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When I was a practising lawyer, I had the opportunity of working for an amazing senior lawyer. He was fabulous not just in terms of the work he did but also with regard to his temperament. I reflect back now on some of my experiences with him and I think -“wow”- how blessed was I to have had such a boss!

I don’t know what made him a good boss. I know people often speak of leaders and managers and the differences between the two. However, I’m not sure what made this quiet, unassuming character such a good leader. He wasn’t perfect – none of us can claim to be perfect. There was no extra pomp and ceremony about him. He didn’t need to hold court or be seen by everyone. He ran a quiet practice. Still he was a great boss to work for.

I wonder if he was able to somehow not get caught up in his role of boss or lawyer or employer. He was able to respond in such human fashion. I remember coming back from holiday and upon being back at work for several days, my dad was involved in an accident. My gracious boss simply took the file off my hands and said “go do what you need to”. There was such grace in that act. Such kindness. He didn’t suddenly start counting the hours I had worked since coming back, neither did he put pressure on me in anyway whatsoever at that point.

The funny thing is, he never made a big deal about how I should go to him and ask him for things. None of that kind of talk. I just knew I could go to him and see him and speak my mind. I knew it was a safe zone. How his actions spoke far louder than his words! It is so unlike some of the stuff I’ve seen and heard about lately. I’ve heard bosses delivering speeches about how we can go to them for anything. Yet – ask for an hour off because things are crazy in the office and you need the hour to finish some work and you open yourself up to comments about how they expect their staff to be prepared well in advance, etc. First and foremost – just because you need an hour more, doesn’t mean that you are unprepared. Second, it just shows almost a meanness of spirit in making such comments. There is no safe zone.

It is the recognition now of how such negativity was missing from the conduct of my law boss that makes me ever so grateful for the time I spent with him.
I wonder whether my ex-boss’ ability to be so gracious was because he wore his humanity over and above his role of lawyer or employer. I wonder if that made the difference in him. I know that I have fallen short of my humanity at points when I have pushed for something even though the person who hadn’t delivered had a legitimate excuse or could have done with a little bit of understanding. Hopefully I can keep recalling and learning from my past experiences with my former boss and remember that this role I have of humanity should never take second place. I suspect even the corporate world will be a happier place if we all remembered this a little more.

Mum, I’m often asked if I still miss you. I’m asked by people who suffer loss, if time has changed how I miss you. The short answer to these questions would be a firm ‘yes’.

Some people judge me because I no longer visit your grave. A lot of people have asked me how it is I can refrain from going to your grave. I have nothing against people who go to visit the graves of their loved ones. They need to do what they need to do. I am not the judge of this. However,  I cannot go to your grave now and it has been many years since I’ve been to your grave. When you first left me, I needed to go there every single day. Sometimes I went twice a day. I felt like a raving lunatic but in a way it was necessary for me to go to your grave to even begin to grasp the fact that you were gone as going there made it real and broke through the numbness that took hold of me when you first passed. Now, going there makes your absence even more painful. I can’t bear that, mum. We all bear our grief differently. Every time I step into our home, I feel your absence. You’d be waiting for my return ever so eagerly. Every time, I have a moment, whether I’m out shopping or with friends, I feel your absence. I used to call you in those moments! Every time I have feelings that are different on a particular subject, which, tends to be most times, I feel your absence. You were incredibly tolerant of different views and you weren’t judgemental. You weren’t afraid of giving me a rocket if I needed it! 🙂 Every time I have to vent, I feel your absence. What a great listener you were. Every time I have great news, I feel your absence. You’d be the first one to hear it. Every time I have something frivolous or serious to share, I feel your absence. Your responses were always apt. The list goes on and one. It starts with “Every time I…” I don’t need your grave to make me realise you’re gone, mummy. I feel it in my bones. I feel it with every breath. It is real. I feel it every time.

There are moments when I can almost hear our chatter in the distance. It’s like watching a movie reel of our lives in moments past. I love these moments. They seem real at points and I feel like I get caught up in them. I’m not sure if I ever want these flashbacks to stop.

Over Christmas just past, I made some changes to our home. Some of these changes are things I talked about with you. I’ve been in sort of a reverie where there’s been an inertia holding me back from going ahead with things. Some of the changes are new – things I’ve recently thought about. I think you’d like what I’ve done to the place. Anyway, while going through the lockers to clear out stuff before they were pulled down, I found your old Bible studies. There was a question: ‘What have you learned from these lessons in Romans which will make a lasting difference in your life?’ And you answered: ‘I have a sinful nature. By accepting Christ, I am alive to a new nature. There is always conflict between the old and new natures. Victory is mine through Christ – by allowing His Spirit to control my new nature.’ Mum, this answer and many of your answers, where you thank God for me, my disposition and may other things that you said, brought tears to my eyes. This find was the best Christmas present ever: a legacy of your deepest thoughts. You shared your faith with me and in these books are the ways in which you processed your faith and came to a better understanding of our God. It’s almost as if I have you speaking to me still. No one else will ever share this part of you – of that I am acutely aware. You thanked God for me over and over again as your biggest blessing (apart from Jesus). Oh mum, how I am thanking Him now for you – over and over again.

Mum, I could go on and on about you. I’d sound like a broken record. The thing is, I think you’d be quite pleased with me now. I remember you. Well – it is a little hard to forget some of those rockets you gave me! 🙂 I did pay attention – and I find things so much better now. You taught me how to fight for what is right. I think I’m doing a reasonably good job with that. You taught me how to handle pain. I will never be able to imagine how you managed so much with your arthritis the way it was. I know God played a huge part in helping you maintain such a cheerful disposition. I have to learn this now:  my pains are nowhere close to yours – but when it hurts, it hurts. Perhaps the biggest and most important thing that you taught me was about Jesus. I remember you. You taught me many things, mum. I remember you a lot.

I think I’ve slacked a little in somethings. I’ve tried to hold on to the things I accumulated from when you were still alive. Last Christmas – I got rid of a whole lot of stuff that I held on to. I didn’t have too much trouble disposing of King Lear! I never liked him! 🙂 Oh but mum – there were so many wonderful memories as I packed these books and things up to be given away. It revealed a lifetime of learning, tears, pain and joy among other things. They barely revealed the depth of the discussions you and I have had though they showed the amount of time you spent on me in my early years and the times we continued to spend with each other until you left. These memories cannot be packed up and given away. They are mine to treasure – and treasure them I will.

I think if I’m to answer the two questions I’m often asked – about whether I still miss you and if time has changed how I miss you, my answers would be a firm ‘yes’. There is no doubt. I don’t need a reminder now to know you’re gone. I feel it alright. It is a trial that I wish I hadn’t had to have borne the loss of you from the time I had to bear it. Yet – missing you has driven me into the arms of our Saviour, whose promise of the day when we are all united under Him with no more tears or pain or mourning (Revelation 21: 4) fills me with a hope that spurs me on. I will quote you from your study on James. You were asked in what way the study of the book of James helped you most. Your answer mum – was sterling. You said “Trials test our faith but we have to be firm. Prayer is a source of strength which will make us aware of God’s grace and change some of our wrong attitudes.”

On the 7^th of January 2018, it will be 12 years since you left me. I thank God for where you are now. I thank God for you. I love you loads, mummy.

Christmas is almost here and I’ve not organized a single get together at my place. This is such a stark contrast to my usual Christmas celebrations. Last year alone, I hosted either 7 or 8 Christmas parties for different friends – just to celebrate Christmas! This time, I’ve not even baked a Christmas cake, let alone put up my Christmas tree. We are having a bit of work done at home at the moment and the bulk of the work is just complete – but there is still some work left to be sorted out. Anyhow hopefully the dust will literally settle after the cleaners leave this evening and I will be able to put up the tree. All of this feels so different from last year and the years past.

The one big thing I can say is that Christmas means more to me now than ever before. These last few months have been difficult in many ways. Somehow through all these, I am learning so much that’s brought me to this point where I am even more thankful for Christmas than I have been for a long while.

First up, I’ve had the privilege of walking alongside a sister in Christ who has suffered abuse in her marriage for 7 whole years. The pain I see her going through, the difficulties she has had making people understand the nature of the abuse, the pressure that has been put on her to reconcile and the changes she is having to address in her life as a result of the abuse have in a strange way had an impact on me. Much to my dismay, I recognize that I am limited in my capacity to help her. I cannot make this all better. I cannot do more. To my joy, I thank God for the blessing I have been given by God in my parents. Oh my God, I will never stop thanking You for them. My mum’s no longer with us so I sat down and I thanked dad for the upbringing they gave me. It wasn’t perfect – heavens no. Yet – it has been so good and so full of love. It has been secure. I thank God for the blessing He has given me in my friends. I recognize that my friends, whether near or far, are like family to me. We don’t always share the same world view or ideas. An example of this is we don’t all like Benedict Cumberbatch (thankfully – coz I hate sharing!). Yet we have shared so much – good and bad and we have stuck it out. We have hurt each other and we have built each other up and we have stuck it out. We have had heated exchanges but our friendship has remained constant. Oh my God, I will never stop thanking You for them. My friend’s situation has made me see that a lot of these things I take or have taken for granted are really not at all common. I am humbled that her suffering has been the means for me to learn such a valuable lesson: I am loved by God. The Lord Jesus has blessed me. I will be the first to admit that I am tired as a result of this journey. I am drained from the entire thing – and I cannot even begin to imagine how she feels. I am also overwhelmed because I am blessed. My prayer is – that I will share this blessing with my friend – and anyone else I possibly can.

Second, this year has been so very difficult because I have been watching my father age. I haven’t realized how yuck I have been feeling inside watching this until yesterday, when he sat me down and asked me to help put somethings down in a will for him as he wants it to be easy for me in the event anything happens to him. Last night, I balled my eyes out. Don’t get me wrong – my dad is 84 years old and he is still very independent. He drives himself out for breakfast and lunch, he has been very involved in the work we’ve been doing around the house and he’s incredibly supportive of me. It hasn’t always been easy between dad and me. I am my mother’s daughter in many ways and dad is a quieter, more reserved personality. Yet, as he ages, I see a kindness that is coming out even more than before – just so that I, his impetuous only child, understand the depths of his love for me. Mum always told me that he loved me loads. Well, I never claimed to be a fast learner! There’s a fragility that is setting in: a weakness in his physicality that is hard to bear. There are moments when he struggles for breath and when the exhaustion is overwhelming. I don’t know how to cope with this – I truly don’t. You think you are prepared for it all but you never are. Through dad’s ageing, I am learning how dependent we are on God and how He supports us through this. Thank You God for papa. Thank You for his goodness and kindness. I am very blessed indeed. Oh my God, how You have loved me! My prayer is that I can be as generous to others as papa and mummy have been to me.

Third, I almost lost Patches this year. I almost lost him twice. Once in January because of a poisoning and then at the end of October thanks to a tumor that erupted inside him. My darling creature is showing signs of slowing down – the operation has aged him and he is getting on in years too. He takes more time to show me how much he loves me: now we have to stop more times as we come down the stairs just so that he can give me the most heart-melting look and claim a quick rub around his face and ears. He’s become even more keen to please and I’m treasuring every single day with him. Even here, I find that I am blessed. All my life, I thought the best partner for me would be someone sophisticated – well-spoken, wise… well – someone along the lines of Benedict Cumberbatch! J Yet – one of the best companions I have, my partner in crime, is a four-legged creature that wags his tail and shakes his bum like no tomorrow. He doesn’t say a word and is scared of his own reflection in the mirror! He’s incredibly cowardly and loves playing with a teddy bear. Oh what great company he is! He is constant and faithful and ever so pleasing. I find myself once again overwhelmed with this blessing of Patches. He has been the perfect companion in ways I cannot even comprehend or believe. Oh my God, how You have loved me! My prayer is that I can be as accepting of others as how Patches is accepting of me.

So what’s all this got to do with Christmas? Well, I believe that we celebrate Christmas to thank God for the Christ-child who was born so that He could die to save us from our sins. I am so grateful that Christmas isn’t only about getting together and beautiful Christmas trees. It isn’t about the cookies and cakes we make or the enormous spreads we put out. It is about the generosity of the living God who did not spare His Son but sent Him into a world of sinners. He sent Him into this world where relationships were broken between humanity and Himself, between humanity and the world around it and within humanity itself. He sent Jesus so that we have the certain promise of life hereafter. As if all this wasn’t overwhelming enough, I can see rich blessings poured into my life – blessings not measurable by dollars or cents, fame or recognition – but blessings that have uplifted me, spurred me on and humbled me. It is true that I in my lack of wisdom may not have sought these blessings but have sought others. Yet, God in His mercy and wisdom blessed me so richly. These blessings are in addition to the greatest blessing of forgiveness and eternal life that Christmas brings. I have done nothing to deserve them – they are purely grace I have received from Jesus. For this Oh God, I thank You. My prayer is that I will always thank You – and never forget Your grace to me.

Every now and then, I find myself locked in battle with God. It’s usually over men. It’s not very complicated. But then, I’m not very  complicated, I don’t think. I meet a guy, I like a guy, I say “God please let this be”, He says “no”. The battle goes on. I think of the Greek myths I read as a child – the clashes between the mortals and the immortals or demi-gods. Sometimes this is how I picture my arguments with God. I’d say something out of line and He’d send Poseidon to drown me or send some kind of thunder-bolt to fry me. I know it’s not that way but I usually associate events in my life with comic drawings in my head. That is how my mind works.

I met the man from the sky slightly over a year ago. We were at a party and he walked right over to me, oozing with confidence and said ‘beautiful smile’. I think I may have told him that it was my t-Rex grin – that’s what I call a comic drawing moment. The connection was immediate. We talked for hours. However, I soon remembered that that was all it could be – a long chat. Whether anyone else agrees or disagrees with me on this, I’m convinced of the Biblical truth that a marriage has to be between two believers. Even if you reject it for being a Biblical truth, there is still logic to it. I can’t imagine trying to process a problem with a partner if we both had a different core. I’d say I needed to pray about something and he would find it ridiculous at some level. Similarly, I’d sneer at the idea that ‘coincidence’ had a part to play or anything else that doesn’t attribute credit or glory to God. We’d have a completely different footing and the difference would warrant more problems than I care to imagine. Still, here was this physically attractive man – who was a pilot for a major airline, supremely confident in his looks and abilities and who was terrifyingly sexy as a result of this confidence. He spoke well and he had great opinions on lots of things. He was clever and funny at the same time – a combination that does draw my interest. Even more so, he was incredibly interested in me. He made it very clear in his messages. ‘Chocolate girl’ he would call me or some other caramel related name, which won’t be repeated here. He spoke like a poet and his words came pouring down on me like gentle waves in the middle of the sparkly ocean.

This was the man I had to resist. Resist I did. Yet, I was unhappy. I hadn’t gone looking for this ‘trouble’. I had been content to remain in my little corner of the world doing my own thing. I hadn’t asked for such romantic overtures that would send electric shock waves through a concert hall. I hadn’t asked to be with anyone at all. So I was most annoyed with God for allowing this to happen. It meant a lot of sleepless nights, reasoning with my jet lagged pilot over Skype from whichever destination he was at. It meant reading messages that made romantic classics seem like old newspapers. It was a badgering I did not want to take. Yet, I hung on to my boundary – with what I am sure, was a lot of help from the Holy Spirit, I said ‘no’ to the man from the sky and carried on with my little plot of life.

I was exhausted. I’d been upset with God. This entire thing was just uncalled for. It was hard to talk about even with Christian friends. Some made jokes about it – which broke my heart. Were they not hearing me? I was angry with God. He was breaking my heart. He had sent someone into my path who was just completely inappropriate for me. I’m not talking to them about it anymore now. I’m done with it.

The battle waged. I said very brief and cold prayers. I’ve been saying those for a while. I’m upset with God. On some days, I’m a little more upset than on others. It doesn’t help that the Christian men I meet, even if they are lovely, are just simply uninterested. It doesn’t help that even if there is chemistry, they simply don’t act on it. I’m furious with God for the stark contrast of possibilities that lie before me. Sometimes I wonder when I’m just not good enough for a Christian man.

I’m fed up of saying defeatist prayers. “Your Will be done” is what Jesus thought us to say in Gethsemane. He knew full well about the horror that was about to face him on the cross as well as the glory that lay before Him. My argument is that maybe it was a little easier for Him to say “Your Will be done”. I’m perhaps a little more biased towards my all-time favourite, King David’s prayer in Psalm 86: “Hear my prayer oh LORD, listen to my cry for mercy. When I am in distress I call to you, because you answer me.” I don’t think it is blind faith. David knew of God’s goodness. He had experienced it. I can tick those boxes too. David knew of God’s holiness and judgment. He had experienced it. Another tick for me. Yet David called out – in full confidence. Jesus’ purpose in Gethsemane was no doubt different. I am so grateful He said “Your Will be done” and that He didn’t get out of dying on that cross. If He had, I know I stand doomed. So – I am going to be eternally grateful for this. It is because of this, that I know God is good. He is good. I can say that over and over again. He is good. I’d like him to maybe just once, respond to me according to what I want.

At the moment, when my head is buzzing with fury towards God at having to give up the gorgeous man from the sky, I am praying for victory in comic-drawing style. I am reminding God that Jacob wrestled Him and won. I don’t plan on a wrestling match but I’d like to win an argument. I’d like to win. I want another man from the sky who is a believer. I don’t want some quiet, polite admiration or interest. Thanks, but I can do without.  I think I’m done with defeatist prayers. Yet, through this all, because I know He is good, I still want to say “Your Will be done”. The battle wages on…

I think most of us have at some point come to the understanding that we all make mistakes. At the back of our minds this truth exists. It seems however that in the work setting, we often forget this simple truth.

Whether the forgetfulness stems from stress or desire to be seen as flawless, I cannot say. So our reactions are somewhat along the lines of “this is not the standard I expect from my people” or “I expect my people to be more professional” or many other things along these lines. Sometimes they are couched in harsher language. Sometimes there are just fits of rage, which help no one. I find these staggering! Maybe now that I’m so much older and have seen a lot more, that I have a name for such responses to mistakes we make in the workplace. Responses like these are plain and simply: “bad behaviour.” That’s really what it is: bad behaviour. Where do we get off reacting in a way that implies we never make mistakes? We create an impossible situation. We give others stress through our lack of understanding and we also set up impossible expectations for ourselves. This is ironic because we’re all susceptible to mistakes.

The thing is, I’m not advocating the lack of a response to mistakes. Mistakes whether in our professional or social life are how we learn and improve ourselves. They serve as the impetus for growth if handled well. How then should we respond?

My mind often drifts back to when I was a young, budding lawyer. I had the opportunity to do a trial all on my own and I was delighted at finally being given the chance to form strategy and plot the defence (as we were acting for defendants in a civil matter). It was glorious indeed cross-examining the Plaintiff’s witnesses and hammering my points across. I had been nervous but held my ground and I was totally in the zone. I was enjoying the zone! When I got back to the office, I made haste to tell my boss all about my triumph. Finally, I had a “war story” to tell. My boss listened and applauded and proceeded to ask a very simple, natural question. “Anita, where’s the list of marked exhibits?” All of a sudden, my moment in the limelight came to a screeching halt. I’d completely forgotten to mark the exhibits, let alone make up a list. Confessing my mistake to my boss was difficult – and I imagined the scolding or insults that would follow. I imagined how furious he would get when I spoke up. I confessed with a heavy heart. There was a moment’s pause – and my amazing ex-boss acknowledged the mistake. Then he said “chart this to experience. Let’s look at how we can rectify this.”

My ex-boss certainly knew the grievousness of my error but he also knew that dwelling on it was not sufficient. In fact, had our energies been focused on my error, he wouldn’t have been able to guide me to the perfect solution, which he did. Fact of the matter is, I went on to win that trial. The mistake I made, I have never forgotten for one reason: it made me learn how to troubleshoot and come up with a workable solution.

My ex-boss’ response to my mistake was one of grace. Grace helped me learn from the episode. Grace sharpened my experience. Grace helped me love my work even more. Grace gave me a new regard for my leader. I was in awe of him – and I’m willing to bet that no hissy fit or unkind words would’ve enabled me to feel this awe for him.

I hope too that I am able to respond this way whenever others or I make mistakes. I believe that we would lessen our stressful atmospheres by learning to accept the simple truth that we will make mistakes- and that mistakes can and will always happen. Let us not stress over that. We know this truth. Instead, let us respond well. How we respond is where the focus should be.

I don’t really know what the pain is all about just yet. I’m in the process of finding out – and how I dislike the investigation process! I’m stressed by visits to doctors and this is the one thing I’m sure I’ll have to do for awhile. Yuck!

All I can say right now is that the pain in my joints is significant. For some reason, I’m also somewhat fatigued. I find it difficult to do things. Today was one such day. I was unable to go to church or join friends for lunch as much as I wanted to! The extent of the pain surprises me. I usually have a high tolerance for pain. So the fact that this time I feel a little floored is quite unsettling.

Because my mum had such severe rheumatoid arthritis, the natural prognosis is that this is what I now have. The blood tests haven’t helped just yet and so the question mark still stands. The X-rays apparently haven’t helped my cause either. Mention the suspicion to anyone who asks, and I suddenly get volleys of advice of what I should start or stop doing. Whilst I appreciate the sentiment, it is impossible for me to follow every single lead right now. I don’t mean that as a slight to anyone. Yet- I am pragmatic. All I want is the diagnosis.

This period of limbo has had its effects. I’ve had to pull out of a cooking competition that I very happily told a friend I would partner her in. She’s been amazing and has shown great understanding. It truly is much appreciated. I’ve had to cancel some dinner invites and I did try to reschedule one within weeks of the initial cancellation as I was pretty sure at the time that I would be up to the task. It was a sinking feeling when the realisation started to dawn that I would need to order the food. I was still pretty optimistic that I’d be able to manage dessert. That foolishness soon perished on the morning of my do. I ended up buying dessert too. My friends who came by that night were just beyond beautiful. They appreciated and reassured and I was humbled by and grateful for them.

This waiting period has also made me acutely aware of how I come across right now. I usually stand right throughout workshops or other training sessions. Much to my shame, I’ve had to sit quite a bit for most of the sessions since. Over and above this, my movements are less than graceful now. I mean – I was never very graceful to begin with. But now … well, it’s a whole new level. It’s also not very attractive having to wear a knee guard or plaster over or under stockings when I’m wearing a knee length dress or skirt. I’ve not bought into the fashion.

The limits are also making themselves clear. I find that I can’t always do what I want – whether I’m on a break or whether it’s part of my everyday life. I’m suddenly slower. A lot slower than I care to be or than I can even imagine. There are days when even taking my darling Patches out for a walk is a challenge.

There is a very strong emotion that I’m feeling now – as I remember my mum at this time. What I’m going through now is no where close to what she endured. I’m crying for her – for all the pain she suffered. I’m amazed by her – at how she suffered, and I’m ridiculously proud of her. I’m also so thankful to God for her. I’m thankful to Him for how He carried her and for the mental strength He gave her. I’m thankful to Him for the example He gave me in her. My mind is such a buzz with these feelings.

My mind is buzzing with a little bit of worry of what this actually is and with stress of having to go and see another rheumatologist. I’m a little anxious as my appointment date draws near. One thing is clear though. I know that God never tests us beyond our capabilities. If this is a short term condition, I seek grace to be thankful for it. If it isn’t short term but is instead something long term, I need grace too. Admittedly this would never have been a test or circumstance I picked for myself, but I have complete faith in His victory for me won on that cross. The promise of no more pain or tears when His Kingdom comes again and the regeneration of not just our souls but our physical bodies feels even more dear to me now. How amazing the victory and the promise feel to me right now. If what I have is something is long term, at least I know that I can lay to rest what needs to be laid to rest, regardless of my wishes, without feeling as if I have lost out.

I don’t profess to be able to hold on so well at every single moment. So I am writing this as a reminder to myself – to keep drawing on God’s grace. I write this as a request to my family in Christ that they will keep supporting me in prayer where this journey is concerned especially during the times when my weakness hides the victory or the promise that Jesus made me.

For a rather substantial part of my life, I have been fascinated with the story of The Ugly Duckling. How I identified with that ugly duckling! How I longed for the same release – a transformation into something so beautiful, it was quite unimaginable.

It was easy to understand why I loved the story of The Ugly Duckling. From quite a young age, I have been susceptible to unwarranted comments about how I look. These comments came from people close to me. In fact, I remember people asking my mum what she fed me to make me so large. I remember painful comments made to me directly from the age of 5 or 6 on how I looked. They not only shocked me, they took root within the impressionable me. Unfortunately, the negative feelings these comments caused were later reinforced by bullying from a particular lad from church who was rather vicious and who went about unchecked. There was bullying from him and loads of unkind comments by some others. Neither this bully nor some of the people from early on are in my life now. However, I must acknowledge that some of these comments go on to today. I’m afraid I have some rather toxic relationships where people I consider friends often make comments that are hurtful.

Some friends with whom I’ve shared some of the instances have hailed my patience in dealing with these toxins. I’m quite sure this has nothing to do with patience. Why, most times, as in the past, I find myself in a bit of shock that the comments were even made. Then I start to justify the comments and find a way to excuse the person who made them. I’m in such a rush to gloss over the reality of what is said that I’ve buried so much hurt within me. This isn’t a good step by any means as I’ve found it hard to acknowledge the hurt and the anger that has arisen as a result of these comments. I confess that there’s been a lot of anger. In fact, a lot of supressed anger has surfaced at points much to the shock of those around me. I am angry and sad that I sometimes still allow people to say hurtful things to me on the score of how I look.

The comments have been quite harsh. For instance, the tormenting bully I mentioned used to very loudly whisper to others about how ugly I was – that’d be the mantra during the ride to Sunday school. It’s amazing how a short journey can feel like eternity. Once when I was wearing a Michael Jackson t-shirt, he said to me that I should never wear anything with Michael Jackson on it because MJ was slim and I was fat. I have paraphrased this in kinder terms for inclusion in here. Part of me is still too embarrassed to repeat what he really said. Those were just a couple of many instances from him. Then there were the others. In my teens to my early twenties, I often had “concerned” individuals pull me aside and ask me to do something about my looks. They usually held my hands and spoke with such earnestness. “Do you never want guys to like you?” they would ask. Quite honestly, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked that. Somehow just like those hits we so often hear about, the comments never stopped coming, not even when I started work as a lawyer. A lawyer who once gave me a ride back to the office after court said this as I got out of the car: “I didn’t know how a fat, female Indian lawyer was going to make it, but you have got brains.” I detest him to this day and yet I’ve never told anyone who he is. I could give more examples, I guess. However, even as I write this, I feel sick.

These comments have hurt. They have hurt a lot.

The scars I’ve borne from these comments are more deeply rooted than what I could ever have imagined. Now that I’m older, I often look back and reflect on things. I can see how blind I was to the attentions paid to me – especially by the opposite sex. It’s like my radar is permanently broken. I don’t see how I can be attractive to anyone. As such, there have been instances when I’ve hurt men who were interested in me simply because I didn’t expect any interest from anyone. Some of them have had very candid chats with me years later, much to my surprise. They’ve told me how “brutal” it was for them when they were trying to express their feelings for me. Most of them had no clue that I couldn’t see figure out their interest. They expressed quite a bit of shock about this.

Until this day, I will never admit my feelings for someone unless I get a very clear indication from him that he likes me back. I’m almost panicked if they find out my feelings – because I imagine the horror they would feel knowing that I liked them. Apart from that, chances are when I’m asked if I like someone, there will be a denial or some sort of long winded explanation that makes it impossible to pinpoint an answer. I am terrified of the horror I may inflict on a guy if he ever found out that I like him. This is something I’m quite adept at dealing with – I never reveal.

It is also upsetting to me that I let girlfriends talk to me unkindly. I think it’s not okay for them to reinforce any negativity or make prickly comments about me. It’s not okay for them to laud themselves over me. I’m not in competition here. There are always going to be things they do better than me – and this may be even in terms of how they look. Yet there are always going to be things that I do better. Somehow, I need to recognise this.

There was progress when I went to university. Abroad, no one seemed to pick on how I looked! In fact, there were compliments – something I was quite unused to. I’m very relaxed with most foreign men as a result – and this was interpreted unkindly as me only liking foreigners. I used that impression as a defence. It helped if I was out of reach. This line of defence is still pretty effective, I think and I have unashamedly used it.

When I first came home on holiday from university, I confessed to my mum and dad so many of the things that had been said to me. They were appalled. My mum didn’t sit still. She’d always wondered why I rejected nice clothes and insisted on boy haircuts, hated photos and now her questions were answered. She got my dad to take her to a fabric shop. She had very severe rheumatoid arthritis – and the exercise was quite a heavy one for both her and dad. He’d to drive her very close to the shop, pull over by the side, help her out, get her to safety and then, park and do the whole thing all over again when she was done. But she bought me some material and they went to a tailor and made me some really nice clothes to wear. It made me cry. And even now – when I think about the both of them doing what they did, it brings tears to my eyes.  Until then, I could remember almost all of the really harsh comments. That exercise helped me lay to rest some of what was said. Mum also never stopped reminding me of who I am in Christ and about how I should be dealing with these comments. There was a lot of progress as a result of that and I went on to have boyfriends even. As such, I am grateful to God for showing me aspects of myself in the various relationships I’ve had that I never thought existed. It’s different when you are with friends and family – and when you’re dealing with a partner. I’m not saying one type of relationship is higher than the other but I’m saying that there are different aspects of you which are brought out in each case.

At the suggestion of a Christian sister, who is a counsellor, I started on a biblical based search for freedom from the shackles of the past that seem to hold me back in the sphere of relationships. As a result of this, I recognise a few things: I need to build healthier relationships and seek to serve God as much as I can through these by displaying His love and generosity of spirit to every individual I seek – whether or not they are a part of the body of Christ. Yet to do this well, I need to feel free to move forward from the pain I’ve borne for a long, long time. My tendency is to flit and float about where friends and family are concerned, without ever committing too much to anyone in particular. Yet somehow in strange contrast, I’ve let the people who hurt me spend time with me – almost as a sort of a pretence to say the comments were never real. This is my defence against hurt. It is not godly. It is not biblical. I’m asking God for the courage to reach out to more people and to let them into my life at a deeper level and at the same time, I’m asking Him for the strength to maintain healthy boundaries and keep those who are toxic at bay.

In addition, what is finally happening is, I’m finally acknowledging the hurt. There are many consequences that have stemmed as a result of what I went through. Male interest in me still shocks me. I mostly disbelieve it. I’m quick to reject compliments, though am trying very hard to stop doing this and to start saying “thank you”. I’m not very comfortable looking into a mirror – even when I’m alone! That’s probably why I’ve never learnt how to do very much with my hair. It’s easy to rattle me – talk about looks, ask me to pose for a photograph, start going on about diets, etc. I panic inside. I’m pretty good at hiding it. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s just that it’s getting more tiring these days and I don’t want to deal with it anymore. Even meeting with girlfriends is sometimes stressful when there is so much focus on externals. There are always so many comments about how we look. It’s almost embarrassing to have to go through the ritual. Why do we get so much credit for how we look? I’m not saying we that we shouldn’t give each other compliments. By all means, do that! All I’m saying is it shouldn’t become our major focus.

I’m thoroughly ashamed at most of my own reactions over all these years as they’ve not been too godly and I’ve failed to display Jesus’ grace at these times. As a result of not dealing with my tormentors themselves, I took my anger out on many other people. An example of this is how I’ve treated men in general. I’ve made it impossible really to be with anyone. If anybody’s paid attention to my checklist, you’d notice the impossibility there is in every element being found in one man. In a seminar in church recently, I was reminded that God has only one criterion in your choice of a marriage partner: whoever you choose just needs to be a believer. The reminder of that brought a ton of bricks upon my head. I felt an instant guilt – a conviction that I’ve been so wrong in how I’ve behaved. I thought of the criteria that I’ve put in place and how I’ve made it impossible for anyone really to be good enough. I’ve cut guys down out of sheer defensiveness. I’m not saying that I would definitely be married if I had been godlier in my actions. That is not the point I’m pushing here. I’m only saying that I would’ve been a better vessel through which Jesus’ glory could’ve been displayed. For failing here, I am thoroughly ashamed.

I’m also rather ashamed that I bought into the lie of The Ugly Duckling, forgetting completely that because of Jesus’ death and resurrection, I am covered by His beauty, which is pleasing to God. There is much to look forward to where the regenerative work of the Spirit is concerned and this is truly where my hope and desire should be. I have prayed somewhat wrongly all this years for a better face and body. Part of me wants to bury the memory of these unpleasant things even further within and never look at them again. Yet part of me wants to share this with those of you who either went through the same or who are going through such things to know that there is reconciliation with yourself – as you’re probably now your own worst enemy. There is also reconciliation with God – as He never really abandoned you and He has guaranteed you full forgiveness and regeneration of your spirit through the gracious work of His. We may not all have people coming to our aid when we face this sort of harshness. Yet, remember that we’ve been accepted by Him – and are fully loved. The value of that love needs to sink in. So I shall say it again: in Jesus, we are fully accepted by God.  My sin doesn’t always allow me to be content with the acceptance I have in Christ. For this, I continue to seek His grace.

There is the need to acknowledge the hurt too. It is not okay that people have behaved this way. Their behaviour was just out of line. They need to be called out on it but most of the time, we coil back in shame. This needs to be done graciously – which isn’t the easiest thing to do when you’re hurting. My sin doesn’t always allow me to respond correctly. I either lose more confidence in my looks – there are many new depths of lowness that I never thought I’d discover! Alternatively I’m very angry with the person who said these things to me and I want to tear them to pieces verbally. Then there are the times when I don’t know how to maintain a healthy boundary. This results in me continuing to hang out with these commentators instead of drawing the line and refusing to join them.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever reach the stage where I’ll fully ever be comfortable with my own looks. I’m not sure if I’ll ever reach the stage where I stop making it impossible for me to have good, healthy relationships. But of one thing, I’m very sure of – this isn’t going to last for eternity. There will come a day when all my tears are wiped away and when in the presence of God, all this will vanish. The seminar I went for reminded me how short a time we have here on earth in the face of eternity. It is hard to imagine it – it is somewhat difficult to look for it. For now – in this short time I have here, I will strive to thank Jesus and to praise Him knowing that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made”. I definitely think that this is something worth striving for.

I met Gary and Diane Bookhammer in church when they came to live here in Kuala Lumpur. They are such an unassuming couple and both display such mild, gentle  yet ever so welcoming manners that it was difficult not to be taken in. They have delicious senses of humour, that differ slightly from one another’s and there’s a warmth in their tones when discussing matters that are of importance. It was easy to like them! Both have lovely voices – and were part of our music team in church. Practices with them were great because they were ever so encouraging and enthusiastic. It was difficult not to be touched by their gentle energy.

I cannot remember how or when, but we started spending a lot more time together out of church. I blame this gap in my memory on the million and one things that seemed to be going on in my life at that point. I was trying to pick up the pieces from losing my mum, breaking up with a long term boyfriend, coping with a career change as well as with changes to myself as a result of juggling all these things that were going on. Each of these events had certain consequences in my life that were not necessarily easy to bear. Most times, I felt a certain amount of tension within myself because I needed to put forward a front and not cause alarm among family and friends over these events that had happened in my life, all of which I’d viewed as loss and failure. I wasn’t coping well with these changes and I was finding it more and more difficult to talk about them because I was getting less and less able to identify them as the root causes of the ever ready tears that seemed to be only a blink away. I felt things spiraling out of control and I felt like I was about to lose my grip completely. I found it almost impossible to speak about the clouds of sadness that I seemed enveloped in and that I felt were now dictating the terms on which I lived my life.

It was in the middle of this hurricane that I met the calm of the Bookhammers – a pure Godsend. Little did I know it but I was finding it ever so easy to spend time in their presence. They said nothing that was judgmental and were ever ready listeners – even when I didn’t know what it is I had to say. There were times when Diane would put on the coffee and both she and Gary would chat to me about some event or other in their lives, which would help me open up on some of the turmoil that was going on inside. I remember the first time when I properly confided in them about the things that were dragging me down. They’d seen through the “brave front” that I’d been putting up and they’d worried about me, prayed for me and practically helped me to identify and express my feelings. I’m not very good at identifying and expressing feelings that bring me down. My mind doesn’t seem to want to recognise that such feelings could be a  part of me. So – the ability of the Bookhammers  to extract my troubles helped me to slowly realise how highly strung and wound up I’d become and just how much stress I was under.

There was never any kind of judgment. Only sound advice, solidarity and love. It was almost tangible. I always felt embraced in love. If ever there was an example of love within the family of Christ, this was it!

We spent almost every weekend together – swimming, talking over lunches or dinners, planning Christmas dos and birthday treats. They introduced me to Thanksgiving  traditions and celebrations. There was much to give thanks to our good Lord for. They shared Independence Day celebrations with me – which included watching 1776 on the signing of the Declaration of Independence and having a BBQ indoors! Our plans included cookie parties and expeditions to restaurants that were usually interesting. These may seem pretty normal as far as life goes, but there was something that God did for me through the Bookhammers. He gave me friends who helped me process rather fractured pieces of my life that I was unable to. They had the perfect temperament, a great grasp of theology and so much love and care that helped kiss this broken soul in a way that was much needed. So I do thank God for the Bookhammers. During my weekends with them – and every bit of time that I got to spend with them, the balm of healing was poured into my wounds.

Diane and Gary – I’ve often felt the pangs of missing you since you went back to the States about a year ago. Every day, I thank God for you because while I was in a valley, He gave me you. I love you both ever so much.

I’m not in love with him anymore. I’m speaking of my ex-boyfriend that is. I don’t know how much more plainly I can say this. It’s a little worrying that even some of my closest friends don’t believe me when I say it. It’s apparently because I speak about him a lot and that must mean that on some level, I’m still in love with him. What a load of gobbledygook!

I’m not in love with him. Not the way I loved him in the past when we were still together. He and I started as friends. I met him just after mum had passed away. He knew that I was struggling with grief. He was the friend I needed and he gave me the support and the space I needed. We got on infamously and I don’t think that until very recently (but will save that for another possible post), I ever felt that comfortable with a man! He was easy to talk to and he cooked up feasts – apparently food works for winning over women too! The thing I found most attractive about him was his confidence. He was far more confident than me – which is saying something! He was secure in himself and I could be me and didn’t have to rein in my ideas or any part of my personality. That led to the other attraction – the conversations. Man! Those conversations never ceased! I remember 14 hour conversations on why I even believe Jesus is God, politics, business practices, etc. There were frivolous and yet lengthy discussions too – the identity of the Stig in Top Gear, why all my favourite actors were not as good looking as I thought they were, etc. I got him and he got me. He didn’t have bouts of moodiness and neither did I and we could relate on that score. There were moments when we could just sit in blissful silence, each engrossed in their own activity but in full company. There are so many more instances of time spent in such agreeable fashion.

The bottom line is, we were compatible – very much so. And we enjoyed the differences between us as well as cherished the similarities. We were friends. We were close.

The break happened because of one difference that I wasn’t able to reconcile. It was the difference in our faiths. He almost accepted Jesus but that didn’t happen. It brought an end to the romance because there was no way forward. There are so many people who will disagree with me on this and will have much to say about it. Yet this is my faith – and it is how I will live: the Lord Jesus above all else. Saying that Christianity is an organised religion, or is out of step with reality or the changing world order simply reveals a lack of tolerance that I confess, I’m fast getting used to. Saying that Christianity allows for two people of different faiths to marry would mean being unfaithful to God’s Word. To me, God’s Word wins hands down. I battled God’s Word – using very flawed understanding of Biblical text. I went to battle alright. I think my pastor who raised the issue with me can vouch for the battle I did. But – thankfully, God was merciful and His Word prevailed over my will. I’m fully aware that His Wisdom and Goodness are infinitely greater than any other wisdom or goodness I may receive. I guess also that really, in the end, no one else needs to understand this break….no one but me and perhaps my brothers and sisters in Christ who I hope will always keep me accountable. Oddly enough, my ex boyfriend has told me a few times that he knew he’d always be number 2 to Jesus in my life. Even THAT, he understood.

So why do I talk about him still? The thing is, he and I had a good life together. We shared a business, friends and a huge love for life. We met with a few car accidents, road trips, made jokes – some of which still crack me up, cooked a lot and had some other adventures which I don’t intend to document. The crux is, we shared a life.

We’re still friends. This wasn’t always the case. The break up was nasty and there were moments when we said things that didn’t do either of us any credit. And yet – at the base of it, the friendship surprisingly remained and could be called upon at moments when we needed to. Even in the midst of some heated argument or ugly blow up, there was an understanding. We could ask for help or seek counsel and these were given freely by both sides – without any ill will against the other.

I think we’ve both come to understand that we’re going to be friends for a very long time.

So when I talk about him and tell you stuff he and I did, it isn’t because I’m living in the past or because I’m hanging on to a pipe dream. Not in the least. I talk about him because he’s altered me in a way that I hadn’t counted on. He’s made me better in some ways, he’s given me support and confidence when I needed it. He’s brought out the daring in me in ways that I would never have imagined – we ran a business! That’s a side of me that I never knew existed! He’s helped me weep and equally has made me weep! He’s angered me in ways that are simply inexplicable. Boy, he’s made me angry. He’s made me laugh till my jaw and sides hurt and he’s made me cry hot tears of sadness and tears of joy. He’s made see what kind of a woman I am in a relationship – not quite the tough talker that I sometimes try to make myself out to be. The other thing is – I have changed him too. And just like me, he’s the better for it and it makes me feel good knowing that.

I still love him – but I love him as a friend. And that’s all there is. He’s not a part of my romantic dreams for the future – neither am I a part of his. But we can talk about our hopes for the future as friends often do. When he does well in business – and he often does, my heart bursts with pride for him. When he was almost killed recently, my heart broke. When he’s unwell, I’m concerned. When he calls to share news, I’m excited. It’s not easy loving him this way because there are moments when I remember the hurts. However, I’m convinced that the Bible depicts love as an action – not a feeling. Makes good sense because if we’re brutally honest, more often than not, we find ourselves feeling loving and unloving towards a person depending on the circumstances of the day. That kind of volatility is not love. We’re called to love in the same way we’ve been loved. And this is how I can now love him – at least…try to. It’s not a romantic love. It’s just the love that I feel for a friend. Hopefully he will see and feel the love of Christ through my inadequate and imperfect love for him.

It bothers me that people sometimes say I’m closing the door to future men because I still talk about him. I don’t exactly start telling my dates about my ex boyfriend! Please! I’m not rude that way. It bothers me when my friends knowingly quip in and say that I’ve never got over him. You’d get over anyone if you’ve had some of those arguments we’ve had. Still I know how I was loved and how I loved. I know how I was befriended and the friend I have been. I enjoyed every minute of it! I certainly don’t have to prove the point by wielding the next man in my life! I’m just not taken by some of the men I am meeting. I don’t have time for the crude, slimy git who thinks his “smooth” talk will get him places. Neither do I have time for the guy who hides behind the curtain of shyness and expects me to lead. So many men just aren’t my cup of tea – which isn’t wrong. I’m not interested. Some are – but then there is the issue of faith again. And I don’t want to go through this whole episode again. So I don’t encourage it. I’m making decisions for me. I’ve been somewhere and it was magical. I’m pragmatic and don’t believe that the only one chance has sailed past. Yet – I’m not living in the land of “make do”. I can’t just make do. It’s not part of my make up.

I speak of my ex because he reminds me of the changes made to me and of a time I loved. I speak about him because we are friends still at some level. I’m not in love with a dream or the past. I speak about him because he was a huge, meaningful part of my life and remains a part of my life. If anyone insists that all this means I’m still in love with him, then by all means go on living in the past if you will. Hope I meet you in the present some time. Let me know when you get here.

The Turkey Thief came into my life in January 2010. It was a rather unexpected meeting, I must say. I wasn’t the one to find him. The ex-boyfriend did and it all took place in Malacca. The Turkey Thief was rescued and was soon on his way to meet me. It was love at first sight for me and I think for him too. He was tiny – no bigger than the palm of my hand and he had such expressive eyes that gazed right into the ebbs of my soul. He followed me all around all the time – probably because I was the one with the ever ready cuddles and belly rubs. Most certainly it was also because I was the one who had taken over the job of feeding him. The Turkey Thief was a magical creature. Whatever food you set before him disappeared almost instantly! And how he grew. He had the silliest face ever and was keen to please and secure his place in our home.

He wormed his way from the outside of our house to the inside, almost instantly. The next step was to sit at the bottom of the stairs and stare in despair when I walked upstairs to bed. I caved and he made it to the door of my bedroom. I tried to leave him just outside my bedroom door  but you could see his little shadow moving about seeking a way in. The action was frantic. Again, I caved. I let him in and gave him a bed on a recliner at the end of my bed. He’d curl into a ball, content, and go to sleep. And there he remained until there was a devastating incident in my life. The Turkey Thief took his final step then and got on to my bed and ensured he was right there to comfort me with his warm, furry presence in the midst of my heartbreak. The Turkey Thief has since then made my bed his and over the last few years, there have been many tussles for the pillow, the sheets and space. The Turkey Thief is an occupying force. Once he gets some space, he never gives it back. “Take what you can, give nothing back!” I swear he agrees with Jack Sparrow on this! That’s what he has done with my heart.

Before he became the Turkey Thief, he was also the cake thief. Yes…one day he ate enough chocolate cake for 30 people. How he managed to open that kitchen door remains a mystery to me. The Turkey Thief has serious skills! I was in a panic knowing chocolate could harm him. He slept in bliss, smacking his lips the entire night through, where he was obviously dreaming of and relishing his life of crime. For the Turkey Thief, crime paid well!

The Turkey Thief was also a bird catcher. A slight confusion over his function, I suppose. Thankfully he was made to release his captives – his mouth did not make too convincing a hiding place especially when the birds’ feathers stuck out from it. The Turkey Thief watched in dismay every time the birds were set free. He would have his revenge with them by stealing an entire Christmas turkey in the end. He waited most patiently to exact his revenge. I said it before and will say it again: for the Turkey Thief, crime paid well!

The Turkey Thief was and still is an expert at stealing socks. He has no need for them at all. All he does is toss them and sometimes he hides them. He’s quite an expert at hiding them! Some have never turned up again – lost in the abyss that the Turkey Thief undoubtedly tossed them into. Some of them have turned up eventually. He was less careful with those ones. One more thing that the Turkey Thief does quite convincingly is demand attention. He tries to nudge my phone out of my hands when he feels it’s depriving him of his share of attention. Try working on my laptop and he somehow finds a way to sit on it so that I look at him instead of the screen. He positions himself in a way that tells you where he wants to be rubbed or how he wants to be cuddled. The Turkey Thief has his own mind.

When caught in the act of mischief making or when he is discovered to have been the source of mischief, the Turkey Thief adopts excellent strategies. The first strategy is to make a play for sympathy. This is done by walking in slow motion with his tail between his legs and his eyes looking ever so forlorn. The entirety of his actions cry “Forgive me! I’m so sorry!” It makes you feel as if you’re the heartless villain for finding fault with him. In the background, you can almost hear stringed instruments playing. The Turkey Thief is at his best when employing this strategy. Sometimes, the Turkey Thief deploys a different strategy, known as the “Pretend” ploy. What happens in this instance is the Turkey Thief acts as if nothing has happened, even when confronted with damning proof of his naughtiness. He prances around, licks your fingers and wags his tail so very playfully. He never admits that there’s a problem and he never understands what the whole trouble is. The Turkey Thief is good. The other strategy is called “Sleep”. Here the Turkey Thief sleeps through the reading of the riot act. The look of sheer bliss spread across his face is priceless. The Turkey Thief can sleep through anything he wants to.

However, the Turkey Thief isn’t always in need of being told off. He is mostly well-behaved and more often than not is absolutely charming! He can be superb company. The Turkey Thief knows how to be gentle when I’m sporting an injury. At those times, he knows how not to tug at or bounce off me. He’s so perfectly behaved then, he’s almost a different creature. Whenever I have a bad cough or am wheezing, the Turkey Thief tries to stop my coughing by pushing up against my back. He doesn’t stop trying to help that way. He’s tireless then. Another endearing thing about the Turkey Thief are his demonstrations of joy and happiness. There are times he prances and times he frolics. He darts about, runs around in mad circles or goes wild with joy. He jumps, skips and runs – in turns. He wags a tail that never seems to lack for energy. He gives me his full attention and his eyes are full of expressions that melt my heart. His lower lip quivers and he’s licks galore. He comes to me for hugs, puts his head on my lap or snuggles up to me rather lovingly. The Turkey Thief also enjoys smelling flowers – it’s a sign that all is well in the world, as it usually happens when we go on walks.

So many observations about my Turkey Thief. But the most startling one for me is this: the Turkey Thief relies on me completely, trusts fully in my timing and is content with my presence even if it’s a bad weathered day and we’re stuck indoors or if he’s not getting loads of treats or surprises. He’s just content with my presence. When I leave to go to work or for a social engagement, his sadness is apparent. He hates me leaving him. There is much sadness in his eyes. He sighs as I get ready to leave. Dad says he longs for my return and waits for me most faithfully. He’s waiting to receive me. He’s overjoyed when my outings include him and he tries really hard to please me in his own little way. He greets me with sheer joy – there’s no mistake in that.He waits for me to feed him – no matter what time I get home. He waits. And when I arrive – he’s thrilled. The demonstration of contentment doesn’t escape me.

My darling Turkey Thief is showing me a wonderful lesson here. He shows me the exact posture I should adopt with Jesus, my Lord and Saviour. In fact, I who have been blessed with the ability to express myself in far more superior fashion compared to my beloved Turkey Thief should show Jesus far more joy and contentment as His presence graces my life. I’m far too often governed by circumstances and forget the magnificent splendor of His being and the ultimate blessing granted. I’m often lacking contentment in the face of His gift of salvation. When I’m asking for something, I’m not always content to wait for Jesus’ timing. How unlike the Turkey Thief’s exemplary patience. I’m ashamed of this – when I compare myself to the Turkey Thief. I need to learn to wait for and rely on Jesus as my Turkey Thief waits for and relies on me. There’s much joy to be derived from the kind of contentment the Turkey Thief displays. As I realize this, I recognize that the Turkey Thief has been to be a pretty good teacher. The Turkey Thief has skills.

Patches darling, you are my one and only Turkey Thief and I do thank God for you. Here’s to more exploits from you!