Echoes of His Love

Unqualified

2011-06-17T14:09:00.011+08:00

I had no qualifications....but one.

The high ceiling towered over me as I walked into the grand auditorium. Four to five hundred faces turned to look at our mission team. I sported a smile as I glanced down at the program sheet in my subtly shaking hand. My lecture was first. After the vice-president of Tarlac Christian College ended her session next hour, my turn would be up.

I forced myself down the aisle, constantly nudging myself inside. As my teammates settled down on the front row, I clutched at the back of a chair as I felt my feet give way under my khaki skirt. I looked at the crowd again. No way, no way...there was absolutely no way I could do this. I had been sure before we left the States that I was ready for this lecture. I had my PowerPoint presentation, my outline, and my confidence. I was the graduating English education major from Asia. I had this under control...or so I thought.

There was no way I could do this. This was a teacher's conference in a prestigious college. These teachers, experienced teachers, each with his own classroom....why should they be listening to an inexperienced college senior from their own country? Whether by degree, experience, or age, I disqualified as a speaker.

I started to frantically mumble to all the teammates around me, "I'm scared. I'm scared. I can't do this." One by one, they prayed with me and for me. Reassuring hugs and touches kept me standing. But I was still scared.

I had only one qualification: God had asked me to do this. God has put me on this mission team to give this lecture on teaching English as a second language. That was the only qualification I had.

But as my teammate Jeremy told me later on, that was the only one I needed.

I don't know how that lecture went. I just know I spoke whatever God put in my heart to speak. I prayed for grace, and He gave plenty. All those hugs, knuckle-punches, and congratulations were extra tokens of His grace. The strength to do His will was enough of a reward.

For whatever task God gives to His servants...He qualifies them. His love overwhelms me. His grace still amazes me.

"Princess Wenslyn"--Part III

2009-07-27T16:32:00.005+08:00

I usually hate sequels. Whether movies, books, or television shows...sequels disappoint more often than they entertain. Sequels try to forcefully continue a story that had already ended. Sequels are unoriginal and uncreative. I've collected many quotes that mock sequels. I hate sequels...

So why am I writing a sequel blog post...again? Because I realize that the story hasn't ended yet.

I've always dreamed of being a princess, and too often, I think of myself as a princess too. I thought that at some point in life, I would outgrow those fantasies. But even though the the puffy gowns, pumpkin carriages, and poisoned apples might disappear from my fancies...the main dream still lives in me.

I want to be a princess.

In my first princess post, I described how the title "Princess Wenslyn" took upon different meanings for me at different points in my life. Sometimes, I adored it and sometimes I detested it. Yet just like author Leslie Ludy said in her book Authentic Beauty, almost every single girl has always wanted to be a princess...and I am one of them. Whether or not my lips admitted the desire didn't matter...in my heart of hearts, I've still always wanted to be a princess. It's just that sometimes...I couldn't decide what being a princess really meant.

A fairytale princess has class, style, and poise. A princess has incomparable charm and beauty. A princess captures the heart of every man who meets her as she dances oh-so-gracefully. A princess is more precious than other girls. A princess is popular, kind, and sweet. A princess just sleeps and waits for the perfect prince to come wake her with a kiss.

Princess, princess, princess...fantasies tell me I should act according to these descriptions to be a princess. But experience tells me to my face that IT DOESN'T WORK.

I obviously do not have the class, style, and poise of a fairy-tale princess. I can never be the prettiest girl in a class, not to mention the world. I can never capture the heart of every man I meet. I am definitely not worth more than any other girl. I dance like a wooden puppet. I would never grow as a person if I sleep as much as sleeping beauty did, and a perfect prince doesn't just show up at one's door...because he doesn't exist.

So then...how do I become a princess? What exactly IS a princess?

It's all so confusing...until I heard someone call me in a way I haven't been called before. This time, the words I heard were not "Princess Wenslyn"....they were "my princess."

It was then that I realized...the definition of a princess is not found in the word "princess" itself...it's found in the person who has the princess. It's the "my" that defines the princess. I might not have the poise, charm, or skills of a fairty-tale princess...but that's because those princesses are defined by "fairytale." I am to be defined by my prince.

Quoting Leslie Ludy again...every girl only needs one Prince. And my Prince is Jesus Christ. When my heart follows the standards of my Prince and learns to be "His" princess...I can become a princess. And Lord willing, there will be the day when my Heavenly Prince puts my hand in the hands of an earthly prince who loves me because I am the right kind of princess. My prince will not want me because I'm a fairtytale princess...I will be his princess because I have learned to be His princess.

So the story continues...for I still want to be a princess. Not "Princess Wenslyn." No, I don't want that. I want to be a princess....His princess and his princess.

One to a Thousand

2009-07-17T23:59:00.005+08:00

"With the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day," states 2 Peter 3:8. Looking back, I understand that just like Narnian time is different from the time of this world, life does not progress at a uniform rate.

Some chapters of my life lasted for several years. I would study the same way, live the same way, dress the same way, and grow in the same direction for quite some time before changes crept in. This past year, however, has been the exact opposite. I feel that I have lived one lifetime within a year.

It is now past the middle of July...more than a year since I left the Philippines for North America, to visit some relatives and eventually enter college. I had thought that the whole plan was simple. I go, I study, I come back, I go again, I study again, I graduate, I come back. But God had so much more in store.

This past year has affected me mentally. I have learned to discipline my mind to juggle many subjects and keep at pace with classmates. I have learned to write papers instead of stories, to take do projects instead of give an oral report to mom.

This year has altered me socially and emotionally. I've had to live in a dorm with hundreds of girls who are not family, around people who could hate you and be both up front or behind your back about it. I have also met people who have changed my life forever. I have encountered friendship and love beyond anything I used to hear or say or feel...from individuals I formerly never even knew existed.

This year has impacted me spiritually. When left alone in a foreign country, almost completely free from the enormous accountability I've had as a pastor's daughter...I had to learn to follow God on my own. I had to follow God whether people saw me doing it or not; I had to learn to form my own convictions about my Christian walk.

One year. One lifetime. If I did not have God, I would not have survived. I thought I knew what to expect...but God has so, so, so much more in store.

God's is beyond all time zones, all space...beyond all limitations. He could work miracles in my life within one year, and He could do that again and again. May I never try to limit God in my mind. There will be times when a thousand years feel as slow as a day, there will be times when a day feels as life-changing as a thousand years. Either way, God's in control. His ways are higher than mine.

"Collect, Collect, Then Select"

2009-07-02T20:59:00.003+08:00

Those are the four words that almost spelled my emotional doom since I first heard them several years ago. Collect, collect, then select..."admirers are for collecting and bragging about, guys (or girls) exist for your ego and comfort"...that is the real message behind this common quote. The idea appeals to the human heart easily, but it does nothing good in the long run.

For almost half of my life, I used to find pride in how guys would notice me and how even parents and grandparents would urge their family members to go after me. I liked the attention. In my highly social culture, I could feel the vanity factor. I enjoyed being desired and sought; I found value in the idea of being a prize to the guys, even if I never planned to give away that prize anytime soon. The more admirers, the more worth...that's what I believed.

So God started showing me things. The first guy I entertained extensively chose to be with someone else. When I thought others were being serious while I was flirting, I was informed that the other parties were merely just putting me down on the list of girls they've flirted. Someone the whole church encouraged to go after me would refuse to make a move for several years, but fell in love and became engaged within months of meeting the love of his life.

Some of these incidents hurt crazily. Some of them did not hurt at all. And yet...they all showed me one common thing.

What did I gain at all from having multiple guys seeking my attention or hand? Nothing. What purpose was there in knowing how to make a guy like me? Nothing, nothing at all.

I could groom and train myself to attract countless young men if I want to. I know what type of guy needs humor, what kind needs respect, what kind needs gentleness, and what kind needs just time. Sure, I could collect and collect and collect...but is there a point to it?

Instead of getting happiness and confidence...I got consequences.

Yes, I got to make the suitor-rejection speeches and letters that I had always rehearsed as a young girl. But they only brought me broken friendships. Yes, I got to receive gifts and attention and praises. But if even the friendships were lost, the memories were painful anyway.

Yes, I could collect the affections of multiple young men...but I could marry only one person at the end of the day. The ability to attract is not exactly a life-partner quality. When there are guys surrounding me, I might become a good prize, but I might not necessarily make a good wife. Having a range of admirers is not any kind of asset in my potential as a spouse. In fact, if the situations are handled poorly, such a background would actually make me a worse wife, a wife that is proud and attention-seeking.

I do understand that a person with many admirers (whether as a guy or a girl) probably has some reason to cause that situation. Appearances, skills, character, personality, or whatever...there must be something to attract people, and that something is the person's real asset. Assets do cause attraction...but attraction itself is not an asset.

So when I learn how to please the opposite gender, I should learn to serve my family and my future husband, not to attract potential admirers. When I work to improve myself, I should not focus on becoming the ultimate "admiree," but on becoming a godly wife, mother, teacher, or whatever God plans for me to be.

Collect, collect...collecting takes alot of time and effort. Why collect what I would never select? And if God is the One selecting for me, then it would be outright stupid of me to try to collect. My security lies with the Lover of My Soul, not with attention from the opposite gender. May my assets lie with Him and Him alone.

Hannah's Prayer

2009-06-09T15:03:00.006+08:00

God has been inconceivably good to me throughout my life, blessing me with love, gifts, talents, and opportunities undeserved. I wholeheartedly acknowledge how wonderfully He has treated me. And yet, as a sinful human being, I have had my share of bitterness and discontentment.

And of all the areas that I might experience discontentment, one stands out...love.

When can I have a boyfriend? Why can't I have a relationship? What hinders me from having a relationship at all? I have repeatedly asked my parents over the years, behind closed doors and oftentimes in tears.

They might have reasons, but they have never sounded reasonable to me. I have grown up all my life a helpless romantic. I have always longed for the time to give myself wholeheartedly to the man I love, to share with him my heart and my life. Yes, I've had my other dreams in terms of ministry and friends and career...but at the end of the day, I've always just wanted to be a committed wife and mother. Why would my parents allow me to pursue everything else, except the one thing I have always longed for?

When my parents tell me why I am not consistent and mature enough to make a serious commitment yet, they actually make sense. They just don't make sense to my childish and selfish heart. And, of course, there is always the comparison factor: Why can't I have a relationship now? I am more ready than so and so, than he or she.

That is the question that always haunts me the most. Why can't I if he or she can? I know that, with the way I am now, I would make a much better partner than many people who are dating (or getting married, for that matter) actually make. Why hold me to such a high standard?

The bitterness almost killed me. It gnawed away at my heart...until God spoke to me through Hannah.

At the beginning of the book of Samuel, Hannah mourned her own barrenness. Her husband's other wife, Peninnah, had many children. Yet Hannah, the godly woman in the family, had no children of her own. She was pestered by Peninnah, and she was looked down upon by her society. In many ways, she was persecuted. Yet still, God refused to give to her a child.

Why?

"Hannah would have made a much better mother than Peninnah ever would have," our pastor preached on Mother's Day, "But God chose to let Hannah turn to Him and pray to Him and wait upon Him...because He had something better, because He was refining her."

Then God give her Samuel, as well as many other children to follow.

The message spoke to my heart. It does not matter how good of a girlfriend or fiance or wife or mother I could be. I am not given those roles at the moment. It does not matter if I am this much more mature or considerate than any other person is, for God does not grant blessings based upon any human merit.

So now, do I still find it hard to trust that God will give me what is better for me than anything others around me have? Oh yes I do.

Do I still foolishly and stubbornly fear that by obeying Him I would miss out on the love of my life? You bet!

But when those thoughts pervade my mind and drive me to complain against God...I think of Hannah, and I think of how much agony she went through before God gave her a son who would be the greatest judge of Jewish history, a boy who became the first of the Old Testament prophets.

God does not give anything based upon how much a person appears to deserve it. Every good and perfect gift is from above...and gifts are things that are not earned. I cannot earn or demand or complain. I can only pray to Him, seek Him, love Him...and commit my life into His hands.

He Knows My Name

2009-06-06T07:41:00.004+08:00

I have been called by numerous names throughout my life. Wenslyn, Wen-Wen, Wen, Wens, Wesleen, and my grandmother's famous Son-Hen-Rys-Wen are just a few examples. I've heard of teasing paraphrases from brothers, affectionate pet names from loved ones, and honestly mistaken contortions such as Gwen, Wenston, and Wesley.

I remember walking into my parents' bedroom one day, declaring to my mom that she had given me an irrational name. She looked at me and nodded, "Exactly, that's why it suits you."

Is my name really that hard to know? At our home church, people would know my nickname but misspell my full name. Or some others would recognize my full name only to read it in a sadly mispronounced manner. When I began to attend college in September 2008, things only got worse. Without the family ties that people usually recognize me for, there was practically no reason for anyone to care to remember this whacko of a name.

Wenseen? Weslin? Wendy? Wenslo? People would seriously call me, and I just answer to them all. After all, I knew I was not important. I didn't matter whether anyone knew my name or not. They had no obligation to know. Although it would be nice to be called correctly, I honestly did not mind people's mispronunciation. I knew that selfishness would be the only reason I cared what people thought my name was. I did not mind; I understood.

Then, a truth hit me: "My sheep hear my voice, and I call them by name."

The thought overwhelms me. He knows my name. God knows my name. The incredibility of the idea!

Nothing compares to my insignificance before God; no one can be more undeserving of God's love than I can be. And yet, He knows me, and He calls me by name.

When I reflect upon the number of people that have occupied this planet in this world and throughout history, I realize how truly amazing God's relationship with me is.

He knows me by name; and He knows you by name. Even when nobody else cares, we can rest assured that He does. Whenever loneliness and frustration are overcoming, He knows, He cares...and He calls us to His side.

It's Him

2008-12-19T18:04:00.006+08:00

Time is an interesting thing. It can pass by slowly, yet without changing anything. It could also flash by quickly, while turning one's whole world around.

For me, the past five months have been of the latter kind.

After a lengthy, eye-opening trip around North America with my parents, I went to college. The pastor's daughter who had been homeschooled all her life was left alone on a foreign land, in the midst of the bustle of college life. I went from study room to classrooms, I went from reading to note-taking, I went from my own room to a suite of eight girls, I went from being a spotlight girl in a four-hundred-people church congregation to a tiny face in a crowd of five thousand...

There were challenges perhaps, but altogether...I had the time of my life.

As I sit in front of my dear laptop thinking through my first semester of college, countless different scenes flood my mind. I feel a desire to blog. Yet what exactly do I blog about? Should I blog about academics, about making friends, about church ministries, about new endeavors? Or should I blog about the feeling of coming home?

I search through my memory logs for any common theme to summarize my life in the past five months...yet I seem to find none. None, that is, except for one.

"It's Him, silly girl, it's Him," my mind knocks on my skull.

Who was it that sustained me through academic challenges? Who was it that led wonderful Christian friends to my side? Who was it that reminded me to treat every individual in the dorm, classroom, and cafeteria as my neighbor?

It's Him. It's all Him.

Who was my Protector as I traveled 5,000 miles alone? Who was my Motivator to give my best in my studies? Who was my Comfort whenever I felt so alone?

It's Him. It's all Him.

I don't have much to say other than that. Yes, there are numerous manifestations of His hand in my life...and I could rant on forever about them. Yet what was my life most fundamentally about these past months? Him, Him...it's all Him.

And that's why life's been wonderful.

So Long, Farewell, and See You Soon

2008-08-10T04:58:00.009+08:00

In the past two months, I have perhaps said more goodbyes in my life than I had ever before. Whether it be family, friends, relatives, or the dear people in UECM...I've had to give more farewell greetings than I had foreseen.

After I left Manila almost four weeks ago, I thought the farewells were over. I thought that the goodbye hugs, the final conversations, and the lingering handshakes were over...but I guess not.

In fact, these four weeks have added even more goodbyes. Reunions with old friends, be it weeks or days, had to come to an end. Fascinating new friends have to be stored in memory for now. Breathtaking new places were visited for perhaps the only times in my life. And as we changed locations week after week, sentimentality surged for me. There have simply been too many goodbyes.

Yet in the midst of it all...one observation was impossible to neglect.

Farewells with dear people are always hard to say, but yet some goodbyes have been relatively easier, even if those were made towards people I love very much. The easier goodbyes...were with the people with whom I was certain to meet again very soon.

Be it hugs, handshakes, high-fives, warmgrasps, or intertwined fingers on the outside...inside, the emotions were most comforted when I could accompany my greetings with the words "See you."

For many people, it was "See you in December." For some others, it was "See you next year." For some, it was even "See you in Facebook." Yet whatever the form or time frame mentioned, those goodbyes were just somehow more dear, more hopeful, and less sad to say.

Saying goodbyes isn't exactly a happy thing to do, but I am thankful for the reflections it has evoked for me. For the same reason that some goodbyes are less depressing for me because I know I would meet the people again, the passing away of some loved ones are more hopeful than others because of a certainty of heavenly reunion.

Truly, God's gift of life everlasting is a gift of hope and love. I don't know what immediate application I can draw from all of this, but I guess I've just understood human life a little bit more...and appreciate His love a little bit more too.

To Be Forgotten

2008-07-18T08:42:00.007+08:00

"被人遺忘是一件既自然又必然的事"

"To be forgotten is a thing most natural and certain."

The above words were said by Lynda Ye, the acclaimed lyricist of Taiwan's singing group Heavenly Melody. I heard her say it during an interview, and I have pondered upon the words ever since.

To be forgotten by people is firstly natural...people do not need to intentionally forget you. They just do. It is nothing offensive, because it is natural. And it is not surprising, because it is natural. As life moves on, people will find their own places and lifestyles...and some things or individuals simply will be forgotten...naturally...

Then to be forgotten is also certain...there is no escaping it. Some people might try hard to force the memory of themselves upon others. Some others might mourn the loss of attention. Yet it is all very matter-of-fact. It is only a matter of time...for to be forgotten is certain...

And as I stand at the threshhold of separation from all I have dearly loved in my life...as well as the people who love me most, these thoughts impact me heavily.

In the weeks leading up to my departure from the Philippines almost one week ago (for the sake of academic pursuit here in the States), people have showered me with much love. I was too touched for words as I discovered how God has blessed me with love way beyond I could ever deserve. From church deacons, to distant relatives, to childhood bosom friends, to faithful ministry partners, and everything in between...I have been blessed with love...and I reciprocate the affections as much as I could.

Yet in the midst of the pleas that I should return to the Philippines, and that I shouldn't forget the people back home...Miss Ye's words echo in my mind..."To be forgotten is a thing most natural and certain."

I should not count upon it...as much as I would like to think that my students would still adore me, that my best friends would still be intimate with me, that those who care for me would still be consistent in their affections when I return...I know it won't be the same.

As life goes on for everyone...to a particular degree...I will surely be forgotten...

So then, if that is the fact...what of it? How should I face this tragedy of natural and certain consequence? What should I do about being forgotten?

In her interview, Miss Ye made the quoted statement in reference to her departure from on-stage performance. Once she turned to serving backstage, she had to learn to be forgotten. Yet for her, she could still find joy in the midst of the process, because she knew she was serving God. And God knew all that was going on in her service and life...and even if people forget, God would be leased.

Her attitude gave me the courage to face this idea of losing the love formerly bestowed upon me.

It is the Lord Christ whom I serve. Even if people forget...I have not lost my direction in life.

Yes, students might grow independent of me, friends might continue life with their own pursuits, ministry roles might be filled with new people, admirers might easily change their fancies, and my family and church will continue to thrive in life without me...

It is all both humbling and comforting to know. Yes, life will move on without me, and I will eventually lose the significance that I had. Yet when it is Christ whom I am serving, then I don't need to worry.

I can still pray for people across the miles; God can answer.

I can still faithfully seek my Lord; He will listen.

I can still trust in His perfect plans for me...even when others have forgotten.

To be forgotten might seen a horrible thought at first...yet well...it is natural and certain. And when we have our hopes upon Him who is even more certain, then life will go on for everyone in His perfect time, in His perfect ways. All I need to do is to remember what really matters.

What matters is my spiritual walk with my Lord. What matters is that I continue to grow in contentment within, in knowledge of, and in obedience to my God.

Yes, I will be forgotten...yet what of it? Perhaps, as someone with so much self-awareness, to be forgotten is actually a very, very good thing.

Life will go on, and I must find my place in it. Yet no matter what particulars that "place" might involve...I already have my most fundamental identity and duty as a child of God. That is what matters, and well...that's all that needs to be remembered. Everything else...might as well be forgotten...

Subdued

2008-05-10T23:30:00.003+08:00

After wave after wave of events...after denials and tears and confusions...after confessions and discussions with my ever-so-loving and ever-so-firm parents...again and again and again...

After discovering flaws in me, terrifyingly one after another...after God hurled me question after question after question...questions I can never answer out of my human imperfection...

I am subdued.

I am struck, I am silenced. I am subdued.

There is a weight within me, a weight from God. There is a will bearing on me, the will of God.

His wisdom is terrifying, His love overwhelming. The former drives me to tears of submission; the latter throws me into shudders of incomprehension.

The pride, the rebellion, and all the rest of the ugliness seem to never cease surfacing, in different forms and different times, one after another. It makes me close my eyes, hold my tongue, and tremble. It makes me homesick for heaven.

Some matters appear to be big, and I turn to God for comfort. I cuddle in His embrace, too needy to even look up. Yet as I bury my face in His arms, I feel His heartbeat...then I realize, that I could never look up even if I wanted to, for the righteousness of His countenance would crush me.

Yet the problems my eyes perceive are only signs to lead me to His arms. Once there, His face shows me so much more...so, so much more about the perverseness of my soul...so much more that I need to sort through with Him. So many faults and problems that I have neglected and denied for more than two years already...so many excuses and rationalizations that led me to rebel against Him repeatedly, only in different forms and degrees of severity...

His heart is calling mine. I have to obey.

And as I take some time to quiet down my soul and seek God's teachings and timings...I need to take a break from many things, including this blog.

This blog has been an amazing ministry for me. I am a fallen human being who hasn’t written every single article with the purest intentions, though I meant the best in most. Yet even so, God has used these entries to touch different lives of different ages, sometimes even around the world. He has used the broken vessel that I am to impart lessons I myself have yet to fully learn. He sometimes even teaches me with my own writing. For all of that, may He be glorified.

Yet at this point, God has made it clear to me that I should stop. I, who had prided herself in being one of the blog pioneers of her circle…who had shared and loved the wonderful blog ministry of fellow rebelutionaries and friends…I, who was and still is in love with writing…has to stop.

Perhaps one day, by the mercy of God, I would pick up this task again, and continue ministering in this medium that has helped me reach people unlike any other medium ever did. It might be weeks, it might be months, it might be years. If that day comes, I will resume. It will not be because I have finally reached perfection, or that I finally have something exciting to write about again. No. It will be because God allows it.

If God does not allow it...then this site will remain intact as the one-year project that it's been...a year's worth of testimonies of His imprints in my life.

I will continue to update my other blog, for God has not asked me to cease that one. Yet this one--this one so close to my heart--has to stop. This vessel needs some time off to be molded by the Potter's masterful hands. The story of God's work isn't over in me, but this part of it shall be.

To all my dear readers, I thank you for your love and support these past months. You have encouraged me greatly. Yet may all the glory truly be to God...and if you could, I ask two things of you. Firstly, that you pray for me to be conformed even more to His will. Then secondly, that you take your own steps to echo His love in this world, be it in the form of family, friendship, blog, book, or anything God leads you to. Continue in your mission.

When one of my mentors talked with me the other day, she reminded me of that one line from a beloved hymn..."May Thy goodness, like a fetter, bind my wand'ring heart to Thee."

Indeed, that is the cry of my heart. Fetter me, Lord, bind me. Let me not wander, lest more mistakes deeply hurt those who are closest to me, and grieve Your heart. Your goodness sweeps over me, and I lie subdued in Your hands...

Subdued by Your wisdom, subdued by Your grace, subdued by Your firmness...

Subdued by the thundering echoes of Your love.

I love You.

Making the Given Fit for the Gift

2008-04-19T20:25:00.007+08:00

Yesterday, my US student visa was approved. Lord willing, I will be studying in Pensacola Christian College (PCC) starting this September.

Many people know that I had applied to universities in Hong Kong and Singapore before, all in vain. Many know I’ve been preparing to go to the States for a while already. Yet there’s a story behind my journey to PCC, an invisible story written inside of me.

PCC is known for accepting and training homeschool graduates well, and I had long wished to study there ever since the fliers and catalogs began to arrive many years ago. Yet back then, my dad could not fund a North American education, and nor would he leave his only daughter alone in Florida.

Therefore, when the time came for me to start college applications, my parents disregarded PCC and applied me in Asia. I obeyed. After all, those were good universities they chose. Yet inside of me there was a twang...there was an idea tugging at my brain of how much more I'd experience freedom and independence if I were on the other side of the planet, away from parental supervision. I liked Asia, but it wasn't far away enough for me. I wanted independence, or so I said.

It’s true that I love independence; it's in my personality, upbringing, and pride. Yet as with all things, sinful nature attacks. That love for independence often turns to longing for self-sufficiency and autonomy. During that period of time back then, it turned even to rebellion.

I wanted to be away and "free." I wanted to exercise control over my life, free from submission to my parents’ god-given authority. I held secret hopes that studying abroad would be my chance to break free from expectations, all without rebelling outright.

In my heart, I harbored hidden fantasies. I dreamed of being so distinguished in my field that people would beg me to work for them after graduation, against my parents’ wish for me to return. I imagined meeting someone who would win my heart, convince my parents, and marry me away from my life here. Sometimes, to sound more spiritual, I would envision a call to a far, unreached land...and my parents would certainly be unable to argue against the calling of God Himself.

There have been even sillier fantasies than these, yet all with one similarity: I was thankful for the life God had given me, but discontent with containing myself within that life. I wanted to break free. I wanted to study abroad for wrong and selfish reasons.

After my denial from the Asian colleges last year, my dad told me to apply to PCC. It seems stupid that I should apply to this school only now, when I had known it for years. It seemed crazy that the Asian universities wouldn't give me a final word of rejection until it was already late August, way too late to apply for PCC's 2007 schoolyear. Yet God has His plans. Dad has oft repeated that this is apparently the way God has led him, and led me.

And as I look at myself now, I realize why God would not have me leave any earlier…

I have changed. Somehow, through direct teachings, prayers, and so countless occurrences in the past year, God has changed me.

When the lady at the embassy asked me if I intend to return home after studies, I answered yes wholeheartedly. It's not because of sentimental ties or legalistic requirements. It's because of the change inside of me.

I want to study abroad to learn, to grow...for His glory. I want to concentrate on studying, not on having fun with my independence. Growth and independence are no longer goals in themselves, but parts of a process of preparing myself to serve Him better. And at the end of the day, Lord willing, I will return to my Asian roots...for the harvestfield of souls is most abundant here. My heart has been severely humbled.

I cannot conclude God’s purposes in the past and coming years. I just know that at every moment, He has His perfect timing.

I've long wanted to study in PCC, and God has granted me the gift I had asked for. Yet He had withheld it firmly from me, until I was ready for it. It is the same gift, this gift He has prepared...but I, the one to whom the gift is given, had to be made ready for it first.

I am thankful that God had not let things transpired earlier than this. If I had, I would have left Manila with a proud, rebellious heart and a discontent attitude. I was not ready for the gift, and God knew that. And even today, I am discovering with fear and amazement how much He knew that I did not.

I am not perfect, but I guess I am ready for this particular gift now. And as I look ahead in life to all the things I still want--in ministry, family, life, love, and achievement...I try to remember this lesson.

Some of those gifts might not be for me, and God will surely withhold them;
Some of those gifts might be perfect for me, but I am still unready, perhaps severely unready.

A gift cannot be a perfect gift unless the given is fit to receive it. There's nothing wrong with the gift, and definitely not the Giver, but there might be something wrong with the given. God still has an incredible amount of work to do on me before these things come.

Making the given fit for the gift...God has taught me with more than a few big things in my life. I pray hard that I remember, lest the pain has to come again, and perhaps with wider and direr consequences. And may He continue to mold me still...for the perfect tasks, and the perfect gifts, in His sovereign plan.

Camp Testimonial (YGC summer camp, April 7-12, 2008)

2008-04-12T13:25:00.005+08:00

"Every single time I attend a YGC (Youth Gospel Center) summer camp, things manage to turn out far different from my expectations, and this camp was no exception to that rule.

"I had been looking forward towards this camp for many months already, and about a week ago, I declared myself to be fully prepared for it in strength, in mind, in heart. However, three days before camp began, God struck me on a very sensitive area within me...a wound I thought had already healed suddenly had salt sprinkled on it, almost as if just to remind me that the wound is still vulnerably there. I broke down in tears; my tower of confidence toppled, and I suddenly dreaded camp with all my heart.

"Yet God is sovereign. The events that led up to camp were the very things needed to make me appreciate all the more what God has done for me here, both in reaching out to me and in reaching others through me.

"Here, God strengthened me to translate, to pray, and to minister to campers new and old. Though not an official officer, I got to help out with many activities; even while I translated, I got to learn from the messages. God gave me many perfect little things, be it counseling group assignments, reunions with old friends, topics that pierced my heart, or just the chance to lend a shoulder to cry on. I had the opportunity to interact with and learn from many counselors, including brothers and sisters who cared far more than I ever thought they would. I haven't found all of the answers I've been looking for, but I was made to more deeply love and trustingly rely upon God, who is the only and ultimate source of all the answers I could ever need.

"I thought I knew what to expect, but I guess I didn't. Yet God did.

"If not for the factors in other areas of my life, I wouldn't have been so sensitive to His voice or so thankful for His love in this camp. It wasn't the perfect camp for me personally, but it is exactly that imperfection that turned me to God all the more. For that I am thankful...and at this moment, that is all I can say."

The Power of (Im)modesty

2008-04-02T13:27:00.007+08:00

It had never been a struggle until the past couple of years. It might be due to increased interactions with guys, or the fact that I’ve grown nearer adulthood than adolescence. It might be because of worldly influences. Whatever the reason, I just know…that the recent years have brought to me a growing consciousness of the power, and thus temptation, of immodesty.

I don’t have a 5’8” frame, and I don’t have the prettiest face around. I’m not known for striking appearances. Yet like most girls, I do have characteristics comparable with those beauty queens. Be it a matter of proportion, nice skin, mannerisms, or other physical features, there is always something to show off in every girl.

The problem is…is it supposed to be shown?

I’ve always observed two factors that affect girls most. One is admiration, the other jealousy. And I’m definitely not immune to both of them.

Over the years, those two factors have preyed on me and drawn me away from the formerly chubbier, purer me. The envious admiration of girls and magnetic admiration of guys have led me to greater and greater vanity; the knowledge that I could “pull off” even more immodest outfits than what some ladies wear propelled me with jealousy’s fuel.

I started to spend more time and efforts on appearances, yet I didn’t notice my heart’s wrong…until two days ago.

When I pulled on a clingy shirt in the mall fitting room, my mom exclaimed, “Wen, it’s gross! You look like a manikin!”

I didn’t expect that…”Mom, isn’t that the point?” I stammered, “Manikins are supposed to show what’s beautiful. If I have a figure that’s good, I’ll look like a manikin.”

My mom’s expression indicated disapproval still, “Wen, it looks artificial. It’s too tight, too pronounced.”

I retorted; she retorted. We dropped the issue and continued shopping, yet the idea haunted me.

True, I looked like a model on a runway, minus some inches. The color of the shirt brought out the whiteness of my skin. The fabric wrapped my figure perfectly. The right hair and pants would make me look fabulous…like a model, like a manikin.

Yes, I looked as good as a manikin on display. It was the world’s definition of beauty…but was it God’s?

My conscience weighed on me. At that point, I realized that I had crossed the line. There’s a difference between dressing attractively and dressing to attract, Shannon Harris says. I was trying to do the wrong one. As my eyes scanned the store, I was searching for clothes that would help me gain admiration or arouse jealousy, not for something that would glorify God.

God desires modesty. I had to submit.

Modesty means not trying to show off what should be concealed. Modesty means seeking His honor first. Modesty means guarding people’s hearts over exalting my own pride. And, modesty means seeking a quiet and gentle spirit more than the power of feminine physical appeal.

It’s not easy, especially when I can see the effects of immodesty upon others, including Christian male friends. It’s not easy to hand in a piece of clothing and ask for a larger size, when I would’ve looked “great” in a tighter one. It’s not easy to see attention going to those who succumb to the lure of immodesty. It’s not easy to subscribe to a values system opposite the world’s.

Yet I’ve heard enough times that modesty is the way to honor God and to help my brothers in Christ. It doesn’t seem logical, but it is what I must do.

So I handed in those pants for a looser pair; I replaced the shirt that was too transparent. There may be power in immodesty, but God’s favor rests with the obedient. It wasn’t easy, but I knew I had to do the right thing.

Ladies, let us trust God and encourage one another. Let us prioritize His approval over others’, and let us value His standards more than ours. Then guys…more than once has encouragement from a Christian brother strengthened me to pursue modesty. Please do continue. You have no idea how much your attentions influence us. Your compliment for a modest but pretty outfit does much good; your attraction to the immodest does much harm. Help us to help you, if I may say so.

As a girl, I can say that I find little pleasure in immodesty, yet much power in it. That power is what makes it desirable. Yet God help me. His standards, not mine, should be pursued. I was not nice to discover immodesty in my heart, yet it was also a test of my obedience. May God help prove me true.

Anniversaries

2008-03-27T14:55:00.003+08:00

Today marks the completion of our family's second year in our "new house," the spacious parsonage within our church's new building. We moved in with all our boxes and books exactly two years ago, and this place has been our home since then.

It's been two memorable years, two years that have changed so much about me.

Today is also the first anniversary of this blog...a year of heralding echoes of His love. It's been one year I won't easily forget.

From the introduction of high-speed internet to the possession of my own room at last, so many things in this apartment have changed my lifestyle. It gave me many new challenges, such as hosting church activities or keeping house in my parents' absence. It witnessed many material additions, such as my beloved laptop, or a foosball set in the middle of the living room.

It's been a churchful of memories, from dedication to demographics to discipline. There was the first time I sang at a wedding. There was the production of an all-original musical. There was the cocktail birthday party we made for my grandfather.

It's been a houseful of memories too, with so many firsts. There was the first time we siblings were left all alone for a week. There was the first time a guy intentionally "visited" me (against my permission, at that). There was the first time I coordinated an online camp meeting. There was the first time I took my SAT exams. There was the first time I converted my room to an all-girls' dressing room. There was the first time I literally cried myself to sleep over heartaches.

Then there is also this blog.

It's been a year of varying encounters and emotions. Rejection from the university of my choice, my brother's hospitalization, the dramatic growth of our church, the heart-rending incidents of church discipline...as well as various reflections and piercing personal lessons on ministry, friendship, faith, and humility.

This blog has recorded them all.

I began this blog one year ago, under the influence of a friend. Yet today, this blog has proved to be far more than just a spur of the moment idea, but a committed ministry and personal desire. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to maintain this blog, given the changes looming ahead and transpiring today. Yet I do know that every day, every smile and tear is an echo of His love.

Some echoes sound hollow and cold; some sound familiar and warm. They're all echoes nonetheless. God speaks first, then there are echoes. God is the one who walks upon my life to leave His imprints.

Today was an anniversary of two things, two years which feel as if they included almost half of everything significant in my life so far. This post is nothing more than a memorandum for remembering the occasion. Yet even that does not lessen the work He has done, or is doing.

May He mold me even further, one year upon another.

When God Whispers

2008-03-15T16:01:00.011+08:00

God sometimes speaks directly through His inspired Word, sometimes through the lips or writings of others. I've been taught by wonderful people throughout my life, and I've also been told before that God encouraged or reprimanded others through me. I guess it's always been happening. Yet some things have gotten particularly poignant for me in the last two weeks.

God speaks when He chooses to speak, often using people to do so. It may be a harsh word, or it may be a gentle whisper. It often comes from people as imperfect as could be, yet still, He speaks.

He's been whispering so much to me, and unexpectedly, through me.

When I was beginning to wonder if my poems and compositions were becoming merely rhythmic rantings of personal frustrations, several readers were humble enough to tell me that those heartfelt utters were just what they needed to hear.

Just when I felt I had no right to guide other Christians any more, after messing up myself so, God gave me opportunities to encourage younger friends to avoid the pitfalls I have seen or experienced. Just when obeying God in interpersonal matters seems like the hardest thing in the world, He opened my eyes to see so many faithful friends around me still, caring and praying for me every single day.

And when, for one reason or another, I became more discouraged than I had ever been about preserving my heart until the right time for one who would desire it, deserve it, and earn it with a pure and undivided heart of his own...I received an e-mail from someone I have never met, an e-mail which tearily put me on the right track once more, reminding me that my heart is in His hands.

Some whispers were not as pleasant.

When I met a church member that I haven't seen for years, he told me he had been reading my blog...only to add in an unsympathetic tone, "You are just too melodramatic. It's not that bad."

That hurt, but it was the truth. God does not want me to wallow in self-pity. Seeing His imprints in my life was one thing, indulging in sentimentality was another. He wants me to do more than just dramatize my life. He calls me to shine for Him.

So many whispers in so little time...

And when I began my personal study on II Corinthians, He whispered: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God...(for all that) was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God."

He whispers love, He whispers discipline, He whispers grace.

He whispers so much, when we are sensitive, weak, and obedient enough to hear him.

Idolatrous I

2008-03-06T18:11:00.009+08:00

In a blog, there are easy posts to write, posts written during moments of exuberance. There are difficult posts, posts that reveal my weaknesses. Yet the most challenging posts, are those written in the midst of struggles, pouring from sane mind battling with hurting heart and confused soul.

During such times, it seems natural to blame external factors for the heaviness within. Yet I know that's not what God wants from me. This might just be one of those most challenging posts, a post without answers. Yet we'll see what God does with it.

As the title suggests, I've been having private battles with idolatry. People wonder when I say that. Aren’t I one of the most blessed Christians they know? Granted the fact that idols may not always be material ones, isn't my life filled only with good things? From whence come the struggles?

Quoting C.S. Lewis, "There is but one good; that is God. Everything else is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him. And the higher and mightier it is in the natural order, the more demoniac it will be if it rebels...the false religion of lust is baser than the false religion of mother-love or patriotism or art; but lust is less likely to be made into a religion."

Maybe my life isn’t beset by desires and practices clearly contrary to God's Word, but there are plenty of "good things" that are harmful in their rebellion. This family, these ministries, these wonderful friends...all these things that are "higher and mightier in the natural order"...they might just make my downfall.

For the past few months, I've been pretentious to almost everyone. I pretended to be just moody to my family, feigned strength to my friends, and exhibited unusually gleeful appearances at church. Yet inside of me, there was pain, confusion, and remoteness from God.

I appeared okay, but I was far from okay. No longer was God the determinant in my life. Although I obeyed Him and sought His will, although I remained faithful in my ministries, my life and heart were not under His control. The measure of my well-being was dependent upon other factors, not upon Him.

I was in idolatry. I was idolizing my ministerial accomplishments, I was idolizing "harmless" pleasures, and most of all, I was idolizing what position I held in others' hearts.

God called me back, with pain, and with things that offended my pride unlike others ever did. God called me back by showing how those “good things” had gone bad.

I did try to return to God, theoretically. Yet all the while, I was obstinately clinging on to the things that I wanted, the way I wanted them to be...I didn't want to let go of the "good things” that had come between me and God, since I denied that they did.

Last week, I gave it up. I don’t want to wait until God destroys those things altogether. I want to be near His heart again now.

I gave it up, I let go. It hurts, and it requires discipline daily. Yet I know it’s for the better. I don’t want further harm done. I want freedom to live my life the way God wants it…and He’ll decide whether those “good things” would return, and when they return.

There is an undeniable sting. It’s never easy to live without “good things” that have become part of my life. Yet at the same time, there is a peace within me. It’s the knowledge that I’m at peace with God. It’s the overwhelming comfort that I am once again an unarmed child in His hands, praying, “Lord, into Your hands I commit my heart.”

I know this post will betray me to many people. There are different readers… those who will think if I’ve been hiding anything from them, those who will be disturbed that there’s something wrong with the sweet wenslyn picture in their minds, those who will wonder if it had anything to do with them, those who will think less of me because of this.

I don’t want to think about that now. My pride shouldn’t matter.

Friends, please look around you. Be thankful for the good things in your life, yet never let them shatter your other priorities and callings. These things may be undeniably good and noble, but they might still hold misplaced value in your life, or the way you treat them might be wrong. I speak, I write, I weep from experience.

Now, I don’t have answers. I’m still slowly returning to Him. I just hope that this lesson stays with me better after this…and perhaps with those around me.

"Princess Wenslyn"--Part II

2008-02-21T21:53:00.005+08:00

In my former entry, I briefly mentioned many facets of life as an "heiress" of Filipino-Chinese ministry. Yet there is one facet that often encompasses the rest.

I know I am blessed, and I often use this blog to remind myself of that fact. I am privileged to receive the training, the love, the direction, and the provision that came with my position. However, there is one problem. The problem with being treated like "Princess Wenslyn," is that I often fool myself into believing that I really am royalty.

Of the several hundreds people I know, 95 percent do not have consistent contact with me outside of churches or religious organizations. Therefore, these are people who see my angelic side, and that side only. How hard is it to be kind at church? It is relatively easy, and people are usually amicable at church.

What I hear 95 percent of the time, therefore, are praises.

It really gets to the head.

It is usually unnoticeable to the common observer, but even in ministry, there is popularity. When I search my motives for ministry, I often have to confront the ugly polutant of church popularity in my heart. I want to be people's favorite translator, pianist, assistant, BS leader, and the like. It makes me glad to hear people calling my name, asking for my attention.

It really gets to the mind.

Then interpersonally, it gets uglier. When a person thinks of herself as a princess, how would she treat her friends? I know my true self is a pain to be with, and only a few, if any, know those true colors. A princess thinks she deserves admiration from her peers, a princess thinks she is to be ranked as "better" than others her age, a princess believes her charm would enchant any guy, a princess believes she deserves more praises, more attention, more gifts, more friends, more admirers, more esteem than others....as if she had earned any of that at all. A princess believes she is more important than everyone else.

It really gets to the heart. Or no, it really is from the heart.

Recently, God has been showing me the imperfections of Christian leaders, be they my seniors or my peers. That includes, of course, myself. And as I survey the different cases, I find the one common pitfall--pride.

In my case, pride is what fools me into believing I am better than others. Perhaps I may be blessed uniquely. Perhaps I do have certain skills or knowledge that are unusual for my age. Yet those do not make me deserve anything more. In the kingdom of God, a princess is a servant, and His kingdom comes first.

It is a hard truth to chew, and even harder to apply. Yet I know most of my struggles can be lessened in intensity, if I were only willing to listen to God in this one.

I am and I am not "Princess Wenslyn." I am a princess in that I have a portion in my Father's kingdom, but I am not a princess in everything else. I must not dwell upon the praises, I must not "serve" in order to win people's favor, and I must never contend that I deserve more esteem or more care than others do. Then most of all, I must let those principles reign in my heart, beyond pretentious rules of etiquette.

If only I would listen to this lesson, life would be easier. Father, let me learn.

Lucky in Love

2008-02-14T22:36:00.002+08:00

Well, I'm not exactly lucky, I'm actually blessed. And I'm not in love, at least not in the world's terms. I know people mostly wouldn't dream of calling me lucky at this hour--a 19-year-old girl blogging alone on Valentine's Eve. Yet, I guess, I've always refused to see things two-dimensionally.

In matters of romance...

I am blessed, because I do not have materialistic parents. Although they want the best for their children, my parents do not over-value wealth. They have never tried to matchmake me with any rich guy, and they have never favored one admirer over another by materialistic standards. I am never pressured to marry for money, nor for all of the earthly comforts money could bring.

Then I am blessed because I have a loving family. Even if I am single, I'm still secure and loved. I do not need to use romance as an escape or relief from domestic woes.

I am blessed because I've always been taught to prepare for a husband, rather than long for a boyfriend. I am blessed because I was taught to save my first kiss, perhaps my first love, and all the rest while I still hadn't given them away.

And I've never noted this until some friends called it a blessing...since I'm brought up and prominent within a Christian circle, the guys who actually notice me are mostly Christians. I am not tempted to lower my religious beliefs because of non-Christians' romantic attention.

And most of all, I am blessed...for I have already found the love of my life. What romance do I need to long for, when I already have God's love in me? Anything else would merely be bonus. I only need His love.

Now, it would be wonderful to end my post here, in the spirit of a thankful and selfless Christian girl. Yet that's not the only side of me.

I'll be honest. I don't think like this all of the time. I'm human, I'm selfish, and I'm childish. There are still times, and quite often I'm afraid, when I'm overrun by discontentment, impatience, or jealousy.

Sometimes, I feel rebellious over my parents' principles. Sometimes, I get upset that godly matters (such as walking the path of ministry) would turn away a handsome and charming admirer or two. My heart often taunts my mind with many questions...

Howcome my best friends are of marriageable age, while I'm left behind? Howcome I can't have the gratification of romance now? Howcome people who are less prepared than I am for relationships actually have them...but I don't?

I know I can keep sane from these emotional self-inquisitions only by His grace and wisdom. I know that I am blessed. After all, I've stated so many reasons why I am. I also know that the best chapters of my lovelife, be it spent in falling in love with my future husband or in learning to serve Him as a single, are still yet to come.

I write this post as an offering of thanksgiving, and as a reaction to what people might say of my current position. Yet more than that, I write this also to remind myself, and maybe others like me, that we are already blessed.

We are nothing, yet He loves us. Even now, we are blessed. May I, may we all, always remain thankful, content, and faithful to Him.

As Faithful As He

2008-01-29T15:25:00.000+08:00

As children of God, we're called to imitate Christ, His qualities, thoughts, and deeds. We're commanded to love as He does, to preach as He did, to pursue His standards of holiness, to serve as He serves. Yet we all know, it's easier said than done.

I've always been conscious of some character struggles. I battle with pride, discipline, and temperance. I need to strive for humility, wisdom, submission, and selflessness. I've always known these problems. I know I have to imitate Christ in these.

Yet recently, God gave me a greater understanding of His one quality that I never did, and probably never will, fully comprehend--yes, faithfulness.

It's easy to tolerate a church co-worker's one offensive statement; after all, everyone's human. It's part of Christian life to practice compassion and patience, knowing God does the work in people's hearts. It isn't hard to declare that one would support one's friends always, with unconditional Christlike love. That's easy to say.

Forgiveness, compassion, patience, love...they're easy to have, one at a time. Yet I seem to fail in them all, when comes the test of faithfulness, the test of time and heart.

What happens when a ministry leader offends and commits mistakes repeatedly, unapologetically? What do I do when I find frustration in ministry...not because of the ministries, but because of the people? God calls me to focus on Him. He calls me to keep on with a pure heart of service. He calls me to be faithful.

What happens when all the care and compassion I give go thankless or seemingly fruitless? What when my heartfelt, painstaking advice to people's questions goes unheeded and ignored? God calls me to continue working, continue praying. It's all in His hands. I must continue to reach out to everyone around me. He calls me to be faithful.

I've struggled with self-righteousness. I complain in my heart that I do not deserve such treatment. Why should I sacrifice time and heart to care for people who wouldn't appreciate it, to guide people who wouldn't heed, and to support people who wouldn't treasure my help? When a ministry goes wrong because of others' mistakes, I'm tempted to give it up. When multiple people come complaining over the results of their own folly, asking for my comfort and concern, I'm tempted to bark "I told you so" and give them up. After all...I have every right to do so, don't I? I've already done my best, haven't I?

Yet when I turn to God to complain, eight words silence me.

"How often do you do that to ME?"

I cannot answer Him. How often do I treat God with ungratefulness and impatience? How often do I come crying to Him, asking Him to fix what He had told me not to do? How often do I treat Him a thousand times worse than others had treated me? Every day, I'm afraid...almost every single day.

Faithfulness is unlike any other quality, for it is the consistency of all of them together. At times, when I want to give up on anything, I remember Him. He is faithful, and so should I be. I deserve nothing; I am privileged to know Him, to reflect who He is.

May we learn to be faithful, as our Father is.

Daddy's Little Girl

2008-01-12T14:07:00.000+08:00

People always feel that it takes maturity for a girl to outgrow her father's protection, yet today I realized that it's the opposite. It takes maturity to accept and appreciate one's position as daddy's little girl.

When it was decided that my dad would accompany me to have a skin test taken this morning, I wasn't enthusiastic. I wondered if it would be boring, or whether my dad would inquisition me during the trip. Yet as I woke up sleep-deprived to prepare for breakfast, the skin test, and some errands at the mall, reality proved me wrong. It was a beautiful morning.

Some people might think I enjoyed our activities because it was about me, or because there was expensive breakfast food or a nice ride. Yet that wasn't it. What made a simple morning of errands leave a deep impression on me...was the warmth of knowing I was loved.

Why would my dad drive me personally when the church driver was available? Why did he pay the expensive valet parking fee to accompany me when he could've waited at the parking lot and leave me to myself? Why would he do the waiting at the hospital payment counter, to let me relax in the lounge section?

The initial observer might think him rude to flip the newspaper while we were eating. My less mature self would feel cross that he wouldn't trust me to handle the small test alone. I would've felt ashamed that my dad couldn't muster the word "pulmonary" clearly enough to make himself understood at the reception counter, or that he tried to answer all the questions for me.

The pulmonary medicine section was filled with children, and if I'd been more childish, I would've squirmed in discomfort. It wasn't exactly nice to answer "19" when the nurse asked for my age...especially when others were answering "7" or "8." It sounded stupid to be asking my dad what to do at every stop we made.

Yet inside of me, there was an understanding I never had before.

This was a father's way of loving, and the times he could actually take me around as a little girl are growing fewer and fewer in number. I had the ability to handle things on my own, but he just wanted to do those things for me, with me. No matter his answers were "yes" or "no" to my requests, I knew, with teary eyes behind his back, that he was grasping for the fleeting chances of having his only daughter be his little girl.

A father was there to guarantee I didn't lack anything. A father was there to order me, yet to help me. And during a time of my life when even unacquainted cashiers or young doctors would cast side glances and ask for my name...a father was there for my security, to be someone to whom I could say, "Help me guard myself, until the right and real one comes along."

I'm thankful to God, very thankful, that He gave me the chance to see the beauty of the situation before I have outgrown it. There's nothing to be ashamed of if people laugh at him. There's nothing to complain about if I appear helpless (as long as I'm not). I know that each little action of self-sacrifice was motivated by a father's love grasping at the moments left in my girlhood.

And when I find myself hurt or disillusioned at the end of stubborn pursuits and empty hopes...there's is nothing better than a father's protective, unconditional love to remind me of the Father from above.

I'm daddy's little girl, not because I need it...but because he loves me that way, and because I've been blessed with the maturity to see the wonder of it all. I've actually grown into daddy's little girl. Imagine that.

New Year Reflections

2008-01-07T18:27:00.000+08:00

It's my first post for the new year, and I write it with mixed feelings. My family spent the new year abroad this year, and I was given many opportunities to reflect upon the past and coming years. Yet in spite of that, it's been confusing.

The year 2007 was the most dramatic year in my life so far. There were many first-time experiences, many new observations, many awakening realizations, and many things that would leave permanent markings in my life's history.

Ministerially, I was pushed to my limits both in skills and in partnership. I grew through expectations and through friction. In terms of my family, I grew to realize how many things take effort. And in my widening and deepening social circle, I found new friends in numbers that overtook all the years before. I was put to the test in every area, in mind, in soul, in deed, in heart, and in spirit.

I coped with a changing identity as our church grew. I faced thrilling moments as well as times of depression. I learned to reach out to many young people dealing with questions in salvation, in friendship, and in love. I faced rejection from the university of my choice; I experienced the shattering of most of the "normalcy" in my life.

It was a year of pain and growth. It was a year of memories. Yet most of all, it was a year that made God all the more real to me. Never before had trust become more real than in those moments of pain and confusion. Never before had His faithfulness and love been more precious than in those times of uncertainty.

As I look to the year ahead, I can see no clear direction. It will probably be a year as dramatic, if not more dramatic than the year before. I feel unsettled, but I don't fear. The past year was a revelation of God's reality in my life, and the coming year would be the best chance for me to apply that knowledge into words and actions.

As a child, I used to long for drama, and I even complained that I did not have enough of it in my life. Yet now that life is starting to have irregularities for me, I'm experiencing how all the "dramatic elements" do not exist for their own sake, but to sharpen me for His glory.

I don't know what to expect from the year ahead. But God is real in my life, and that's all that matters.

"It's a Book"

2007-12-25T20:23:00.000+08:00

There is seldom the need to guess what the content of a Reyes family Christmas present is. It's a book, what else? Some people take that as fact, and some consider it to be a boring fact at that. Yet behind that fact is a simple story over the years.

My parents began to give books as Christmas presents once upon a time when they had access to good Christian books from the United States. It was an experiment, and somehow, it worked enough for them to try it again, and again, and again.

Since then, it has become a tradition. Every year, the family would visit OMF, go around different book stores, or order books on the internet. Then it would be time to list down everyone's names and their corresponding presents, wrap up the books, and label and give away to our heart's content. It is a very happy tradition for the bookworm me.

This tradition comes with its conveniences. We don't have to visit many places to do our Christmas shopping. My mother and I don't need to learn to wrap anything other than books. The price bracket of books is just right for the economic position of a pastor, not too much and not too little...and so on and so on. Yet behind all the conveniences, there is a mission that we hold close to our hearts.

Every year, choosing books becomes a responsibility for our family, a duty that we take on with passion and delight. Whether we are surfing an online catalogue or going through a bookstore, there is a certain excitement in trying to find the right book for every individual. Sometimes, we choose a book because someone would love it. Sometimes, we choose a book because it addresses the very need of someone (and silently wonder if it would offend). And sometimes, we choose a book because it entails the hopes that we have for the receiver.

There are people who seem suited out for so many books, and we have a hard time choosing. There are also people who wouldn't seem to read anything we gave, and we scratch our heads. It's all part of the package.

Over the years, we've had different responses to our presents. There are people who smile every year and say, "Yey, I'll have a book to read again." There are others who set it aside as soon as they get home, knowing that it's something they wouldn't use anyway. There are also people who tell us they count upon receiving our devotional books every year, and they even use those same materials to lead their employees in Bible Studies.

Some people think the system is wonderful and meaningful, some others consider it strangely impersonal. Yet regardless of the response, we shall continue with our tradition.

It's not because of convenience, nor because of affordability. It's not because of tradition's own sake. Why do we give books for Christmas? Because it is our mission, our passion, our particular way to show how we care.

A Time to Love

2007-12-19T10:09:00.000+08:00

I've been neglecting my blogs for quite a while. Yet now as I finally squeeze some time out to write a post, I'm being forced to re-think Christmas.

Christmas is a time to love, people always say. Yet somehow, I've observed that a person's definition for the word love is always changing, either for the better or for the worse. Therefore, Christmas, the season of love, represents different things to a person every year. For me, I've never had more thoughts to challenge me before than I have this year.

Love is not a feeling, love is not conditional, love does not seek selfish gain, and love keeps no record of wrong. Love is kind, love is patient, love is not easily angered...the greatest of all things is love. I could quote endlessly about love, yet truly living love and manifesting it through words and actions proves to be a much more challenging matter.

Very often, I found Christmas to be a time to love and to feel loved. People give the pastor's family many, many presents. People treat us to both family and ministerial Christmas gatherings. Christmas is the time to see colorful lights and hear joyful music everywhere. Christmas is the time for people to smile and greet each other "Merry Christmas." That's what I used to feel.

Then these few years, Christmas started to add on different things. Christmas means exhaustion. Christmas means having to do programs and attend events that I might not enjoy. Christmas means receiving gifts that I might not like anyway. Christmas means having to keep a cluttered house as un-cluttered as possible. Christmas starts to show things that aren't as nice as tinsel and ribbons and universal happiness. I still like Christmas...but there seems to be an element of stress added to the occasion. Some people call that outgrowing Christmas, but could anyone really do that?

No one outgrows love, but we could outgrow some definitions of love. If Christmas is the time to love, then our definition of love has to grow along with our years for us to have the true spirit of the season every year.

Love means giving up personal pleasures to spend time on church activities. Love means stepping out of my comfort zone to celebrate the holidays with people who aren't my favorite crowds. Love means moving out of my room to accommodate Christmas visitors. Love means understanding how family and friends lessen contact not because they like each other any less. Love means giving gifts to people who might not or cannot give in return.

Love means forgiveness...compassion...and even a willingness to discipline. Love means bearing with others' weaknesses, even when it hurts. Love means making a fool of oneself, just to help others. Love means self-sacrifice.

It might sound boring, but at the end of the day...a better definition of love brings a better ability to love. And a greater ability to love leads to a greater reward for loving.

Oh the joy of seeing those smiles over unexpected presents! Oh the warmth of knowing that my presence could have made someone smile. A better knowledge of love brings a greater understanding of God's love...and that's the greatest reward this season could bring.

May God help me to always love Christmas: a time to love.

I Tried to Be Supergirl

2007-11-27T11:47:00.000+08:00

And since I'm human, I failed.

I've mentioned before that I've been trying to squeeze my current correspondence course requirements into a shorter timeframe. That's what I set out to do the moment my books arrived two weeks ago, and, well, that's somewhat why I failed...

When my "schoolyear" officially began, I set out as ambitious with my personal goals as ancient China was with the Great Wall. I wanted to do a nearly triple-dose of the suggested study pace, I wanted to maintain all my ministerial duties, I wanted to keep my cyber-life almost as active as before, and I wanted to do a thousand other things. Many people died building the Great Wall, and many parts of me died these two weeks. I lost all quality time with my family, I was always rushed even when expressing concern, I couldn't read, I couldn't help around, and I had no time to rest.

I tried to be supergirl, and since supergirl doesn't exist, I failed.

The first reminder was my health. Having no time to eat, sleep, or exercise well, I lost weight "without reason." My eyes and back became unduly strained by long hours at the computer.

Reminder number two was my mom. She was nagging me since day one that I was over-shooting my goals, but I dismissed her advice as mothers-have-to-nag syndrome. "I'll prove I'm okay," I thought. Well, I was okay for a week, during which I used up all my reserve energy. After that, I faltered, often leaving work undone or just nodding off everywhere around the house.

Yet still I was insistent. Surely I could achieve what God would have me do, right? His strength shall be sufficient for His work, right?

Then strike three was Elizabeth Elliot in her book Discipline: "There is always enough time to do the will of God...when we find ourselves frantic and frustrated, harried and harassed and hassled, it is a sign that we are running on our own schedule, not God's."

Ouch, now that hurt. Yet at the same time, it relieved me, because it showed me the problem.

While I am too happy with studying to be frustrated, I really have been "harried and harassed and hassled." I had been running on my own schedule, not God's. When I think about it, God never required me to cling obstinately to all my activities while studying overtime. God never told me I had to finish 33 lectures, four books, and two major papers by the end of the year, even while handling camp, Christmas, and other matters.

Well, if it hadn't been from God, then from whom?

Me, it had all come from me and my stupid pride. I was the one who wanted to be a non-resting, over-achieving supergirl. I was the one who wanted to outpace even my parents' expectations and awe everyone with the amount of responsibilities I could handle. While it's true that God wants me to maximize my time and perhaps give up an addiction or two, He never told me to cram like crazy, never rest, and neglect everyone around me.

God never wanted me to be supergirl; He only wants me to be His little girl, a sinner child adopted by His grace.

I tried to be supergirl, because I thought it would be cool. I tried to be supergirl, and thank God I failed. After all, that's never what I was meant to be.

On Worth and Waiting

2007-11-14T22:57:00.000+08:00

At long last, I am a studying college student. True, distance education isn't the norm around me, but the difference of that fact doesn't make things lighter for me.

In an effort to maximize all the time I have at hand in the face of an uncertain future, my parents and I have determined to squeeze the requirements into a much shorter time. In other words, even as I try to maintain my church commitments, social interactions, and basic family responsibilities, I have to "double up" on all my college assignments. It can get draining.

In the vocabulary of college students everywhere, I could be having "hell week" every week. Yet strangely, at the same time, there is something heavenly about these hell weeks. There is a gratefulness, an excitement, an enthusiasm about my studies that I seldom had before. It's strange, yet it's true, and I know the reason behind it.

For the past two months or so, I have been frustratedly idle. I did not have any studies or work to keep me busy, and I was impatient for my college books to arrive. There were days when I would sulk silently; there were days when I would complain ceaselessly. I wanted my books to arrive as soon as possible, and I bugged everyone--the school, my family, my friends--about my frustration over boredom and idleness.

During that time, I was tempted to anticipate my college assignments as heaven, as if anything on earth could be that. My mind would rant, "If only they would come soon, all would be well." Looking back, I feel that if they really had come sooner, if these assignments had directly followed my high school requirements, I would probably have broken down in overwork and tears.

That period of rest made me energized for this new challenge of life, and even more, that time of inactivity restored to me the joy of industriousness. All these requirements that I am trying to rush...they bring me mental labor, but they bring me joy and gratefulness. Because of that time of waiting, I learned to treasure their worth.

I did not wait because I felt this thing was worth it. Instead, this thing increases in worth because I had to wait for it. It's not that there's waiting because of worth; there's worth because of waiting.

God is the wisest indeed. Perhaps when I keep these pointers in mind, waiting to drive, waiting to travel alone, waiting to work, waiting to love, waiting to teach, waiting to lead, and all those other "waits" won't seem as daunting. If worth comes from waiting, then perhaps at times I'd rather wait more than less.

Obeying Orders

2007-10-23T16:27:00.000+08:00

Life's most important lessons are often learned in the midst of crisis. I learned one of mine last week.

Last Sunday, my 9-year-old brother Kye was hospitalized for pneumonia. He was the baby of the family, and the event brought worry, pain, and busyness for everyone. It was hard for all of us to see the usually bright-eyed little cupid weak and pale upon the hospital bed he could barely fill. As his "third parent," I was simply laden down with concern.

The moment his hospitalization was confirmed, my mind rushed into a frenzy of questions. How could I help? When would I have my shift in the hospital? How could I be of service in any way? I wanted to help all I could...that is, in the way I wanted to help.

Like every restless soldier yearning for his first battle, I wanted to have my share of the action. I wanted to help in the hospital, I wanted to help accommodate any visitors, I wanted to take charge of Kye. I repeated to my parents that I wanted to "really" help.

My parents assured me that they needed my help, but my assignment came in a way I didn't like. With my father presiding over decisions in the hospital and my mother watching Kye at night, I was assigned to stay at home base, cooking for anyone at home, watching the house, and being information center for anyone inquiring about Kye. I would usually have liked such responsibilities, but that time, I wasn't content.

"I want to help more!" I insisted to my mother as I pleaded for a chance to help at the hospital. I didn't want to stay running the domestic system. I wanted to prove my ability to take an adult's job in the crisis. I wanted to feel like I was really helping.

"Wen," my mother's tired voice was almost broken that day, "obeying IS helping!" She went on to say that obeying orders, staying at home, and taking care of everyone at home WAS helping. Real help wasn't insisting to do what others were doing; real help was doing what I had to.

Exhausted from her hospital shifts, my mom was near tears, and so was I. Her lecture was breaking down my mental system. She was challenging the way I thought...did I really want to help, or just to prove myself? If helping meant obeying orders and staying at home, would I help?

I cried to the Lord in my room that Monday afternoon. I had some lessons to learn.

It wasn't an easy pill to swallow, but it was something I had to learn. In different chapters of my life, there will be times when the best way to help would be to do what I least wanted. There are parents to obey today...but there will be pastors, teachers, and perhaps even a husband to obey in the future. If I can't obey, if I can't be content in doing my job, I would cause more harm than good. Even helping can have its selfish side, and God wanted me to give that side up.

By God's grace, Kye is well now. The family is functioning regularly again, with me assuming my daily duties at home and at church. If the lesson I learned stays with me, however, things will be different from now on. If I want to help, I have to obey. Obeying orders...easier said than done...yet ever important, and achievable by His grace alone.

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

2007-10-11T17:28:00.001+08:00

Like many girls, I often find myself investing thoughts, time, and effort into making myself pretty, or at least as near as I could get to that description. Who doesn't want to be pretty? Beauty captures attention, it wins envy from other girls, it boosts one's confidence, and yes, most significantly, it attracts guys. It's the dream of every girl to be the "fairest one of all."

I have to admit my share of foolishness and vanity in this area. For the last 2-3 years, I've gone through braces, contacts, and make-up. I've ceaselessly spent efforts observing what clothes make me taller, thinner, and what colors would work on me. On top of that, I resolved to shed all the unwanted pounds I had, and underwent my share of self-denial (or self-abuse) to achieve that resolution.

Hard work does pay off, even if it's in an area this vain. I began to catch more and more eyes whenever I dressed up. I would hear so many more compliments than before. Finally, I was feeling pretty.

Then one day a few weeks ago, I stood in front of my full-length mirror. I had finally done it. I had my fair-skinned face adorned by long, straight hair. I had perfect teeth and no glasses. I had the features, form, and "perfect" figure that I had always wanted. Then I had to ask, "Now what?"

When your goal has been reached...now what?

I took a deep, deep breath in front of my mirror that day, realizing the answer to my two-worded question. After paying so much for the sake of outward beauty, I had to face the reality of whether or not it mattered, or more importantly, whether or not I had anything to "back it up" inside.

God soon gave me the perfect illustration. Last week, our family had epidemic week. Family members fell sick one after another, and we had to nurse each other while sick ourselves. There was no time for vanity. For the first time in a long while, I would live days without a single glance at the mirror. It was all about caring, giving, and strength...

One day, I took a peek at myself. My hair was in tangles, my eyes were puffy, my face was spotted with pimples after days without facial care, my form was, well, formless in my pajamas and jacket. If I had been pretty, I wasn't pretty then.

Whenever I do not use make-up or dress well in real life, I get much less attention. When a girl wants to stand out, she has to be pretty. Yet did it matter?

My mother toiled endlessly during those days her children were sick, sacrificing sleep and rest. We were an ugly bunch, but that never kept her away. And when we had to watch out for each other, what mattered wasn't appearances. What mattered was character in patience and selflessness, what mattered was spirituality in prayer.

Those were things the mirror could never have told me. Yet in times of crisis, those were the things that mattered. Inner beauty, character, spirituality, and care—things the mirror never tells—are what differentiate loved ones from strangers, or deep from superficial.

As my time and strength to pamper myself returns, I hope that I would remember this lesson. Outward beauty has its role, but it can only do so much. "Outer beauty catches the eye, inner beauty keeps the heart." O may the Lord help me seek the inside even more so than the outside.

Polishing

2007-10-03T17:14:00.000+08:00

Okay, it happened again. I wrote a composition from a stroke of inspiration, rejoiced over my own ingenuity, printed it out, showed it to my mother (my sole occasionally-available critic), and got my work a harsh but honest evaluation. Her final verdict: it sucks.

I wasn't offended, since I realized that my mom had a point in every criticism she laid. My wordings were archaic, my statements were ambiguous, and the whole set of lyrics just didn't have much content, period. I wasn't offended, just a bit disappointed. Why couldn't I write good lyrics in an instant?

My mom then reminded me about the most basic principle of all composition: polish, polish, polish, don't rely on the first moment of inspiration. It's the same way with any works. I shouldn't be so hasty to write new things if my degree of experience and understanding can't support new ideas. Patience is the key.

I have to admit I don't like the patience part. It doesn't feel nice to wait for rich content before writing a new work, and it definitely isn't sweet to pour myself over a draft, patiently polishing. My mom says I should wait for life to give me more content. I am, after all, only 19.

Well, it's easier said than done. Impatience is an easy pitfall in every area of life. I can't wait to drive a car, I can't wait to jump into ministry, I can't wait to write a book, I can't wait for so many things. I feel that there are so many ideas of what I want to do with my life, and I just can't wait for them to happen.

In my wiser moments, I know that God still has His polishing to do. It's not the right time for me to carry out all those ideas, nor write down all those compositions, because I am not yet ready, though I might think myself to be. C. S. Lewis once compared God's love for His children to an artist's perseverence towards his work. If I want God to complete a good composition with me, I better be ready for the polishing.

I may have more wisdom in terms of life, love, ministry, family, and the like in comparison to many of my contemporaries, but it's just the rough draft. I mustn't be so impatient to declare myself a presentable composition yet. God still has His polishing to do. This time of my life isn't for me to just be a waiting composition thrown aside until the time of use. Instead, it's a time for polishing...patient, painful polishing. The varnish may sting for now, but it's for my own good. I must wait, patiently wait. He's polishing me yet.

And I can't wait to see what the finished product will be. No, wait...I mean, yes, wait...I mustn't "can't wait." I must wait. He's polishing, polishing, polishing...

Learning from Things That Never Happened

2007-09-20T17:38:00.000+08:00

I often hear educators discuss how different methods of teaching can make students more well-rounded. They can go to great lengths debating how to best explain certain points and impart certain pieces of knowledge, citing experience and observation as their witnesses.

Well, they still can't beat God. God created all things out of nothing, and He made man in His own image. In my life, I'm realizing that He also teaches out of nothing; He molds His children out of things that never even happened.

After I decided to apply to the University of Hong Kong last year, my family did their best to prepare me for life in Hong Kong. My parents invested time and money to aid me in learning the Cantonese language. I familiarized myself with the lifestyle of Hong Kong. We disciplined my brothers to take over many responsibilites I have at home, and I helped to train church talents to sub for me in my music and language ministries.

A couple of weeks ago, my application was confirmed to be denied. Yet even as I cope with the rejection, I find myself amazed when I realize how much these months have taught me.

In terms of skill, I mastered an addition language within 2 years time, and I learned many essentials of lone survival. With regards to my family and friends, I learned to treasure them so much more as the reality of impeding separation weighed upon me during those months. Others also benefitted from this ordeal, since I know my brothers and trainees wouldn't have been taught so much if I had not been going anywhere.

Yet most importantly, this event has taught me to trust God and live one day at a time for Him. After living through several months without knowledge of where I'd be within the year, I was trained to wait upon God. Realizing that I would soon be surviving on my own, I was compelled to grow even closer to God in my personal walk, since I would not have the spiritual aid and security of family and home church soon.

Most people might consider these lessons to have been learned "in vain," since I am not going to Hong Kong after all. But I know better. I know God was at work, molding me and the people in my lives through this seemingly failed ordeal. With the apparent disillusionment came valuable lessons and intimate moments with our Lord that I would never have known otherwise. God teaches in mysterious ways. Yes, He really does.

No Internet?!

2007-09-12T17:09:00.000+08:00

Yes, for more than 48 hours this week, our DSL-accustomed family was struck with an internet draught. Thanks to PLDT’s disservice, we were isolated from cyberspace for what seemed like endless eternity while it lasted. For the entire duration of the experience, my brothers and I would cry out spontaneously, “Still no internet?!” while my parents would sigh every time they could not access their favorite webpages. It was so frustrating.

My dad had his news and investment information to track. My mom had junior church matters to research. My brothers had their game progress to follow. I had my blogs to manage, many chatmates to contact, and lots of time-sensitive information to relay through Yahoo Mail or Messenger. And to think all these were merely our most basic internet activities. It was irritating.

Yes, yes, I know it was no big deal. A pastor’s family can’t survive without internet? No way.

True, we can survive without internet, and we did survive without internet, though not without plenty of whining, complaining, sighing, and outright boredom.

Remember those days when you would treasure electricity so much only when the house is struck with a brown-out? Remember how you realized food needs an effort to acquire only when you were hungry and the fridge at home was empty? I guess that happened to our family again.

We would never have realized how great a blessing, and also how great an addiction too, the church’s high-speed internet were to us if we had not been deprived of it. As we found ourselves complaining and tired without access to the world wide web, I realized it was time for some thankfulness and confession.

I heard a magician’s testimony this past Sunday, about how he learned to be thankful for his nimble hands only when he almost suffered the loss of a finger. It was a very touching account, and I learned a lot from it as well. I don’t want to lose more things before I remember to treasure them, nor do I want to idolize anything lest God should whisk them away. I don’t want to think that I have the right to enjoy any luxuries, for they are all grace.

Thank God for my family of sinners, thank God for leading my life so far. Thank God for so many talents and resources to serve Him. Thank God for out internet recovery…so I could post this account. Little things, big things, they all add up. I could be constantly grateful for them, or I could let them become my gods. I pray it will stay the former.

Now the internet’s back, and everyone’s happy. And I hope, that what we do now and feel now with this tool will make Him happy too.

"Princess Wenslyn"

2007-09-03T19:48:00.000+08:00

Many people have addressed me with those two words during separate intervals in my life. My sentiments towards them, however, have not been consistent, and still aren't.

When I was a little girl, I abosolutely adored that term. "Princess Wenslyn"...how delightful, how charming, how wonderful! It reminded me of all those fantasies as a young princess parading my long train, wearing my tiara, and twirling around in a ballroom of candles. And I was ecstatic whenever anyone in real life referred to me with such words. It was magical each time.

Once a teen, however, I stopped loving that title. Wanting more affirmation from people my age, I detested the reference of "princess," since it reflected my aloofness, my intimidation to others, and my oftentimes inconsiderate socialite mannerisms. I took the term to be more an insult than a compliment or word of endearment.

After many years, I've heard those words again...and this time, they made me think a whole lot.

At different stages in my life, I've over-emphasized the good or the bad effects of such a position, and I adored or detested the title accordingly. Yet all of a sudden, I realize that perhaps it is fact more than comment. In the world of Filipino-Chinese ministry, I do come from a stronge heritage of "royal blood," inclusive of all the wonders and the challenges.

Almost like a princess, I enjoy the concern and recognition of so many people. I own the comfort of a model pastor's family spiritually, materially, ministerially, and so forth. I am blessed with numerous ministry opportunities due to my high-profile position. I am well-loved.

At the same time, the struggles abound. There's the constant struggle to think myself more important than others. There's the struggle of high expectations. There is the sometimes overwhelming responsibility to uphold a high standard in all family and social interactions, even as we live in a fishbowl, plain for all to see.

So what then, if I am a princess? Am I to strive for normalcy after living so differently all these years? Or am I to take full advantage of my position as ministerial royalty and continue to try new boundaries for youths in service? The answer is a balance, I know, but that balance is oftentimes so tricky to find as it swerves over the years.

I am slowly learning, that as a ministerial princess living inside the ivory palace of our church, I have more than human expectations to meet. Maybe soon I will no longer live this high-profile life. Maybe the princess will walk among others anonymous, or maybe she will still be a starlet for some time to come. I don't know...but I do know that when human expectations cease, God's expectations don't. I'm a child of a King, and it is for His standards that I live.

I don't need to argue whether I'm a princess or not, because I am, and it is for the standards of my Father that I live, I trust, and I persevere. "Princess Wenslyn"...I know I'll always be one. Perhaps now in an evident way, perhaps less in the future. Yet there is no escaping the fact, and my duty and my joy is to be found in living whatever may be my portion in each chapter of my life.

Love at First Sight

2007-08-28T14:27:00.001+08:00

No, I've never experienced that, and I don't believe that true lasting love could be entirely established upon a single initial audience. However, observation and experience tell me that in all things, there is something enchanting about the first view, something particularly wonderful in being awed by a person, place, or thing at first sight. That is what I'm talking about.

God has planted numerous blessings in each of our lives, and I personally know that I am overwhelmingly blessed. Yet sadly, taking things for granted every day is far easier than being grateful for what has already been given. God gives us reminders, and I do not want to neglect those reminders, lest God apply greater and more painful ones to grab our attention.

I live inside the church building, and the parsonage we occupy is a charming apartment indeed. Our church building is massive for our current congregation's size, with large halls, countless function rooms, and impressive technical support. As if that were not enough, God has bestowed upon UECM many talents in areas from music to computer, from cooking to preaching. Yet how often to I live like I remember these things? Not often, I'm afraid.

This past month, I've had the chance to entertain almost two dozen church visitors around the place upon different occasions. As I tour my friends around the building, narrating numerous details along the way, I am influenced once more to look at the place as "at first sight." As we tried out all those instruments, walked through every room, recounted all those tidbits, and discussed all those systems, I am awed once more by what God has granted our undeserving church and family. There is no real love at first sight, but there is a wonder and admiration in it that I do not want to lose.

Whenever blessings are being taken for granted, I now remind myself to take a step back to imagine myself as someone seeing for the first time my life. The spiritual heritage, the family support, the concerned friends, the various opportunities to serve, and the unbelievable blessing of God's election...I am blessed indeed.

And take a deep breath, my friends. I think you are indeed blessed too.

An Unexpected Adventure

2007-08-15T16:17:00.001+08:00

Our family had an unexpected adventure last night. Well, it really was unexpected, and the tension and uncertainties involved could allow it to be called an adventure.

Dad, mom, Wen, Dan, and Kye were all shopping together at the mall late Wednesday afternoon when our father's cellphone rang as it does so often around the clock. The result of that call was rather urgent. A certain bereaved family from our church was in a worrisome state, and there were are many things that my dad needed to help settle with them as soon as possible.

In prompt response to duty and concern, the five of us quickly finished our shopping list and piled into our SUV. The rain was pouring hard, and the sky was growing dark. It didn't look like a good day for a family trip.

Our church member resides in a more sparsely populated part of Manila, within the area of Novaliches, and my dad was not sure of the way. He turned at a forkroad that led us to a very jam-packed road, and we were stuck to advance onto the highway whether we liked it or not. The rain was pouring, the sky was dark, and my dad was upset.

We edged along the highway, trying all our might to find a way to turn back. There was none. The rain was pouring, the sky was dark, the road was slippery, my mom was sleepy, we kids were tired, and my dad was upset.

"It's a waste of time, of gas, and of energy!" my dad exclaimed, frustrated that we could not get to our member's home sooner. The turn of events was rather disheartening, and we were all weary of the day. We exited the highway at the first stop, and the trip wore on with rickety roads, screeching wipers, and blurry lights in the dark of unfamiliar territory.

Then suddenly, my mom turned around to 9-year-old Kye. "Hey Kye," she piped up with a smile, "it's an adventure, and this time you are around to be part of it." Kye flashed his adorable grin. He had always complained that he was born too late to witness many family adventures, but this time he was there to be part of it.

Yes, why not think of it as an adventure? So we did.

From that point onwards, my dad didn't complain, my mom couldn't sleep, and all three of us were full of energy. Together as a family, we asked repeatedly for directions, some ambiguous and some amazing accurate. We tried to look for landmarks, ridiculous as some of them seemed. We turned into a one way, the vehicle shook along with the bad roads, we met a truck face-on...but it was all fun. A discouraging journey had turned into an unexpected adventure.

We finally arrived at our member's home an hour later than expected. By God's grace, however, that hour of supposed agony had become an hour of memories. Little Kye was thrilled, and so were the rest of us. It was an interesting piece for the family puzzle, and I know I will treasure it in the years to come.

Thank God for the unexpected adventure. Thank God for the unexpected memories.

Hidden Identity

2007-08-07T00:16:00.001+08:00

I am a girl who has grown up within the world of ministry, and as a natural result, my identity is found in my relation to those who are in the ministry--my great big pastoral clan.

As I have previously mentioned, I've always been known as the grandchild of Rev. Ang, the daughter of Rev. Reyes, the niece of the junior Rev. Ang, and so on. My position in relation to these ministers molded me to be everything I am today, and it is also this position that defines my identity.

As I grow up, therefore, there is oftentimes an impulse to desire more personal recognition. I tell my parents and friends that I want to be Wenslyn, not merely the daughter or niece of this pastor and that pastor, not just a living homeschool testament, not just a ministerial starlet of the United Evangelical Church of Malabon. I am discontented that "I" should be recognized only in relation to others.

Yet God convicted me with an unexpected reminder this past week. As I was reading Elizabeth Elliot's book Let Me Be a Woman, I came across a chapter wherein the author reprimanded young wives who would be unwilling to be known only in relation to their husband. These young women argue that they want to be known as someone in themselves, not merely as "Mick's wife" or "Dave's wife." They want personal attention.

While I might not be able to directly apply that lesson in my life right now, the principle hit close to home. Like these young women, I am dissatisfied to have my identity hidden in that of others. Out of my pride, I am too selfish to be happily known by the position God has given me.

If I cannot be contentedly associated with the reputation of my family, how could I ever rejoice in being hidden in the glory of my King? If I am so concerned that people should recognize "me," how would I point them to Christ?

It is a lesson to learn indeed.

"He must increase, I must decrease," my life verse reads. May God continue to teach me this lesson. Let me be hidden, Lord, in Your glory.

Repetitive Heartaches

2007-07-30T21:22:00.000+08:00

A girl thinks that she is just being friendly with a guy, but before she knows it, he is asking permission to court her. A guy feels that he's merely sibling-like friends with a girl, and though she reacts similarly, her friends know that she clearly likes him. A girl feels jealous over a guy, but she is just being possessive over someone who has no given commitment to her. A guy wants to court a girl, but he is wary of intruding upon her life's plans. A girl falls deeply for a guy who likes another, and she broods in misery over her unrequitted feelings.

I have observed, experienced, seen, heard, and played witness to all these scenarios multiple times within the last few years. And sometimes I can't help but wonder why these foolish human cycles repeat themselves. Why should such sad heartaches happen so often? Why can't we humans know the better through observation instead of letting ourselves hurt each other repetitively?

I cannot give an outright answer. Some people blame it on youth, some on idleness, and some on inconsideration. I don't know, yet I do know one thing. We are fallen human beings, and we are stubborn.

So often I see such situations at their developmental stage, yet do not take action. It may be out of selfish pleasure, or it is often because I am too lazy to warn my friends against their actions. It doesn't feel nice to tell good friends that their actions are improper, and it is even harder to convince them to believe you. Giving constructive criticism is a thankless job.

If friends are difficult to convince, then the self is even harder. So with all these factors at hand, more often than not, I refrain to advice, to rebuke, to discourage certain thoughts or actions, be it myself or a friend involved. After all, who wants to alienate personal pleasure or friends' esteem?

Yet each time I see another such scenario repeat itself, I can only wonder why I did not act. If I had spoken up, if I had exercised more wisdom, would things have been different? Could the heartache be avoided? Had I once more missed a chance for God to use me? I can't help but wonder...and the thought haunts me...

Christian love is honest, patient, and rejoicing in the ultimate welfare of the other. Perhaps I need a little bit more self-control, a little bit more boldness and love for my friends. Perhaps some heartaches could be avoided yet.

Lord, use me, I pray...mold me to obey.

Reading God in Jane Austen

2007-07-27T16:20:00.000+08:00

This past Wednesday, I finished reading the book Persuasion by one of my favorite authors--Jane Austen, the writer of Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, and Emma. There are very few authors who can match her craft with profound vocabulary, English social satire, and a grasp on human nature, particularly that of femininity.

Her craftsmanship, however, is not the only reason for my adoration of her works. There is something intangible that makes her stories appealing to me, and it took me years to analyze it out.

Persuasion did not captivate me from the first chapter like Emma or Pride and Prejudice did. It seemed boring at first, and there seemed to be no promise of a happy resolution for the heroine Anne and the man she loved. Yet something kept me reading, and that something directed me to see why Austen writes in a way that nurtures faith in the divine.

In all of Austen's novels that I've read, there is always a happy ending, an ending in matrimony that gives total poetic justice to all the characters involved. The heroines always end up with the men that suite them best, even when those men were initially disregarded by them or uninterested in them. In reading every novel, I could trust in a perfect ending, even if I know that the leading man for the heroine might not be what I expected. There will be a just and happy ending...and that kept me reading.

Another element of Jane Austen's heroines that teaches me a lesson is their need to prove themselves before receiving their "prince charming." Anne had to prove her steadfastness, Emma had to admit her misled notions, Elizabeth had to overcome her prejudice, and so on. These women had to earn their happiness, and prove their worthiness of a perfect ending.

These were two ideas that kept me reading Persuasion, and as with every other time, I wasn't disappointed. I read my perfect ending, and I rejoiced that Anne earned it for herself.

At the same time, those two ideas came to be applied to myself. God has a perfect resolution for every person's love story, and that is enough encouragement to "read on." The ending might not be what is initially apparent or expected, but God is in charge and has His perfect plan.

As His children, however, we are not supposed to wait passively for this perfect ending to come upon us. While we can never prove deserving of any gift from God, we could still strive to be as worthy of His presents as we can be. I don't know what form that "perfect ending" would take for me, for my family, and for my friends...but the Great Author is writing, and I will happily, anticipatingly read on.

Family Business

2007-07-15T14:18:00.000+08:00

My mom likes to joke with her Young Professional fellowship that she works in the family business. Given the fact that her parents, siblings, husband, and self are all in the ministry, I guess that joke is valid.

Reflecting this background, my own immediate family is growing basically within the ministry. From joining children's choir at two years of age up to choosing to handle a leadership camp, I've always lived life within the boundaries of church ministries, as have my two brothers after me.

When the family was talking the other day, we realized that this morning would be a "typical Sunday." In other words, everyone has a job. My dad would be preaching, my mom would be worship-leading the children, I would be playing the piano for adult service, and my brother Dan playing for junior. It's a family business.

I am thankful to God for giving His grace to our entire family, allowing us all to serve Him together. However, there is always the tendency to take things for granted. I was born into this, raised into this, grown into this. Serving the Lord sometimes becomes no more significant than inheriting an earthly possession or trade from older relatives. Very often, I forget that I am an individual blessed individually by the Lord with an opportunity to serve Him.

As I was preparing my heart for worship this morning, God seemed to whisper to me, "Wen, who are you playing for?" That question, and the answer it required, called me to re-focus on the Lord.

Who am I playing for? At times, I play to impress. At times, I play for my family's legacy, and at other times, I play merely because I enjoy it. Serving the Lord is about more than expectations, family or otherwise. I must remember the honor and sacredness of serving Him...after all, I am a blessed individual serving one God alone.

Where's My Seat?

2007-06-25T21:03:00.000+08:00

This past Sunday, I visited a church as an import translator for their Chinese service. Thanks to an extremely early driver who arrived at our parsonage two hours before the worship service, I arrived at the church far ahead of schedule, thus indirectly obliged to attend their English service.

Now, I was invited over for the second service, where lots of people recognized me, knew me, and adored me. To them, I was the gifted one and only daughter of the beloved Rev. Danny. For them, I was like a young guest of honor, someone a specialized driver picked up for the translator's position on the pew and in the pulpit. That's what I had expected.

What I didn't expect, was to be greeted as a late-comer by an English service usherette who reacted to my formal business attire. Since I was just waiting for the next service, I opted for a back seat. There I sat, anonymous and quiet, no high-profile, no people reacting with smiles to my presence. It felt weird.

My comfort was restored with the turnover to the Chinese service. Sitting up front, standing on stage, having everyone know me, I felt everything to be back to familiarity...but I had realized one truth already.

Over all these years of nearly living on stage every Sunday, I've been allowing my ministry rather than my Christianity to define me. I'm used to having a seat every week, on the first row as translator, at the front pews as worship team member, or perhaps with the choir. I'm too used to doing something, too used to letting ministerial posts identify me. Whether in my church or another church, when I'm all alone without any "service" to do, I don't even know where to sit.

That experience was quite a wake-up call from God. I know my duty is to worship Him, and that includes the times when I am alone with no church duties at hand. When I'm beset with numerous duties in "worship" service, I sometimes lose the ability to be a pure and simple worshipper, one who worships in spirit and in truth, regardless of the job, regardless of the seat.

This is no dramatic experience, nor is it any beautifully-written incident of an encounter with God. This is just a post about another reminder from the Lord, a reminder that I think I need more often. I am a Christian, who serves on stage...not vice versa.

Honoring My Folks

2007-06-13T19:47:00.001+08:00

I have been attending quite a few weddings recently. For most girls, weddings are times for dreaming, and I cannot claim to be an exception. Weddings are so romantic, so sweet, so emotional...and so filled with an atmosphere of love that makes every girl dream of what she would do with her own special day.

As a pastor's daughter who grew up witnessing countless weddings a year, however, I have a slightly different perspective. The gowns, the flowers, the music, the candles, and the rings are all wonderful, but I seek for the meaning of the covenant more than the romance of the event. For me, my favorite wedding items are the promises, the vows, and one item that is not always present--the tribute to the parents.

In our church, the groom and bride often give verbal tributes to their respective parents before exchanging vows themselves. Right before they become an independent unit before God and man, it provides a chance for them to express their gratitude towards those who had raised them.

For me, I often dream of what I would say to my parents on my wedding day. I would thank my mom for her time, her love, her teaching, and all the skills and traits that she had passed on to "Hensie jr." Then I would thank my dad for his provision, his love, his guidance, and his amazing model of a heavenly Father's love. I would be such a teary-eyed daughter whipsering words of heartfelt gratitude.

During a wedding last Saturday, a truth hit me.

Even if such words on my wedding day would be based upon absolute sincerity, they would be meaningless if my life does not manifest the gratitude that I profess to have. If I truly understand what my parents have done for me, then I must respond by respecting and loving them through my everyday life.

A very good friend once agreed with me, "The more you grow, the more you love your parents." True, maturity will help us to see what our parents have done for us. However, it doesn't stop there.

Do I love my parents with the way I live? I don't know. It is easy to use flowery statements to say that I thank them, but it is a greater challenge to serve and honor them in my daily life.

This is a lesson that I hope to always keep fresh in my mind. May I learn not only to thank my parents with pretty descriptions sometime in the future, but may I truly live with such gratitude today. They are, after all, among God's greatest channels of blessings to me.

Praise Night Fiasco

2007-05-31T23:21:00.000+08:00

It has been two weeks since our junior camp, and only now have I found sufficient composure and patience to write about this...and to ask the question out loud, "What happened to praise night?"

I was the music coordinator for our camp and was told to handle the last night's praise event. I was excited from the moment I received the task. I've always loved leading special events, and I wanted to do so many innovative things with this one.

There would be four groups of children doing choreography, there would be a god-glorifying atmosphere the whole evening, there would be impeccable coordination for our dual-songleader experiment, and there would be perfect musical chemistry with my mom as our pianist. I was extremely excited. I was praying everyday for the event. I knew it would last long in my memories.

It will last long in my memory, but not in a positive way.

That night, the camp children were all rowdy, disobedient, inattentive, and stubborn. The choreographies became self-glorifying, worldly special numbers. The technical support struggled. My co-songleader and I had horrible coordination and almost zero command. My mom did not have enough time to practice with us.

It was a living nightmare.

After the event, the kids were shouting at the top of their lungs and comparing their programs. Some camp leaders told me I did a good job, but I knew I didn't.

I wanted so much to cry after praise night, and I would have blubbered if I could have found a place to be alone with God. My dream of a wonderful god-centered evening had turned into the campers' popularity contest. I don't know what went wrong...I really, really didn't know...

During the rest of the camp and for many days afterwards, I cried out loud to God. What went wrong? I had prepared, prayed, and searched for a pure heart...but still, something went wrong. What? Why?

It would be easy to blame it on the kids' lack of discipline. I could say it was the fault of immature leaders. I could also blame the inexperience of our music team together. Yet I knew I couldn't do that, I knew God was telling me something else.

Then it came to me as tears were brimming in my eyes.

Even though I had always thought about the event as a god-glorifying event, even though I had started out with god-centered motives...that dream had become my own. Something like what Phil Vischer said about Veggietales, I had taken a godly dream and made it all about my own vision. I was excited about glorifying God that praise night, but I was more concerned with successfully making MY OWN event glorify God.

And as could be expected, it didn't.

I am sad over this, very sad. Just the thought of the entire ordeal brings me pain. It is a lesson hard-learnt. I am sad in particular that I actually deceived myself into thinking I had a pure heart, when I had a selfish one.

Still, I thank the Lord for His graciousness in pointing this out to me. It is a lesson that I might have to apply again as I continue to serve Him. I pray that He help me remember this lesson, and let my example serve as a warning to my fellow servants.

It must be all about Him, and really all about Him. Teach us, Lord, to remember this.

Wait on the Lord

2007-05-24T16:50:00.000+08:00

What is so difficult to understand about those four words? They are simple to say, and I have said them to others before. Yet when my turn comes around to learn this lesson, the challenge proves to be far greater than I had expected.

Ten years ago, life was the same everyday. In fact, I would find myself actually wishing that life be the same everyday. I was just enjoying my childhood. I didn’t want things any other way.

When the teenage years arrived, I began to look ahead. I wanted more thrill, more excitement, more heartbeats. Life became more dynamic. Yet still, it was predictable. Grade 8 comes after Grade 7. Age 14 follows 13. Next Sunday, next month, next year would follow their counterparts with everything remaining more or less the same.

Then all of a sudden, the future is more uncertainty than stability. Within the last two years, my house changed, my lifestyle changed, my interests broadened, my acquaintances grew in number, my ministries matured…and my whole life is caught in a whirlwind of unpredictability.

At the moment, I do not even know where I will be and what I will be doing six months from now. With changes impacting both childhood and new friendships, I do not know who will be by my side to witness the experiences I will have in the next few years.

Will I continue to build upon and try to excel in what I’ve been doing all my life? Or will I be exploring uncharted grounds all alone? Will I have time to process a student visa? Will I apply for correspondence college instead of university? Will I lose friends? Will I gain friends?

There are so many uncertainties. I’m confused…scared too, at times…

My mother shared something to me this morning, a phrase from her devotional reading. “The Lord is never too late, but He is never too early.” He will wait until I have learned total reliance upon Him before revealing His will. He will not allow me to even think I planned things on my own. It is His plan.

This afternoon, someone texted me a simple forward. “Wait on the Lord. There are times when GOD asks nothing of His children except silence, patience, and tears. You’re never late when you wait on the Lord.” I guess God really is trying to tell me something.

Wait on Him, Wenslyn, wait on the Lord.

It won’t be easy, but I get the picture. Lord, help me wait upon You.

The Passing of the Touch

2007-05-14T14:33:00.000+08:00

I love the piano. It is wonderful to produce rich harmony while letting my fingers dance along the ivory keys. I love practicing to achieve "the touch," as my musician mother puts it. I love the instrument, and I love to serve God with it.

Over the years, I've had opportunities to be a pianist for camps, fellowships, and worship services. There would be challenges, but I enjoyed living up to them. I practiced everyday, I did my best. I was determined to shine in this skill as much as I could.

Then all of a sudden, somewhere along the line these last two years, I realized that I was near the top...in other words, I was the leading pianist for our fellowship, an assistant pianist for our choir, and a seasoned pianist for our praise team. Wow, I was so impressed with myself.

I was now something of an authority in the field. People would come to ask "Achi WenWen" what to play. Friends would tell me that they are very confident whenever they have me as their accompanist. I now had the responsibility to be teacher to younger pianists. Oh, I loved it.

So I trained younger pianists. Some of them were great, some of them were lazy. I felt so proud to be the musical mentor of the great ones. I loved it when they thanked me for tuning up their skills.

We were all growing for the glory of God, and that was all that mattered...well, until I realized I wasn't thinking about that most of all.

One particular trainee of mine, the most patient and determined and talented of them all, became better and better as the weeks progressed. I loved it; I was proud of him...then, he started to outshine me.

I could hear it clearly with my own ears. Those techniques, those patterns, and that strong undercurrent of pure talent were nothing I could ever have for myself. He was too good, so good that I could hardly imagine him to once be my student. That talent and affinity for a pianist's "touch" were what I could never attain through grueling practice or sheer determination. My potential as a musician is less than half of his.

I was upset, though I did not show it. True, I was still proud of him, but this realization that the student could be higher than the teacher bothered me. I selfishly felt that I was not receiving the proper recognition as his tutor whenever people praise the young man for his skills. I thought it was all unfair. Why should he, who owes so much to me, be better than I am?

Ouch! God hit me once more. I messed up many sessions of playing the piano. My heart was no longer right.

I still practiced the piano like crazy for church ministries, but mostly out of a desire to prove myself better. But, better than what?

God does not require me to be better than all pianists. He does not want me to outshine everyone. He only asks for my best from me...that's it, my best. It was I who was not satisfied, not Him. If I was lacking in my music ministry, then it was only because I lost a pure heart.

I thank God for helping me realize these lessons. I do not need to fret that my efforts seemed to go to waste. No, they are not wasted. I should live up to the talents God has given me, the same way my student should live up to his.

Instead of pouting that I am not as good as others, I should celebrate that God has used underserving me to train better servants for His kingdom. I should be thankful, not discontent. I should rejoice with those who rejoice, not wallow in self-pity.

My piano skills may be just enough to serve a certain purpose in practicality, but God also used them to teach me a lesson on purity of heart. Thanks be to Him.

Am I Royal?

2007-04-30T15:21:00.000+08:00

I recently went to a camp in which some full-timers (people who have dedicated themselves to full-time ministry) joked that I have Filipino-Chinese ministry's "royal blood." It was an interesting comment, though I did not know exactly what to feel when it was said.

All my life, I have been identified as the grandchild of Rev. Ang, the daughter of Rev. Reyes, the niece of the junior Rev. Ang, the grand-niece of Rev. Huang, the grand-niece of Rev. Go, and so on and so on. This identity has always born with it its share of concern, of pressures, of love, and of expectations.

I have no complaints about my position, as I trust it to be a divine appointment of God. However, it is oftentimes a temptation to wonder, "What would life be like otherwise?"

Am I royal? Are the expectations and pressures I have to face any more demanding that those laid upon other teenagers? In other words, do I have the right to complain?

Yesterday was my grandfather's 70th birthday, and we conducted a thanksgiving service to commemorate God's grace in his life and in his 42 years of ministry. As the representatives from different churches took the stage to describe his ministerial work in their respective churches over the years, a realization came over me.

This is the heritage I have--42 years of ministry for my grandfather, 23 years of ministry for my father, almost 20 relatives in the ministry. I never asked God for these, but He gave it all to me. Those four hundred people sitting their with their smiles and support, the numerous church workers who helped with the thanksgiving service...these are God's gifts to me.

God's grace is sufficient. No, wait, His grace is more than enough.

Even if I face expectations that appear to be higher than usual, I also have the heritage, the support, and the guidance to live up to them. I do not need to wallow in self-pity, claiming that I have a life more pressured than I can bear. Instead, I ought to build my life upon what the Lord has given to me, to reach what He has ordained for me.

"Royal blood" may bring pressures that are beyond the usual. Yet at the same time, it offers a heritage beyond compare.

I do not intend to boast. It is all about God. I am nothing but a little girl overwhelmed by the wonder of what He has done in my life. And the only response I can have is to strive to be all He wants me to be, trusting daily that His love is everlasting, His grace sufficient, and His strength ever perfect.

Why I Should Trust

2007-04-18T21:06:00.000+08:00

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what the Lord has prepared for those who love Him."--I Cor. 2:9

As my family prepares for the celebrations of my maternal grandfather's 70th birthday, I will finally post something with a lighter tone. After all, Christian life is equally if not more about rejoicing in our God than in cowering beneath His chastisement.

The above is my favorite Bible verse. The things that we see and hear in this world are already indescribable, be it nature, techonology, or anything pertaining to complex humanity. Then there are also the things we imagine, the things our mind conceive as combinations of our former ideas and experiences. And yet, the Lord declares that none can compare to what He has prepared for those who love Him.

A friend once shared an idea with me: if the imperfect love that we chase after in our youth may already feel so good to the mind and heart, then how wonderful indeed must be the true love that the Lord has prepared for our future! Even though this statement may primarily address the issue of romantic love, its principle stands true in every aspect of Christian life.

What we may consider as the best pales in comparison to what God has planned--things beyond our human conceptions.

Who could have expected my grandfather, nearly the youngest in his family, to be instrumental in bringing our other relatives to the Lord? Who could have imagined that my parents would meet each other with negative impressions only to be gladly celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary this year? Who could have thought that a little gospel center in Malabon so many years ago would grow to be the nearly 400-person congregation it is today? Really, who could have known?

God is amazing.

As a young girl facing various uncertainties in the near future, I have to admit it is oftentimes incredibly difficult to completely trust in the goodwill of the Lord. Yet if what He has prepared is even more than anything I can ever imagine...what have I to doubt?

Retreat Woes

2007-04-07T21:39:00.000+08:00

In our recent church family retreat, I had to sing back-up for the five major worship time slots, in addition to translating twice for another church’s camp, in addition to counselling a young child or two, in addition to socializing more with the people of our church. It was a full, full schedule. Take note of the fact that I was among the retreat’s youngest official officers (people with their names in the handbook), and the list seems more impressive.

People have always taken me for a ministerial prodigy who is multi-talented and extremely capable. Over the years, I have enjoyed that image, and I went to our retreat this year with a desire to prove myself to truly be a young ministry “supergirl.” After all, I had my schedule and age as evidence.

Yet once more, I was wrong.

In reference to my previous post, I did serve the Lord with thanksgiving. And I also felt humbled to be used by Him time and again. However, I was thankful and humble with the wrong goal in mind. Instead of delighting in the fact that God could use me for His glory, I was excited to use God’s work in this retreat to add another building block to my reputation. Instead of desiring my efforts to prove how wonderful He is, I awaited the product of my “service” to prove my ability.

God’s rod struck me again. This time, it did not strike in an area as obvious to the eye as physical frailty…it struck me on my weakest, most girlish, most childish place—my heart.

I do not wish to go into details. Suffice it to say that many unpretty, painful emotions that I thought I had long overcome came flooding over me again during those hours of the retreat. It was horrible, facing a tight schedule and a throbbing heart simultaneously. I had enough strength to fulfill my duties, but with so much pain that I had to constantly cry out to the Lord for help. Well, I guess that’s what He wanted to have happen.

It is one thing to rely on the Lord’s power for His glory, entirely another to abuse it for one’s own acclaim. God had to give me some spanking before I remembered that.

They were painful to undergo, but those emotional struggles successfully reminded me that I was merely a “child of weakness” in God’s eyes who would fail in any attempt to glorify herself. Thus now, looking back, I thank God for those pains, piercing as they were during their peak. The Chinese say that “Good medicine is bitter to the mouth.” I thank God for that bitter medicine, knowing that it was a good and timely medication for me.

Sick for His Service

2007-03-27T22:25:00.000+08:00

Exactly one week before Palm Sunday, just when the busiest month of 2007 was in sight, I became sick. Just when I had translating, songleading, choir renditions, Bible studies, and praise and worships all lining up in my itinerary, my body refused to get along with me and obstinately broke down.

Then, even in my frailty, I was self-glorifying. Surely I was working too hard for the Lord. Surely God would be pleased to see how His young servant was pouring out her health and life for Him. I felt so sacrificial.

Upon realizing the faultiness of such thinking, I changed my mind path. This time around, I turned to "faith." Since I was so important to the work of God's kingdom in the coming two weeks, He would surely heal me....right? On second thought, maybe not.

I must not be focused upon myself; I must have my heart with God. Switching to my third line of thought in my two-and-a-half days of illness, I willed myself to recover. I refused to allow myself to wallow in my physical misery. I was determined to regain my health in order to serve God. Wow, now I was so right...right?

I went to sleep on Monday night, certain that I would be totally well by Tuesday. After all, God must be moved by my heart to serve Him immediately upon recovery. I woke up on Tuesday sicker than ever. I guess I was wrong.

After many more hours of alternating pain and medication, I realized one thing. Perhaps this illness was not a trial, as I had all the while considered it to be. Perhaps this time of weakness was, more than anything else, a reminder from the Lord.

True, I am I capable and skilled worker. Yes, I am an experienced church volunteer with a will to serve. However, I am nothing by my own strength, and I am in no way indispensable. If God wants me sick, then I could never will myself to health. If God does not empower me, I am helpless. If God does not choose to use me, then He will use others, whether I like it or not.

By God's grace, I am nearly fully well now, quite in time for all the camps, meetings, and rehearsals. In spite of my foolishness, God seems to still be willing to use me. Praise the Lord. As I try to serve Him by His power in the coming days, may He bless me with not only the strength to complete my tasks, but with a heart of humility, reliance, and thanksgiving.