Anita’s Blog

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!

 

 

I remember the 7th of January 2006, the day my mum passed away, as the day I broke. Her passing brought me to my knees and quite frankly, it has left me there. I remember the senior nurse telling me that mum had 6 hours left to live and I certainly remember the urgent prayers in my heart, pleading with God to spare her. I remember the final words I whispered in her ear. I told her I loved her and that I wished I could go on looking after her but that I feared it was time for Jesus to look after her. I remember her gripping my hand so very tightly, as if acknowledging this farewell. I remember how she was then gone.

I find it difficult to speak about mum. Perhaps this is indicative of a wound that still needs to heal. People who knew mum well, would know of the crippling arthritis that dogged her for most of her life. Bedridden at 28, she then found respite through traditional medicine. She was told she would never have children. She had me. She always reminded me that I was her blessing from Jesus. Perhaps this was why she loved me so well.

The arthritis came back with a vengeance. She knew very little reprieve from constant, excruciating pain. Yet, those who knew her would only be too quick to acknowledge how she never complained. Rather, she smiled and was cheerful. She gave great counsel to those who sought it, chatted and laughed with family and friends, sketched, painted and wrote, planned surprises, taught (she worked till retirement age), studied the Bible with a group of ladies every week and in general, went about living life as best she could, despite her limitations. A good friend of hers recently sent me a message in which she said that my mum crippled the arthritis with her dignity. Imagine my pride reading such a message!

Mum and I always talked. We had no secrets. Sometimes, it baffles me to know why we had so much to say to each other. We’d talk from the moment I came downstairs and went into her room and before I drove off to work. We’d talk once I got to the office and intermittently throughout the workday. We spoke in between engagements that I had to keep and the chatter never stopped even after I got home! Sometimes we’d be in tears. Lots of times, we’d be in fits of laughter. The conversation was magic. My world seems very silent now in comparison. The last time mum was able to speak was on the 5th of January 2015. It felt like there was a slumber party in her hospital room – we didn’t know how serious her condition was at that point. Maybe she sensed it.. I don’t know. She started to spell things out to me – all that she loved about me, all that she was proud about, all that she feared and hoped for me, all that she prayed for when she prayed for me. She certainly left me in no doubt of her regard. For that moment we shared, I’m grateful to our God.

When mum passed away, I think a lot of me shut itself down. Overnight, I lost memory. I can’t remember singers, songs, movies, actors, story plots and even people I’ve met, incidents that happened in the past in my time as a student or lawyer or during my travels. I never thought that the day would come when I wouldn’t know the words to a Michael Jackson song! I’ve lost interest in so many things: I’ve zero interest in football. I am the girl who sat up to the wee hours of the morning watching football matches or who arranged her social schedule around such matches. Now I’d be lucky if I could name a player or two. I’ve become a bit less sociable. Perhaps it’s not obvious to those who’ve met me after mum passed, but I think there’s a clear difference if you compare my social patterns now with the past. I find it hard to be with a lot of people these days. Family gatherings remind me that my mother’s not with us. My heart breaks every time we get together. Visiting close family friends is sometimes so painful – another reminder that she’s gone. Sometimes when I speak to people, I feel like they can see the gaping hole in my soul. It makes me want to shrink back. I feel very distant from what’s going on – almost like I’m in a parallel existence, where the real me is still slumped over that hospital bed sobbing and the centurion me is out protecting the real me from being discovered and has managed to chisel out some sort of existence that fools everyone else. But centurion me can’t fool the real me. I feel the same way about work. I’ve had to quit the law completely. I left the law. I’ve wanted to be a lawyer since I was 6 years old! I loved going to court. I had an excellent boss, worked on good cases – I was living out my dream. But centurion me recognizes that real me can’t cope with stress these days. Real me can’t cope with the demands of the legal practice. Not anymore. Centurion me brought forward my retirement plan of teaching English. It’s not as demanding as being a lawyer. I can cope with this. Centurion me is great in class! Real me never has to make an appearance. Teaching and training meet real me’s needs.

I remember a conversation mum and I had once when she was preparing for a Bible study on the book of Romans. I think that book changed a lot of things for her. Even how she prayed about her illness was different after that. Anyway- as she was prepping one of these studies on Romans, she started talking to me about how there was nothing that mattered outside Christ. In my mid-twenties, the idealistic Anita very heartily agreed with her. I wasn’t thinking then of how my mum who was in so much pain all the time and who had so many of her hopes and dreams dashed as a result of that wretched illness, could say that none of that mattered apart from Jesus. When I lost mum, I lost a chunk of me. True – I don’t have physical limitations, but some of the emotional limitations have been massive and have certainly cost me more than I expected. For awhile there, panic set in. The memory loss, the “collapse” of me as it were, all felt a little impossible to deal with. Sometimes it still feels a little overwhelming.

Now that I’ve had time to reflect on mum’s life, her words about there being nothing apart from Christ makes more sense. Mum’s life was certainly not free from disappointment. Life is full of them. They seem to be one of the few reliable things we have in life! And my amazing mum, certainly had more than her fair share of them. Yet, she was cheerful, bubbly, had a beaming smile and had gracious, encouraging words for everyone. She was a great friend and was able to be a strong shoulder of support to many of her friends, an emotional crutch as it were to those who were close. She bore no resentment, though honestly acknowledging her disappointments in not being able to simple things – like meet up with me over lunch in the middle of the day or go shopping and to the movies with me. She was able to sympathize with people who complained of pains in a single joint, whilst every single joint of hers called out for relieve. She didn’t complain or make life for all of us living closest to her miserable. We never felt it. And now that I’ve had 10 years to reflect on this, I know why. Mum experienced God-given grace.

As a result of this grace, mum was able to see that her glory…her ultimate victory or success in life, came from Jesus’ victory on that cruel cross. Jesus’ death and resurrection guarantee us an eternity in His presence where He will wipe away every tear from the eyes of His people and when death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore (Revelation 21: 4).

Had I only witnessed mum’s life, I may not have totally understood the magnitude of Jesus’ grace. Having lost what I have lost in terms of who I am, I’ve had to come to terms with how I’m sometimes perceived by those who know me. I may come across as a bit of a loser – the girl who wasn’t strong enough to deal with her mum’s passing and who has let life pass her by. Heaven knows, the real Anita is the real Anita’s biggest critic and centurion Anita can’t protect the real Anita from herself this way. The real Anita knows how much her personality has truly altered, how little things that mattered in the past matter now. There was so much confusion about who I am …what I should be like. For ages, I panicked over this. After all, mum always said she loved my personality. There has been intense moments of conflict when it came to who I was where my career was concerned. I kept telling myself I am a lawyer. I even tried to make a return to the legal profession in 2012 but I saw the difference in myself – it didn’t impress me. It doesn’t mean that I didn’t enjoy the year back in the practice. I did. And I have to say that I was a part of a very interesting case – one that I am proud to have been a part of. But there was a difference in me…in how I embraced life back as a lawyer. The difference was as a result of this wound in soul. The entire experience felt surreal and I recognize that my personality has so much altered that I’m a far better teacher/trainer these days. I often get “told off” for steering so far away from my area of study. “What a waste of an education!” or… “you’re a great lawyer! Don’t waste your talent!”… I feel a keen sense of shame when I hear these words. They pain me to an extent that I cannot explain.

There is a need to acknowledge the many losses that were brought about as a result of mum’s passing. Friends I used to hang out with on a fairly regular basis aren’t there anymore. They couldn’t handle me being sad. Life moved on for most of those around me – and I think it would be fair to say that I couldn’t necessarily talk to them about how I was still hurting inside. It simply isn’t appropriate. There was a lot of suppression – completely unhealthy. Mum’s passing brought on chronic asthma, acid reflux and my blood count has since her passing, had the tendency to drop. People find it hard to speak about death and the sadness that lingers on after a loved one is gone. You often find yourself alone in that rut…feeling a little out of touch with the rest of the world. It’s almost like you’re dancing to a completely different beat – out of step with everyone else. It’s like you’re mucking up.

The panic that I mentioned – thinking I was disappointing mum has been massive. There were many internal struggles and tussles about how I should restore myself to who I was. I was confused about my identity. There were moments I thought I was losing my sanity. During my time in the practice, I consistently took personality tests – partly because I was interested in how I matched up to my career and partly because it was fun. How could it not be fun? I had some pretty glowing results. In the past – before mum’s passing I consistently had a showing of 98-99% on the extroversion factor alone. That’s pretty staggering and in Winnie the Pooh land, I would’ve been akin to Tigger. When mum passed, I took the test and my extroversion factor was 2%. In Winnie the Pooh land, we are talking Eeyore! My test results are different now… 10 years later, my extroversion factor is at about 37%. Not as low as when mum passed and yet – nowhere close to where it used to be. Hence the confusion about who I was. I remember bits of the “old” Anita and they are in total conflict with the new Anita. In the midst of my dilemma, my amazing pastor friend sent me a poem by Dietrich Bonhoeffer entitled Who Am I? It ends like this: “Who am I? Thou knowest, O God, I am thine!” This poem has helped bring me some measure of peace. I am in Christ. May my identity be in Him – and that will, I know, never be shaken. It helped me make sense of my mum’s understanding of Christ.

10 years down the line, mum’s understanding now makes more sense. Her ultimate victory is my ultimate victory too. In fact, I’m thrilled that I’ve been able to further hammer this home with a lesson from my beloved King David (who was ruddy, handsome and had beautiful eyes – 1 Samuel 16: 12) who wrote Psalm 3, where he said: ‘But you, O LORD, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.’ (Psalm 3: 3). Mum had taught me that whatever my disappointments – failed ambition, loss of social status or society, loss of personality, etc. – they wouldn’t matter if I learnt that Jesus is the true lifter of my head. He is the root of my glory. When I think on this, I’m relieved that I don’t have to “make it” in the way that I’m expected to. This grief is now a part of who I am. I cannot move on unless and until the memory of my mum becomes meaningless. So…thanks to Jesus, I can cry for how long I need to and not a single tear of mine is too long or out of place for Jesus.He can handle it. He can handle the fact that I’m not necessarily thrilled with mum not being here.

And through all this, He shows me grace. The emergence of my family in Christ has been a phenomenal eye-opener. They share their burdens with me and make me see how it is okay to be people of faith and yet have tears and sorrows in the face of an inexplicable joy that we share, knowing that our tears will come to an end when our Lord returns. They show me the reality of working our faith out in the gospel and how that includes coping with our disappointments and regrets. There is yet more grace! He shows me that I have had some pretty amazing friends who have been there for me despite our different world views and who’ve been simply magnificent. He shows me that there are times when I can make a difference to the lives of the people I’ve met – whether by my struggles or silly banter or whatever aspects of flawed me that He uses to show love, concern, support and friendship to another person, there is a dimension to me which never would have existed had not I gone through this loss. My significant alteration as a result of my loss has only enhanced my ability to sympathize and empathize. Sheer grace for I am by nature impatient and have in general not been very understanding towards what I always perceived as weakness. My humbling has taught me how wrong I was in that regard. He’s shown me contentment in my new but less flash career. There is joy when I get to help make a difference in someone’s life. He’s shown me grace when He reminds me of relationships that have come about as a result of this different path that I’ve been set on – how blessed I am to know some of the people who have come into my life since I lost mum.

Probably, most significantly to me, He shows me that because of Him, mum was who she was to me. She was the rather amazing person I’ve been describing (probably without doing enough justice!). He has shown me how blessed I was to have a mum who despite both our flaws and disappointments in life, loved me so very magnificently and tenderly. She was an amazing mother, friend, confidant… not someone I’ll ever replace or be able to get over ever. Her life has been a mammoth example to me. I will never forget the words she said to me that night as she worked on that Bible study, when she said: “Anita…there is nothing without the Christ…” I’m ever so thankful to The Lord Jesus for letting this amazing lesson have come through the life and death of my mum for it has further compounded the blessing she has been to me. I’ve lost mum – temporarily. We’ll meet again, soon and that is much to look forward to. I’ve lost mum… temporarily. I’ve encountered grace…permanent grace. I’ve much to be thankful for.