Selah..

softly, she walks through the open field,
a canvas of crystal and sun.
she draws deep a breath to her lungs -- 
and delights in her Maker, her Lord.

nearby the water stills its rapids;
a reservoir of quiet and calm.
she lies beside the silent stream -- 
and feels her soul restored.

and with her hand raised to her King
she follows the righteous path.
while in the house of the Lord she finds 
an eternal love that lasts.

though death and darkness steal the light
she presses on towards Day.
the Shepherd's staff protects and she
feels comfort and peace -- Brave. 

when in her Father's house she sits
at a glorious table of feasts.
the guests of honor are present to witness
His favor upon her head.

and when she rises up there trails
behind her, goodness and grace
to bless and follow her always,
a gift from God above.

softly, she walks through the open field
and listens to Heaven's bells.
she sets her mind and eyes on the Lord -- 
and makes her heart His home.

Surrender to Love

"We are not a changed people merely by doing the right things. We are a changed people when we surrender to the God who is love, allowing His love to take up residence in us."
-Mike DeVries

Breeze

Breeze
Is tired after a day's work of moving past vehicles and annoyingly flipping newspaper pages of men in suits to prove its existence
So it stopped and did what it like best

Moving through the sliding young girl's happy hair dancing down the slide
Pushing & teasing little hydrogens bumping each other in red balloons
Playing catch with the wagging tongue of the dog out the car window
And hugging the old widow sitting alone in the fading garden

And after the long day's gone
It turns back into wind, sweeps clean the streets of its dead leaves
Terrorises the dark, closes the windows of forgetful minds
and lulls little children to sleep
with its gentle lullaby.

The Curator and the baker's son (rewrite) 01

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived in a small town. This is an old town full of old and beautiful buildings, and many people would come by the bakery, large library and famous art museum.  Everyday, something special will happen in this small town. And everyday, only one special thing will happen, be it a hot air balloon carnival, town parade, bakery day, or something so special that it only happens to a small group of people, or just between two persons.

Today, I am telling you a story of something really special that happens to two persons, between a young boy and an old man. This young boy is the baker's son, a young nine year-old, blond-haired boy, slightly taller than two long French loaves stacked up together, but much fatter. The boy is so well-mannered with a gentle voice, but don't be fooled, he is very, very naughty. This old man is very, very old. He is so old that when he coughs, he make loud whizzing coughs that would frighten the birds sleeping in the tree. And he walks with a very, very old wooden walking stick which makes a "thump... thump" sound wherever he goes. Don't be surprised that every people in this small old town knows him, because he is the curator of the famous museum.

So why is this museum famous? It is a large museum with so many things that it would take days just to finish seeing it, but that is not why it is famous. I would love to tell you but there are so many other long stories to it, but let me give you a hint - It is a magical museum.

Flame of God - prayer

From prayer that asks that I may be
Sheltered from winds that beat on Thee,
From fearing when I should aspire,
From faltering when I should climb higher
From silken self, O Captain, free
Thy soldier who would follow Thee.

From subtle love of softening things,
From easy choices, weakenings,
Not thus are spirits fortified,
Not this way went the Crucified
From all that dims Thy Calvary
O Lamb of God, deliver me.

Give me the love that leads the way,
The faith that nothing can dismay
The hope no disappointments tire,
The passion that will burn like fire;
Let me not sink to be a clod;
Make me Thy fuel, Flame of God

-Amy Carmichael

Soon

"Though I have not seen Him, my heart knows Him well."

the story will continue very soon..

The curator and I - Note books (1 of 2)

..

If I were to distribute a little note book to everyone, and let them write down their thoughts. After a couple of weeks, I would collect them back, admire how in different shapes and sizes they were returned, and pass it on to the curator.

He will start putting together the notes that were torn apart, read through line by line, smile and laugh, or wipe his eyes with an old, reddish handkerchief. I felt as if years has passed while he was doing this, and he would hand me each note book after reading thoroughly, and I will release it while it flew high and hung in midair, like a gentle cloud, in the exhibition hall.

It seemed like a thousand year's worth of thoughts in seconds filled the ceiling. "Light them up", said the curator. So I picked up the strings of light bulb laying by the side of the hall, laid it over my shoulders and summoned gently, the floating ladder.

I was sweating when I have climbed the last step. The ladder extends itself so high to reach the top. Finally I can do my job now, slowly without awakening each bulb, I hold each string to my mouth and blew the light bulbs with long, soft breaths; and like a lazy yawn, they detach from the string and find its rest in each note book.

Light bulbs are very light and sleepy little creatures, but if there is any love found in the place where they nest in, they will wake up, and light up. But even as all the note books has a bulb nested in by now, the grand exhibition hall stayed very, very dark.

I feel weird, weirder than a stomachache. Because my heart feels a little painful, and big drops of salty tears began rolling down my cheeks. The curator said to me that it is a normal thing and wiped it off with his red handkerchief.

"I have an idea to make it brighter", the curator said, with a sudden big grin. =)

(to be continued..)




       

光

Have you ever run your fingers in a sunset light.

It rained

It rained,
It rained.

My tiredness seeps away into the cold drain.

I stand myself in the middle of it all,
this humble symphony of awe.

Stretch your hand into the little hope,
And the liquid chill drips into you.

The dancing trees, waves of circles.
Shadow in the light of you.

Flash and low roar.
Comfort, comfort, in your roar. Gentleness.

The melody droning, like a father's bedtime song.


Sweep me away..



Can't feel the light kiss on forehead,
It rained,
It rained.

Being odd

"A real Christian is an odd number anyway. He feels supreme love for one whom he has never seen. He talks familiarly every day to someone he cannot see, expects to go to heaven on the virtue of another, empties himself in order that he might be full, admits he is wrong so he can be declared right, goes down in order to get up. He is strongest when he is weakest, richest when he is poorest, and happiest when he feels worst. He dies so he can live, forsakes in order to have, gives away so he can keep, sees the invisible, hears the inaudible, and knows that which passeth knowledge.”

~A.W. Tozer

Love like fire

Place me like a seal over your heart,    
    like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,    
    its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire 
    like a mighty flame.

(Song of Songs 8:6)

“Like a Weaned Child is My Soul”

“Weaned from what? Self sufficiency, self will, self seeking. From creatures and the things of the world—not; indeed, as to their use, but as to any dependence upon them for his happiness and portion…Yet this experience is no easy attainment. The very form of expression — “I have behaved and quieted myself”, reminds us of some risings which were with difficulty subdued. There is a difference here between Christ and Christians. In him the exercise of grace encountered no adverse principles; but in them it meets with constant opposition. The flesh lusteth against the spirit, and when we would do good evil is present with us; hence the warfare within.

So it is with “the child that is weaned.” The task to the mother is trying and troublesome. The infant cries, and seems to sob out his heart. He thinks it very hard in her, and knows not what she means by her seeming cruelty, and the mother’s fondness renders all her firmness necessary to keep her at the process; and sometimes she also weeps at the importunity of his dear looks, and big tears, and stretched out hands. But it must be done, and therefore, though she pities, she perseveres; and after a while he is soothed and satisfied, forgets the breast, and no longer feels even a hankering after his former pleasure. But how is the weaning of the child accomplished? By embittering the member to his lips; by the removal of the object in the absence and concealment of the mother; by the substitution of other food; by the influence of time.

So it is with us. We love the world, and it deceives us. We depend on creatures, and they fail us, and pierce us through with many sorrows. We enter forbidden paths, and follow after our lovers; and our way is hedged up with thorns; and we then say, “Return unto thy rest, O my soul; and now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in thee.” The enjoyment of a greater good subdues the relish of a less. What are the indulgences of sin, or the dissipations of the world to one who is abundantly satisfied with the goodness of God’s house, and is made to drink of the river of his pleasures?”

William Jay [1769-1853], in “Evening Exercises for the Closet”

Blue jays, you fly by,

Pick me a branch, or silver lining,

Like the warm fabrics flapping against the wind,

Hung across lines and lines of sunshine.

Orange red rays, you flashed by,

Pick me your memory, or time,

Like your mother's warmth against the universe of darkness,

Breaking through my mind.

------

I put up the bunting, you coloured, and You hung up the skies.

-----------

Flying to heaven

Thought #1

During the flight to Taipei, when the plane makes a big turn to land, maybe due to turbulence, sometimes the plane will drop suddenly like a roller-coaster, fell low enough that a few female passengers gave out short, light screams. A few times the plane gave us the weightless feel. How did it really feel like, like a thrill to me,  but it felt like a great fear to my sis, and for some others in the plane, it felt a little closer to death.

So what would you do if it is really to the inevitable death, or to put it in another way, to the inevitable transformation to the realm of eternity. Do you remember your first flight experience, we've heard so much of the grandeur of flying, the unimaginably practical way of shooting above the clouds. And we finally experienced it. One day, we will get our first & only experience of this unimaginably practical way of transitioning through the realms, leaving our physical bodies, transcending to our eternal homes. How would it feel like, maybe like a thrill to some, or for some others, like a great fear. For most, it felt like death. But it is only an unexpected metamorphosis. This is life assured.

By the way, faith always land well.

Home

It's time to go home after 9 days of traveling in Taiwan. Such a colorful trip involving hiking mountain, passing through caves n risking rock fall; enjoying the train rides pass east coast beaches, rivers and towns; experiencing typhoon rain n winds in a mountainous area; talking n receiving hospitality from the locals, walking city streets n yumming night markets, watching cool night basketball matches with DJ music n live commentary; and finally, witnessing Jeremy Lin running across the street full of fans, attending to a press conference.

Home..

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity 
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen

-Reinhold Niebuhr

Say

Step by step he goes
Down the valley of stairs
Sewing dots of memory & wishes
Sayings of old aunties & warm dishes

宇圓, 魚丸, 微笑
颱, 小尖叫, 打烊, 微笑

Has he heard
The saying of winds, like gentle fog
Hiking the mountains

A forgotten story remembered
Covering the piers

A tear has fallen in the rain
豪雨落淚了，累。

你聽到了嗎
悲情城市淒然淚下後之笑容

Beauty in brokenness,
Made new.

記憶九份..

Memories..

Moonlight eyes

(writing this just before sleeping)

Pure is the moonlight eyes as it dances across the colours.

I stand amazed.

Conversations

Since getting a smarter phone a few months back, it really helps tremendously in contacting friends and family, especially in talking to my bro in ang-mo land. And surprisingly it can used as a great tool in counseling & encouraging cg members too.

A few random thoughts before I prepare for exam on the 13th again.

Heaven

It occurred to me that when all of us meet there, it is also a great reunion of people right from the beginning of mankind history. Adam & Moses, when I get to chat with them, might have no idea about my career, my life, my gadgets, my traveling & ministry experiences, the modern society - all of its conveniences & struggles. But they can relate to 2 things..

My family & my walk with God.   

Dreams

After the P&W nite in English Saturday service, this message came clear: 

"Fulfill the promises that you have made to God, and don't give up on the promises that He has made to you".

Goodness, it brought me back to this story at 21 years old.

If You are the God that fulfills the dreams that You have put in us, I will learn to trust this aspect of You.

Sky

As simple as this 3-letter word sounds, I still haven't known words to describe the painting of it on a beautiful day. Why would I be amazed at it and think of You, and the day we would meet face to face. For You have placed eternity in our hearts.

Time

 It's so fast...


Heart

I persuaded a friend to read some poetry, and candidly said that if words form a house, poems are the windows which allow the light and birds into.

He is not convinced.
hahaha..


Surprisingly heart remains the same, but a little older. There is a heartbeat, some could hear it.