Moving On

Where do I go from here, having been released from the ship, or rather, thrown overboard? Shall I swim to shore that I may escape the sharks and fatigue, or shall I explore the ocean for what it's worth, even if I die?

Valerie says the Science & Mathematics society could use some help with the Science & Maths Week and the inter-school ExxonMobil Science Quiz. She's also extended an invitation to join her and some other classmates for badminton after school once a week. Sounds tempting, although I know next to nothing about playing badminton!

Then there are the two essay competitions. I've less than a week to begin and complete the INTI College one, whose subject is the role of inter-racial friendship in bringing about peace and understanding in the nation. The second looks equally promising: a short story competition organised by MPH. Plus points include the 1,800-word limit (very generous!) and the fact that the topic echoes ideas on the relativity of time. Deadline is 31 July, and since I haven't written fiction in ages, this looks like a good time to return!

I'm beginning to wonder why God led me through some 15 years of association with Mrs Chang, my piano teacher. Does he have further plans for me, along musical lines? I'm inclined to think not, as I'm neither particularly gifted in playing the piano, nor do I have a knack for composing. The only thing I can actually do relatively well is analyse music. Indeed I am considering the theory diplomas offered by London's Trinity College, and perhaps I shall look into some scores and brush up on my music history and form.

It seems that the next few months will be no less eventful than the ones before. Regardless, I shall remember David's advice:

"By a roadway in the wilderness he leads me. Rivers in the desert will I see. [Lyrics from Don Moen's song 'God Will Make a Way'] Life without anything to do may seem like the wilderness, but it often is a time of preparation for a new thing. Use this time as such."

I also find that this poem from the Poetry Speaks Calendar, 20 June, applies itself quite effectively to where I am.

from "Ithaka"
By C.P. Cavafy

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon -- don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon -- you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.


Though I walk in the wilderness, my assurance and hope is in God, and I would be wise to remember the words of Brother Lawrence:

Sufferings will be sweet and pleasant to us while we are with Him; and the greatest pleasures will be, without him, a cruel punishment to us. May He be blessed for all. Amen.

I found Philip Yancey's words in the chapter, 'Progress', in his book Disappointment with God just as enlightening and encouraging:

... the young theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer scribbled on a note in a Nazi prison camp, "Only the Suffering God can help." Because of Jesus, we have such a God. [The book of] Hebrews reports that God can now sympathise with our weaknesses. The very word expresses how it was done: "sympathy" comes from two Greek words, sym pathos, meaning "suffer with."

He goes on about the refining qualities of hardships:

A person can only learn obedience when tempted to disobey, can only learn courage when tempted to flee.


A couple of months ago, I reproduced Eamon Grennan's poem, After Rain, on this blog. In light of recent circumstances, I think it warrants another reading.

See how our big world turns tiny and upside down
in raindrops on thorns of gorse: along the lane
to the small harbour the hedges are empty of leaves
and everything has a flayed, scrubbed look, antique
and about to be new, the brusque wind flailing branches,
declaring change, a change in the weather
that must unsettle us, too, who persist inside its loops
and mazes, unable to see straight, unable to forecast
tomorrow or the day after, only able to remember
what happened: the air scenting to freshness, a sense
of calm coming down, of getting to the other side
of turbulence, of things being touched for once
to wholeness; that somehow nothing bad could happen.


In the rain today, on the pavilion, I cried out to God. After getting soaked for some 15 minutes, I made my way into the hall to watch the choir practise. Sitting on the side steps leading up to the stage, I wrote this. Ideas came in short phrases and lines, which may explain the poem's disjointedness.

Drenched

Rain, fall and pour over me.
Lord, let your river cleanse and set me free.
Take my life, for I cannot go on,
Won't laugh again, or sing a new song.
But spare me if my journey's not done
And save for another day my "Welcome home."
Drown me in tears, wash me in showers,
Send holy fire; baptise me in pain
That buried I may be raised again,
Born not of man, but the Spirit's power.
Give me strength for the journey
While I'm here at your throne;
Grace for each step, and for the slips, mercy.
Remember me, O God; Father, Spirit and Son.


This morning, I learned from Li Ling the Mandarin translation of "But for the grace of God that leads me, I would have given up." Transliterated, it goes thus; "Ro pu she zhu de rong yau ling dau zhe wo, wo yeh shu hui fang qi." Well, the path of the next few months will literally take me into the heart of terra nova!

(The picture above is the view from where I sit in class, framed by the door frame. I think the tree with the pink flowers is one of the most beautiful in the school.)