering over the reason why am I being brought here, my Father handed me a hammer and a few nails.

“I don’t understand, Father.” I scratched my confused head.

Look carefully at the nails, My dear.

I saw some blood stain on it. The smell of the blood woke my sleeping memory up. My emotion fluctuated and salty crystal beads started to roll down. Blood, I could never forget about it- it contains my life. I am one of them, the crucifiers.

The hammer and nails slipped from my shaking hands and dropped on the floor, composing an unorganized melody at the very moment. My legs turned jelly and I threw myself on the floor, weeping for the Lamb of God.

Don’t be sad, My dear. This is why I was sent to the world. I am blameless yet I bear the all the sin of the sinners. Even they are ugly, unrighteous, imperfect, worthless, and unscrupulous, yet My Father loves them and I love them. They hurt me and do not believe in me even though I came to give them salvation. They rejected me and crucified me. The soldiers were gambling for My robe when I drained My last drop of Blood. They were close to the Cross yet far from Me. He smiled.

He lifted my chin. I saw passion shining in His eyes. An indescribable feeling overwhelmed me. I realised that those faked smile was nothing compared to the suffering, at least I got the smile not the nails.

You are saved, My dear. By My strips you are healed. Rejoice, for the suffering you bear for the sake of Me, you will be rewarded when your soul return to Father. You will be crowned a Crown of Life if you fight the good fight and finish the race yet remain faithful until the last. He smiled.

Our eyes met in the air. I have something in my mind. I couldn’t wait to vomit the thought out, but it was jumbled. I mumbled,” but the smile...” I was not being able to construct my sentence, my face turned red. I took another glance at Him, as if I was the little child waiting for consolation.

He read my mind, I supposed. A gentle tap landed on my head. What comfort. He knows that He needs no words to calm my swinging emotion but a touch will do. It works. Then, He pointed at the hammer and nails on the floor.

I had born all this for you because I love you. You are forgiven because I love you. Do you love Me?

An very easy question, yet not easy to answer. I knew there was something hidden, still I gave Him my very honest answer.

“ I love you.” Face to face I said it. A great relief followed. These three words weighed more than a ton.

He smiled. Forgive them. He said.

Forgive them? But they had caused me unbearable pain. I struggled, it’s hard to let go. Unintentionally, I bear them grudge, the hatred piled up and polluted my soul. I stole a glimpse on His gracious face. I took His hands and examined them closely, it is all for love.

Yes, all for love. Father gave the world His only begotten Son. I was one of them but now Father and I are reconciled. Why let the insincere smile darkened my days? Why let hatred accumulated take away my love for Him? Am I not loved Him? No, I love Him.

It was time to make a choice. I stood up from where I fell down, had the hammer and nails in my hands. He led me to the Cross, and I nailed my sin on it. Every batter on the nail, I felt the torment as if my flesh and bones were slashed and torn apart. I was hammering all of them with all my strength. When I had done and I turned to my Father and His Son. They replied me with smile.

“Can you do something for me, Father?” I asked as I wiped my forehead and gasping for air, and I continued without waiting for His answer.

“I pray that for everything I do for you, will be able to draw a big smile on Your face. What I want is a smile on Your face...”, I poured out my desire. “...and a gentle tap on my head... Everyday. ” Finally, I said it out. I found no reasons why should I rob my joy by looking at the plastic smile when I could have something better. No, I mean the Best.

He smiled. It was a big one.

I captured this moment in my mind. This is the reason from keeping me going no matter how rocky the journey is. I need not the crowd to remind me that I am not alone; I need not the people to tell me how loved I am, I need not the plastic smile to tell me I am accepted. I already have the answer.

The smile on my Father’s face.