Anita’s Blog

There are so many situations, where we feel helpless and simply have no control. Death is the obvious example. I’m writing this just after having buried Loki. Our home feels so empty and quiet and I’m missing him curled up by me as we turn in for the night. It all feels unreal. I’ve been wondering what I could’ve done differently- but I realise, I just didn’t have control. Loki was never mine to fix. He was mine to savour and treasure.

I named my darling boy, Loki, after the god of mischief from The Avengers. In Marvel’s Endgame, Thor watches helplessly while Thanos kills Loki. Whilst I wasn’t battling a Titan, I felt all the force of helplessness. There was nothing I could do to save my boy. This was a similarity I could’ve done without.

Little Loki was a miracle. He never should’ve survived being eaten by crows upon birth. What a tragic entrance into the world and what tenacity (on his part) and grace from God that he should survive. At 18 days, when I first got him, he was helpless, fragile and oh so loveable. It was hard work, feeding him around the clock. I know what it’s like to have interrupted sleep because of feeding, and a whole host of other parental duties that I took on with Loki. With every single minute, I loved him more and more. 

His antics were simply adorable and he well and truly lived up to his name. There was a point when I thought we had a rat upstairs because my clothes from the laundry basket had holes in them. It was quite by accident that I discovered Loki waking up super early, to grab some clothing from the laundry basket, play with it, put it back and quietly return to bed! I didn’t have the heart to tell him off or intervene as he was having a blast. Loki was also an avid gardener! He would happily pull apart any plant I paid attention to. He thought he was being good and helpful. He would come to get me to show me his handiwork. The biggest possible smile full of joy would light up his face as he showed his mama his gardening skills. He was just irresistible!

Anyone who’s been on a Zoom or Teams call with me will also know that Loki loves connecting with the world. He never failed to make an appearance. His trademark was to start jumping on me and being naughty so it looked like a hurricane happening on my end of the call. He timed things to perfection. Once I was presenting with other colleagues, and I decided to sit at the table so that he couldn’t get away with his star performances. Let me say that it didn’t stop him. Loki timed his part so well to start jumping about my ankles and going berserk under the table. It was all I could do to hang on to my countenance. The little fella was certainly a little god of mischief! I do remember thinking I had named him well. 

Loki’s tragic start to life meant that he was scarred with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). I worked so hard to try and get a grip of it. Consultations with trainers, vets- reading up and watching everything I could. Yet, it was too deeply rooted. This meant that he could snap at or bite someone without a trigger. The warning signs for these started rather early on. I kept record and kept trying out suggestions from the professionals I was consulting. Nothing worked for Loki. It was not to be. Unfortunately for my darling Loki and me. 

At the end of Loki’s life, he did the one thing that remained his favourite in his short three years. He climbed into my arms as the sedative took over. As I held my baby boy, I felt such sadness watching him trying to cling to me. I was helpless. That moment is going to be such a bittersweet moment forever etched in my memory. I told my darling boy I loved him. I think he knew I did. 

Loki’s life and death reminds me of the brokenness of the world. It also shows me how fruitless all our best efforts can be. We have no control over things. We simply don’t. I’m not sure how others with different world views process this. I know there are answers within the view I ascribe to, where God is the Creator of all things and where Jesus will establish His Kingdom when He returns. The new world is a wonder indeed, from the promises I read and believe in, for there will be no more tears or pain. I don’t know what the plan is for little ones like Loki. I know Jesus died for me – part of humanity. I do know too that as Creator, He’s terribly mindful of all creatures- nothing happens out of His control. Nothing happens in a void. Psalm 50:10-11 says: “[10] For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. [11] I know all the birds of the hills, and all that moves in the field is mine.” This is just one. There are many verses about how God has not forgotten sparrows, whose worth is very little financially (Luke 12:6) or how the birds of the air are fed even when they do not sow or reap (Matthew 6: 26). I also remember how not just humans were saved in the flood, but all manner of creature. So- I am prepared to trust in Jesus for what the outcome will be for Loki, for I know that He is trustworthy. 

Knowing all this doesn’t mean that losing Loki will not hurt. It hurts and I think this hurt will be there for awhile. Loki was only three and so full of life. He loved to put his head on my shoulder wherever we were – whether it was while sitting on my bed or in the car. He kept in close body contact – you’d almost always find him attached to me. He loved giving out licks and nibbling on ears. One friend says that Loki used to nibble his beard! Loki was expressive and loud. There was no mistaking his feelings on things. He had a smile that captured my heart and he had a zest for life, despite his trauma and physical handicap. How I wish that his PTSD had been manageable. How I wish it hadn’t interfered with the quality of his life (and mine). I love Loki very, very much. Something tells me that I’m always going to love and treasure him, for the colour and joy he brought into these recent chapters of my life. For this blessing of Loki, I thank Jesus. 

This is difficult to write. It makes me consider how people see me and the value they attach to me. It opens up old wounds. It rattles me. This is difficult to write.

It is no secret that I suffer from rheumatoid arthritis. Close friends and family will know that I’ve been struggling to find a good rheumatologist. Some of the challenges are that they seem interested only in my insurance. I feel like I’m swatting flies who’re going after a plate of food. The interest is very clearly not in me but how much my insurance coverage is in its entirety and how we can exploit that. They say it in very helpful voices, if that’s of any consolation. It wasn’t for me. One was downright sneaky in some charges he put towards me. He wasn’t my surgeon, not part of the team attending to me, but was summoned for a follow up with me as I was warded and unable to go to him. He decided to stop by a couple of times a day for about a couple of minutes and thought it appropriate to whack full charges for these visits. It never occurred to him that he isn’t in the category of Benedict Cumberbatch, Brad Pitt or such others that I fancy, whose two minute presence may have resulted in a resurrection had I been on my deathbed. I jest, of course! Truth is, I lost trust in him. I’m disappointed in myself for how I barely confronted him about this. My mind was weighing the experience I had with yet another rheumatologist who had put me on steroids for ages and when I complained of terrible weight gain, stopped me cold turkey, caused a crash and told me rather righteously when I went crawling back that he had told me I needed steroids. It was a no-win situation. 

A friend shared an experience of a rheumatologist that I then went to. He seemed like he would be the right fit. The only thing is, she and I had very different experiences. It is how this guy saw me that really brings me to tears. All he saw was an overweight Indian girl before him. I was rather confused at how he labelled all my problems as “because you’re Indian…” and I was stunned by some of the steps he asked me to take. I’m not going to explain those here, because I can’t share it with everyone. I’m actually embarrassed that someone proposed these steps to me. I shared it with some friends. Suffice to say, the course of action suggested was well out of bounds and simply dangerous. In my naïveté, I asked whether his suggestion would make me better. He said it would make me look better. Talk about a sucker punch. 

Familiar as it was, I hadn’t understood the shaky, defensive feeling I had every single time I was before him. Familiar as it was, I hadn’t understood the confusion within because I thought he was a good doctor. He wasn’t being good to me. Familiar as it was, I also hadn’t realised that I was sinking back into not wanting my photograph taken, wearing extra large clothes, having conversations in my head where I dismissed myself because of how I look. Thankfully the descent hasn’t been too bad. I’ve managed to catch myself. The moment I realised that he couldn’t see me- that he had no regard for my humanity because I am of Indian descent and because I am not at a perfect body weight, I cried. Familiar as it was, the hot, tears that were painfully trying to crawl down my face were hard to take. I cried so hard. It was all too familiar. The sucker punch mentioned drew in the realisation. 

I’m tired of it. The young doctor I’m now seeing jumped out of his chair when he heard some of the suggestions made. Friends gape at me when I tell them the actual situation. My dad shook his head in disgust. I haven’t been wrong in my reactions. My hurt is justified. But I’m so sick of it. I’m fed up that externals such as the colour of my skin and how light or heavy I am determines a person’s appreciation of me. 

I miss my mum so much right now. She’d probably have marched into that doctor’s office to give him a rocket. But she’s not here now. Thankfully though, I have many of her words pressed so deeply within my memory. One of the things she taught me so many years ago was that I was made in the image of God and that who I am was not separate from how I looked, and neither how I look or the strengths and demons within me formed who I am completely. I’m reading an excellent book on this right now and my heart swells with pride to see that it was something mum taught me years ago. I guess there is huge progress this time because I’ve not descended into anger with how I look or too much despair about who I am. I have at different points worked so hard on either of these – it’s devastating when you do that. I am relieved this time to see that this recognition of being made in the image of God is actually bringing me a certain measure of comfort and I hope that it will help me derive more comfort as I process the acceptance I have in Christ. 

The hurt is real. But the one big change this time is, I want to respond well. I don’t want to respond with just anger festering in me. Initially I caught myself calling the doctor all sorts of names. I remember shooting down all the bullies who tormented me in my past. Mum told me then, that they too were image bearers of the same God we worshipped- even if they weren’t behaving like it. This is the hard part. I’m determined not to brutalise the doctor verbally to the point that I forget that he is an image bearer. I’m hoping that learning to take the right steps -which may or may not involve a complaint, will help me forgive him. I’m not so keen on turning the other cheek- but if this is what it takes for me to be a better image bearer, then processing it is worthwhile. It feels like I’m fighting for my humanity. The doctor didn’t see my humanity. He was incapable of it because of his prejudices. I shouldn’t lose my humanity in how I battle this wrong. I say now that following Jesus is hard work! I need grace. 

This is hard to write. I’m insecure as I write this because I know full well that someone can say “ahh- but that doctor was right about you.” If it came from someone else, it would hurt. It would hurt like crazy. Yet- I think there has been a certain amount of healing within me from past experiences of prejudice, and I think a lot of it is because I have had Jesus and the space to speak about it. I have had so much support come my way especially through my mum and now from some wonderful friends. 

I write because I hope that if ever anyone I know faces hurt because of inexplicable prejudices, there is hope beyond this pain. This stain, scar, blot, whatever we want to call it, isn’t the end of things. We aren’t just accidental beings that have come into existence. If we were, there shouldn’t be a problem what anyone says. It shouldn’t matter. We aren’t just creatures who can take the high ground, like martyrs who march on stoically. Crikey! No. We have feelings and these matter. We matter. There is more to who we are: we aren’t just aesthetic beings, neither are we just moral ones. We are shaped by both these aspects of our being. 

As I ponder on this, I recognise that Jesus was also human. Creator, yet, begotten. He identified as human. I’m gobsmacked by that thought. Why would He do that? Why give up glory? Why exchange it for something like our humanity, which has demonstrated beyond doubt its fragility? He bore the image of God far better than I or any of us can. Yet, He wasn’t recognised for who He was. He endured hell for us on that cross. That magnificent, inexplicable, and extremely unbelievable act of grace shows me that because of Him, when someone else dismisses or misses my humanity, as painful as it is, is not the be all and end all. His grace shows me that my response in the face of this, can mirror perhaps a smidgen of His response to those who failed to see His Lordship in His humanity. He didn’t deal with us as we deserved. He showed masses of grace. So angry, sad and disappointed as I am that I am facing this, I will be mindful of this doctor being an image bearer and be considerate in how I respond to his dismissal of me. 

I’m also taking steps to ensure that my feelings are properly processed and I will give myself the time I need to heal from this. For this, I hope and pray that God gives me the strength I need. In the meantime, I will be saying a prayer for me and the many people out there who face all sorts of prejudice that is so very destructive.

Today, my father turned 89. That’s quite a blessing, I think, because there’s not one thing that we can do to add or subtract to our lives. I’d been wondering what to do- how to celebrate. It was something that I pondered on for quite a bit.

These days, I recognise that it’s no longer possible for me to cook for large crowds. It’s no longer possible for me to cook for any sort of crowd. It’s an achievement when I do it for dad and me. So for this lunch party, whilst it wasn’t the most complicated sort of do, wasn’t easy for me. Thankfully, I had options! I ordered food from a much trusted food business run by friends. Boy! Did they deliver! The food was magnificent. I didn’t for a second doubt the quality of what I’d get, but I guess I doubted my ability to organise things when the family arrived. It is hard for me to carry dishes, serve food, etc. This is yet another layer of ability that my illness has taken away from me. But there were blessings all around. 

A cousin helped me carry tables and chairs. I couldn’t have done this. Our helper made herself available for every single thing I needed in the days leading up to today. My aunt refused to let me wash the table cloths she had lent me for the tables I’d borrowed from her, and she made and brought some incredibly yummy desserts. Another aunt and uncle brought heaps of a popular local food, and I must mention that my aunt helped me with buying flowers and a few things I needed. Another cousin organised drinks, while his power-house wife and yet another cousin helped organise all the food to be put out on the tables. In the end, I was an able host, because I was enabled. 

My heart is so full as I sit and ponder on this. In fact, I’m dreadfully missing my mother right now. My cousins and the rest of the family may think their contributions were small. They haven’t a clue how big a deal they are to me because I’m no longer that able! It has been such a struggle dealing with the loss of ability in hosting. Gone are the days when I would spend an entire two weeks buying and prepping bits and bobs that could be frozen, etc. just for one party. Now – I have to look for food options, maybe even dessert and whatnots. I hadn’t realised how stressed I was about even being able to put the food out. My mum would get it. She suffered from the same chronic illness. She would so get its debilitating nature. The push I give myself is fairly big – on most days, I have to counter fatigue, by not giving in, which is not a pleasant experience. It’s hard to explain how it feels when your whole body works against you – a strange sort of inertia that holds you back, without ever setting you free. Yet – today, my heart is full.

Yes, my heart is full because my dad’s 89th birthday had us surrounded by a set of blessings in the form of my family. We’ve shared a history: some of it hasn’t been great, some of it has been sad, some full of hope and victory and on days such as today – so full of love, kindness, joy and unity. So I do thank my God. I thank Him for this blessing that He granted us today. I thank Him for the grace that surrounded not just dad, but me – in the form of my family, for all the strength that He gave me through them, to fill our home with the noise of laughter and chatter. 

One day, I hope my family realise how they enabled me today, to do what I wanted to do. Today, I recognise that it was through the grace of God that I was granted this. How He moves mountains! Today, I can say that despite this debilitating illness, I can be thankful and that I can count it as joy that I have been met with the trial of this illness, for today, it has produced an even greater desire within me to be faithful  to Jesus. Soli Deo Gloria! 

Some of the things that we’re called to do as Christians are so mind blowing. A lot of it feels so very impossible to do perfectly, and if we’re honest about it, sometimes, these feel like recipes for disasters. No wonder we can’t seem to get it right. This is a big struggle.  

It is a very real struggle too, considering the impact of the call we have, to love others. In Mark 12: 30-31, Jesus says that the most important command is to love God with all our hearts, souls, minds, and strength. As if that’s not difficult enough, He goes on to say that second most important command is to love your neighbour as you love yourself. I know our initial instinct is to say we love lots of people. I know that I start throwing together a list of names of people I love and show love to. Almost as quickly or perhaps, defensively, I make sure I include someone who is difficult to love. Maybe by this I demonstrate that I’ve not been taking it easy. Just maybe.

I start to relax for just a moment, as I think about things that I say and do to show love. Granted, my expressions of love aren’t perfect, something I readily admit, but I am loving, I think. Just maybe! Yet it gets worrying when I start unpacking different parts of scripture about what it means to be loving. The discussion gets a little bit awkward as we ponder this.

We know the reasons we are to love one another. Love is from God and whoever loves is of God and knows God (1 John 4: 7). We all want to be the people who are of God and who know God. Heaven forbid it that we don’t have a claim to this! The ante is upped when we read on, for it explains how the love of God was manifest among us. To be clear, this happens when God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him (1 John 4: 9). Somehow this familiarity makes us relax again. This good God, sending His obedient Son to save us. The joke on a t-shirt, with Jesus holding court to a captive audience made up of the Avengers saying “…and that’s how I saved the world,” pops into my mind. I love it. This Jesus is good. Yet am I really seeing how good He is?

Maybe it’s because I’ve been a Christian for a long time, familiar words that often give comfort are also the very same words I gloss over. It says very clearly that God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him (1 John 4: 9). Perhaps the most famous verse of all denoting this is in John 3: 16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” Such familiar, comforting words. I believe in Jesus and so I will have eternal life. I sum this up so easily. All clean and sanitized. It’s easy to forget that Jesus came to die because of my sin. Gosh, that fall in Genesis 3 seems like ages ago! It was ages ago, but the magnitude of it is deep and foul. The same sin has permeated over the ages and there is in a sense, a hardening of our hearts over time. That is clear, when we look at how fewer and fewer people acknowledge God’s very existence, or how we succumb to teachings and patterns of behaviour that alienate people from God. Even among believers, we have moments of compromise which lead followers down a path of no return. No wonder then, the sin attached to me from the fall in Genesis 3, seems almost an alien concept. It is hard to fully grasp sin and perhaps that is why it is hard to fully grasp what sin causes.

Jesus knew the hearts of those He died for. He knew the grip that sin had over those gone before and still has over those of us here in the present. He knew the grip it will have over those who are to come after us and prior to His return. He knew, and what He knew gave Him no comfort. At the Mount of Olives, where He prayed for the removal of the cup, we are told that His sweat was like great drops of blood (Luke 22:44). Many of the commentaries say that this is a possible medical situation when a person is put under extreme pressure. In the Old Testament, ‘cup’ refers to the judgment of God (Jeremiah 25: 15, Isaiah 51: 17, Psalm 75:8). It seems clear that the idea of God’s judgment upon Him for all our sin was unbearable to Jesus. It is likely that the reality of the abandonment of God was real and horrendous to Him. The horror of horrors that we fail to really appreciate is being cast out of the presence of God. It is easy to say we want nothing to do with God or cast all sorts of aspersions of God while living in this world that is full of grace that isn’t always apparent to us. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus probably had that insight. It is staggering then to think that knowing this, He still went to the cross. So, the righteous Jesus, completely holy, drank the cup of the wrath of God. And God crushed Him. This takes Jesus’ love for us to a whole new level. Where does it put my capacity for love at?

The full force of the words in 1 John 3: 16 come into effect: “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers.” The whole thing is further enhanced when we remember what Jesus said: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you.” (John 15: 12 – 14). The benchmark is set. How do I love as my Lord commanded? We would be so wrong to try and do this by way of a check list. Jesus, the holy and righteous God, condescended to love His all of us, who in many parts of the Bible, are described as His enemies because our sin cut us off from Him. We talk about how sin has permeated the world and the frustrations it has caused us in our relationship with God, all creation and with ourselves. Life is so hard. There are so many levels of complications. Everything is hard. Life is so hard. We get jaded over time. We’re tired. We seem to be operating against the very order of things – we know something is very, very wrong. These frustrations will only end when we are in God’s presence. Only His presence is the ultimate balm that will drive all this vexation away. We need His presence in our lives, and we are separated by it because of sin. There is a part of me that is rational and relies on historic evidence for the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus (which I find credible) to uphold my faith. And there’s this other part of me, that is blown away by the glimpses I get into the substance of it all. How can I rationalize a holy and righteous God dying for a sinful me so that I am not deprived of His presence and face the consequence of my sin? How can I explain this to anyone? Yet, it has set my heart abuzz. Jesus came for me. He died for me! I am so loved. This changes everything.

I recognize that my capacity to love is never going to be like my Lord’s. I cannot imagine life without vexation. What would it be like to not even be irritated by something? To be so at peace, content and to feel so loved? Without this love of God, I can’t be so loved. There is a benchmark. Jesus has thrown down the gauntlet. Love is impossible. Don’t get me wrong. We love and receive some measure of love. We feel the need to love and to be loved. We try. We seek to do what’s right. We seek to be there for our family, friends, and our community. At many levels, we have some measure of success. We feel loved by our family, friends, and our community. We’re also able to make them feel loved. There is such a lot of great emotion and feeling that comes out of these acts of love given and received. There are many great highs. There are devastating lows when we lose that love, whether because of death or some other reason. We know we’re feeling it. Yet, all of these are a mere microcosm of the love that God has shown us. We’ve not even begun to scratch the tip of the iceberg. Not even close. It is so hard to fathom what Jesus has done. There is doubt and disbelief because we simply cannot imagine such love. Jesus’ return is bad and good news. For those who reject Him, they will feel the full brunt of the wrath of God. In Gethsemane, remember, Jesus’ sweat was like droplets of blood when He was given a preview of what it would be like to face God’s wrath. It’s a scary picture. For believers, Jesus’ return will be joy beyond belief. It’s only when Jesus returns that we will truly be able to feel how glorious it all is. The vexation and frustration will end. Our unworthiness and sin, all the filth, none of it, can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8: 38 – 39). It will mean no more pain and no more tears (Revelation 21:4). We will no longer mourn or cry. We will feel such joy, for we will finally be able to fully love and feel the love we were meant to know. What joy that will be! What joy! 

 

Recently, in conversation with friends, I’ve been at my wits end trying to explain how I’ve been processing pain. My RA has decided to up the ante where pain is concerned. Things have got more difficult. Just when I thought I maybe had a handle on things, it showed me up! So not cool!

There are a whole set of things that have changed for me. Getting dressed is such hard work. In total, it took me 2.5 hours to properly dress myself on a day when the pain was at its highest. I had to stop and rest in between, which shows in the time taken. I was dripping in sweat, because of the effort it took. Again – so uncool. It’s not a good look. I did have a moment of the giggles in the middle of all this as I caught sight of myself in the mirror. Hair plastered to my head from the sweating, giving me the ultimately perfected wet rat look. That did crack me up. I was relieved for the laughter as it certainly beat the tears. It was such hard work getting into home clothes – nothing special or elaborate. A whole new set of circumstances, filled with many flashback memory triggers as I recalled episodes my mum had dressing herself and things I did to try and help. I’ve got a range of emotion running through me here. 

Doing stuff has just got harder too. I do find myself wishing for the ever wise, incomprehensibly efficient Jeeves. I wouldn’t have to plan so hard to be as strategic as I possibly can to give myself less pain. It would be doable. Coffee and toast may be enjoyable at a decent temperature. It’s usually cold by the time I’m ready to consume them after the battle I’ve gone through to prep. I no longer move about efficiently in my own kitchen. Many grandiose ideas of cooking a meal for me and dad die at birth. So uncool. Doing my office work has just got harder. It’s like my mind is ready to shut down and sleep. The pressure I feel to be professional is overwhelming. I sound exhausted, I feel a fog encompassing my thoughts. I battle this with coffee as the caffeine helps. If only it were that simple making a coffee. So uncool! 

In the midst of all this, I get a whole drudge of unhelpful advice. “Don’t think about it,” the unhelpful voice says. I wonder if they’d be able to successfully ignore the burning pain within each joint In their body when they moved. I’d love to know how to ignore that! I’d love to know how to not think about it when my movement involuntarily causes me to tear because of pain. My mind envisions a moment where I am like Captain America, delivering a lesson to these unhelpful muppets with a couple of quick smacks and kicks thrown in. A few more chuckles. I am thankful for these. 

Lying down and sleeping are hard to do. It’s hard to get comfortable. I can’t lie on either shoulder at the moment. My joints decide to show up at bed time. My knees feel like they’re locked and when I try to move them, my ankles grind away to remind me not to put pressure on them. My elbows seem to want in on the action and refuse to straighten, while my wrists and knuckles seem to be twisting in weird directions. At points, it feels like my joints are beatboxing. That thought makes me laugh too. Not for long though. Beat boxes are cool. This is so uncool. By the time I start falling asleep, it’s usually about 4 in the morning. By this time, sheer exhaustion has kicked in. My mind has had some conversation with Jesus. I’m telling Him that He’s going to be in for it if He doesn’t let me sleep. I tell Him it’s going to be a long night. And that makes me laugh too coz He and I don’t experience time the same way, do we? I start drifting off finally, only to have my alarm ring in what feels like 5 minutes later. At this stage, I feel like I’ve been run over by a bus. Now the whole thing starts again. So uncool.

In the midst of this, I’m so thankful for those steady friends who keep the communications up. I’m so grateful for the assurances of prayer and Bible verses sent to me. That’s a big push in the daily battle cry I make because I am being supported by prayer. I am so thankful to the ones who faithfully send me stuff to make me laugh, or to include me in life: photos or videos of things that I’m not able to witness or do alongside them are so uplifting. I love the updates on various other things that are happening to them in the middle of all this, because it’s engaging, and different. Simply inclusive. I thank God for all of these ones. They are so cool. 

Processing these changes hasn’t been easy. I know Jesus has power. I know He can heal all. Coming to a place where I can say with no amount of cynicism that He is good, even when the rest of my body isn’t feeling good, hasn’t been easy. I saw my mum go through this. So I have a glimpse of what the future holds for me here on earth. Hence, Jesus’ healing powers would be most welcome. Whilst that negotiation is ongoing, and yes – I call all my petitions negotiations because I don’t stop asking when there’s a no, I am conscious of what else He’s showing me. Many years ago, when I expressed sorrow for her situation, my mum said how if it hadn’t been precisely for her situation, she wouldn’t see Jesus the way she did. I did not understand at that time. I do now. Almost as soon as I wrote that I laugh out- what a slow learner I must be! Mum was so right. Every moment, every situation in my life has been ordained by God. Ultimately, Jesus wants me to rest completely in Him. I can see that He’s stripping away the independence that I’ve been so fiercely protective of as well as the abilities that I have been so happy to call upon. It’s not being done cruelly. I still am independent. He’s given me that. But He’s showing me the need I have for Him 24/7. He’s given me a need for Him that wouldn’t be there otherwise. He’s not taken away all my abilities. Granted, it takes me ages to get do things, but He has granted me creativity and given me a lot of help. Heaps of help, through some very loving souls placed in my life. It’s hard to explain, and the credit doesn’t go to me, but it is Him making me consciously live out less of me and more of Him. He is there every step of the way. The thing is, it is very liberating too. When I let go of my independence or abilities, I tap into His. It’s so freeing as it comes in so many different ways. He puts people in my life, enables conversations, gives me help and support through them, builds me up mentally and emotionally through His Word, that despite my illness, I’m never in a position to say that I’m in want, for I’m not. My mum tried to explain this to me so long ago. I was too full of my own independence and loving my own abilities, that I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t understand. 

I am writing this especially to my brothers and sisters in Christ. Do not despair for me. And if your circumstances are crushing you, may this encourage you. Look for Him and you will find. It will not mean that the circumstance itself goes away, so it may not be that healing, financial relief, answered prayer for a partner or a child or something else. It may not be a better job or craved acceptance socially. It may not be what you want. It will be what you need. It will be Jesus. It is very cool.

Easter 2022 is around the corner! I’m quite excited about it because a few friends are coming over to ours to have lunch with dad and me. I’ve already ordered the food. A friend has bought loads of Easter egg chocolates for our lunch, and another is helping me pick the food up from the caterer. We’re anticipating a lovely afternoon together. My dad is also quite excited about it. It will be wonderful to have these dear brothers and sisters back in our home. I’ll be saying extra prayers that Loki behaves. I think he too can sense the excitement. We’re looking forward to a celebration. As I think on this little get together that is bringing me so much joy, my mind cannot but help think on what my dad, brothers and sisters in Christ and I are celebrating.

          Christians celebrate Easter because Jesus rose from the dead. It must sound rather bizarre to a non-believer’s ears. We believe that Jesus rose from the dead! It’s not an instance where we’ll need to run out and call the ghostbusters or anything like that. I don’t watch enough horror or zombie movies to make an even more specific reference to them, but Jesus’ rising from the dead is nothing like what is depicted in this genre. Easter has also got nothing to do with bunnies and chocolate Easter eggs! Nothing at all. I am very grateful for those chocolate Easter eggs but that’s nothing compared to why we really celebrate Easter.

          Jesus rose from the dead. It’s scary to think about it. If such power does exist, it must be very big. It crushes the authority of death. It’s overwhelming to consider it. It goes against the very grain of human thought. There are very few things in life that are certain, and one thing that no one escapes is death! Even people who don’t believe in God or people who profess other faiths, all believe in death. I can imagine a sensory overload for anyone who even starts to contemplate the fact that Jesus rose from the dead.

          The question that comes up almost immediately is, if Jesus is this power that can defeat death, how could he then have died? The Bible tells us He laid His life down for us. I guess that then begs the question, why? Why would this almighty, powerful being, with the ability to crush death, lay down His life? The answer that must follow is not popular. Jesus died for our sin. He died to reconcile us to God. It was a thoughtful, loving, merciful and generous thing that Jesus did for us. He died to reconcile us to God because our sin had broken that communion we had with God.

It is quite difficult to grasp this idea of sin. In today’s culture, we seek to constantly affirm everyone. We tell people how they are amazing and how they’ve got this or that. We affirm their decisions and lifestyle choices. This really doesn’t work very well. There is a sense of injustice that we feel when someone wrongs us. If we go by the modern standard of affirmation, we’d probably have to consider the person’s culture, whatever trauma they’ve been subjected to and factor in whichever orientation or identity they lean towards as well as some very subjective beliefs they may hold. We find some way to justify and affirm them, to give them reprieve. Yet, this isn’t something we can do when we are wronged. We are aggrieved or indignant when someone treats us wrongly, and it is because there is a sense of right and wrong that we somehow adhere to. If we didn’t, then no one would flinch at some of the wrongs that go on. It wouldn’t matter what serial killers, paedophiles and fraudsters do. It wouldn’t matter if someone yelled at us wrongly or thinks unkindly of us when it isn’t justified. Even if we’ve been overcharged or given poor advice, we feel wronged. The reality is, it does matter when someone wrongs us. It follows then, that it matters that humanity has wronged God. Sin matters.

If sin matters, then there needs to be some consequence. It isn’t necessarily a good thing to be able to ignore a wrong. To imperfect people, turning a blind eye to sin may be doable. We may not always speak or stand up for or against something at the right times. We may be willing to overlook things quite easily because we don’t always want the hassle. It gets tiring doing the right thing, and quite frankly, we don’t really want to be dismissed or cancelled out for trying to address a wrong. We sometimes get a bit judgmental and say it’s a matter of karma. You reap what you sow. Except that you get what you deserve doesn’t work well when you are unjustifiably wronged. For a holy God, this option of ignoring sin is unacceptable. All wrong must be addressed. Therefore, Jesus died for us.

Jesus’ role in this entire series of events is staggering. He is God. He was present at the creation of the world. His glory is inherent. Yet, He emptied Himself of this glory to be born as a human being with the sole purpose of paying the penalty for our sin. It isn’t easy for us to grasp how big this is, simply because we don’t have anything that is inherently glorious and all things that we attach significance to, from which we derive our glory have no inherent glory of their own. In fact, any glory they offer or any significance they pretend to have, is temporary. Think about it. Our careers, homes, looks or body image, relationships, travel destinations, knowledge, lifestyles, etc. are all things that bring us glory. That is why we attach so much significance to them. The list is endless. Yet we know that none of these are permanent. We have so little control over how they pan out and things go wrong so easily. It is hard to imagine what it would’ve been for Jesus, who is inherently glorious, to lay this down and become one of us. He is completely striped of any glory when He is humiliated, beaten, and worse still, He is deserted by close friends. He is then crucified, and as if the pain of losing all significance isn’t enough, it is compounded when He is forsaken by the Father. That is the ultimate break. The pain must have been simply unbelievable. Yet, because of God’s attribute of holiness, sin had to be dealt with. God’s attribute of mercy kicks in, and He takes it upon Himself. All our pain, all our suffering didn’t fall on us, where it rightly belongs, but fell on Jesus.

The story doesn’t end there. Jesus rose. Ahh, but was he dead in the first place? Jesus’ death had been confirmed by Roman centurions. They pierced His side to make sure of it. He died. He was buried. His disciples were shattered. They were afraid and lonely. Sorrow permeated and dark days seemed to lie ahead. A visit to the grave three days later, threw everyone into further confusion. Jesus’ body wasn’t there. Mary and the other disciples wondered if His body had been stolen. A new trauma faced them. Where was Jesus’ body? The cloth used to wrap his body in was folded tidily. An angel declared that Jesus was risen! No one knew what hit them. There were no immediate shouts of joy or celebration. They still didn’t know. They didn’t fully understand. It was only when the Holy Spirit, the promised comforter, who would teach them all things came, that they could well and truly appreciate what had happened. How that strikes me.

Why does it strike me, you ask? I guess it just goes to my love of celebrating things. I love celebrating birthdays, success, and any sort of good news. Easter is great news! It’s the best news possible. We derive joy from many things, such as relationships, work, recognition, etc. Again, it’s another endless list. However, these joys are short lived. They are circumstantial. People pass away or leave us. Work situations can be frustrating. We don’t’ always get the recognition we crave. Circumstances change. How different it is from the joy a believer gets from the good news of Easter.

What is this joy that Easter gives a believer? It is reconciliation with God, through the death and resurrection of Jesus. That is something that is perfected. It is done. It’s not going away. It’s not a circumstance. It’s fact. Thanks to the Holy Spirit who opens our eyes to scripture, we know that Jesus is our advocate with the Father. He demands justice for us, and He gets it because He paid our penalty under the law. Clothed in His righteousness, we are free from the web of sin. We will see this certain promise play out when He comes again. Right now, we still have struggles with sin. We fall and fall again. Our imperfections hurt us and hurt those around us. We are constantly struggling against sin. It’s not easy. The world is so full of sorrow and troubles. Yet, we have the guarantee of Jesus’ promise, through the Spirit. He reminds us, instructs us, and enlightens our hearts. He convicts us of our sins and focuses us on the joy we have in Christ. Though we have pain from our circumstances, our souls know joy because of the resurrected Christ. That is well and truly something for us to celebrate!

I know that any celebration I have planned pales in comparison to heaven’s glories. Yet, with all my heart and soul, I want to joy in this moment, as I remember the glory of my risen Lord. He has defeated death so that I can live! How can I not celebrate this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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