"None of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself..." Acts 20:24
It is easier to serve or work for God without a vision and without a call, because then you are not bothered by what He requires. Common sense, covered with a layer of Christian emotion, becomes your guide. You may be more prosperous and successful from the world’s perspective, and will have more leisure time, if you never acknowledge the call of God. But once you receive a commission from Jesus Christ, the memory of what God asks of you will always be there to prod you on to do His will. You will no longer be able to work for Him on the basis of common sense.
What do I count in my life as “dear to myself”? If I have not been seized by Jesus Christ and have not surrendered myself to Him, I will consider the time I decide to give God and my own ideas of service as dear. I will also consider my own life as “dear to myself.” But Paul said he considered his life dear so that he might fulfill the ministry he had received, and he refused to use his energy on anything else. This verse shows an almost noble annoyance by Paul at being asked to consider himself. He was absolutely indifferent to any consideration other than that of fulfilling the ministry he had received. Our ordinary and reasonable service to God may actually compete against our total surrender to Him. Our reasonable work is based on the following argument which we say to ourselves, “Remember how useful you are here, and think how much value you would be in that particular type of work.” That attitude chooses our own judgment, instead of Jesus Christ, to be our guide as to where we should go and where we could be used the most. Never consider whether or not you are of use— but always consider that “you are not your own” (1 Corinthians 6:19). You are His.

From Oswald Chambers, "Is This True of Me?", My Utmost for His Highest, 4th March

My call is in missions. I've known this since I was a teenager. There were times I wavered and doubted, times where counting the cost seemed like too much, times I wanted to give that up for a 'normal' life? But God's call was insistent. I came realise that if I did anything else with my life, I would always know that I'd missed out on God's purpose for me. Like Oswald Chambers puts it, "the memory of what God asks of you will always be there to prod you". And I realised that I couldn't live with that. I am not my own, I am His.
In this transitory phase, I've been doing alot of thinking about work (as evidenced by earlier posts: Ruminations on Labour Day and Ruminations on Labour, Part 2 - The Call). But now I see that it's far from being a quarter-life crisis. I am glad and excited about the direction God's been leading me in. And as it unfolds, I wish I could hurry the process, but I know that He works in His time, and not my own.
In His time, in His time.
He makes all things beautiful, in His time.
Lord, please show me every day,
As You're teaching me Your way,
That You do just what You say,
In Your time.

In Your time, in Your time,
You make all things beautiful, in Your time.
Lord, my life to You I bring,
May each song I have to sing
Be to You a lovely thing,
In Your time.

I've always loved bikes. I think my obsession even pre-dated my Daytona racing days. But now that I have actually ridden a real bike, I really really want one. But the chances of that happening in the next few years are unfortunately slim. So I’ll have to contend with begging bike-owning friends to let me ride pillion and perhaps if I grovel enough, they’ll let me ride it myself! But riding pillion strikes me as being very much like being in a marriage, from the woman’s perspective:
1. Your life is in his hands, literally.
2. Sometimes you can’t see where you’re going. But it’s inevitable that you’re heading there anyway.
3. You have to go with the flow. If you try to counter balance when he’s leaning in for a turn, you’ll probably throw him off balance.
4. You simply have to trust the rider. You may want to grip the handle bars and take control but you can’t (they’re too far away) and shouldn’t (it’s not the safest thing to do).
5. But no matter how much you trust him, you still need a helmet (i.e. you need to protect yourself). Your safety should never be compromised. Any man who tells you otherwise does not really care about you.
6. Sit tight and hold on, 'cause you're gonna be in for the ride of your life!

A few days ago, a deacon in church asked about my singlehood and knowing my desire to be in missions, he recommended marriage. (There are far more barriers for a single woman on the missions field.) Although such interrogations usually produce frustration on my part. I was instead amused as several people jumped up to my defence. They said that was still plenty of time and how we didn't know what God's got in store for my life anyway. I am grateful for that kind of affirmation: the kind that doesn't naturally assume that marriage is on the cards.
At the end of the day, it's not a question of whether I'm riding alone or riding pillion. But whether I'm pressing on heavenward towards the goal to win the prize for which I have been called (Phil 3:14). And on that journey, that I will learn to be content, whatever the circumstances (Phil 4:11-12), riding pillion or not.

Image of bridal couple on bike from here

In the earlier post on labour, I quoted Frederick Buechner’s thoughts on jobs. The essence of which is that one should do what they enjoy because “if he enjoys doing it and the world needs it done – it may very possibly gain him his own soul.” That was just the entrée. Now comes the main course: A job is a very different thing from a vocation.

It comes from the Latin vocare, to call, and means the work a man is called to by God.
There are all different kinds of voices calling you to all different kinds of work, and the problem is to find out which is the voice of God rather than of Society, say, or the Superego, or Self-Interest.
By and large a good rule for finding out is this. The kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work
(a) that you need most to do and
(b) that the world most needs to have done.
If you really get a kick out of your work, you've presumably met requirement (a), but if your work is writing TV deodorant commercials, the chances are you've missed requirement (b). On the other hand, if your work is being a doctor in a leper colony, you have probably met requirement (b), but if most of the time you're bored and depressed by it, the chances are you have not only bypassed (a), but probably aren't helping your patients much either.
Neither the hair shirt nor the soft berth will do. The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.
From Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC by Frederick Buechner (emphasis mine)

For me, the meeting of my deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger is in the field of missions. So while I have a little bit more to go in the area of teaching, that’s where I’m headed.
I've met many a young person trying to figure out "God's will for my life". It is almost as if God doesn't speak to them out of a thunder cloud in the sky then they are lost on what to do. I like the following Pontious Puddle comic on the subject:

Much of God's will has already been revealed to us in the Bible. And if we're not already obeying what's in there, then what's the point? When God calls, obedience is not just an option, it's the only option.

Your call. What's your calling?

The Novaliches kids love to swim. Actually, to be more precise, they love trying to swim. The last activity of their youth camp was at the pool where they had a whale of a time splashing about. Unlike in Singapore or Australia where the majority of kids know how to swim or can at least float, these kids don't have the opportunity to go to pools or the beach much so they've never learnt. They had heaps of fun in the water though.

Warming up. Posing in the water.
I'm not an expert at swimming by any standards but seeing that I could swim, some of the girls asked me to teach them. As a teacher, I'm well aware of the fact that possessing the requisite knowledge is one thing, passing it on is another. Before I could teach them how to swim, I had to teach them to float. But they would routinely panic and shriek when they tried and, of course, would end up sinking once they panicked. I would support them and then slowly let go. As soon as I let go, however, they would panic again. I repeated the process with several girls, several times, with little result. "Trust me," I'd coax, "I've got you and I'm not going to let you drown." Either I was not reassuring enough or I was a lousy swimming teacher. Either way, at the end of it, they weren't any closer to learning to swim than before!
Then I saw myself in the same light. As I learn to swim through life, the Teacher whispers in my ear, "Trust me, I've got you and I'm not going to let you drown." But as soon as I feel His touch lessen, I panic and struggle. "Where are You? What are You doing? Why are You leaving me?" As soon as I allow my fear of drowning (of failure, of pain, of suffering) to overwhelm me, that's when I begin to sink. As soon as I stop trusting that the Teacher knows what He's doing, I begin to sink. That's like Peter in Matthew 14:22-32. At Jesus' command, He was walking on water! But as soon as he saw the wind and the waves, he took his eyes off Jesus and was afraid, and began to sink. We laugh at Peter sometimes, who went from the miraculous to the ordinary in split second. But how often we are like that too.

Lord, save me! Help me to keep my eyes on You. Even when the oceans rise and thunders roar, I will cling to You. I will trust in You. Accept these sacrifices of a broken spirit and a broken and contrite heart, O Lord. Teach me to swim again! Or if You will, teach me to walk on water.

I went to a fish market the other day and it reminded me of my childhood. I used to visit the wet market with my grandma to get groceries in the mornings. The fish markets here are similar to that - unlike the wet markets of Singapore today which are fairly dry and sanitised, orderly affairs with refridgerators - it was wet, noisy, smelly and dirty. Fish and other seafood lay in large metal trays, sometimes with melting ice, most often not. Exposed seafood was sometimes just piled in a heap, squids in their black ink. Live catfish wriggled over each other in a unsatisfied bid for more comfortable circumstances. The uneven cement floor was bobby-trapped with large puddles of melted ice, mingled with fish blood and other excrements produced by seafood. All of this makes for a very dirty slipper clad foot. Hence the first thing I did when I got home was to wash my feet (and my slippers). It has become somewhat of a ritual now that if I go out with slippers, once I get back, it's feet washing time.
This has given me a richer understanding of feet washing. It's different in a developed country; your feet aren't really dirty. But here, with feet caked in dried fish blood and who knows what else, washing feet is truly messy business. In biblical times, sandals as the choice footwear plus the dusty unpaved roads, their feet, like mine, were probably filthy at the end of the day. Feet washing is dirty work. No wonder it was the job of servants.
That makes the story of the woman who annoints Jesus feet with tears, wiping them with her tears, pouring perfume and kissing them in Luke 7:36-50 so much more. It was not just a simple act of washing feet. It was the washing of feet that were dirty and smelly, with her very own hair. And how much she must have cried to wash them clean! It is the story of a woman who was so strongly compelled and convicted that she would do the lowest of jobs to honour her Saviour and King.

I stepped through the archway into the church building and I was immediately awed by what was before me. Behind the altar stood an almost life-sized replica of the facade of St Peter's Basilica and on the high celling and walls were giant frescoes depicting the life and death of Christ. There were a few scattered people around, mostly sitting in the pews in what I interpreted as an attitude of prayer and supplication.
A little boy, dressed shabbily, caught my attention, as he wandered up to a lady with her head down and hands clasped in prayer. He insistently tugged on her sleeve, and very matter-of-factly held out his hand. ( Read more...Collapse )

(This is by no means a critique! I love being here and learning to live with the differences! It is often amusing but also trying.)

1. Rubber time
I am often late, as many of you know and have experienced first hand. But my inablity to organise my time efficently is no match for the Fillipinos! Case in point: I had set an exam for the graduating high school students and only 4 were there when I started the test. 3 even arrived 1.5 hours after the exam was scheuled to begin! This, I discovered, is by no means an unusual occurance. I am learning to wait. Patience.

2. Measuring a journey in time taken, not distance covered.
When I ask how far away a destination is, I always get a response in terms of the amount of time we're expected to travel, followed by a hope for good traffic conditions. So once I repeated the question, "No, I mean, how far away is it in kilometres?" My host had no idea. Because traffic here is so unpredictable, it is rather senseless to measure a journey by kilometres; it makes no difference anyway!

3. Physical affection
For some unknown reason, I am one of those strange creatures that have an aversion to being touched. Although I am sure it is partially cultural, it's also part of me. But Fillipino culture is not like that. The girls like to loop their arms around me when they walk with me, or hold my hand when talking. I'm getting used to it and not squirming when it happens. I'm okay with the girls doing it now but when the boys do something similiar I have to mentally remind myself that it's not personal, it's just cultural.

4. Sour food
Okay, so I thought I liked sour food, right? Wrong. I do like sour foods. But not to the extent of my Fillipino friends! We were having sour mangoes after lunch one day. And they were laughing at my face scrunched in agony as they happily munched on. And I then realised that sourness is not a taste often featured in Chinese cooking. Or if used is usually very mild like in sweet and sour pork.

5. Salty food
I confess I like what may appear to be bland food. I don't add any salt to my cooking. Fillippinos take it to the other extreme. I find myself taking more rice to combat the saltiness and water to wash it down. Frequently, I find myself enjoying a particular dish but not wanting to eat more of it because of its saltiness!

6. Insane traffic
I've always heard about traffic in Bangkok but traffic here is mad too. If you have to travel somewhere, arriving on time at the destination is not an option. When the Singapore team was here, it felt like we spent most of the week seeing the inside of the van! Sometimes it seems like there are no road rules. (Especially when the vechicle you're in crosses the divider and goes on the opposite side of the road with the on-coming traffic!) Crossing the road as a pedestrain is also an adventure in itself!

7, 8, 9 and 10 still to come...

I've been getting eaten alive by mosquitos since the rest of the Singaporean team left. I think the mosquiots can smell my lone foreign blood and target me specifically! I have red welts all over my calves. It's especially itchy near the feet. Grr! Thank God for the mopiko my mum insisted I carry when the parental units met me at the Singapore airport! My life saver. (Thanks, mum!) I am convinced that along with bad traffic (especially here in the Phillippines), mosquitos are also part of the long-suffering of a missionary in South-East Asia.
In all honesty though, I think it's because I've been less viligant in applying mosquito repellent since the others left. Although that still leaves me with the question of "Why me?!" Apparently, most commerical brand repllents make you invisible to the insects, so they can't detect you. But citronella, which I've been using, truly deters mosquitos from biting you. So they can see you but they'd loathe to come near you. (Thanks for the citronella, Leon!)
What is more satisfying, however, is the electric fly swatter! Illegal in Australia, it makes a loud and satisfying crackle and pop when mozzies get zapped! The spark of light when they get fried is also very gratifying. I wonder if they have larger sized ones for larger pests (8 letter pests that begin 's')... Oh yes... tasers... not that I'd ever use one on someone, really! Well, it's also illegal in Australia anyway!

PS. No, mum, malaria is not common in Novaliches. And dengue fever is unavoidable anyway. Incidetally, I haven't killed any dengue mosquitos, unlike in Singapore where I've killed plenty. (Yes, I am morbid, I inspect the mosquitos I kill.)

It's been a very busy time of the year, as with the holiday season around the world. Christmas eve began very early morning with a trip to the tv studio, ABS-CBN. The youths took me on the set of Umagang Kay Ganda ('Beautiful Morning') a morning news programme. I had my 15 seconds of fame on Fillipino tv being in a present wrapping competition with local celebrities. I was paired with Donita Rose whom some will recoginse as a former MTV Asia VJ. She looks as gorgeous in person as she does in photos; she is also very friendly and without airs.

On the set. Literally tied to Donita.
At midnight was the Noche Buena – the traditional Christmas Eve feast. Some of the church youths came and we ate by candlelight. There were also fireworks. Christmas Day traditionally is a open house affair and visitors stopped by throughout the day. Children also go door to door greeting, "Namamasko po!" They are rewarded with a few coins.

In between Christmas and New Year's, I taught a full day of conversational English classes and we also had a day-outing to Wawa River in Montalban. It was interesting to see remnants of old buildings as well as huge white boulders left in the river bed from when the river used to be stronger, before they constructed a dam. A relaxing way to spend the day. I also tried balut which is a fertilized duck (or chicken) egg with a nearly-developed embryo inside that is boiled and eaten in the shell. I was rather squeamish about trying it. As you can see below, it does look rather gross. But after tasting, it was alright. It seemed like a more 'solid' hard boiled egg, if that makes sense. I only ate a bite though (without the duck feotus), I don't know if I could bring myself to eat one in its entirety. We'll see.
Balut


Enjoying God's creation at Wawa River. With Ps Craig and Ma'am Flor. (Ps Criag is not that tall; he just happens to be standing on higher ground!)

New Year's Eve was celebrated with a worship night. Then the new year was ushered in with another midnight meal, Media Noche. Round objects, like fruit, are displayed to synbolise money. And we ate noodles to symbolise longevity, much like the Chinese New Year tradition. Fireworks galore were used to usher in the year. They were all around, I didn't even know where to look!

It has been a very very busy holiday season, and I'm hoping it will calm down soon. I getting exhausted with all the activity!