Yesterday someone asked me if I came close to death in my recent illness. On 24.7.17 the person advising patients on their nutritional intake told me that I had reached the critical low weight for my height. Should I lose anymore weight, my body would feed on my heart and I would die from a cardiac arrest. Each meal I must eat sufficient protein: two whole eggs, fish or meat the size of my palm which is one inch thick. She advised me to drink as much milk as my stomach can take, four scoops three or four times a day.
That afternoon I had a shower. I took a good look at my skeletal torso, at that moment I probably weigh less than I did at age 12. A good description would be: skin and bones. I could count easily the number of ribs I had. Believe it or not, death was standing at my elbow. Like a war correspondent described it, there is a smell to danger and death: a sharp metallic smell cutting through one's sense in every breath. Ordinarily I am a very normal person not given to fears.
Yet I knew it in my bones that it was the defining moment: either I give in, curl up and die painlessly in a morphine haze or I need to fight every inch clawing myself up a cliff side. It was far easier to choose death. After all, every one of my lambs is over 21 years old. My husband is such a wonderful man that he would have lots of women vying to be his second wife. My mum would miss me but she did fairly well in my 2 and a half years' absence.
I remember the prophesy I had in 1994: God said that I would do four things for him. I was in my late fifties and just fulfilled a prophesy I had in 1984: to serve him in Sabah. I felt upset, told death that he should leave me alone. I didn't want to die and God would heal me because of my unfinished work. It was blind faith, conviction and a strong, stubborn decision to fight to survive.
I went on to eat five meals a day, drinking so much milk that the nurses who sent it was surprised at my high intake. For two weeks my weight remained the same, then it slowly climbed half a kilo a week. It was easy to lose 2 to 3 kilos a week. It was extremely difficult to gain even a pound. It took me about six months to get to the place where I look healthy. Now I wear an American size 10, at my lowest point I borrowed a size 5 pair of pants to go to church.
In October 2017 I published my first book. In April this year I gave my first speech as an author in a senior citizen group in my city. Thus the first two tasks in the prophesy came to pass: to publish books and to give spoken message for God.
Last Sunday I met my daughter's new friend: a first year software engineering student. I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps if we click, she would provide the software support for the third task: broadcasting (God willing). I suppose for me it is availability and obedience that are needed, all the rest is in God's ball court.
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
(1015) Elizabeth's pathway in music
When my eldest was in kindergarten, my sister-in-law sent my nephew to Yamaha toddler class. After I went to audit the class as a prospective parent, I took Kenneth to a free session. He was totally not interested.
Like a deflated balloon, I never thought of sending any of my brood to any musical activity until Elizabeth hit three years old. At three years nine months, she talked incessantly about going to school like her idol, Kenneth. We methodically visited two kindergartens, she decided on Canning Garden Methodist Kindergarten. The very first week of class, we walked past a Yamaha Music School. We heard piano music from the shop lot. Elizabeth stopped mid-step, refused to walk on and demanded that I get her "the black thing". It took me a while to realized she meant a piano.
I was then in a quandary. What if I spent a few thousands purchasing a piano but she loses interest after a year or two. One reason for this concern is we are a one-income family, money was never in abundance. Secondly we were still living in a rental house, there is not much point accumulating items. I must have shared the thought and concern in fellowship group. My Group leader's wife suggested that I approach her niece who would be in town for three months to teach Elizabeth music. If the teacher recommends continuing lessons with a permanent replacement, then perhaps I could risk buying a second hand piano.
It's difficult to forget the image of Elizabeth's first music lesson, she was actually sitting on the teacher's lap. Otherwise she would be too short to reach the piano. To summarise her journey through ten years of learning music: she did not sit for any test, neither did she spend anytime learning music theory. She did everything by listening and finger pattern recognition. In her brain there must be compartment specially prepared for this very purpose.
Today, she is in her late twenties. She plays the keyboard in the church music team. She back up sings too. During her Upper Six year she saved up money for voice lessons. She leads worship on Saturdays. If she could voice sing a song, she could accompany the song on piano, keyboard or guitar. I certainly could not figure out how she does it, since I can't even carry a tune in the correct key. God certainly knows how to send different individuals along to help Elizabeth develop her God-given gift.
Like a deflated balloon, I never thought of sending any of my brood to any musical activity until Elizabeth hit three years old. At three years nine months, she talked incessantly about going to school like her idol, Kenneth. We methodically visited two kindergartens, she decided on Canning Garden Methodist Kindergarten. The very first week of class, we walked past a Yamaha Music School. We heard piano music from the shop lot. Elizabeth stopped mid-step, refused to walk on and demanded that I get her "the black thing". It took me a while to realized she meant a piano.
I was then in a quandary. What if I spent a few thousands purchasing a piano but she loses interest after a year or two. One reason for this concern is we are a one-income family, money was never in abundance. Secondly we were still living in a rental house, there is not much point accumulating items. I must have shared the thought and concern in fellowship group. My Group leader's wife suggested that I approach her niece who would be in town for three months to teach Elizabeth music. If the teacher recommends continuing lessons with a permanent replacement, then perhaps I could risk buying a second hand piano.
It's difficult to forget the image of Elizabeth's first music lesson, she was actually sitting on the teacher's lap. Otherwise she would be too short to reach the piano. To summarise her journey through ten years of learning music: she did not sit for any test, neither did she spend anytime learning music theory. She did everything by listening and finger pattern recognition. In her brain there must be compartment specially prepared for this very purpose.
Today, she is in her late twenties. She plays the keyboard in the church music team. She back up sings too. During her Upper Six year she saved up money for voice lessons. She leads worship on Saturdays. If she could voice sing a song, she could accompany the song on piano, keyboard or guitar. I certainly could not figure out how she does it, since I can't even carry a tune in the correct key. God certainly knows how to send different individuals along to help Elizabeth develop her God-given gift.
(1014) Maids
A big part of Malaysian family life ties up with maids. Why do I say so? Just look at my high school reunion lunch: there were 7 women: Julie whose maid worked for her at least 15 years, Vickie who changed maids every two years, Katie who uses two maids for the past 30 years, Felicia who hailed from USA (no maid), Lily who resides in Singapore (no maid), Minnie who lives in Australia (no maid) and I (sometimes I hire part-time maids to help in my spring cleaning).
As you can see, out of seven women from the same high school; the four who did not migrate have had dealings with maids in their daily lives. One calls in hourly help, one had a long term lived in maid, two live with two maids who come and go according to contracts.
I have come across fantastic maids who serve their employers faithfully and are therefore treated like part of the family. For example, Siti who worked many years for Mr and Mrs Soh in Silver City and she came from the capital in Sulawesi. There is Auntie who served twenty years with Sheryl's family. This enterprising woman saved up enough to buy land, build chalets and is now running a homestay resort off the internet in Jawa. Yet there is Cathy (Filipina) who is honest as the day is long who spent two decades cleaning mum's 7 bedroom mansion...
However, there are heart-rending tales: my cousin's trusted 19 year long-stay Indonesian maid cleaned out her jewels collection when she left for good. It was terrible to lose one's heirloom and hard earned beautiful pieces at one blow. More than that, I'm sure it was a horrible feeling to be betrayed by one whom a person trusted so well.
Then there is the deSilver family's saga. Their paragon had long been all the neighbours' envy. At long last, the model maid's children asked her to return to her hometown to enjoy her well earned rest. The maid, who is an expert baker, baked two cakes on her second last day at work. These were beautifully decorated cakes. One she planned to take home on the returning flight. The other was for her employer's children. Unbeknown to everyone else, the youngest child in the house surveyed both cakes and switched them.
All went according to clockwork. The maid was sent off with good wishes and much affection at the airport. The family concerned came home, very glad they would enjoy one more wonderful cake. They cut into the attractive cake finding the mistress' jewels hidden inside. Imagine the shock! While they must be glad to be safe from financial loses, it must be a bitter taste in the mouth to feel a sense of betrayal!
As you can see, out of seven women from the same high school; the four who did not migrate have had dealings with maids in their daily lives. One calls in hourly help, one had a long term lived in maid, two live with two maids who come and go according to contracts.
I have come across fantastic maids who serve their employers faithfully and are therefore treated like part of the family. For example, Siti who worked many years for Mr and Mrs Soh in Silver City and she came from the capital in Sulawesi. There is Auntie who served twenty years with Sheryl's family. This enterprising woman saved up enough to buy land, build chalets and is now running a homestay resort off the internet in Jawa. Yet there is Cathy (Filipina) who is honest as the day is long who spent two decades cleaning mum's 7 bedroom mansion...
However, there are heart-rending tales: my cousin's trusted 19 year long-stay Indonesian maid cleaned out her jewels collection when she left for good. It was terrible to lose one's heirloom and hard earned beautiful pieces at one blow. More than that, I'm sure it was a horrible feeling to be betrayed by one whom a person trusted so well.
Then there is the deSilver family's saga. Their paragon had long been all the neighbours' envy. At long last, the model maid's children asked her to return to her hometown to enjoy her well earned rest. The maid, who is an expert baker, baked two cakes on her second last day at work. These were beautifully decorated cakes. One she planned to take home on the returning flight. The other was for her employer's children. Unbeknown to everyone else, the youngest child in the house surveyed both cakes and switched them.
All went according to clockwork. The maid was sent off with good wishes and much affection at the airport. The family concerned came home, very glad they would enjoy one more wonderful cake. They cut into the attractive cake finding the mistress' jewels hidden inside. Imagine the shock! While they must be glad to be safe from financial loses, it must be a bitter taste in the mouth to feel a sense of betrayal!
Friday, August 24, 2018
1013 Dream about the afterlife
When I returned from America with a newly minted degree and a brand new faith, my father gave me a serious talking to. In his opinion I would be better off sticking to my Chinese folk beliefs. As he put it, for thousands of years my ancestors believed in a blend of Taoism and facets of Buddhism, what made me think that I know any better than my forebears? Well, that is not exactly accurate! My maternal grandmother's biological family members were practicing Christians. Actually my grand uncle was a pastor in Hong Kong after the Communist takeover of China. At least one of my grand aunts was a Bible Woman: a full time staff of the local church. Anyway, thousands of years ago, emperors in China actually sacrificed once a year in an altar out of the imperial capital to Jehovah.
My father lived another twenty years after that discussion. As he felt strongly about my wrong choice, I grew to be certain that I chose the correct faith for myself. A conversation about religion did not take place without anger and raised voice. We learned to steer well away from religion, faith, and conviction. Meanwhile, I knew he would not live forever. Hence I often prayed that God would be merciful to him and grant him a death bed confession.
God is really faithful. He gave me what I asked. After a fall or two, my father was in the hospital. He complained that the nurses did not take him to the bathroom for a proper bath. I could certainly see why, my father is a tall and big man who gained much weight after he stopped walking around town. Since the diagnosis was first stage cancer in the pancreas, my brothers and I decided that we should grant his wish to have proper baths in a nursing home. He spent one night there. The next morning he collapsed in the bathroom and his face turned blue. The nursing home manager was a former paramedic, she resuscitated him with oxygen. My brother and family turned up and brought him his favourite food. He wanted to return home, I supposed he must have known he was about to die. After the visitors left, I turned up with my eldest son. My father complained about stomach ache. I rubbed his tummy with medicated oil and arranged a bolster he asked for under his feet as they were swollen. He began to be agitated and to peek at the window nervously. When I realised that he must have seen spirits that I could not see, my son and I started to sing every song about the cross and the precious blood of Jesus. He held on to my hand and I have never seen him so scared before. My pastor and a church brother managed to find us after going to four other nursing homes in the vicinity. You see, not every nursing home has sign boards.
By then, my father could not talk. Pastor urged him to nod his head, blink his eye. But he could only stare at us beseechingly. Anyway, Pastor prayed and asked God to be merciful to my father and hear his heart cry. Within five minutes, my father breathed his last. There was a well formed tear that fell from one of his eyes. I was surprised, for my father was a macho man who never cried. For a pre-believer, my father had a very fast and easy death, according to Pastor who knew about such things. But I wanted to know for sure where my father had gone to, so I prayed that God would be merciful and give me a sign.
A few nights later, I dreamed. In the dream, I was driving in Silver City. I went to a supermarket to buy the daily vegetables, and I saw my father in the car park. Then I drove my youngest daughter to school and I saw him standing behind my car. I asked him why did he follow me around, after all I am living and he had died. He smiled and I told him to look for the light and Jesus would be waiting for him there. He waved his hand and indeed turned to a bright corner and walked away.
I thanked God for the dream. Now I am confident that when I enter heaven I will find him in the heavenly library or information centre, adding to his store of knowledge.
My father lived another twenty years after that discussion. As he felt strongly about my wrong choice, I grew to be certain that I chose the correct faith for myself. A conversation about religion did not take place without anger and raised voice. We learned to steer well away from religion, faith, and conviction. Meanwhile, I knew he would not live forever. Hence I often prayed that God would be merciful to him and grant him a death bed confession.
God is really faithful. He gave me what I asked. After a fall or two, my father was in the hospital. He complained that the nurses did not take him to the bathroom for a proper bath. I could certainly see why, my father is a tall and big man who gained much weight after he stopped walking around town. Since the diagnosis was first stage cancer in the pancreas, my brothers and I decided that we should grant his wish to have proper baths in a nursing home. He spent one night there. The next morning he collapsed in the bathroom and his face turned blue. The nursing home manager was a former paramedic, she resuscitated him with oxygen. My brother and family turned up and brought him his favourite food. He wanted to return home, I supposed he must have known he was about to die. After the visitors left, I turned up with my eldest son. My father complained about stomach ache. I rubbed his tummy with medicated oil and arranged a bolster he asked for under his feet as they were swollen. He began to be agitated and to peek at the window nervously. When I realised that he must have seen spirits that I could not see, my son and I started to sing every song about the cross and the precious blood of Jesus. He held on to my hand and I have never seen him so scared before. My pastor and a church brother managed to find us after going to four other nursing homes in the vicinity. You see, not every nursing home has sign boards.
By then, my father could not talk. Pastor urged him to nod his head, blink his eye. But he could only stare at us beseechingly. Anyway, Pastor prayed and asked God to be merciful to my father and hear his heart cry. Within five minutes, my father breathed his last. There was a well formed tear that fell from one of his eyes. I was surprised, for my father was a macho man who never cried. For a pre-believer, my father had a very fast and easy death, according to Pastor who knew about such things. But I wanted to know for sure where my father had gone to, so I prayed that God would be merciful and give me a sign.
A few nights later, I dreamed. In the dream, I was driving in Silver City. I went to a supermarket to buy the daily vegetables, and I saw my father in the car park. Then I drove my youngest daughter to school and I saw him standing behind my car. I asked him why did he follow me around, after all I am living and he had died. He smiled and I told him to look for the light and Jesus would be waiting for him there. He waved his hand and indeed turned to a bright corner and walked away.
I thanked God for the dream. Now I am confident that when I enter heaven I will find him in the heavenly library or information centre, adding to his store of knowledge.
Monday, August 20, 2018
1012 Food for the cat who adopted my mum
A lot has happened since I last posted from Borneo. Now I am back in my Peninsular home. By God's grace I survived a cancer episode. Last year I published a book written thirty five years ago. Right now I am awaiting my volunteer proof reader to go through the manuscript of my second book. From the sale of my first book I have managed to put aside about six hundred dollars. Yesterday my brother gave me eight hundred. Perhaps by the time my second proof reader gets through my work, I may have the 1,600 dollars to print a thousand copies before the end of this calendar year.
After I came out of the hospital last year, I began to notice a black and white cat who visited my mother often. I came from a poor family with a single income. Six of us lived on my dad's two hundred and thirty dollars monthly when I was six years old. The only pet I recall having was a green tiny turtle my dad rescued near his office. Apparently the heavy rain overflowed the ornamental pond of some nearby rich man's house. I was very taken with the cat as it was discreet, undemanding and came daily to spend time with my eighty-five year old mother. My mum kept a ready supply of clean water for the cat in exchange for its frightening away the mice.
Five weeks back, the cat stopped appearing in the morning. I kept a continual look out for it during my bi-weekly visits. For four days over a two week period, it came after high noon, looking foot worn and instead of cleaning itself; it slept. We came to the natural conclusion that its owner either went away on vacation or moved away. I was looking at it sleeping in exhaustion when I thought: God, wouldn't it be nice if you could give me some money to supply food to this poor cat so that it could continue to come spend time with my almost deaf mother. It was a fleeting thought and I soon forgot the momentary wish.
Lo and behold, a few days later, I received a designated offering in the offering bag in my church. It was one hundred dollars. That was unusual, as I was neither a pastor nor a missionary. It took me a few days to recall my fleeting thought and realised that the money was meant for the cat. Well, the money was spent on purchasing bags of Whiskas cat food. I calculated I have about eight months' worth of food to feed the cat who adopted my mother. I am very touched that God loves me, my mother and a cat enough to make provision for its upkeep. We serve an amazing God of love.
After I came out of the hospital last year, I began to notice a black and white cat who visited my mother often. I came from a poor family with a single income. Six of us lived on my dad's two hundred and thirty dollars monthly when I was six years old. The only pet I recall having was a green tiny turtle my dad rescued near his office. Apparently the heavy rain overflowed the ornamental pond of some nearby rich man's house. I was very taken with the cat as it was discreet, undemanding and came daily to spend time with my eighty-five year old mother. My mum kept a ready supply of clean water for the cat in exchange for its frightening away the mice.
Five weeks back, the cat stopped appearing in the morning. I kept a continual look out for it during my bi-weekly visits. For four days over a two week period, it came after high noon, looking foot worn and instead of cleaning itself; it slept. We came to the natural conclusion that its owner either went away on vacation or moved away. I was looking at it sleeping in exhaustion when I thought: God, wouldn't it be nice if you could give me some money to supply food to this poor cat so that it could continue to come spend time with my almost deaf mother. It was a fleeting thought and I soon forgot the momentary wish.
Lo and behold, a few days later, I received a designated offering in the offering bag in my church. It was one hundred dollars. That was unusual, as I was neither a pastor nor a missionary. It took me a few days to recall my fleeting thought and realised that the money was meant for the cat. Well, the money was spent on purchasing bags of Whiskas cat food. I calculated I have about eight months' worth of food to feed the cat who adopted my mother. I am very touched that God loves me, my mother and a cat enough to make provision for its upkeep. We serve an amazing God of love.
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