Author: anitastephen2015

I love connecting with people. This has always been the case for me. It excites me, lifts up my spirits and sets me up perfectly. I do love connecting with people. I love connecting and therefore I’m an extrovert or I am an extrovert and therefore I love connecting. This isn’t something I ponder on very much! Instead, I do reflect on the quality of relationships that I let come into my life. 

When I was younger, I constantly let people in without any kind of filter. If they had a kind word, a smile and were friendly, I deemed them trustworthy. It has taken many lessons along the way to make me more acceptable to the idea of toxic people. Toxic people love latching on and when I was younger, I mistook this to mean they wanted my friendship. Foolish, foolish child! 

I guess the lessons on toxicity never stopped, even later on in life. It seems to be an area where I need to really be more hands on and show more prowess. Even as an adult, I’ve found it hard to deal with toxicity. I’ve let people say and do inappropriate things to me. I remember being asked to be a bridesmaid once. The bride in question, when asked who her bridesmaid was, pointed to me and announced to a group of friends very loudly, “she’s already a maid, she can be my bridesmaid.” I felt my cheeks go hot and embarrassment rose within me. I didn’t protest. She hadn’t even asked me privately. Nothing. It was an appointment. I accepted the position with as much grace as I could muster. I’m gobsmacked at how I was so accepting. I should’ve refused! It shocks me too, when I remember how a friend commented that I looked good. I thanked her for the compliment, only to hear her say “See what you can do with a little effort, imagine if you put in more!” Again, it was pretty much a deer in the headlights sort of response from me.There have been so many comments. I know not whether to laugh or cry. The impropriety of the comments served to stun more than anything and often, I was bewildered. 

I think there has been improvement in recent times. Finally, the lessons seem to be sinking in and the patterns of behaviour seem to be clearer. Red flags now pop up and I’m starting to pay attention. “I can tell you very honestly, there’s not a single soul in the city of KL that deserves any help.” This was a comment that came my way, after a barrage of complaints against the behaviour of people in the city. This person forgot that they themselves came from KL! Additionally, it is always hard to see what the people complained about have done wrong. One person complained about, refused to accept a lower deposit for the sale of a house, than the stipulated 10%. Why were they a ‘vulture’ for sticking to the protections afforded to them as the seller? “Churches don’t help. They are so good at preaching, but never give you the help that you need.” This was a complaint that came up when there were no other available counselling services in churches except for those within their congregations. “Our families have cut us off. They are selfish.” My oldest friends don’t want to have anything to do with me. All selfish, arrogant people. Such fakes.” I had my head chewed off for (something that was completely not their fault).” Nothing is ever their fault. They are never wrong! Point something out to them, and you are blocked on all social media and cast into what they must think is the abyss. 

Having just extricated myself from one such latch, I am pondering on what I could’ve done better to have shortened even this episode. It is quite hard to figure this one out. One the one hand, I am told to love others just how God loves me. This is hard. Jesus died for me! On the other hand, my own limits and the necessity to maintain my sanity pull on me. It is hard. When do I turn the other cheek? When do I forgive and forgive and forgive again? 

This is the big struggle I face. I do think that the cross where Jesus hung from is the answer. It shows me that my limits are indeed real. There is only so much I can do to show love. I am not in the position to die for someone else. I cannot lay down my life and pick it up again. It isn’t within my purview. It is why I need Jesus. He did all this on my behalf. It also tells me that all the toxic individuals I have met with are in dire need of Jesus. Some speak of having faith in Him, but it cannot be that they understand His love for them. If they did, then they would be latching on to Him, instead of to me or to anyone else. Jesus can go where I can’t. 

I strongly believe too, that there is a need for these toxic individuals to experience grace, especially in relationships. They need to recognise that grace protects, grows, corrects, humbles, overwhelms, etc and that it is so readily found amongst the imperfect souls that come into their lives. Each one is there in our lives for a purpose. 

As I consider the last latch that I have been freed from, I think that there has been some growth in me in not letting this go on, and in speaking up against some of the toxic comments that came my way. It was confrontation that I much rather have avoided and I can only pray that I acted with as much grace possible in those circumstances. I hope that these latches find their way to Christ. Latching on to Him is good for them. He is big and strong enough for that. 

7 January 2022 will be 16 years since I lost my mum. 16 years feels like a long time. You could even call it a lifetime! Yet, for me, this one gaping hole remains: my mum isn’t here with me. It signifies to me that all is not right with the world and never can be. Not till Jesus returns, anyway. 

From quite early on in December, I find myself looking back on my mum’s passing. It is an amazing story as for almost 2 years prior to her passing, I was planning a trip to the UK. One of the best people I know, was getting married and I was her bridesmaid! The whole thing was exciting. She sent me gorgeous blue material, which I took to a tailor to get my dress made. Man, he was expensive! But that dress he made was stunning. I loved it to bits. It is my favourite dress even now, as I write this! My mum had been so very excited for me. She helped me design that dress and I took her very precise instructions to the tailor. Her health prevented her coming with me at that point, much to her chagrin. I have to say that the tailor appreciated her instructions very much! He complimented her abilities in choosing a style that flattered me, and ventured on to say how he felt she must love me so very much. He was so very right, of course. 

Plans were made. I would spend Christmas 2005 in the UK and return home to usher in 2006. I wanted to see more of the country I had spent time in as a student, and spend time with friends and family. My excitement about going to the UK for my friend’s wedding suddenly turned into anxiety. The travel agency I was using called to let me know that I would only be getting a flight back on 3 January, which meant I would miss being home to see in the New Year. I was in my office when this happened, and I had a meltdown. It was messy and I was unhappy. 

As days went by, I started feeling like I didn’t even want to go. I wondered how to explain this to my dear friend who was getting married. Mum’s words to me were “you can’t let her down!” So on 8 December 2005, I found myself flying to the UK, full of inexplicable angst. My friend said that they could tell I was distracted. I never realised that. I was trying to play it cool. But on 10 December 2005, after the wedding, which was beautiful, where my friend made such a beautiful bride, I was ready to come home. Then started one of the most bizarre times of my life. I called the airlines everyday trying to get a flight back. This was the busy Christmas season and I was put on waiting lists. I called friends back here in Malaysia, to see if they could try calling the airlines for me from Malaysia. I did all sorts. Then news came that I could get on a flight on 23 December, leaving Manchester late at night and I would be home by Christmas Eve. 

At the airport, I thought that my dearest friend, would hate me forever. I couldn’t explain to her or to any of the other friends and family who I cancelled on, why it was I was leaving. I didn’t know myself. All I knew was, I needed to get home. I remember my friend’s eyes too, as she looked at me, while we drank coffee at the airport. There was hurt. I knew I was causing it. There was no explanation then. I just had to come home. On the plane, I broke down in tears. I thought that this whole thing would be the end of a friendship I cherished and I was also very anxious to be home. 

Whilst I told my dad and an aunt that I was coming home, I wanted it to be a surprise for mum. What a surprise it was too! I was overjoyed at being home that Christmas Eve. My parents were thrilled. I remember my mum’s delight, especially. How she loved me. She was very happy to have me back. We talked a lot that night, mum and I. Our conversations are like elixirs to me these days. I love remembering them. They bring me pain as they remind me of what I’ve lost. I admit this. Yet, I am ever so thankful for these memories, for they remind me of so much love. They remind me that God has blessed me greatly indeed. 

That Christmas was the loveliest of Christmasses we’ve ever had. We didn’t have a huge open house or any of the usual parties. But I remember it for the conversations that mum and I had. Mum and I always talked and shared things, but this seemed to be a marathon of conversations. Over the entire week leading to the new year, we had so much to discuss! We also watched some of our favourite shows together, discussed the characters we loved from various books, and as always, we talked about our faith. Mum was in good spirits. 2006 was before us. We were both joyful. It still feels magical. How she loved me.

On 3 January, I remember making plans with a friend to catch a movie. As I was prepping to leave, mum didn’t feel too well. She said she was finding it hard to breathe. She was very anaemic, thanks to rheumatoid arthritis, and I organised for an ambulance to come and take her to hospital. Even when I cancelled plans with my friend, I wasn’t worried. The ambulance was called purely not to stress mum by making her walk to the car, etc. She was still in great spirits and even joked with the ambulance medical attendants. I followed the ambulance in my car and soon she was in the ER. It was the wee hours of 4 January when they settled mum into a room. They weren’t really sure what was wrong but they wondered if it was bronchitis. I stayed with her that entire night. She was so glad I was with her. How she loved me. 

The days we were in hospital were like slumber parties. On 5 January, the last time we had our precious conversation, she spelt out her feelings for me. I think for any child, even an adult child, knowing the depths of your parents love for you and how proud they are of you, is beyond precious. It wasn’t like I was in doubt of her feelings! She always told me. But this was almost like a blessing pronounced and a declaration made. How she loved me. 

The next day (6 January), they took her in for a CT scan. It was after the scan, that we got the dreaded news. “She’s got 6 hours to live..” I’ll never forget the nurse and doctor who shared this news. They were sorry they couldn’t save her. I’ll never forget how crushed I felt and the desperation in my heart. They wanted to know if they could intubate her. In more than one of the many conversations that mum and I shared, she had told me that she never ever wanted to be intubated. Her desire to be free of intubation was so strong. I remember the intensity in her voice and the look in her eyes, which never changed all the times she shared this with me. It broke my heart, having to say ‘no’ to the intubation question. In my heart, I called out to God, to give me an answer. More reminders of conversations we had came flooding into my mind. I knew I had to be strong. I knew what I had to do. 

We didn’t intubate my mother. We remained by her side right throughout. I know friends and family came. I know my dad shed tears in the hospital staircase exits. This was behind a closed door and the only evidence was his shirt that was wet by his tears. I know there were all sorts of tugs of war, silly disputes as well as an outpouring of love, but I cannot remember caring about any of these. I was losing my mum. The world as I knew it would never be the same. 

In the wee hours of 7 December, one of my aunts told me that if I spoke into my mum’s ear, she would be able to hear me. So that is what I did. I told mum that papa loved her. I told mum that I loved her very, very much. I told her that I wanted to always look after her but that now, it was time for Jesus to look after her. I told her I would miss her as it was time for her to go to Jesus. As I said this, mum squeezed my hand so tightly. Her grip shocked me, because with rheumatoid arthritis, I knew she didn’t have strength in her hands. Naively, I thought she was getting better and started calling for nurses. Mum squeezed my hand so tightly and then breathed her last. How she loved me. 

I write this because this period makes me especially sad. I remember my mum. I write this too because I remember that God really showed me His Hand. It wasn’t coincidence my wanting to return so quickly from the UK. Anyone who knows me, will know that I love it there. I would never have wanted to shorten my holiday there. It was also in 2005 that I really went back to church, after years of annoyance with the kind of preaching we had, which led to me avoiding church. 2005 prepared me for the storm I would face in 2006 with the loss of my mum. God really showed me His Hand by bringing me in so that I could be supported through His Word. 

I don’t think I will ever be done grieving my mum. Not while I live on this earth. I am however, very grateful for how God has provided for me over the years, grappling with this loss. I quit a career that was my childhood dream and am so changed that I doubt very much I could be the same lawyer I used to be. I have been told on many occasions that I have wasted the education my parents paid for. My dad has never said such a thing. He saw my grief and he knew his child was broken. As for my mum, of all people, she would’ve known what losing her would do to me. I have been told that my mum would be so disappointed that I’ve not gone on to marry and that I have shrunk in my ambitions in life. I have been told I am not strong because I am grieving for so long and that my mum would be disappointed as I do not possess her strength. To the people who purport to speak on behalf of my mum, I have nothing polite to say. If anyone of them had a sense of the relationship I had with her, they would never have said such things. They could never understand how she loved me.

Over and above this, my life is hid in Christ. My successes and failures here no longer have life and death consequences. Instead, if through this grief, I can walk alongside someone else, through whatever pain they have, I think Jesus would be pleased. If I can be a constant source of encouragement to my family or friends, just as my mum encouraged me, I think Jesus would be pleased. If I can face life and embrace it’s highs and lows, despite this hole in my heart from this grief, I think Jesus would be pleased. It means I can trust Him despite this outcome. It means I believe there will be a day when all these tears end. I am so grateful to Him for my mum. The magnitude of my grief reflects the magnitude of His blessing to me. I thank Jesus for my mother. How she loved me. 

Merry Christmas! It’s the middle of the afternoon on Christmas Day 2021 that I write this. It’s such a pretty day. Outside, we can still hear birds having long conversations. Loki’s blissfully sleeping on my leg, which is his preferred pillow. My dad’s snoozing after what he called a really good lunch. It was sumptuous, indeed! I’d ordered the meal from a trusted caterer. Boy, did they deliver! 

It strikes me as odd that I even have time to write a blog this Christmas Day. I’m not scrambling to catch a nap before the next visitors come. That’s because this year, we’re not hosting anything. It’s been a very quiet Christmas. No Christmas tree or decorations up at home, no guests arriving over the week, no heavy duty cooking or baking, no rushed shopping trips with long lists in hand. No to so many of the usual things I find myself doing. I’m recovering from surgery. My recovery is going amazingly well and I’m feeling rather chirpy about that. I feel more like me and I am so grateful to God for this, even if it has meant that the festivities haven’t happened. 

My doctor very kindly agreed that I could attend a few things. “Please don’t accept every single invitation,” she pleaded. I listened. Friends are surprised at my compliance. A few have said so too! I’ve only accepted two invites. One was for a lunch organised by one cousin yesterday, on Christmas Eve and another will be for a second family gathering next week. I think I’ll do some baking for that. If I’m honest, I was relieved to be able to accept these invites. I am an extrovert and I need people. I was feeling deprived of company! Maybe I shouldn’t have sent my cousin the silly photo of me with my face covered in gook. That’s stuff that can be used to blackmail me. Dang it! But it was demonstration of the boredom that was setting in. I miss being out and about! 

Saying this, I must say that the quiet has not been spectacularly bad. It has given me time for a few things. It has given me the head space to share time with friends going through different things, which make Christmas very difficult or stressful. It’s been a privilege to share in their lives. Their tears, their anxiety and many other feelings are precious to Jesus. And for once, over Christmas, I was able to spend this time sharing in these things, instead of worrying about whether I got all the ingredients for my fruitcake or whatever was going on in the kitchen. As fun as baking and cooking is, these moments of getting to share in lives of others has been the far bigger blessing. 

This quiet time has also meant that I am not exhausted from cooking, baking, cleaning, shopping, gift wrapping, etc. That has been pretty amazing too because I’ve been able to really follow the advent devotions. It may sound trivial, but even though I have always followed advent devotions, I’ve done them hurriedly. The prophets Micah or Isaiah, among others, haven’t always been as interesting as some of the things I’ve had to do. I must really say that I am utterly disappointed in myself that it has taken me a recovery period to realise this. What have I been thinking? This year, every day of advent was magical because I wasn’t in a rush and could ponder on the various readings. I am convicted. There is nothing better than God’s Word. It provides us with glimpses into who He is and it’s so very overwhelming when we get a glimpse. He is so real. He is so beautiful. He is the light. 

This Christmas, I have learnt a lot. I’ve learnt how stupid I have been to get caught up purely in the festivities. I have not chosen wisely, and for this, I am disappointed in myself. I’ve learnt that it is okay to walk alongside grief, anxiety, pain and a whole host of other less festive circumstances during this season. It has been good to share in the lives of those around me. I have also learnt that it is imperative that I always choose Jesus no matter what. So whilst I’m not advocating an end to festivities, I think I must choose to have time with Him and ensure that He is never crowded out. The lessons on advent have spoken into brokenness, darkness and pain. They speak of light shining into darkness and hope amidst despair and desperation. I am so grateful to the Lord for showing me this advent and Christmas how He came to heal all the this. The celebrations will be there when He returns again. But whilst I’m still here, I must always be ready to speak and live out the message of Christmas with those around me who are struggling or burdened. They truly are precious to Jesus. It is to reverse all this brokenness that He came. That makes for a very Merry Christmas! 

Fear is a reality for all of us. It is impossible to say we are completely fearless. We fear all sorts of things. Some times they are little things, like arriving late at a meeting or not making the impression we want. Sometimes they are heavy going, and involve some sort of loss (including the loss of our own lives) or some other horrid occurrence. Fear is real. 

It is no secret I underwent surgery recently. I’m not planning to discuss the actual surgery, but I do want to share feelings that went hand in hand with it. There were so many triggers. Some smaller fears were that there’d be delays to the surgery as a result of me contracting COVID or even just a bug. I became super vigilant. Then there was fear over managing Loki while I was away in hospital and during my recovery. My dad isn’t in a position to do this on his own. I also feared the kind of Christmas we’d be having. I love the festivities of Christmas and whilst I acknowledge and fully believe that Jesus’ birth is at the heart of Christmas, I do like coming together with family and friends over the season’s gaieties. 

There were also bigger worries that were triggered by some rather unhelpful comments. The people concerned, upon hearing that my haemoglobin levels were low, decided to share example after example of people dying in surgery because of low haemoglobin. This sharing, did trigger a worry deep within me about getting my affairs in order so that my dad is looked after. It is a prayer of mine, to outlive my dad, simply because I think parents should never have to say goodbye to a child. I watched my granny grieve my mum. It was cruel. The fear in me was so big as a result of these comments that I ran out the next day to get my affairs put in order. I had been strictly avoiding any sort of outing, but I felt I had to act so that my dad was taken care of. It also made me think about my own mortality. What if this really was the end? What if my dad had to bury his daughter? I’m not ashamed to confess that I did cry about this as I prayed those nights leading up to surgery. I know and I believe with all my heart that Jesus can do all things. Equally, I know and believe that He doesn’t have to do all things I want Him to do. He is wiser than me, I reasoned. He knows best, I told myself. I kept thinking about this, only to feel Him remind me that He is good. God is good. I say that all the time. But what does it really mean?

God is good, even when He doesn’t respond the way I want Him to. My job is to trust His response regardless of whether I like it. My job is to trust Him regardless of how afraid I feel. And I did feel afraid. I was afraid that His Will for me was different this time. The unhelpful comments unnerved me and I was afraid. Yet, I knew that He was and is good. “This is head knowledge, Lord,” I prayed. It needed to get real. 

It was then that Romans 8: 35 popped right into my head: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?’ It spoke to me. It said that even in the instance of something happening completely against my hopes and prayers, I could trust God because He is good. He sent Jesus to die for me and the fear that Jesus must’ve felt before going to the cross was terrible, as his sweat fell to the ground like great drops of blood (Luke 22:44). This is it. This good God, sent His pure Son, to die, for me, a sinful being. This could not have been the desired outcome of anyone, that a glorious God, is slain for sinners. Yet, it happened. Not because of an abusive God but because of a good God. A good God who used this terrible instance to bring me into His fold. A good God who actually made it possible for me not to fear, in the event I die. 

My apologies for not being able to express this clearly or more eloquently, but the peace that fell upon me was surreal, as my mind spoke to me.: “Whether I live or die, God is good. He can be trusted. He must be glorified. I must rely on Him completely and surrender all.” It was in this moment that I felt fear vanish and calm settle in. I was able to joke with doctors and nurses prior to surgery and there’s a whole load of babble that went on about my going to the cinema (so they claim), when I woke up (I have no recollection). I just do not remember feeling anymore fear. I felt supported and held by my Lord Jesus. 

I have to speak about this. I just got home tonight. And as I lay my head down to sleep, I know that all life is in God’s Hands. All things that matter are in His Hands. Whatever the night brings, whatever the troubles of the days ahead, I do now begin to grasp a little why the Angel said “fear not,” in Luke 2:10-11: “And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” As I spend this time leading up to Christmas in recovery, I am so grateful to God for this truth that He has granted us. We can trust Him and we can well and truly have nothing to fear! 

I’m heading in for surgery soon. As I write this, it’s literally a week away. I don’t plan to go into details of the surgery itself. Suffice to say, it is because some meds I was put on were mismanaged and have caused some severe effects. I was quite annoyed when I first found out. I felt that the doctor I’d been seeing, had been remiss. Part of me wanted to scream at him. The other part of me was just too exhausted. The latter won in this instance, and probably for the best too!

As I prepare for the 6 to 8 weeks recovery, which I can’t help but feel, will eat into Christmas festivities, I’ve been getting a lot of advice. Some of it has been very practical and some of it has been very annoying, to put it mildly. There are all sorts of assumptions made and the insistence in matching what I’m going through with an experience already had is simply impossible to deal with. Some make snide comments about some fluffy remedy they have, which apparently has helped many others in the past. I congratulate them and hope that they make their millions now they’ve found such an important cure. It’s mind boggling, why some have so much advice to give. I have to say that I have felt very saintly when I’ve not bitten off their heads and spat them out. It feels like a super-human effort on my part. I must thank God for the muzzle of tiredness that he placed on me to stop the verbal destruction that is dying to escape my lips.

There are many emotions that I’m going through. I have some friends who insist on me being the one to call them. They apparently won’t be calling me now. That’s not going to happen. I guess I’ll see you when I see you. Some others put pressure on me about getting well so that I can commit to their plans for Christmas. Truth be told, their plans sound exciting, but I am in no position to make that commitment. They’ve told me that I need to watch my negativity. There are some who’ve got very offended with me because they want to visit me at home after my surgery. I think it’s a lovely gesture and I have said so. However, I explained that visits may not be possible for a bit because even the doctor has said to minimize contact. COVID is still a threat. These friends got so annoyed with me. I can’t manage that now. It feels like there’s a whole range of emotion from others that I’ve got to manage. I wasn’t quite counting on that. Saying all this, I must say too, that I have been very blessed with some of the advice that has come along.

Some of those who have come alongside me, have been nothing but sheer blessing. Friends and family who are helping me with practical things (from sharing in some of the expenses, to helping me buy stuff that I’ll need in hospital or during my recovery, practical advice on what I need to be doing, helping me organize my home so that I won’t need to navigate the stairs, helping me with Loki (whom I’m ever so worried about), as well as those who have been helping me by upholding me in prayer and in sending me encouragement). The amount of help I’m getting is just what I need in this time of exhaustion and I am very aware of this – it is truly providence from the Lord. For some reason, I keep thinking of Hagar, when she ran away from Sarah. I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like to have been in a desert with a baby! The heat in Malaysia, at 27-30 degrees C, already kills me, even when I am indoors with the air conditioning on and a nice cold drink in hand. I feel that Hagar must’ve been overwhelmed with exhaustion and beyond words in her desperation. I don’t have a baby in my arms seeking shelter and nourishment. Yet, at some level, over these last 6 months, I have felt as if I was in some sort of wilderness. It has been lonely. It has been painful. It has been scary and frustrating. It’s also bringing up a deep sorrow from within: I miss my mum.

My thoughts go out to Jesus at times like this. I ask him so many questions. I think I don’t always wait to hear the answers. I’ll need to apologize to Him for that! My questions are not so much along the lines of ‘Why is this happening?’ but more along the lines of ‘Is this You, Lord?’ As I meet with the various aspects of grace, from my friends and family, I ask Jesus if this is Him. I know that how He reveals Himself is different now, compared to when Hagar was in that desert. I’ve been recently reminded through our church sermon series of how my favourite, King David, fell into such despair (1 Samuel 27-29) that he left the promised land out of his own accord, and in doing so, did something that even his nemesis, King Saul, was unable to do to him. That despair that David must’ve felt has felt close to me on occasion, simply because of how long and how intense these recent struggles for me have been. I have felt cut off from my usual sources of pleasure. I have felt cut off even from myself, oddly enough. But I am grateful to David still the same, as he does bounce back (1 Samuel 30) and he does this by strengthening himself in the Lord. When I look at David doing this, I wonder where he got the encouragement from to do this. How did God move him? For me, I know that when despair has hit me, there have been individuals who have come alongside me, with gestures of kindness and words of wisdom that have moved me so very much. They have met needs that I haven’t been able to verbalize. Mostly because I didn’t think it was a need until it happened. And yet, these needs were met by their acts and words even before they came up. It’s just unbelievable.

I am reminded of how God is the same God yesterday, today, and forever. I cannot make such a claim for myself. I am overjoyed with my football team when they beat our long-time rivals, but I am less pleased when they lose points (unnecessarily, I feel) to some other lesser team (in my view). My affections change. It plummets and plunges way too easily. The stability that God must possess to make this claim of being the same God across the ages does defy my understanding. And yet – I feel it. I experience it. I’ve had the same experience as Hagar in my wilderness. I have felt loved, supported, and provided for. It is mind numbing.

So, my question, ‘Is this You, Lord?’ seems a rhetorical one. I know it is Him. I know He is carrying me through this wilderness. There are things that I feel sad about – I don’t have my mum to speak to me in the way that only she can. There are things that I worry about – I don’t want my dad to feel insecure and I hope Loki copes while I’m away. There are things I feel guilty about – having to be off work for so long without much planning. These are indeed all my moments of weakness and lows. He speaks into each one through all the practical help rendered, prayers on my behalf and words of friendship that are spoken to me. How these have been a balm to me, I cannot explain. One friend joked with me about my being speechless, when I said I didn’t have words to express my thanks. I hope I am expressing it now, when I say to her and to the rest of the wonderful people who have come alongside me, that they are each being a conduit of God’s love and grace towards me. I do thank Him for how He continues to bless and show me that this is Him.

Loki came to live with us at the end of September 2019. At 18 days, he was tiny, injured and barely clinging on to life. I wasn’t sure if he would make it and it was really difficult caring for him and ensuring his survival. Loki’s initial injuries meant that I couldn’t socialise him right away. He needed to be kept away from other dogs and I couldn’t let people simply pick him at the risk of causing more injury. I followed the advice of the vet so very strictly. Loki was fragile and I did all I could to bring him out of that state. God really answered prayers and paved a way for Loki to grow into the healthy, bouncy doggy he is now. 

Sometime towards the end of January 2020, I started taking Loki for classes. It felt like a good way to get him on the path of socialising. Little did I know, there was a pandemic around the corner and all these opportunities for Loki came crashing. Very shortly after that, work from home instructions ensued. Loki was probably the happiest one of all, because it meant that I was home all the time. To own the truth, he barely knew what it was for me to be away from him. I used to take him to the office in his carrier just to manage his feeding. He was unable to take in a normal amount and so his feeding was broken up into shorter schedules. I even took him to church, when I had to lead a discussion! Loki doesn’t yet know what it means for me to be away. 

As I write this, things are opening up here in Malaysia and you could say the same in most places. All of us are striving to get on with life after the pandemic. There are protocols to follow, but there is some sort of movement of people again. I’m not sure how it will be for Loki when I head back to the office. Even now, on days when I go to hospital, when I definitely cannot take him with me, it is so very difficult. He cries and whines as I leave and when I come back, he yelps his disapproval of having been left behind. Then there’s a long routine of greeting, cuddling him and having my face licked non-stop. The relief is palpable for Loki. I am home. 

I use these trips to hospital (how I wish they were elsewhere) to show Loki that separation is not too bad. I give him treats as I leave so he has a good experience to associate with my walking out the door, and I bring him little treats when I come back to show him another positive experience. He’s not fully buying into this! Yet, I know I must keep weaning him off his need to be so close to me 24/7. 

This makes me think about God and me. Here I am thinking that I’m training Loki, but it has dawned on me that Loki has just taught me a very important lesson about God and how I am with Him. I don’t suffer from separation anxiety from God. I really need to! What I mean is that, Loki is desperate to be with me, right by my side, walking, playing or even just sleeping. How desperate am I to be this way with God? How is it, I can rush through my daily quiet times or not think about Him for long chunks of the day? 

Loki is showing me an emotional dependence that I need to cultivate with God. It does require me to know my place. Loki knows his place is right in my arms or by my side. He feels safest and most loved when he is there. My head tells me that God is good. My head also tells me to plan for and solve things on my own. Who am I kidding? These past months have shown me how little I truly control. I could plan till the cows came home and achieve nothing.  

Reliance on God doesn’t come easily to me. It is about trust. As I read the book of Job with some wonderful friends, I am realising how much I let my expectations of God and what I want from Him in terms of a response, dictate my closeness to Him. How wrong I have been. My response to God should be because He is good and He is where I am truly most loved and where I am safest. The cross shows me that. The glorious Son of God, Jesus, died for me, not only demonstrating love for someone who doesn’t deserve His love, but also to protect this person from such death and punishment. 

God does speak to us in different ways. The Spirit convicts us of our wrongs and grows us. Yet again, He has used my little, floppy, imperfect bodied Loki, to show me truth that I must cling to. As I wean Loki off being too clingy, I must drive myself to cling to my Saviour. This is going to be a very busy time! So thankful to God for this challenging lesson. May I cling to Him for always. Oh Lord, help me in this! I am grateful to God for using Loki to teach me yet another lesson! 

Loki will be two in August this year. Time certainly has flown past since he popped into my life. He’s got heap loads of personality and is learning how to be incredibly naughty. Yes, yes, he is living up to his name! Apparently, it’s the sign of a happy doggy!

Loki makes me laugh. He has almost perfected his injured look for when I am working and not spending time with him the way he wants. He uses his loud bark to perfection. The pressure is real when I am on a work call and he suddenly lets out one of his weepy, heart breaking yelps. It’d break any heart. I’ve had to steel up because giving in to this tactic of his will only mean he has a bigger sense of entitlement. Loki also has a wonderful sense of timing. He plans his most frenzied “attacks”, which are essentially calls for attention at the worst possible time. I may be in the middle of presenting something or on a call with colleagues, family or friends. All of a sudden, there’s a blitz attack on me and all you see is my camera moving all over the place. It’s like a blur. A cousin recorded it while we were on a chat and you can’t make out what’s happening! All you know is there is some commotion going on and that at points, Loki’s face pops up or mine! He seems to know precisely what he’s doing too. I kid you not. Once the laptop’s been put away, he is back to being a normal doggie and he’s all ready for cuddles. Honestly. He’s got some cheeky monkey located somewhere within! 

Another thing Loki does is he tries to organise his own meals. He figures if he doesn’t finish up all his food, he can get filled up through treats or whatever it is I’m eating. It’s not clocked that he’s not getting anything from me and that I’m on to his treat accumulating strategy! He really waits! It makes me laugh because he does all sorts to attract my attention and push it towards the treats in the locker. His persistence is impressive! But this, I cannot give in to! 

One of my favourite things to do is to walk with Loki. He’s so full of life and is curious about everything he sees. There are challenges when we walk because Loki has a disability as a result of trauma suffered within hours of being born. One of his hind legs is missing a paw, while the paw on the other hind leg is missing two toes. This disability has an impact on his life in so many ways. 

The first challenge his disability presents when we go walking is with other dogs with their owners or strays. These dogs sense a weakness in Loki, and they come forward in an attempt to dominate. It’s very different from just a mild curiosity that dogs have when they see each other. They come forward, brazenly. It can be quite threatening. Some are even rather menacing in their approach. The disability also has an impact on Loki. He knows he has a defect and after having been subject to a few attempts of other dogs (stray or not) trying to dominate him or chase after him, he’s had enough. He gets really ferocious if any dog comes too near! I’ve learnt that I make the difference to both, the other dogs and Loki. To the other dogs, I am now a barrier preventing their access to Loki. I refuse to let them come close to him and I wave about a stick to keep them at bay. They know now to stay away. Where Loki is concerned, he is now protected and he no longer needs to protect himself. So he doesn’t see the need to become ferocious. He is calm, while I deal with the other dogs. It’s been such an interesting learning curve. It makes me think about my own weaknesses too, in life. Maybe I have been very quick to defend myself against a whole load of people, including  bad bosses or troublesome friends. Loki trusts me to deal with his troubles. Do I trust God to deal with mine? This is a big question. I am not saying that we should tolerate abuse or wrong-doing. No. This was never meant to be tolerated because they are ungodly. However, in the past, I may have obliterated some of my foes. If Loki can trust me, with all my flaws and imperfections, can I not trust my Father in Heaven, who is flawless and perfect? This is a new prayer point. 

The other challenge that Loki’s disability brings about is that his stump hurts him when we walk. I had slowly built Loki up to walking for about 45 minutes to an hour, when all of a sudden, he started being unable to do this. He would limp and his bung leg would be all wobbly. It feels awful, watching this young pup have to go through this. He’s full of life, loves doing his walks, but instead, has to have days off without a walk. We can’t force it when the stump bleeds or is all swollen and red. I watch my little trooper respond to this and it warms my heart. On days when this little mischief maker is unable to go frolicking about outside, he contents himself with frolicking in our garden. He enjoys sunning himself in the balcony, sits and watches the world go by! He really does! He does not go to his leash to demand a walk. Instead, he rests his stump a bit more on those days and takes it all in. He waits for me to give him back scratches and cuddles and to take out his toys so he can play. The pain even affects Loki’s ability to jump out of the car. On those days, he patiently waits for me to come around and carry him out. He doesn’t seem frustrated. This has been really amazing to watch. It makes me think of my own illness and how it floors me just as I think I’ve got a grip. It’s been tough pulling back from things I’ve done so naturally in the past. It feels hard to be content when I’m forced to be still. Maybe these are yet lessons that I need: contentment in the face of adversity and the ability to wait on God to carry me out. 

As I write this, Loki’s rolled up in a little ball on his little bed. We have just come in from a walk and he did enjoy it ever so much. It struck me, how well paired we are – a doggy who needs to go a little slow because of a painful stump and his owner who is trying to fight her way through an RA flare up, who needs to learn to slow down. It is good that Loki isn’t in a hurry. He helps me see that it’s okay to slow down. I do thank God! I am so grateful that the one true God brought this little four-legged character into my life! Thank you, God, for Loki. 

The end of May and all of June 2021 have been horrid for me. I have felt pain at levels that I never have before and the fatigue I’ve felt has been a revelation to say the least. I’m not a quitter, and most people who know me well know I have a high tolerance for pain. But this time round, I found it really hard. The fatigue alone knocked me out! It’s truly what tips the scales in favour of my illness. I feel like I’m fighting this rheumatoid arthritis (RA) with no gloves on. When you can do very little, how do you fight a battle?

The extrovert in me made some attempts to show up among colleagues, family or friends. Mostly, I think it was shamed into doing that. Shamed by my own self, at that. I hated how I sounded, which was like I had been crying for hours or like I had a bad head cold. The joy in my voice was missing and it was most apparent to me. I even lacked the desire to really be with anyone. I wanted to rest instead. Me? The extrovert within felt trapped and a little doomed. Messaging people was also tough. I reminded myself of phrases for emails, WhatsApp messages, etc, that sounded positive. The extrovert felt that need. But it was hard to keep it up and inevitably, I had to acknowledge that I needed to go to bed or that I wasn’t going to turn the camera on for the video call, etc. I have been feeling quite defeated. 

There are so many things that I want to do. I want to walk and play with my gregarious pooch, Loki. I want to figure out how to get on top of my work with the challenges of COVID. I want success there. I want to read many books, listen to podcasts, be out and about, talk to friends and the list goes on. I want to help celebrate birthdays, bake and cook for family or friends and plan the next gathering for when our lockdown ceases. It’s pretty normal stuff that I want. And there’s a sinking feeling inside because it is these pretty normal things that I am finding hard to do. To give it some context, my 88 year old father has been doing more things for himself than he would otherwise be, if I were more like me. I’m not okay with this. 

This pain and fatigue has got old. I’m bored of it. I’m done with it. I told a friend I wish there was some place that I could stick it, for it is unwanted. It is annoying me. I feel justifiably so! 

The voices of reason are blessings. They are a wonderful smattering of people for whom I’m very thankful. All these feel like a blast of fresh air, compared to how I feel when am smothered by this ridiculous battle. They have been a real solace. I do thank God for them.

Life keeps going on. Work needs to be done, friends and family cared for, and the list goes on. In the midst of all this, I have learnt to take a moment. My mind’s buzzing with tiredness and anxiety of what lies ahead. I remind myself not to be anxious. God loves me more than the birds of the air. I’m more precious, it says. I remind Jesus that at times like this, I don’t feel very precious to Him. I know He died for me, giving me a certain hope for an inheritance. Pondering on it still doesn’t make me feel very precious or loved. It’s a hope that feels so far away. I remind Jesus too of all His many blessings on those who called out to Him. The times when people just came to Him and said “if you will” or “if you only say the word..” or when they told themselves if they could only touch his clothing, they would be healed. I remind Jesus that He is also the same God, yesterday, today and forever. So why not the same for me? As I say these things to Him, I also tell Him that He will have an answer for me like He did for Job. I’m not satisfied by that. I ask him instead to give me a moment like He did for Jacob: a victory in battle with a more powerful being than himself (Genesis 32: 24-29). 

I don’t know where my chats with Jesus are headed. Some days I tell Him, I’m too tired to talk and maybe if He makes me better, I could talk more. I’m not sure if He has a laugh at that point or if He sighs or what. I do have to try this. I agree, it is rather base. So do I stop talking to Him? I’m not ready to do that. It didn’t quite work for King David, I have to say! I’m not ready to say goodbye to Jesus. I feel very strongly in my heart that it is a relationship I never want to terminate.

I’m glad that I can have these conversations with Him, because even when I am bored sick of this situation, I know He is listening. He promised that. So I trust that this process of me telling Him what’s deep inside me, is what He wants, even if the words aren’t pretty and even if I sound slurred, groggy and can’t complete my sentences. Many times, I’ve fallen asleep on Him. I can’t tell everyone everything of how I’m feeling. What I say to those around me, is barely the tip of the iceberg. The eternal optimist within me masks things and makes them sound well. I put pressure on myself to see the silver lining. Jesus doesn’t put that pressure on me. When I feel really awful and demand if He is really there, He reminds me of how He hung on that cross for me. He reminds me of how The Father rejected Him and His prayer so that I wouldn’t have to face that rejection. So we’re back to that inheritance He has for me, which He now reminds me, is imperishable, unlike the troubles of this world, which will fade away. 

My RA makes me anxious. I worry about my performance at work. I don’t feel as capable as I used to be. I worry about sustaining the relationships I have with family and friends. I worry about abilities I will lose. I worry I can’t serve in church. I worry that I will face the same ending as my mum did. The signs are there. I cannot say all these things to my loved ones, every time I am seized by them. It would be overwhelming. I can’t do that to them. With Jesus, I don’t have this worry. I can bring myself to Him and lay it all out there. He understands weariness, pain, temptation, loneliness, frustration, rejection and a whole host of things. He knows what it’s like when no one listens, so I trust He won’t stop listening. I cannot stop going to Him. I cannot stop holding on. Maybe, this is what Jacob did right. He refused to let go. He got out of that battle limping. Victorious but with a limp. I will remember this lesson. 

Despite so many instances coming to light of various instances of abuse of power or even just wrong behaviour, there is still a label that gets attached to the person who holds their ground or pushes back against the wrong-doing. It’s mind-boggling. On the one hand, we’re told to stand up for ourselves but the very instant we hold our boundaries, all sorts gets thrown our way. I’ve recently had time to reflect on this and I realise that I’ve been labelled so many things, that for a long time, I even believed it. 

This labelling happens at home, among extended family, in church, amongst colleagues as well as other social groups of friends. They form a perception about you, which is wholly untrue because apart from projecting their own issues on to the problem at hand, they neglect the various other parts of you. I’m sick of it! So sick of it. 

When I was 17, I threw my 44 year old uncle out of our home on Christmas Day. He was trying to be overly friendly with my girlfriends, all of whom were my age! It was creepy. I felt “ignore him” was not a good response from the adults present and finally, I lost it with him. He left, tail between his legs. Our relationship has never really recovered. I’m not particularly torn up about it because his behaviour’s changed very little. Putting him aside, I remember the backlash I got from my other relatives. My parents sat me down to talk to me about this and finally in my desperation, I said “he was wrong!” My mum, who is my heart, said “I know.” Her voice was quiet and her manner intense. She told me that her only concern at this point was how people would view me. Even my dad agreed with her. They both said that I needed to prepare myself for a rather long ride ahead, because people would not see it as me doing doing the right thing but just a younger person behaving aggressively towards an older person. I remember this conversation with them very well. “Would you have me change?” I remember asking, sobbing away at this point. I loved their response. They both said that they wanted me to be true to what was right, to be ready to defend those who needed defending, but to also remember that it was a long, lonely road. My parents were so right. 

I have found out over the years that as I’ve stood up for things, or myself, the labels just kept getting slathered on. 

I once put a guy sitting on his motorbike into the drain. It was not done because I was looking for kicks. Rather, he was rude to me. “Fat girl, what you gonna do?” He sang it over and over again, loudly, even though I asked him to stop. He had parked his motorbike by the side of a rather big drain and was seated on it as he sang out his taunts for everyone to hear. I guess I showed him what I was going to do. With a kick that I think even Captain America would be proud of, I pushed his motorbike (with him on it), into the drain. The singing stopped. I walked home, with many onlookers just stopping to stare. No one thought it was necessary to look at him while he was taunting me loudly earlier. 

It’s never changed. In church, I feel like I’m on a ‘naughty step’ because I’ve stood up for certain things. Once it was how people serving in particular ministries were spoken to. I remember the heartache that these people endured because they shared their disappointments with me. But when I raised it, I was the ‘bad’ one. It’s not something I’ve recovered from (in terms of the label) and additional labels have been added to me for various stands taken. Even the ones who support me don’t help when they say “you really know how to give it!” That’s not the point of the exercise. That’s not who I am. It is yet another label.

I remember a victim of abuse speaking to a couple from our church. “I don’t want to go back to him (her husband)” she kept saying. She said it eight times. And each time, they brushed what she said aside to push reconciliation. Then I stepped in and the pushing stopped. It wasn’t done maliciously, I’m very sure of that. They were trying to help, but she was being dismissed. I was amazed that she wasn’t being listened to. She was clear. She didn’t want to go back to her husband. Why did it take me being super firm for it to stop? No one was listening.

I don’t go into a confrontation yelling and screaming to begin with. I actually have a rather soft voice, and by nature, I like dialogue more than anything else. But what I’ve realised over the years is, I get dismissed when I speak quietly. No one hears me until I yell. I am so tired of yelling. 

Additionally, I don’t believe on picking on every single thing. There are lots of things that I let slide. I would be incredibly wound up if I couldn’t do that. So there are points, when I think I won’t hold my ground or make a stand. The labelers don’t see this.

 I must say very clearly that I am tired of people labelling me for holding firm to my boundaries. 

When a part time helper broke something, I reached out to the friend who had introduced her to me to ask how they handled such things in their home. I was told to “go easy, tigress”. Why was I being labelled so? Does wanting to address a problem make me so aggressive? Am I supposed to pretend it didn’t happen? 

I am not seeking retaliation. No. I get annoyed with my Christian brothers and sisters who throw the “turn the other cheek” thing at me. I’m asking to address a problem. There is a difference between retaliation and addressing a problem. 

I believe in Jesus. I don’t ever want to pay someone back for a wrong. I don’t think this is what He wants me to do. I think though, that He wouldn’t be against me having a frank conversation with the person who has wronged me. I think it’s better than me running around saying a million things to different people. I think if the problem is addressed, we will either come to a point on which we agree or where we completely disagree. I think it is okay if we disagree at the end of that process. Perhaps, I have made a mistake and the other’s explanation helps me understand things. Perhaps they can’t accept that there is a mistake on their part. If the situation justifies it, I think it is okay to walk away from that person after that. 

I believe in Jesus. I need to start recognising myself in Him. I need to stop buying into these labels that people put on me, when I stand up for myself or something else. They are disillusioning and make me out to be someone I am not. I need to rest in Jesus’ acceptance of me. My parents were right: it can be that things get lonely when you stand up for things. However, it does get really bearable, when I remember that in Jesus, my acceptance is complete. 

This year, 2020, will probably be remembered for the Coronavirus and how it’s impacted the world. I’m quite sure that I won’t forget COVID, but there have been a few conversations that took place this year, which I think I will never ever forget either. These conversations related to how we as a community in Christ, should respond or how we could respond better to abuse that comes to our knowledge.

I must say that I am always happy to have such conversations. It is a way to learn through the exchange of ideas and things we have read and experienced. Having said that, I must say too, that some of the ideas and opinions expressed have shocked and left me a little disheartened. These conversations have left me keenly aware of the need for more awareness for all of us on the dos and don’ts.

Most of the instances of abuse that we talked about were that of men against women in the context of marriage or romantic relationships. I don’t dispute that there are men who are abused by women. I think that statistically speaking there are more instances of violence against women and so there are more conversations surrounding this. I hope though that male victims get the support and help they need- as much as I hope for women who are abused, to receive the necessary support.

One of the biggest points of contention was believing domestic abuse happens within our church communities. It is a hard one to stomach. That being so, it doesn’t remove the fact that domestic abuse is alive and well within church communities. We may not see it as much because there are so many teachings on submission to the husband, that are not always accurate, or which, even if are faithfully taught, create an expectation that this needs to be worked at by both parties within the marriage. Often the onus is on the woman to submit. The expectation on a woman, is that as she the one who is required to submit, she needs to work on herself. The brothers I was chatting to, agreed at this point that they should accept that maybe there is some domestic abuse, but that perhaps, it was a misunderstanding on how the passages of submission by a wife to a husband were applied within a marriage. I asked what the misunderstanding could possibly be and was told that when a husband feels that the wife isn’t submitting, that perhaps, the ‘abuse’ was justified. Apparently, the husband may be frustrated that he’s unable to do his duty in the marriage. It took a lot to not throw up on them at this point. It is amazing that people forget that the church is the bride of Christ. I raised this point with the brothers that I was talking to and they were quick to agree that indeed, the church was Christ’s bride. I then said that within the church, there was often unfaithfulness to Jesus, and I must say that the brothers were quick to concede this. I then asked them for examples of when Jesus abused the church for failures. There was a silence. They nodded their heads after a while and moved on to another point on abuse.

One of the questions that shocked me most, were questions from my guy friends saying, “How do you know the woman is telling the truth?” According to them, “it is a well-known and established fact that women are over-sensitive and emotional.” This has apparently made it difficult for women to construe facts of what is happening and accordingly, women tend to overreact. The brothers in Christ who said this to me were seated across the table from me. I hope that they appreciate how I, who must by virtue of my gender, be over-sensitive and emotional, refused to let my feelings show by reaching out across the table to smack them and poke their eyes out. I stared at them in disbelief, and then I asked an equally base question: “how do you know that the men are telling the truth? Isn’t it an established fact that men lie?” I must say I rather enjoyed the look of surprise that came over their faces. They started back pedaling and I very politely asked them to shut up and recognize the idiocy behind what they said. “I get what you’re doing with your question,” one of them finally spoke up. I had by this time in my mind, played out the scene where I was the Hulk and they were Loki and I had just slammed them about before walking away saying “puny god!” I did show such restraint. They will never know.

In some of the other conversations that took place at different points, the brothers in Christ said that a victim hadn’t confided in them about her abuser. They said that they could therefore say that they had no direct knowledge of what had happened and continue in a close relationship with the abuser. Mind you, they didn’t call the men in question abusers. They used their names. It is difficult to make people see why we can be so unapproachable. As friends within a community – whether a physical one or one online, there are alliances that form. A victim isn’t about to walk up to an abuser’s friends and cry on their shoulders. Neither is she likely to communicate with them if she sees them friendly with each other on social media. It is hard to build trust. The brothers I was talking to felt that despite hearing about the abuse from what they deemed ‘respectable’ sources, they were okay to carry on close friendships with the abusers. They even said that the abuser had denied all allegations. Claims of willingness to go to the police, swear on a Bible or sign an affidavit apparently impressed these brothers so very much. I admit that at this point, I was close to tears. The onus was on the victim to go to friends of her abuser and tell them what has been happening. Just because she fails to do this, the abuser’s friends are free to disregard other credible sources of what has happened.

Additionally, these brothers in Christ said that the woman needed to show proof. Apparently emotional abuse is easy to make up and so there needed to be proof. Even for physical abuse, there needed to be proof. At points I felt my eyes roll so far back into my head, I was sure they were never coming back. In frustration, I asked them to write down exactly how they would like a married woman to prove that she was being raped by her husband, so that the next victims could perhaps then come up to them with evidence of their claims. I also asked them to write down the evidence that they required for damage caused by emotional abuse. They said maybe they needed to rethink this. I can’t say I was convinced.

The conversations at some point went back to the women’s credibility. Apparently, the abusers had long claimed, years before the allegations came out, that their wives were mentally unstable. This therefore meant that the women were now merely living up to their true selves that had somehow remain hidden to the rest of the world. When I asked if it was possible for the abusers to be manipulative enough to start spinning stories early on to destroy their wives’ credibility, the brothers said they didn’t think it was likely. Any disappointment I felt was already on a negative scale at this point.

Then there was the issue of forgiveness and grace. Apparently, the victim should forgive the abuser and show grace if there were mistakes made. My friends were of the understanding that reconciliation was the end goal. According to them, this meant that we should not show any difference to the abuser because we would then be unforgiving and ungracious. They found it hard to see that if Jesus was there, an unrepentant heart could be turned away. I used the example of the rich young ruler. These guys also found it hard to believe that it was okay to remove the woman from the abusive environment permanently, if needs be. They kept insisting that the abuser is given the chance to show remorse. There was no way around making them understand how such abusers are amazing in their show of remorse and guilt only to suck the victim into another cycle of impending abuse.

These are just some of the things that were discussed, and which completely irked and disgusted me. I was frustrated. These ideas show me how little women are valued even among men who believe in Jesus. I don’t think that all believing men are like this, but they are fewer in number than the majority who believe in Christ but who profess such ideas. It confounds me simply because it completely undermines the value of a woman.

God demonstrated His justice, when He created men and women. This is true. He is just and in His just character, He made us from the same substance. He made us equal.  He is also a beautiful God. He enjoys diversity. He delighted in the differences between us. He gave us tasks that suited us. These differences, in a fallen world, have resulted in claims of superiority. They were never meant to do that. Jesus has also demonstrated His love for both men and women through His death on the cross. I must say He was a magnificent example of how to treat a woman. He let women be the bearers of the news of His resurrection at a time when women weren’t even considered reliable witnesses in court. Sometimes, it feels like not much has changed in attitudes towards women. It is scary. In a fallen world, for some, who, when they teach about authority in church and how it belongs to men, and how they go on to grasp this ‘power’ with not even so much of a second thought for women, I only have this to say. We are equal members of the church of Christ, bought by and redeemed by His blood. We are His children. He doesn’t tolerate abuse of His children, and there will be a day of reckoning, when abusers and those who protected them or went alongside them, will have to answer to our God. In the meantime, we will do what we can to bring relief to those who are being victimized. We will keep learning how to reach out and we will reach out when needed. This is my prayer for all men and women within my community. There is much to do.