Author: anitastephen2015

I’ve been talking to different friends over these months about how losing my dad has brought about so much change in my life. It feels as if this has happened just as I’ve started getting used to the change of losing my mum eighteen years ago! Change is hard. I find it hard, anyway. I recognise this. I get attached to people, my dogs, surroundings, and sometimes even things. This list isn’t an exhaustive one. As I reflect on the past, some of the most difficult parts of my life have been related to change. Change is hard.

Perhaps change is harder when things have been good. In this regard, I thank God. Things have indeed been good. The recognition of blessings that have been granted me, move me. I feel a sense of love from God in a way that I understand. God’s love came to us so perfectly in Jesus. God’s love is demonstrated so perfectly in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. Yet, I cannot fully fathom it. It is impossible – even when I try hard. I get some wee glimpses of its beauty. The beauty of perfection is impossible to describe, especially when I am in an imperfect state. I believe it with all my heart- to the extent that all my heart understands, but it is hard to understand this love. I think it is because of how much I lack in such understanding that God sends me blessings that I can fathom. My parents, my life with them, my life with my dad as just the two of us for a long time, our home, my doggies from Patches to Loki and now Gamora, my friends, etc., etc., etc. are all God’s blessings that I really get. Unlike Jesus, every other blessing is temporal in nature. That’s their nature- fleeting. Change is hard.

Change that is significant causes shifts in how we view ourselves. It is inevitable. I was always an only child, from a loving home. I had a mother who absolutely adored me and openly expressed it. I had a father who loved me and expressed it by standing by me through thick and thin. The kind of confidence that comes from being in such a home is hard to explain. It showed. I was loved at home. I knew that that love didn’t depend on a job title. I changed jobs at different points, doing what I needed when I needed to. I knew that love didn’t depend on me getting married and having kids. This has helped me make some really good decisions relationally. It helped me do what suited me. It’s easier to make such changes when it doesn’t change the value of who you are in the eyes of those who behold you. I was bullied when I was young. It was my parents who helped me overcome the trauma of the bullying. The security I speak of has helped me speak my mind. I’m able to say what I need to for myself. Advocating for myself has been important – it’s been a useful tool! I’ve been able to speak up and stand up for others. It has helped me be strong. There are so many areas in which this confidence has helped. It’s another area where the list is inexhaustible.

This confidence took a whack when my mum passed away. Suddenly I felt unsure in many things. However, my father helped me in that stead and I kept moving forward. My question at the end of our chats was usually a ‘Papa, how?’ I can’t do this now. My dad’s gone. His passing is a big blow. I’ve lost so much. I have to reconsider confidence. Change is hard!

My parents did always try to instil in me the knowledge that my true confidence should come from knowing Jesus. They taught me that my confidence in Christ came from how I responded to situations in life with God’s Word as my armour. They used this when they helped me deal with the bullying. They used this to help me through insecurities I had. They used this when I was worried about pursuing unconventional routes. I guess not having either of them here to remind me in the way they so effectively did, of how my confidence is and should be in Christ alone, is tough to take. Change is hard.

Whilst change is hard, it is inevitable. We cannot stop change from happening. Nothing is ever static- it is part of life. The situations we are in keep developing over time. We cannot stop this. It keeps happening for as long as our blood choruses within our veins. It is the way of life. Change is hard. Change is inevitable.

This is where I find myself. I’m trying to adjust to a very painful, significant, and most unwanted change. It’s a permanent change as long as I live and breathe. I’m not crumbling. I’m adjusting. For clarity’s sake, crying is not crumbling. I’m trying to figure out how to take the lesson of my confidence being in Christ and make it more real. I’m contemplating this. It’s necessary. My biggest supporters are no longer here to do this. They’ve given me the baton and I need to keep this walk going. Change is inevitable.

Surely as I put one foot before another, things will become clearer. I think somehow, that my walk towards change will be more in line with my arthritic self on a bad day. On some days, I may even need some assistance. Lately, I had to use a walker for some days. The inelegance of it all is humbling. It made me pack up the final pair of heels that I had, which were custom made by a designer, and give them away. They were gorgeous. I loved them. I can no longer use them. There is no more going back. My feet are changed by the swelling in my ankle joints. They will never fit into those heels again. It is a beauty gone. I hadn’t realised how symbolic the whole thing was until I parted with those heels! I’ve had to change my footwear. I’ve had to change how much I walk, as well as the frequency of walks to reach certain goals. I’ve had to change the supports that I use. The goal is to keep moving forward. Moving forward requires change.

Thankfully, and I feel a sense of relief as I say this, I believe that true change can only come from Christ. It is impossible otherwise. This was the lesson my parents kept trying to teach me. Even as I contemplate the topic of confidence in Christ and how it will play out in the days to come, I feel a sense of hope. My parents taught me well. Since 2018, my father had been trying to prepare me for his passing. He kept trying to tell me that I must be brave, and that the change was inevitable even if it would be hard. He wanted me to start listening more and trying to figure out how to lean on God more for this. I noticed the change in his answers to my ‘Papa, how?’ questions. He would ask me to seek wisdom on things, to not be hasty, but to pray. He would ask me what the Bible said on such and such a thing. This was the beginning of a new discipline, and I will need to keep working at it to cope with the changes in my life.

For now, I am confident of a few things. I haven’t got it all worked out. Of that, I’m confident! But, saying this, I am confident that through this process of grieving, I will adjust to the changes in my life with God in mind. I will be listening in more to friends who are fellow believers, to gain counsel on the path ahead. Reminders of God’s Word from any of them will be instructive and helpful. Discussions on how we work out grace in our lives, especially in challenging situations will be treasured even more. I see now that there is work to do. Change is hard. Change is inevitable. Oh but how Christ is constant. Of this, I am sure. So I will walk on knowing that He is a living God, and His Word will always instruct, rebuke, grow, or encourage me. In this, I am confident.

Little Gamora and I managed a walk in the park today. It’s sort of a gloomy Saturday morning, which isn’t necessarily unpleasant. It is cool. Whilst there are parts of the park which are wetter than most days, it’s a different kind of beauty as the sun rays are reflected off wet blades of grass and leaves. For Gamora, all that matters is that we’re out there! Together. She loves the park. She loves being outside. She loves being with me.

I’ve been observing Gamora quite a bit. Over my dad’s birthday, I didn’t want to be at home, so I went to a pet friendly place only an hour away. It was lovely there- set in a jungle, where you hear all sorts of sounds coming through the woody paths. I had a lot of time alone with Gamora as we explored. My RA has progressed to my left hip (Yippee! Not!). I’ve been finding it a bit more challenging with stairs and in the jungle resort we were at, every path was way below, and the only way to get to them was via large, steep, uneven stairs. I was initially a bit nervous about going but I felt that I needed to give Gamora an opportunity to stretch her legs. Boy, did she have to stretch her little legs! There were stairs that were just too high. She managed jumping down, but couldn’t reach them going up without help. My help. My help was inadequate as I couldn’t carry her. I had to be mindful about each step as I could feel my hip (So fun! Not!). Part of me was worried that little Gamora would dash off. I was scared of falling and even more terrified of losing her. But this little shorty behaved immaculately! She waited for me to help her – a little boost for her to get to the next step -and then a pause as I climbed that stair. Boost. Pause. Boost. Pause. I was amazed at her patience and cooperation. We were so synched. It was wonderful!

Even this morning at the park, I noticed the same patience and cooperation. Of course all bets are off when she spots a monitor lizard, squirrel, or whatever else that catches her keen hunter eyes. But for the most part, she’s doing great. She seems to understand that she shouldn’t do certain things right now. She even waits patiently as I try to take photos of water lotuses and other flowers. She’s such a great companion!

I’m not humanising Gamora – I don’t want to. She’s way too cute as a pup! I love her loads as she is, and she’s given me some insight into the many blessings I have in my friends. These past ten months have been tough for me. So tough. The loss of my father is significant on its own. As if it weren’t enough, it’s adding on to the loss of my mother, which was crippling. It’s meant the loss of my immediate family, the loss of home as I know it. It’s the loss of my safest zones among folk I know. Loss of love and acceptance like no other. It has been tough. Through this tough season, I have been helped.

I have been helped by friends. Words elude me on how to express my thanks for their presence in my life. My best friend is in the UK and yet, it feels like she’s right here. Our communications have gone up. I look forward to our chats more than ever. She’s also dealing with significant loss. Yet she’s been there. She and her husband are coming over in August so that I’m not alone during the first anniversary of my dad’s passing. I’m moved beyond words. How do I love them both back? They’re being present in a way I cannot thank them enough for. There are others too. Some of my friends here in Malaysia have been beyond amazing. They’ve stood by me as I attended a remembrance service for my dad. We have brunch dates. They come over to my home at different points and fill my home with laughter and good conversation! They also let me cry. There are various other friends who have come by quite a bit or when it isn’t possible to meet, are in constant communication. They cannot know how much I appreciate this. It’s more than I can express. Some of my former and present colleagues and other friends both in Malaysia or overseas have been stellar in their support. Some of them have also been dealing with significant loss. How do I thank them for being my bright rays? They’ve encouraged and listened. Like I said earlier, I have been helped.

There are some relationships that I rue. I know communications between some friends and I may never recover after this. They’ve just not been there. It hurts because I know I’ve been around for them when they’ve needed me to be. Yet, I acknowledge that it is hard for them to be a friend right now because I am so changed. My grief has caused this change in me and it is here to stay. It means the dynamics of our relationships have changed. These haven’t been rude or unkind. They’ve just not been there. I guess these relationships may see a natural end or they may remain in existence in some sort of shadow of what they formerly were. I don’t have an answer for this. Perhaps something will present itself in time. I seek wisdom.

Coming back to my observations of little Gamora, I realise there is an art to companionship. Gamora, almost intuitively slows down and waits for me when I’m slow and is equally willing to wait for me when I want to give her a hand. I think it’s obvious to my little one that the assistance I was giving her as she tried to navigate those huge, steep stairs, was short of what was truly needed, which was me picking her up and carrying her. She knew I couldn’t. We worked to a rhythm we were comfortable with and trust was built through this. I think this is what I feel with all my friends. I’m not knocking the friends who’ve been there, but it hasn’t been possible for anyone to be with me as I cry myself to sleep at night, when I miss my mum and dad. It hasn’t been possible to be with me when I come down the stairs each morning remembering what happened in my dad’s room on 23 August last year. It isn’t possible for anyone to be with me like that. I certainly don’t expect it. I can’t do that for anyone either. It is humanly impossible! Yet, I think trust is built when we meet each other where we can. We recognise our limitations, and we go ahead and offer up what we can. The friends I am thankful for have done this. Little Gamora made me see this.

I have been helped. I know my friends are a blessing to me from God. I know He has been a friend to me through all this. He is the one constant friend who is there at all times – when I cry myself to sleep or come down those stairs, etc. He is always there. One of my favourite verses in the Bible is Isaiah 41:10, which says ‘fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you,

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’ This friendship is good, and I am learning to lean in more on this constant, unwavering God who has reconciled me to Himself through His Son. He knows that I am incapable of fully appreciating Him because He is unseen, and so He sends me others to help me- and I am grateful for the friends He has blessed me with. He tells us in 1 Thessalonians 5:11 to always encourage and build one another up. Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 says: ‘Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his fellow. But woe to him who is alone when he falls and has not another to lift him up!’ How true this is! From the many conversations with friends near and far, I’ve experienced this over and over. I pray I am too such a friend to them.

Such a wonderful lesson in friendship through this short, floppy eared, bouncy little creature. I’m thankful to God for Gamora. I’m thankful to God for my friends. You have spurred me on in this difficult season of life, where I’m deeply feeling the loss of friendship from my parents. You are such blessings. Thank you.

Next week, on 19 June to be precise, it will be my dad’s birthday. I’m already feeling a deep sense of sadness, especially considering how much went into his last birthday. He turned 90 last year and I’d started planning his party well ahead of time. Every time I ticked something off my list, I’d have a wide grin on my face, and he’d end up having a chuckle because I’d be all mysterious about what I was doing. He knew full well it was related to his party.

It is so hard to take. The build up at this point last year was intense and exciting. I was counting down days, and then hours to his party. He’d wanted it just with family and I was especially grateful for how everyone chipped in for different things. He was excited about that (in quieter fashion) and he was also very pleased that his brother from abroad was coming. He was thrilled. I could tell from the lightness of his tone in general.

Who knew? Who knew it was to be his last birthday celebration? Who knew? I definitely did not. In fact, I kept making little mental notes of what to do or not to do for the years ahead. Who knew? What is that the Bible says? In Proverbs 16:9, it says that ‘the heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.’ This wisdom is almost enchanting to a planner such as myself. I’m trying to learn this wisdom. To live it.

We’ve been granted so much grace. I consider our last Christmas in December 2022. I remember my dad’s last birthday celebrations in June 2023. I remember my dad’s last participation in my birthday celebrations in July 2023. There’s a lot more than these two years that I remember. I remember decades of special moments. I remember some pretty spectacular arguments too! Gosh. Not good. Neither of us did well there and I often liked to at those points remind him that I was a chip off the old block. There were many moments when I didn’t shine. Yet, in the last few weeks especially, as I started reflecting on my mum and dad and our lives together, I realise there is truly a lot of grace that I cannot account for, nor can I say that the three of us deserved. Our lives bear taints of sin and very clear marks of grace that have carried us through.

As I reflect, I am confronted by a whole lot of emotions that range from a broken heart to those of joy. I have no apology to offer for the diversity of my feelings, but I know that I am changed. I know the sorrow of a moment lost. We talk about making moments count, but the reality is, all we can do is take one breath after another. That is how fleeting our lives are. I guess we can make those breaths good ones. We can take deep, slow breaths and savour the moment. Often there are shallow, quick breaths that betray some kind of anxiety. And the worst scenario is we aren’t even conscious of the breaths we’re taking.

I am changed. I feel like the shattering of my soul from the loss of my parents will never fully heal. I feel that through the cracks and scars caused by this shattering, there will be wonderful rays of light that shine forth. These rays wouldn’t have existed had it not been for the shattering. I feel like the fragility of my soul has been sealed. Oddly enough, I feel that the strength of my soul solidified through the grace of Christ, is on display.

When I wrote a blog around my mum’s birthday, I said I couldn’t imagine what it would’ve been like for her had she been alive these eighteen years. Rheumatoid arthritis is a progressive disease and it’d had its way in her body. If she’d been around, it’d have been a difficult existence. Not that I think she would’ve not enjoyed parts of life – just that it would’ve been painful. My dad in the last few years, especially since 2018, had started trying to prepare me for his passing. He often told me how he was finding things difficult because of his age. He was fantastic, I tell you! He maintained his independence right till the end. Yet, there were signals of his independence fraying. He stopped driving out to the city, because he started finding it harder. He who had insisted on getting his own stuff from the pharmacy or at times even the grocers (to stock his ‘canteen’ or jar of goodies) slowly but surely handed over the reins to me. He stopped travelling after two falls in Singapore in 2017, where I had to fly into Singapore and bring him home. He would often share how tired he felt, though he didn’t give in to it. He maintained a routine of getting all dressed in the morning, going out for breakfast, coming home to a quiet time and then his Sudoku books or TV. The evenings were times he called friends or family for catch ups. He started finding it hard to do these things. Even at his 90th celebrations, he spoke of these things – some of the difficulties he faced. Not that if he was still around, that he’d have given up on life. No. I don’t think that for a minute. He would’ve had moments of enjoyment even as he faced his challenges.

This makes me think. Proverbs 19:21 says:

‘Many are the plans in the mind of a man,

but it is the purpose of the LORD that will stand.’ There is wisdom in this. So much that I can barely even say I’ve understood it all. We hold so many things dear. We value so much. Life as we know it is short and not always sweet. Life as we know it isn’t how life is meant to be. Even the good moments aren’t as rich as they’re meant to be. This is because everything is tainted by sin. I’m informed by the Bible that it is this sin that had Jesus come to die for us. It is His sacrifice that brings reconciliation with the Father to all who believe. This reconciliation brings life. It brings life without any kind of taint on it. Life that is bountiful, free from sorrow and pain. It’s a life that I cannot claim to fully imagine, though I believe will come to pass.

So I will go on, shattered soul and all. I will enjoy the moments that I’m blessed with. And I must really thank God for my friends and family. I’m blessed beyond belief. I am so thankful for the times we chat. Gosh, I love the laughs we have and appreciate the wisdom I gain from them. I am blessed. I love how they fill my home, and how they embrace my darling Gamora. I am so grateful to God for His blessings. I will keep enjoying my walks with little Gamora. As long as I can, I will keep hosting friends and family or meeting up with them. Even as I endeavour to do all this, I feel a pang of pain running through me. My mother. My father. How I miss you.

It will be my dad’s birthday next week. I don’t have a celebration to plan and it is breaking my heart. But I’m taking Gamora away on her first holiday, and a cousin who is Gamora’s fairy godmother, is coming with us. It’s not to a far away location, but quite close by. It’ll be a chance to go for some walks, take a few photos of our surroundings- or at least try! It’s hard to take photos with Gamora on the end of a leash! It will be a change of scene. I’m leaving the planner self behind, and will leave the pages free for God to write. Once again, I look to my beloved king David for a lesson. He doesn’t disappoint. Psalm 32:8: ‘I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you.’ This is what I want to remember going forward.

Papa, who knew that last year would be our last time celebrating you. I’m so glad we did it! I know you enjoyed it. I miss you so much. I miss mummy too. It is a privilege to miss you both and to reflect on our lives together. I thank God for you.

Today, my mother would’ve turned 84, had she been alive. Try as I might, I cannot imagine what it would’ve been like if she’d still been around. She was dealing with a progressive illness, and eighteen years ago when she died because of it, her body had already been ravaged quite severely. I have the same illness but not to the same degree, and even so, I can see progression in the space of a year, two, or five. What would eighteen years have been like for her with her illness, I cannot imagine. I dare not.

I spent the day clearing out old photo albums. I took some digital shots of photos, where possible. But for a lot, it was just impossible. Some photos were so old and faded. I’m in the process of destroying those, but I’ve already chucked four huge albums. I don’t know how many more I have to clear out- there’s quite a few.

It was nostalgia that I felt as I looked through some of the photos. Seeing my parents in shots of times gone past was bittersweet. I found myself fascinated by the both of their smiles. I remember things shared from photographs before my time, or from when I was very young. I remember some photos – exactly how it was at the time they were taken, even. It feels so unreal that my mother hasn’t been around for the last eighteen years, and that my dad passed away almost ten months ago. It is so hard to imagine the chunk of time that has gone by. It hurts to know I cannot turn back the clock at any point. All I have is to look forward to the future.

This June is going to be a tough one. I’ve been in tears for a lot of the day, though there have been some good chats in between. My dad’s birthday is coming up later this month. I was trying to figure out why I felt so restless. I think I know why. Initially, the restlessness was because there was no birthday to celebrate for mum. Now, this has extended to papa. It’s like a cancellation of something that is a part of my bones. It doesn’t feel right at all. I’m glad for all the times I got to celebrate them during their birthdays. I am sad, so sad, that I can’t do this anymore. This is an example of the new normal. It isn’t something I can replace or change. I remember my parents on their birthdays – it is all I can do.

There is no going back in time. No Avengers-styled time machine or Back to the Future chapters to live out. When I think about those movies, all I can say is that travelling back in time is exhausting. It comes across that way. It isn’t what we’re meant to do. Not even Captain America’s rousing speeches will make me change my mind there. I’m thankful for what has happened. I’m thankful for the parents I have. These days I give thanks to God for the blessing He bestowed me in the both of them. There are a lot of memories imprinted in my heart that are constantly being triggered by different things. As I embrace these memories and look upon what has happened, I am able to say that I feel grateful. Amidst the sadness I feel, I recognise a feeling of gratefulness to God for my parents and for what I have to look forward to.

Whilst looking back may bring me tears of pain mingled with joy, looking forward brings me a sense of gratitude and awe. I believe my future, and that of my parents, was secured by Jesus on the cross. It’s a big sense of relief because I know that He is faithful and true. It makes no sense unless you’re convicted of this truth. I am convicted. Both my mum and dad are secure with Him, as am I.

I recently went on a retreat with my colleagues, and one of the sessions involved us tracing God’s hand in our work lives as we looked back on our previous jobs to our present roles. I thought this was a good exercise and it must have been in my subconscious as I looked at the old photographs today. I could see how the Lord has been gracious to the three of us, especially. I remembered so many things in these photos- words said, things done, blessings even when things felt terrible. It’s making me realise that I do not need to travel back in time. I have a God who is in control of all things, and who is trustworthy. So I want to surrender these feelings and emotions from this season of grief, as well as the season itself, to Him.

Papa and mummy- I miss you so much because I cannot celebrate your birthdays. It’s a big part of my life that is missing. But I will trust in God as you taught me to. We will meet again. Here’s to looking forward in faith. Love you!

There’s a pain in my heart that heightens,

As people celebrate Mother’s Day

It’s a stark reminder that you aren’t here.

You’ve not been around for a long time.

Mum, it’s been eighteen years,

But my heart will always feel sorrow,

When I recall it’s you I’ve lost.

The pain in my heart is sharper this year,

Papa’s also not here,

His absence which is so very recent,

Makes yours feel oh so near.

I feel a dark cloud following me,

I miss the both of you so very much,

There are still many tears for me to cry.

As there’s a celebration of mothers,

I want to praise God for you,

I thank Him for your mind, mum,

Praise Him for the wisdom He granted you.

In all I do and go through,

Your words are loud and clear.

For lessons on Jesus, I thank you.

I wonder how you and papa are,

in a world of no more pain and tears?

Do you miss me as I miss you?

Oh mum, I’m in such pain! I have fears!

Thank You, Jesus, for my mum and dad,

You gave me so much, Lord,

I am so grateful for what I had.

Happy Mother’s Day, mummy. I miss you and papa so much.

Written by: Anita Stephen (as I remember my mum and dad on my first Mother’s Day without either of them)

Early yesterday morning, I managed to take Gamora to her favourite park. It’s not very close to home. Without traffic, it takes us 25-30 minutes, and even though Gamora complains (especially when the car stops – even at a traffic light!), she really loves the park and it’s a worthwhile trip.

I was feeling quite low that morning. It’s been a busy period at work, and I had an online event some days ago. Usually, when things get hectic at work, my dad’s check-ins are really helpful. They’re super basic too- whether I’ve eaten, taken a moment to stand and stretch, etc. Very calm, quiet questions that make me remember to breathe. This time round, it was very obvious to me that this was absent. It’d be 3:00pm and I’d feel a sudden pang of hunger, only to realise I’d not had lunch. It’s hitting me – papa’s gone. It’s real. He’s not here anymore.

Additionally, there’s been a lot going on at work and some things have gone really well. I cannot say the number of times that I started to say something to my dad to let him know. After mummy passed, I really missed her in such conversations. I’d have conversations with papa and in a quiet moment try to remember mummy and what she’d have said. That hurt has never really left- it’s a regular visitor, but now it feels like the significance of the grief visitor has intensified so much more because I don’t have papa.

It’s hard to say what I want at this time. The work event has gone well- and I feel a sense of wonder and joy. Wonder because I know it’s God who’s worked things out. Joy because I’ve been a part of it. He let me be. So – there’s no discontent there. I’ve also started feeling better after such a horrible struggle with an RA flare that started after papa’s passing. Physically, I’ve been able to go for lovely walks with Gamora and do things around the house. I’ve also been able to go back to church, which is good- to engage with my community in person. I even attended an in-person meet for my grief support group because I was well enough to do so. Yet the feeling is that something big is missing. It is real. My dad’s not here anymore.

Papa’s absence is hard to take on its own. Papa’s departure makes mummy’s passing real all over again. So it’s not just one fresh wound but the opening up of an old wound that I’ve to contend with. Oh papa, oh mummy. I’m this way because it’s all feeling real. You’re not here anymore.

Anyone who knows me, knows I talk so much about God. I keep batting on about Him. Where does He fit in all this? I think that morning, when I was in the park with Gamora, I had a glimpse of how He fits in.

I’m not sure if the flowers I saw are water lilies or lotuses, but there were a few delicate pink ones standing on their own amidst a lot of dying ones. They held a sense of elegance amidst the obvious fragility of their lives. There was beautiful white one all on its lonesome, yet somehow it felt like a flourishing loner. And the colours in the park today. We were early, but because of how hot it’s been and thanks to the storm we had last night, the sky was a brilliant blue with gentle traces of white clouds. Oddly enough, what struck me then was a rather weather beaten tree. It didn’t look like it had lots of green leaves for its trunk and branches seemed to have overtaken it somehow. Felt so much like the trials of life beating down on it, but it stood strong. Yet, there a strange but pretty growth in it that almost added beauty to a rather dull trunk of another tree, which added unexpected colour to it. It was as I was surrounded by nature that I understood a little the life that He’s given me. Fragile, yet elegant. Thriving, yet lonesome. Weather-beaten, yet strong. And in the midst of darkness, some splashes of colour. It struck me that there is loveliness and good even when it’s dark and painful.

Recently, one of the pastors from my church joined some of colleagues and me for a devotion session we had. He referred us to Psalm 34, which is a Psalm of my favourite king David. It’s a poignant Psalm and it was written just after the time when David pretended to be a madman to elude enemies. I’ve been pondering on Psalm 34 which is a powerhouse Psalm to unpack. In my present state of mind, it strikes me that after bearing the humiliation of feigning madness to escape an enemy, and while he is in hiding, David manages a boast in the Lord (verse 1). The boast doesn’t come at a time when David’s leading a good life as king in his palace. It comes when he’s at a low and is living in the shadows of caves. There is a call at this point of lowness to magnify and exalt the Lord (verse 2). That’s staggering. The ability to look upon God when he’s in a terrible low period is beyond belief. It is precisely because he’s doing this and finding a sense of peace and perhaps, even beauty, that he’s able to make another staggering claim in verse 8: ‘Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good.’ There is loveliness even when it is dark and painful. The verse that clenches the deal for me is verse 18, where David reminds us that ‘The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.’ This speaks to me. It is when David is low and broken, when his comforts aren’t with him that he takes refuge in the Lord. It is when he is crushed and brokenhearted that he’s able to taste the Lord – and the LORD is good! It speaks to me of the circumstances that I find most dreadful now – a life without my parents, when I’ve just suffered a rather recent loss of my dad, and when I’m feeling crushed and brokenhearted. I don’t think David’s circumstances changed very quickly after that – but he did find the LORD good! Some of the verses of Psalm 34 are prophetic – and we see them coming to be in Jesus. The last verse of the Psalm tells us that ‘The LORD redeems the life of his servants; none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.’ That is the promise sealed by the death and resurrection of Jesus. It is the promise of life with him- it’s not speaking of the here and now but of a future that is guaranteed to all who put their trust (take refuge) in Him.

What now? I guess I’ll keep going through this life according to the circumstances that God has granted me. I must count my blessings. I feel that God has sent me so many amazing people. Whilst it’s true that some friends just haven’t been there very much, there have been so many others. This has been a blessing- as I navigate the caves that I’m in at the moment. I have to say that there are many moments when I am in awe of God and His goodness. It feels like there has been a steady supply of grace to meet my needs. I am grateful. I must also look to the future. Life as we know it is full of decay. The walk in the park in the park reminded me of that. Psalm 34 reminds me of the grace and the promise that I have in Christ. Indeed, there is loveliness and beauty even in this darkness.

To my father – I wish, I wish, I wish you were here. I miss your presence so much.

To my mother – I wish, I wish, I wish all this time stopped the desire to be with you and chat as we used to. It hasn’t.

Thank you both for bringing me up in this faith. I thank Jesus for you.

I usually write a blog over Easter. I wasn’t sure if I could this time. My mind has been in a flurry. It’s amazing to me how the grief I’m going through is impacting my body in new ways. Inflammation levels in my body have been skyrocketing and my RA’s having a field day. RA is a systematic disease so it’s impacting other parts of my health. My rheumatologist was concerned when I went to see him two weeks ago. Our usually lighthearted chat was a bit sober when he explained the dangers and the need for increased medication. It didn’t help that I was upset by the results and bawled my eyes out. I’ve been working so hard to be well. I’ve been eating right for years, exercising heaps and heaps, and it all feels like a pointless effort. It also makes me think – I miss my father. It will be my first Easter without him, my eighteenth without my mum, and my first without both. I miss home.

I’ve calmed down a little over the last two weeks. I think the medications are helping. There have also been all sorts of other news since – close friends losing loved ones, close friends needing good help at home but struggling to find it, close friends struggling with long-term health issues, and close friends dealing with terminal illnesses of their loved ones. My brain has felt lots of shock and sadness as I’ve received these bits of news. It feels like a whole season of struggle where the hits just keep on coming. There doesn’t need to be so many chart topping hits in this category of struggle. The whole thing has been staggering. In the middle of this, a tiny voice at the back of my head reminds me I miss my father. It will be my first Easter without him, my eighteenth without my mum, and my first without both. I miss home.

Perhaps it is right that my thoughts on the season of struggle coincides with the approach of Good Friday and Easter. Now that’s an example of bittersweet if ever there was one. Bitter because of what it cost Jesus, the Son of God, and sweet because of the implications of his resurrection that we celebrate and reflect upon. This year, I cannot help but be thankful that there is the cross and the resurrection to hold on to. My parents believed and they taught me their faith. Christ died for our sins and all who believe in Him are given eternal life and the right to be called children of God (John 1: 12-13). I don’t know why I’m so thankful for Good Friday and Easter this year. It doesn’t change the fact that neither papa or mummy are here with me. It will be my first Easter without papa, my eighteenth without mummy, and my first without both. I miss home.

Whilst Good Friday/Easter don’t change my present day circumstances, they give me hope, which I think my situation would otherwise have sucked out of me. I have hope that this low feeling of dread that constantly pops up is not permanent. I have hope that this hole in my heart from missing my dad’s calm, quiet presence is not permanent. I have hope that this eighteen year wound in my soul left by mum’s departure is not permanent. I have hope that my home so gut wrenchingly shattered is not irrevocably gone. In the middle of this season of struggle where I feel wave upon wave of sadness – my own and for my closest and dearest friends whose sorrows I cannot but feel for, it is good to have hope. Not just any kind of hope, but certain hope. Move over Jedis, here comes Jesus. I know I can trust Jesus. Why? Because He is good. He is well and truly good. There’s a verse in the Bible that says that one will scarcely die for a righteous person, but that perhaps for a good person, one would even dare to die (Romans 5:7). The truth is, not a single person can say that they are deserving of Jesus’ death because not a single one of us is good enough (Romans 5:8). Jesus knows me at my worst. He knows the evil in my heart, the lack of charity in my thoughts, and the slowness that prevents my doing good. Yet He took my place and died for me. He defeated my death, so that this pain I have, this heartache of a life, is but temporary. It is much to be thankful for because I am sad. This will be my first Easter without papa, my eighteenth without mummy, and my first without both. I miss home. Jesus gives me hope – that my story doesn’t end on this note.

Papa and mummy- never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever feel this way. I know we each had our imperfections – it wasn’t always Christlike. Yet, I am grateful to you for teaching me about the cross. I know we will meet again because of Jesus. This gratitude is mixed with sadness – I have tears. It will be my first Easter without you, papa, my eighteenth without you, mummy, and my first without you both. I miss home.

Gamora just killed a squirrel. I heard a loud commotion in the garden- a very loud squeal, and I went out to see what was going on. In the bright light that lights up the garden at night, my little hunter, stood so proudly over her kill. I was of course not so proud. Earlier this morning, she caught a pigeon, which thankfully, we were able to get away from her. That’s a second pigeon that will know not to reckon with mini Gamora. She’s such a hunter.

You can see her predator mode coming on as her head goes low, and her body goes rigid. She’s also very patient. When she’s trying to catch lizards, and she has caught countless lizards, she waits and watches. My little bubba, who can hardly keep still sits so patiently watching before she launches her attack. Sometimes, to disarm her prey, she makes little moaning sounds, a little lost pup so innocently calling out, except that her head is angled to jump forth and grab her prey. I guess her dachshund genes are shining through here. It’s interesting to watch her!

Gamora’s such a character. She’s the most loving pup. She’s always waiting to lick you (remember her hunting habits and you’ll be thrilled!). She loves it when friends and family come over. She has different intensities of greetings. My cousin who usually looks after her gets an extremely warm, frenzied welcome. She even has her favourite delivery man. He calls her ‘sayang’ and ‘manja’. Gamora loves with her entire being. Her go to move is to then flop over and show you her belly. This little one loves belly rubs.

Gamora’s a very happy pup. From the moment she wakes up to the time I carry her up to bed, she’s full of bounce and action. I love the way her ears flop about. You usually find them flopping backwards. She races in and out of the house, and is on constant security patrols around the house and garden. Not too long ago, we had a long, slithery visitor. She did enough to startle the snake till I went outside. She was safe – and the moment I picked her up, the snake made a dash to safety. Gamora was so brave! I’m the unwilling participant in all this! In our home, it was my dad who dealt with stuff like this and it’s been decades since we had snakes!

It’s so good to have Gamora around. She only knew my dad for five months, before he passed on. She still looks for him, and sometimes when I lie down on his bed, she curls up next to me licking any tears I cry. She’s been licking lots of tears since I lost my dad. She senses the moments I feel low, and immediately her good behaviour mode kicks in. It’s hard to believe that she’s the same bundle of mischief who’s so short but is able to leap up to the dining table and steal things off kitchen counters. I appreciate her good behaviour efforts so very much.

In a few days (13 March), it will be a year since Gamora came into our home. I remember the day I went to get her and how my dad and I watched her as she curled up close to me, shy of her new surroundings. We watched with much amusement and joy as she stole slippers, dug holes in the garden (at one time we actually had eighteen holes!), and played. She was such a delight. She still is. This curious mix of pug and dachshund is the perfect blend of pup for me.

Even so, I feel an immense sadness as I think of her first year anniversary with me because I’m missing my dad. These days there are many moments like this. Extreme sadness because my dad, and mum are both no more with me, and joy in blessings that are so apt for me. Some people have been commenting that if only I’d got married or had children, I wouldn’t feel the loss of my dad and mum so much. It’s such a stupid suggestion. It shocks me. I think I won’t say anymore about the suggestion because I cannot muster the grace to deal with that stupidity. I must say that I am processing my grief, and as I do it, I can see that God in His wisdom has given me the exact blessings that I would cherish, and that really lift my spirits. I include some friends in this who have really been constant in their friendship and love towards me at this time. I definitely include Gamora. She’s my bright little spark. A canon ball of energy and joy.

So I thank God. I thank God that despite this time of heartbreak and sorrow, I am still able to have some laughs and joy. It matters so much to me because while I keep thinking of my future secured by Jesus, I’m in the now and His grace is indeed sufficient for me. Thank you, God, for papa and mummy. Thank you for my darling Gamora. I am grateful beyond words.

Papa, you’d have really enjoyed Gamora! I keep thinking how she’d have plotted to get your teatime stash of goodies! She misses you, even though she knew you for a fleeting time. I’ve known you my whole life, and I miss you so very much. I miss mummy so much too.

Since my dad passed away last August I’ve been in a terrible rheumatoid arthritis flare. It’s the stress from the grief that’s doing it and there has been a lot to deal with. So many things are playing in my mind. The biggest thing is really coming to terms with my dad’s absence. That’s really hard to do. I want him to call out to me to get something or even just to find him watching the TV or pouring over Sudoku. It’d be a bit of normalcy then.

The flare has been quite dreadful, if I’m honest. There are points where I wonder if I’ll walk again. I’m so grateful for the days where I hit a high step count or close all the rings on my Apple Watch fitness tracker. Big wins! It has been really difficult. I’ve had to skip church quite a bit because I’m in way too much pain. I’m so grateful for the service that’s streamed live. I’ve had to stop some friends from coming over on some days and I’ve had to decline going over when asked. I’m very grateful for the graciousness that I’ve been met with. There are phone calls and messages that I’m thankful for. Really grateful.

Something triggered the memory of the time my dad was knocked down by a motorcyclist. This was absolute ages ago. I remember my mum calling me. I remember panic and calm- such a strange combination of feelings. They blank out a lot of other things going on. I remember how we came together, the three of us, as a family. There are things I had to do – like sit in a room with my dad overnight in hospital as they were understaffed, and drain the flow of blood from the wound of surgery. The steadiness of my hands shocked me, and even the doctors and nurses who attended at varying points had good comments. My mum saw the collapse – the jumble of nerves and fear within me came out before her. How she encouraged me. My dad eventually came through (after some challenges). He never gave up. God saw us through. Battered, perhaps. Exhausted, for sure. Thankful, definitely.

I don’t know if these memories have triggered the flare I’m dealing with now. There are joints in my fingers that I have very clear knowledge of. Some of these should never be known. My ankles look like they’ve seen better days, and I can see the disfigurement slowly happening. I’ve said goodbye to gorgeous shoes. There’s nothing elegant about this disease. There’s nothing about it to like. No saving grace. My mum passed on well before I was diagnosed. Her biggest fear was that I would get what she had. She never wanted it for me. My father dealt with it. Resolute and quiet. He said things at the right time. In my previous job, which I absolutely loved, I had zero space where I could fit in a doctor’s appointment. I was part of a small team and whenever someone was away, the rhythm of the team faltered. So I kept pushing back doctor’s appointments and for almost a year after being diagnosed, did nothing. My father’s quiet words came ringing through loud and clear. I knew what needed to be done. I left the job, did some freelance work, while attending to my illness. It was time that I am grateful for. I read up, spoke to doctors, joined support groups, and got educated on my illness, its unpredictability, and speciality in ravaging the human body. I shared a lot of this with my dad. It felt like we were able in hindsight to even make sense of a lot of what had happened to my mum. The learning in this area is astounding now in comparison to what it was when my mum suffered.

I’ve been struggling to figure out what it was about the memories triggered that have been playing in my mind. Not everything was bad. My mother’s RA was extremely severe. I remember when my dad was prepped for surgery, both mum and I met him before he was wheeled off to the operating theatre. My mum wasn’t able to walk alongside as they wheeled him off, but she asked me to go. I was conscious I was walking away from her to accompany my dad, but I could sense her calm composure. I held my dad’s hand as I walked alongside but we came to final doors and I couldn’t go through. My dad’s final words to me at that point were that it was okay and to trust in God. When I think about it, it was more calm composure.

I’m not saying that my parents never had moments of panic or despair. They did. The memories I have of the time of this accident remind me of the highs and lows we had as a family. Just the three of us at core, dealing with things with lots of grace shown to us through others around. I remember the worries I had – whether my dad would ever drive again, whether I’d be able to manage both mum and dad if my dad wasn’t going to be mobile as before, etc. There were a lot of worries. I remember how my mum and dad dealt with some of these fears I shared over games of scrabble or tea time chats. There was a steely grit. They weren’t interested in fluffy cliches that got thrown our way. They constantly reminded me that we cannot predict the future but that we were in God’s Hands.

I think this is the reminder that’s really striking me. In my church, we’re in the middle of a sermon series from the gospel of Matthew. I’ve been pondering on Jesus’ interactions with a Canaanite woman (Matthew 15: 21-28), and Jesus’ warning about the leaven of the Pharisees and the Sadducees (Matthew 16: 1-12). These bits of scripture are really speaking to me. As I deal with pain from my RA (triggered by grief), there are constantly many ‘words of wisdom’ that come my way. In my exhaustion, I have to deal with people who may be well-meaning but end up being more damaging, who tell me about all sorts of remedies, treatments, lifestyles, etc. The list is long. I’m often judged when I say I don’t want to know about a lot of these things. Most of these are quack remedies that don’t deal with the root problem, though they are often wrapped in legitimate terminology). They will not help. I can’t help but think of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees. Wrong teachings from scripture, things that are out of context, though may sound legit and sweet, don’t feed. They don’t nurture the soul and they cannot save. However, scripture in context can be hard hitting. It may not always be sweet sounding – just read the interaction with the Canaanite woman. Hard and unpopular as it may be, it saves.

I think this is what’s in my mind as I reflect on this past memory of my dad’s accident. When we came together as a family, it was based on God’s Word. We didn’t know the outcomes. As memory serves, my parents weren’t overcome by this challenge. We had heaps of grace. I reflect on this as I struggle to even put my full weight on my feet today. My step count for the day will suffer. Typing this out has been hard too- very slow in comparison to my usual speed. Yet I have such a song in my heart. It’s a song of hope. I’m singing it to Jesus who has time after time shown me that He is my constant. I’m not sure how it’s going to be after this. My whole world is upside down because of grief. This illness is another factor. I want to remember that ‘even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table’ (Matthew 15: 27). Thanks to Jesus, I now am guaranteed a place at the table. It will be more like how it is for Gamora at the table! This is a difficult time, but I’m thankful that I don’t have to be afraid or figure it all out.

Papa and mummy, it is hard without you. Thank you for what you taught me.

I’m writing this from Lombok. It’s the first day of Chinese New Year, a long weekend in Malaysia and some quiet time away for me. I wish I could fully describe the blue of the sea – the different shades of blue with hints of green, the whiteness and blackness of the sand with bunches of seaweed strewn all over the place, and glorious blue sky dotted with soft white clouds. It’s beautiful. So beautiful.

The beauty of Lombok is making me miss home. I wish I could bundle little Gamora up and bring her along with me at times like this. Gosh, she’d love it here. There are some friendly beach dogs too. One decided to walk with me both times I went for walks yesterday. He was sweet and I could just picture Gamora going into play mode with her wiggly bum in the air, while head bowed low. It’s hard to leave home because of Gamora.

It’s also hard to leave home because I no longer have my dad to call home to. I missed him so much prior to coming here. I could just hear his voice asking me if I’d packed alongside a whole set of questions about prep for the trip. I’ve shared before that it is difficult when I cannot call home. I feel that keenly this time too. He’d have loved to have heard about the walks and how it all felt.

I’ve to say that I’m very grateful for the friends who have been in communication with me even while I’m here in Lombok. Chatting to them makes me feel like I’m sharing this time with people who are dear to me and who care. It’s a new dimension of grace that I’m seeing – so much care coming in from quarters that were already caring but are now showing me more than I ever imagined, or from those that I never knew cared so much – and are making me want to return the act for them. It is all blessing. I am grateful.

I’m writing this because I’m contemplating the new definition of home for me. I miss home and I have it in mind that it’s Chinese New Year and many friends of mine will be gathering together with their families. It adds to my thoughts about home. As a Christian, I believe that my ultimate home will be when Christ comes again or takes me back to Him. It’s something I look forward to for several reasons- it will be the chance to see Jesus in person (I have many versions in my head of how this will be). Another reason is the reunion with my parents. Maybe a year or two after my mum passed away, I had this dream of her, my dad and me together. It was special and I now think back more on that dream- I think a reunion with them would be glorious. It will also be a reunion with friends and in many ways, I hope with my dogs. And if I’m allowed a bit of cheekiness, I’m dying to finally meet King David. Jesus will be my new home. It will be perfect- I cannot imagine it. No tears. No pain.

That home is still on a distant horizon for I don’t know when I’ll get to it. I have to contend with home here. My earthly home as I know it is forever altered. Not only is there a loss of my parents, there is a new reality too. Some of the ones I thought would be there, aren’t. Some just don’t have the capacity – and I get this: we are different and have different needs, life happens and people go through so much. I think they have a lot to deal with. It doesn’t change the outcome for me, they’re not there. Then, there are some who are just nothing short of blessings.

My best friend is an example. There she is in the north west of England, and here I am in Asia. We have distance and a time difference of about 6-7 hours (depending on the clocks in the UK). Not easy factors to reconcile. Yet, day after day, she manages to make me feel at home. I cannot thank her enough. It’s mind blowing. She’s a blessing. She and her family have taken me in. It’s hard to explain and I don’t mean to say no one else matters – coz everyone does. For sure. But there’s something about the way she’s meeting me where I’m at that’s very helpful. It’s a real godsend. Another example would be my girlfriends here in Malaysia. I love how they come by and spend time with me. We have so much to talk about that’s deep, silly and just so dear to me. Some who are from far message me – rather aptly with different things. I mentioned the lack of shade here in Lombok and how I missed my dad to a dear friend who responded that she wished she could convert her umbrella into a parasol and told me of how she considered her late mum’s pride at her travels. It was just what I needed to hear! There are a some of my brothers in Christ who’re the same. They are so kind. I cannot tell you how spoilt I am to be cared for so much. I’m dealing with a broken heart and all these folks are the balm I need.

And this brings me back to God. Ultimately, He’s the one who’s sending me all these lovely people. He’s the one who’s causing the outpouring of love I’m receiving. I think it’s because ultimately, He’s the one who really understands me. I’ve been feeling very alone. Without my mother, life had become extremely quiet. To lose my dad has meant that I need to get used to a certain silence that I’m not used to. I’ve felt alone. I’ve also found that it’s not always easy to be understood. I’ve found that only a few have the ability to understand and respond to me in a way that is meaningful (and I hope I can do the same). This is why I am so convinced they are blessings put in my life by Jesus. In Proverbs 8, we hear about lady Wisdom who makes astounding claims of having been there with God when the world was created, and when we were made. There are many similarities between lady Wisdom and Jesus. They call after us, they make a case for why we should receive them, but neither force themselves upon us. The reading of Proverbs 8 made me see that God in all His Wisdom made me a certain way. He knew how it would be and He knew just what I would need. He understands me so well that He sends me blessings that are so precious and helpful to me in the form of the people I’ve mentioned. I think too even of how little Gamora came into my life. Every step was ordained. She and all these people I’m talking about are a balm. This is blessing and I want to acknowledge it. I want to thank God and praise His Name for being so wise and for knowing just what this brokenhearted girl needs. I am at a loss to describe how loved I feel even in the depths of my despair.