Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Art Show: Sage Vaughn
Hey LA-ers! If you are looking for something interesting to do the weekend of October 11th, then swing by Sage Vaughn's art show. Opening on the 11th and up until the 15th.
LOS ANGELES, USA
galerie bertrand & gruner
Natve Sons
October 11 - 15
Opening Oct.11th 7PM
@ BOXeight
1446 East Washington Blvd
Los Angeles CA 90021
galerie bertrand & gruner
Natve Sons
October 11 - 15
Opening Oct.11th 7PM
@ BOXeight
1446 East Washington Blvd
Los Angeles CA 90021
Free Previews of DIY on Dish!
For those of you who don't get DIY Network and have Dish Network I have some good news for you! Dish Network is offering a free preview of DIY Network for the entire month of October. Tune in or Tivo for Creative Juice and don't miss the Witch Crafts marathon on October 24th from 2:00 to 4:30 pm eastern.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Privileges.
I won't forget that fateful day, where that white-haired, near-seventy, petite senior doctor picked my two team-mates and myself off the hospital corridor and said, “Are you three medical students? Not having lessons right? Come with me. I like to teach random people at any time of the day, wherever I am. It's not important to know who I am."
We later found out she was one of the most senior and respected doctor of the cardiology department, and she whizzed us into the intensive care unit of the cardiology unit. “Listen to this patient’s heart murmur,” she said. "You'll learn a lot from this."
I looked into Mr Z’s eyes, to whom the abnormally rackety heart sound belonged to and saw his fatigue, his sadness. His eyes said he was in a precarious situation, and he knew it. Metal things were holding his heart up, clanging and banging against the walls of his vessels and keeping his heart from failing. "These metal valves won't last forever," he tells me, "Yes, you medical students- come listen to my heart. Become good doctors in the future, okay?"
The next day, I went back to see this Malay man.
"I'm so sorry," he says, "that I seemed so grumpy towards you and your friends yesterday. I was just... so tired. So very tired. But I'm okay now and I'm happy to talk to you. You speak Malay well, you know."
A few days later, one of our professors calls us in for a meeting to brief us on a project we are to embark on.
"Many a time as doctors, many of us have little insight into the lives of our patients. Our contact with them is just in that 7 minutes we see them in a clinic, we dispense medication, and expect them to run along with their lives. This project is to help you understand that every patient has a unique socio-cultural and behavioral background that influences the outcome of his illness. It involves you choosing a patient with a chronic illness, visiting his home, understanding his worldview, family dynamics, financial constraints, his concerns, his whole world basically… and coming up with suggestions to help the outcome of his illness. It involves you following him up for 4 months, and submitting a case report."
It was easy to dismiss it as Just Another Project. Except that it wasn’t. Entire families could be, have been touched, transformed through this project every year.
“And yes, every one of you are to select a patient each and pay him a home visit. It’s time consuming, I know, but absolutely necessary. A lucky one of you from each team with the most suitable patient will have your entire team visit your patient’s home together with you, chip in to improve his situation and present a group presentation on the case. That patient will be extremely fortunate.”
Many students spend weeks to find the perfect patient. After they do, many often get rejected mid-way as some patients just aren’t willing to follow through to open up their homes and lives to a stranger. Oh God, I prayed, I need a divine encounter. I don’t just want to pick a patient off a shelf- choose him for me, will you? This could be life-changing.
My team-mates come up to me and tell me, “Hey Wai Jia, why don’t you speak to Mr Z, that patient we met a few days ago? You speak Malay, don’t you? He seems to be the perfect candidate for you.”
Ah well, I thought, perhaps. I didn't get my hopes up. But he was the first patient I spoke to about this project, and he agreed at once. Most students spend weeks to find their project candidate.
To top it all off, I was in shock when my team chose Uncle Z for our group presentation. It meant every student from my team would visit him and chip in to help him out. I had been praying and wishing like mad to get picked, mainly because while I felt so incredibly moved by Uncle Z’s plight, I felt inadequate, helpless, overwhelmed even by his state of affairs.
Uncle Z is unemployed, living in a one-room flat with his wife and child, suffering from congestive heart failure. They have difficulty paying the utility bills every month, and live from day to day. He desperately wants to work, but cannot. He has had multiple operations previously and has been becoming depressed and short of breath of late, losing appetite and weight, too.
Much later, I realized that many of my friends had to spend weeks to find their candidate, and I thanked God silently for arranging that divine encounter on that fateful afternoon.
Uncle Z would tell me, “ I know what I have. I could die anytime.”
"Sabar, Uncle Z... Tuhan yang jagar kamu." I would tell him. Be strong, Uncle Z. God is watching over you. And his face would strengthen into a smile.
What a treasured opportunity, to step into the world of another man, to, for a moment, see the universe through his eyes, understand the sorrow of his suffering, and yet walk right out of his hell, unscathed, with the opportunity to light a candle in his darkness.
To tell you the truth, I knew I hadn’t the strength to enter his world alone. I was afraid, and stressed too. When I decided that he would be my patient for community patient project, I remember praying- I can’t do this alone, God. I’m really scared. And then chiding myself, You’re scared of everything, Woman. Toughen up and just trust God to provide, will you? It’s not your job to save him- leave that to God. Remember what you told him- that God was watching over him?
Leave it to Him I did, and my, did He provide.
In the hospital, we hide behind our intellectual jargon, behind our medical in-jokes and wear our white coats like suits of armour- and nobody knows our little secret, that for some of us, this is all we have to protect ourselves us from entering the terrifying whirlpool of emotions swirling in each patient’s eyes. The naked truth of a patient’s amputated foot, newly diagnosed cancer or chronic illness stares back at us like a tragic subplot, and the glitz and glamour of surgery, the classy ring of our title as doctors (or medical students), and the sound of our all-knowing voices reciting medical conditions like a digital encyclopedia melts into farce in the stark face of reality.
We whiz from ward to ward, gleefully picking up and learning signs and symptoms from patients, discuss and talk about them, take off our white coats and return home.
Sometimes I think, it is not that we are inhuman that we do not take time to delve into every patient's life, look into the swirling mess of each patient's eyes. It is because we are human that we dare not.
But I thank God we have this privilege to visit Uncle Z. He's agreed to meet all ten of us, including our professor at his one-room flat this Sunday afternoon, to help us understand his situation better, and I can't help but think God answered my prayers- for me, and for him.
"It's the fasting month for Muslims, Uncle Z- are you fasting now?"
"No, I'm not. I'm on medication you see, so I can't... But my wife is."
"Don't feel too bad about it, Uncle Z," I say, as I remember many of my muslim friends and patients sharing with me their earnest desire to fast during the religious month, and their mental agony when they can't. "God understands, and He knows your heart. What's important is that you love Him and have faith in Him."
"Thank you so much, Wai Jia... You know, I don't even have a sofa in my home, I hope that's okay for your friends... ... You going to church on Sunday morning, right? Yes, you're a good girl. I'll see you soon, okay? Thank you for coming."
God knew I couldn't walk past Uncle Z's doors alone without wearing my white coat, without going one step too deep into his valley and crossing from professionalism into excessive attachment. So He sent me a team of friends, and we're going to take a few steps deeper into his world, see how we can help Uncle Z.
"No, it's okay, Uncle Z. It's okay that there won't be a sofa. We'll be happy to sit on the floor. Thank YOU for having us, for giving us a chance to learn."
See you on Sunday.
We later found out she was one of the most senior and respected doctor of the cardiology department, and she whizzed us into the intensive care unit of the cardiology unit. “Listen to this patient’s heart murmur,” she said. "You'll learn a lot from this."
I looked into Mr Z’s eyes, to whom the abnormally rackety heart sound belonged to and saw his fatigue, his sadness. His eyes said he was in a precarious situation, and he knew it. Metal things were holding his heart up, clanging and banging against the walls of his vessels and keeping his heart from failing. "These metal valves won't last forever," he tells me, "Yes, you medical students- come listen to my heart. Become good doctors in the future, okay?"
The next day, I went back to see this Malay man.
"I'm so sorry," he says, "that I seemed so grumpy towards you and your friends yesterday. I was just... so tired. So very tired. But I'm okay now and I'm happy to talk to you. You speak Malay well, you know."
A few days later, one of our professors calls us in for a meeting to brief us on a project we are to embark on.
"Many a time as doctors, many of us have little insight into the lives of our patients. Our contact with them is just in that 7 minutes we see them in a clinic, we dispense medication, and expect them to run along with their lives. This project is to help you understand that every patient has a unique socio-cultural and behavioral background that influences the outcome of his illness. It involves you choosing a patient with a chronic illness, visiting his home, understanding his worldview, family dynamics, financial constraints, his concerns, his whole world basically… and coming up with suggestions to help the outcome of his illness. It involves you following him up for 4 months, and submitting a case report."
It was easy to dismiss it as Just Another Project. Except that it wasn’t. Entire families could be, have been touched, transformed through this project every year.
“And yes, every one of you are to select a patient each and pay him a home visit. It’s time consuming, I know, but absolutely necessary. A lucky one of you from each team with the most suitable patient will have your entire team visit your patient’s home together with you, chip in to improve his situation and present a group presentation on the case. That patient will be extremely fortunate.”
Many students spend weeks to find the perfect patient. After they do, many often get rejected mid-way as some patients just aren’t willing to follow through to open up their homes and lives to a stranger. Oh God, I prayed, I need a divine encounter. I don’t just want to pick a patient off a shelf- choose him for me, will you? This could be life-changing.
My team-mates come up to me and tell me, “Hey Wai Jia, why don’t you speak to Mr Z, that patient we met a few days ago? You speak Malay, don’t you? He seems to be the perfect candidate for you.”
Ah well, I thought, perhaps. I didn't get my hopes up. But he was the first patient I spoke to about this project, and he agreed at once. Most students spend weeks to find their project candidate.
To top it all off, I was in shock when my team chose Uncle Z for our group presentation. It meant every student from my team would visit him and chip in to help him out. I had been praying and wishing like mad to get picked, mainly because while I felt so incredibly moved by Uncle Z’s plight, I felt inadequate, helpless, overwhelmed even by his state of affairs.
Uncle Z is unemployed, living in a one-room flat with his wife and child, suffering from congestive heart failure. They have difficulty paying the utility bills every month, and live from day to day. He desperately wants to work, but cannot. He has had multiple operations previously and has been becoming depressed and short of breath of late, losing appetite and weight, too.
Much later, I realized that many of my friends had to spend weeks to find their candidate, and I thanked God silently for arranging that divine encounter on that fateful afternoon.
Uncle Z would tell me, “ I know what I have. I could die anytime.”
"Sabar, Uncle Z... Tuhan yang jagar kamu." I would tell him. Be strong, Uncle Z. God is watching over you. And his face would strengthen into a smile.
What a treasured opportunity, to step into the world of another man, to, for a moment, see the universe through his eyes, understand the sorrow of his suffering, and yet walk right out of his hell, unscathed, with the opportunity to light a candle in his darkness.
To tell you the truth, I knew I hadn’t the strength to enter his world alone. I was afraid, and stressed too. When I decided that he would be my patient for community patient project, I remember praying- I can’t do this alone, God. I’m really scared. And then chiding myself, You’re scared of everything, Woman. Toughen up and just trust God to provide, will you? It’s not your job to save him- leave that to God. Remember what you told him- that God was watching over him?
Leave it to Him I did, and my, did He provide.
In the hospital, we hide behind our intellectual jargon, behind our medical in-jokes and wear our white coats like suits of armour- and nobody knows our little secret, that for some of us, this is all we have to protect ourselves us from entering the terrifying whirlpool of emotions swirling in each patient’s eyes. The naked truth of a patient’s amputated foot, newly diagnosed cancer or chronic illness stares back at us like a tragic subplot, and the glitz and glamour of surgery, the classy ring of our title as doctors (or medical students), and the sound of our all-knowing voices reciting medical conditions like a digital encyclopedia melts into farce in the stark face of reality.
We whiz from ward to ward, gleefully picking up and learning signs and symptoms from patients, discuss and talk about them, take off our white coats and return home.
Sometimes I think, it is not that we are inhuman that we do not take time to delve into every patient's life, look into the swirling mess of each patient's eyes. It is because we are human that we dare not.
But I thank God we have this privilege to visit Uncle Z. He's agreed to meet all ten of us, including our professor at his one-room flat this Sunday afternoon, to help us understand his situation better, and I can't help but think God answered my prayers- for me, and for him.
"It's the fasting month for Muslims, Uncle Z- are you fasting now?"
"No, I'm not. I'm on medication you see, so I can't... But my wife is."
"Don't feel too bad about it, Uncle Z," I say, as I remember many of my muslim friends and patients sharing with me their earnest desire to fast during the religious month, and their mental agony when they can't. "God understands, and He knows your heart. What's important is that you love Him and have faith in Him."
"Thank you so much, Wai Jia... You know, I don't even have a sofa in my home, I hope that's okay for your friends... ... You going to church on Sunday morning, right? Yes, you're a good girl. I'll see you soon, okay? Thank you for coming."
God knew I couldn't walk past Uncle Z's doors alone without wearing my white coat, without going one step too deep into his valley and crossing from professionalism into excessive attachment. So He sent me a team of friends, and we're going to take a few steps deeper into his world, see how we can help Uncle Z.
"No, it's okay, Uncle Z. It's okay that there won't be a sofa. We'll be happy to sit on the floor. Thank YOU for having us, for giving us a chance to learn."
See you on Sunday.
Watch the video from QVC!
Once you are at the page click the on air presentation to view the video.
Encourage your little rocker to decorate her notebooks, book covers, and create colorful posters with these totally cool Hannah Montana and High School Musical stamps! The easy-to-use mount make them perfect to hold. Plus, because they're a cinch to clean, they can be used over and over again! From Disney and Plaid.
Includes two 20-count sheets of Hanna Montana stamps, two 22-count sheets of High School Musical stamps, one CD case, and four 1" x 1" non-toxic ink pads in two cases
Ink pad colors include pink, purple, red and black
Stamp designs mounted on a carrier sheet for convenient storage
CD case doubles as stamp mount/storage case
Ages 6 and up
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Thirsty
Uncle C* lives downstairs, at a unit near a gate which I come home through. We’ve smiled at each other a few times when I pass him by as he does his gardening at his balcony, exchanged polite conversation but more nothing personal.
I was on my way back from hospital one day when he stopped me, “You’re a medical student right? I just wanted to tell you- my family went for a holiday in Tokyo Disneyland two weeks ago, and my wife died there. Yeah, I’m okay, I just wanted to tell you, that’s all.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” I said. That night, I wept for him.
For several months I never saw him again. My busy hospital schedule saw me leaving home at daybreak, and I hardly ever saw him watering his plants anymore. His garden withered, but his dry, fragile plants in their pots still remain.
I had a gathering at my place one night, for some fellowship between doctors and friends, and many sandwiches, muffins, cakes and curry puffs were left over. Something stirred within me to bless his family and I packed a tray full of goodies and some uplifting reading material to deliver to him. As I left my home, holding the precariously heavy tray, I started to cry. Why do I care? He will think I’m crazy, tell me not to feel sorry for him or something. But an inexplicable emotion welled up within me, and I was willing to take the risk, because of how the love of God gripped my heart and captured me.
This time I cried, not because I felt sorry for Uncle C, but because in reaching out to him, I felt God reach out to me, too.
Uncle C wasn’t home, so I left my number with his son.
“Just tell him it’s from the medical student who lives upstairs.”
Though it had been months since we met again, I was sure he remembered me. Two days later, I was walking up the stairs at the train station when I realized that I had missed a call on my phone. Checking who it was from, I realized I hadn’t recognized the number. I reached the train platform, lifted my head up- only to find Uncle C standing right there in front of me! We both jumped, and he said, “I just tried calling you. Just wanted to thank you so much for the food. It was yummy. Ha, it's my first time taking the train to visit a gym today.”
I hadn’t seen him for ages, understand that- and I looked around to check for a cameraman because I thought coincidences like these happen only in drama serials.
I forgot, God’s script always surprises me.
We find ourselves travelling to the same destination, and my mind searches his face and conversation for lonliness, pain and sorrow- but I find none. I ask him how he’s doing, how his children are coping, and he smiles to invite me over for dinner. Just want to thank you, he says, The banana cake you baked was wonderful. I am uncomfortable with this, because having dinner with elderly men who’ve lost their wives isn’t on my list of Things I Do When I’m Free.
But something compels me to agree, and I listen to his Story intently about his wife’s life, and death.
“She just collapsed in Disneyland, you know. We knew she wasn’t feeling too well, but nothing prepared us for the suddenness of which things happened. We called the ambulance, but they didn’t come- in Tokyo, they only dispatch ambulances when they’ve a free bed at a hospital. So they took forever to come, and then, her organs failed and she bled to death,” he said, with only a tinge of sadness.
“She was a chronic drinker for more than ten years. I used to be like a detective, searching out bottles of alcohol she hid around the house. I used to make her all sorts of juices to help her recover…”
“Did she receive counseling?” I asked.
“She’s been through the full works. Alcoholics Anonymous, hospitals, psychiatrists, mental institutes… She just never could put herself together. She always talked about me getting re-married after she died. Somehow, she knew she was dying, killing herself. She couldn’t stop drinking.”
She drank because she was thirsty. But the more she drank, the thirstier she became. It was like a curse of some sort.
It reminded me of God's Banquet Table of Life- that we all come to it, and are blessed because though we hunger and thirst, we are quickly satisfied. And it is not a nuisance to be hungry and thirsty afterwards again, for hunger and thirst is a blessing, too. Once a friend said at a birthday party, “Oh, the food is so lovely that I'm actually sad I’m full!”
It is part of God’s grace, to hunger and thirst, and to be filled. It is also His grace, that we hunger and thirst again, only to find ourselves filled once more. For every experience teaches us something new, and we are nourished by different foods, experiences and trials.
We will do everything we can to fill the holes within us. But we forget, that some holes, we just can’t fill ourselves.
She drank, she kept drinking. But her hole only grew bigger, deeper, darker.
People tried to help her. But nothing worked. Nothing.
And then she died. Bled to death on a family blue-sky getaway to Tokyo Disneyland- right there, in the middle of fun, amusement and laughter. In a place people go to to find a transient high, a moment’s thrill, a passing adventure.
When we look to things and people to satisfy our eternal longings and desires, why do we not realize that we will never be fulfilled.
“ She just couldn't stop drinking. She tried everything. I tried, too. But nothing worked. She just kept drinking-it’s been ten years.”
I feel like Ive suddenly been forced to grow up. I read of alcoholism, pre-marital sex, suicides in the papers, and find more and more people I know being a part of these tragic stories-acquaintances, and friends, too. I never quite get over the shock. Never quite get over the disappointment. We are thirsting, and running to the wrong wells to satisfy our thirst.
Some days, especially on weekends, I find myself thirsting for the wrong things too. For attention, for love, for companionship, work or merely something to occupy my senses with, forgetting that I can be completely secure in God’s love. On Saturdays, I sometimes find myself itching to return to the hospital, as I thirst for the stability of routine, for the company of friends, for the treasure of knowledge from patients. My throat becomes parched with desperation and I scramble to have my thirst relieved.
They say that thirst is worse than hunger. For one cannot go without water for long.
Are you thirsty, too?
In the heat of the desert, I think I see an oasis in the distance. I think it’s a mirage but as I go closer, I see a Banquet Table, with Him right there waiting for me.
At the end of an overwhelming day, after running mindlessly to all the wrong wells, I find myself all at once, relieved, to find myself taking a drink from Him. He hands me a cup, and I am giddy with relief. It has been a hot season of summer, but all I need is a tiny sip, and I am, all at once, completely satisfied.
I come to His table, and find myself at once in that glorious moment, thirsting no more.
“On the last day, that day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying,
-John 7:37
I was on my way back from hospital one day when he stopped me, “You’re a medical student right? I just wanted to tell you- my family went for a holiday in Tokyo Disneyland two weeks ago, and my wife died there. Yeah, I’m okay, I just wanted to tell you, that’s all.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry,” I said. That night, I wept for him.
For several months I never saw him again. My busy hospital schedule saw me leaving home at daybreak, and I hardly ever saw him watering his plants anymore. His garden withered, but his dry, fragile plants in their pots still remain.
I had a gathering at my place one night, for some fellowship between doctors and friends, and many sandwiches, muffins, cakes and curry puffs were left over. Something stirred within me to bless his family and I packed a tray full of goodies and some uplifting reading material to deliver to him. As I left my home, holding the precariously heavy tray, I started to cry. Why do I care? He will think I’m crazy, tell me not to feel sorry for him or something. But an inexplicable emotion welled up within me, and I was willing to take the risk, because of how the love of God gripped my heart and captured me.
This time I cried, not because I felt sorry for Uncle C, but because in reaching out to him, I felt God reach out to me, too.
Uncle C wasn’t home, so I left my number with his son.
“Just tell him it’s from the medical student who lives upstairs.”
Though it had been months since we met again, I was sure he remembered me. Two days later, I was walking up the stairs at the train station when I realized that I had missed a call on my phone. Checking who it was from, I realized I hadn’t recognized the number. I reached the train platform, lifted my head up- only to find Uncle C standing right there in front of me! We both jumped, and he said, “I just tried calling you. Just wanted to thank you so much for the food. It was yummy. Ha, it's my first time taking the train to visit a gym today.”
I hadn’t seen him for ages, understand that- and I looked around to check for a cameraman because I thought coincidences like these happen only in drama serials.
I forgot, God’s script always surprises me.
We find ourselves travelling to the same destination, and my mind searches his face and conversation for lonliness, pain and sorrow- but I find none. I ask him how he’s doing, how his children are coping, and he smiles to invite me over for dinner. Just want to thank you, he says, The banana cake you baked was wonderful. I am uncomfortable with this, because having dinner with elderly men who’ve lost their wives isn’t on my list of Things I Do When I’m Free.
But something compels me to agree, and I listen to his Story intently about his wife’s life, and death.
“She just collapsed in Disneyland, you know. We knew she wasn’t feeling too well, but nothing prepared us for the suddenness of which things happened. We called the ambulance, but they didn’t come- in Tokyo, they only dispatch ambulances when they’ve a free bed at a hospital. So they took forever to come, and then, her organs failed and she bled to death,” he said, with only a tinge of sadness.
“She was a chronic drinker for more than ten years. I used to be like a detective, searching out bottles of alcohol she hid around the house. I used to make her all sorts of juices to help her recover…”
“Did she receive counseling?” I asked.
“She’s been through the full works. Alcoholics Anonymous, hospitals, psychiatrists, mental institutes… She just never could put herself together. She always talked about me getting re-married after she died. Somehow, she knew she was dying, killing herself. She couldn’t stop drinking.”
She drank because she was thirsty. But the more she drank, the thirstier she became. It was like a curse of some sort.
It reminded me of God's Banquet Table of Life- that we all come to it, and are blessed because though we hunger and thirst, we are quickly satisfied. And it is not a nuisance to be hungry and thirsty afterwards again, for hunger and thirst is a blessing, too. Once a friend said at a birthday party, “Oh, the food is so lovely that I'm actually sad I’m full!”
It is part of God’s grace, to hunger and thirst, and to be filled. It is also His grace, that we hunger and thirst again, only to find ourselves filled once more. For every experience teaches us something new, and we are nourished by different foods, experiences and trials.
We will do everything we can to fill the holes within us. But we forget, that some holes, we just can’t fill ourselves.
She drank, she kept drinking. But her hole only grew bigger, deeper, darker.
People tried to help her. But nothing worked. Nothing.
And then she died. Bled to death on a family blue-sky getaway to Tokyo Disneyland- right there, in the middle of fun, amusement and laughter. In a place people go to to find a transient high, a moment’s thrill, a passing adventure.
When we look to things and people to satisfy our eternal longings and desires, why do we not realize that we will never be fulfilled.
“ She just couldn't stop drinking. She tried everything. I tried, too. But nothing worked. She just kept drinking-it’s been ten years.”
I feel like Ive suddenly been forced to grow up. I read of alcoholism, pre-marital sex, suicides in the papers, and find more and more people I know being a part of these tragic stories-acquaintances, and friends, too. I never quite get over the shock. Never quite get over the disappointment. We are thirsting, and running to the wrong wells to satisfy our thirst.
Some days, especially on weekends, I find myself thirsting for the wrong things too. For attention, for love, for companionship, work or merely something to occupy my senses with, forgetting that I can be completely secure in God’s love. On Saturdays, I sometimes find myself itching to return to the hospital, as I thirst for the stability of routine, for the company of friends, for the treasure of knowledge from patients. My throat becomes parched with desperation and I scramble to have my thirst relieved.
They say that thirst is worse than hunger. For one cannot go without water for long.
Are you thirsty, too?
In the heat of the desert, I think I see an oasis in the distance. I think it’s a mirage but as I go closer, I see a Banquet Table, with Him right there waiting for me.
At the end of an overwhelming day, after running mindlessly to all the wrong wells, I find myself all at once, relieved, to find myself taking a drink from Him. He hands me a cup, and I am giddy with relief. It has been a hot season of summer, but all I need is a tiny sip, and I am, all at once, completely satisfied.
I come to His table, and find myself at once in that glorious moment, thirsting no more.
“On the last day, that day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying,
“ If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.”
-John 7:37
Hotel Coffee & Christmas Decorations
High School Musical Stamps from PlaidI love this set!
It is 5:40 am my time so a HUGE cup of coffee is in order. The coffee is good (Eddie would call it mud) and the buffet breakfast is a biscuit and odd egg combo. It is delicious. The lobby is filled with so much Holiday Hoopla that It feels like Christmas eve. If you get a chance - tune it today at 2:00 eastern to QVC.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Maybe Next Year.
I think I surprised a number of my friends, when I made my decision. I surprised myself, even. It was a tough choice to make, but it sits well and my soul resounds with peace.
It was that time of the year again where auditions for our faculty play was on. With much anticipation and excitement, I participated in the auditions. Just give it a shot, I thought.
I was offered the main role, and was given time to confirm my acceptance. A year ago, I knew I would have jumped at the chance. To be in theatre acting, conveying a message, dissolving into the life of a Stranger whose life has a Story to tell, a memory to unfold, and presenting it to an audience in the elegant simplicity of voice and movement, sound and light- must be one of the most exhilarating experiences I know, and enjoy. There is something exquisitely liberating about theatre, and the stage.
I think I surprised a number of my friends, when I made my decision.
I surprised myself, even. It was a tough choice to make, but it sits well and my soul resounds with peace.
I declined the offer. It would take a long time to distill all the reasons. And I hardly feel compelled to explain myself, even. For it sits well with me, and my soul resounds with peace.
For this is a different season. Winter and spring have gone, and summer is here. Summer is taking stock of Recovery. It is realising my primary call in medicine, and giving my priorities my all. Summer is ripening under the heat, and maximising my resources for fruit of eternal value.
It's not that I've turned my back on on the theatre stage. But tis a different season, that's all.
A season where I'm learning to be smaller, humbler, more focused, more human and less of a superwoman. A season where I'm learning to go into the inside rooms to tidy things up, rather than spending my time keeping the outside rooms emmaculate for the world to see. A season where I'm learning to find joy and value, not in big things flooded in the limelight and decorated with flowers and showered with confetti, but in the little things- like studying my list of medical conditions well, like enjoying the time I spend with my team-mates at the hospital, like giving the patients I meet my time, like going up to an elderly patient and helping him with his breakfast, because he's got his kaya-and-butter spread all over his intravenous drip and himself.
It's not that I've turned my back on the theatre stage. But tis a different season.
And though it was a tough choice to make, a wrestle between my mind and flesh, a tussle between both principle and reason, a struggle between two ends, I am learning, that for some decisions, there isn't necessarily always a right one-only the one God calls us to make, the one we ask Him to reveal to us, the one we open our hearts and ears to listen to. I hardly slept much that night- I was thinking, thinking and praying about things. It sounds silly, to think so hard about an apparently trivial matter- but I wanted to hear God's whisper. You will find me when you seek me with all your heart.
Something was stirring within me. Something, something, something I could not quite place my finger on stirred. Give me a sign, speak to me God- through a person, through things, through my peace in my heart.
The next day, with a heavy heart, I decide to speak to my pastor to share with her some of the concerns I had on my mind of late. From a distance, she embraces me with open arms and says, " Wai Jia! I want to introduce to you to someone! Here, this lady wants to speak to you- she's looking to publish someone who writes wholesome children's books."
One door closes. Because another one opens.
I don't know where I'll go from here. I have learnt not to rush into things on impulse, not to take to much into my own hands- for it is wiser to be prudent, and allow oneself to be swept away by God, than to run one step too many ahead of Him and be swept back, right where one started.
But all I know, is that I am starting to write and paint again. It is in my head. The paintings and writings are on my feet, in my lungs, on my palms, in my heart, in my head, on the train. I even see them when I lay my head to rest. They are in my head. What I will do with them, I do not yet know- I'll have to have a word with my secret Friend first.
Tis the season to enter into the inside room, inside the Train carriages of life.
Tis a different season. To go into the inside rooms, to be quieter, humbler, more grounded. Tis not that I've abandoned my passion for theatre. Tis not that I've turned my back on the stage, scripts and all its elegant devices. Tis not that I've become a workaholic, because do you still call what you find delight, enjoyment and excitement in, work, still?
I know my decision has surprised a number of people around me, but this feels right for this season, and it sits well in my soul.
It is the season to go into the inside room, where the lights are dimmer, where the sounds are quieter, and where God's voice is softer, and yet, clearer, too.
It is not that I've abandoned the theatre stage.
Maybe next year. When it's a different season.
It was that time of the year again where auditions for our faculty play was on. With much anticipation and excitement, I participated in the auditions. Just give it a shot, I thought.
I was offered the main role, and was given time to confirm my acceptance. A year ago, I knew I would have jumped at the chance. To be in theatre acting, conveying a message, dissolving into the life of a Stranger whose life has a Story to tell, a memory to unfold, and presenting it to an audience in the elegant simplicity of voice and movement, sound and light- must be one of the most exhilarating experiences I know, and enjoy. There is something exquisitely liberating about theatre, and the stage.
I think I surprised a number of my friends, when I made my decision.
I surprised myself, even. It was a tough choice to make, but it sits well and my soul resounds with peace.
I declined the offer. It would take a long time to distill all the reasons. And I hardly feel compelled to explain myself, even. For it sits well with me, and my soul resounds with peace.
For this is a different season. Winter and spring have gone, and summer is here. Summer is taking stock of Recovery. It is realising my primary call in medicine, and giving my priorities my all. Summer is ripening under the heat, and maximising my resources for fruit of eternal value.
It's not that I've turned my back on on the theatre stage. But tis a different season, that's all.
A season where I'm learning to be smaller, humbler, more focused, more human and less of a superwoman. A season where I'm learning to go into the inside rooms to tidy things up, rather than spending my time keeping the outside rooms emmaculate for the world to see. A season where I'm learning to find joy and value, not in big things flooded in the limelight and decorated with flowers and showered with confetti, but in the little things- like studying my list of medical conditions well, like enjoying the time I spend with my team-mates at the hospital, like giving the patients I meet my time, like going up to an elderly patient and helping him with his breakfast, because he's got his kaya-and-butter spread all over his intravenous drip and himself.
It's not that I've turned my back on the theatre stage. But tis a different season.
And though it was a tough choice to make, a wrestle between my mind and flesh, a tussle between both principle and reason, a struggle between two ends, I am learning, that for some decisions, there isn't necessarily always a right one-only the one God calls us to make, the one we ask Him to reveal to us, the one we open our hearts and ears to listen to. I hardly slept much that night- I was thinking, thinking and praying about things. It sounds silly, to think so hard about an apparently trivial matter- but I wanted to hear God's whisper. You will find me when you seek me with all your heart.
Something was stirring within me. Something, something, something I could not quite place my finger on stirred. Give me a sign, speak to me God- through a person, through things, through my peace in my heart.
The next day, with a heavy heart, I decide to speak to my pastor to share with her some of the concerns I had on my mind of late. From a distance, she embraces me with open arms and says, " Wai Jia! I want to introduce to you to someone! Here, this lady wants to speak to you- she's looking to publish someone who writes wholesome children's books."
One door closes. Because another one opens.
I don't know where I'll go from here. I have learnt not to rush into things on impulse, not to take to much into my own hands- for it is wiser to be prudent, and allow oneself to be swept away by God, than to run one step too many ahead of Him and be swept back, right where one started.
But all I know, is that I am starting to write and paint again. It is in my head. The paintings and writings are on my feet, in my lungs, on my palms, in my heart, in my head, on the train. I even see them when I lay my head to rest. They are in my head. What I will do with them, I do not yet know- I'll have to have a word with my secret Friend first.
Tis the season to enter into the inside room, inside the Train carriages of life.
Tis a different season. To go into the inside rooms, to be quieter, humbler, more grounded. Tis not that I've abandoned my passion for theatre. Tis not that I've turned my back on the stage, scripts and all its elegant devices. Tis not that I've become a workaholic, because do you still call what you find delight, enjoyment and excitement in, work, still?
I know my decision has surprised a number of people around me, but this feels right for this season, and it sits well in my soul.
It is the season to go into the inside room, where the lights are dimmer, where the sounds are quieter, and where God's voice is softer, and yet, clearer, too.
It is not that I've abandoned the theatre stage.
Maybe next year. When it's a different season.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Open Letter to my Realtor :)
September 23, 2008
Dear Michael,
THANK YOU for all of your help in finding us our new home and dealing with all the paperwork and details that goes along with it.
When we set out to look for our first home we had such an unusual set of circumstances: we needed a large home office, a craft/art studio space, wanted 3 bedrooms, we were on a very set budget and we wanted an open loft feel in a home. Most people would say we were dreaming, but you kept on looking and trekking out to look at homes with us, even to neighborhoods we did not know much about.
I will never forget some of the “fixers” (I call them dumps) we looked at and some of the “almost at our budget” dream homes we saw. You never gave up on us, even when we took a break from looking, we always new you had our backs.
Of course, I will never forget when we saw our home for the first time and as the realization that we had found "the one" set in we were so excited to get in.
As we begin to settle in our new space, we could not be more thrilled! We got our open floor plan, more office and craft space than we had, a stunning kitchen, 3 bedrooms and finally I got my first dishwasher. We are so happy with journey and the outcome.
If you ever need a reference, please don’t hesitate to call on Eddie or myself.
Thanks so much!
Cathie Filian
Happy Homeowner Thanks to Michael Maloney
The Scoop:
Michael Maloney
Keller Williams Realty
4652 Hollywood Blvd
LA CA 90027
(323) 842-9687
website: michael maloney at keller williams
Monday, September 22, 2008
High School Musical & Hanna Montana Rubber Stamps on QVC
Do you have kiddos that are Hanna Montana and High School Musical crazy? If so...get a head start on holiday shopping during the Holiday Hanna & HSM Hour on QVC with me! I be featuring a huge set of rubber stamps and project ideas.
Tune into QVC this Thursday (Sept 25th) at 2:00 eastern!
The stamp set includes over 40 different HSM & Hanna stamps. The set comes complete with an CD case mount, 2 different ink pads (4 colors total) and an idea sheet. Perfect stocking stuffer or you can make your own gifts with this set.
High School Musical 3 premieres October 24th!
For more stamps and to check out other design ideas click here for HSM and here for Hanna.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
White Flag.
When countries go to war, the armies carry flags with them. Their flags represent their identities, their power and their pride. It means to attack, signifying a confident victory. It is only those who lose, who surrender, who carry white flags. No country has a white flag as their national symbol- flags always have symbolic colours, emblems, crests.
Just a few weeks ago, I found myself on my steady steed, clad in my battered armour and going to battle again. I held my trusty sword in one hand and held my flag up in the other, flying high. I was fighting valiantly, or so I thought, and acutely aware of the struggle within me.
God, you there for me? You fighting with me?
I'm learning that those with the strongest of faiths aren't those who don't struggle with doubts, but rather, overcome them and continue to believe even in spite of them. The journey of faith doesn't end at the beginning, and one often finds oneself thrust yet again into the wilderness, but thankful for the strengthening at the passing of every desert.
I was putting one sword thrust ahead of the other when a White dove whispered to me in the thick of the action, "Trust God. Woman, you have to let go and trust God."
To trust, one must first believe that He on the other end exists, and this can take a remarkable amount of faith, depending on how long you've been cruising on the wrong side of the road, or the number of times you find yourself -just- missing the bus.
It frightens me tremendously to think too far into the future. Miss I-can-kill-four-cockroaches-in-one-sitting-without-a-whimper is scared out of her wits as she contemplates the Uncertain unknown, and longs to read the pages written out for all the days of her life. It is frightening for most of us, I think, to wander too far into the unknown. "It drives me crazy, too," a friend confided. "Best recipe for a sleepless, teary night."
I've had a record number of people ask me in the past month whether or not I am in a relationship. And I always very, very politely tell them no, after which I try to change the topic as deftly as possible. There're no pitfalls to this innocent questioning and warm concern of course, except that at the wrong time, it does have the potential to trigger a domino effect of a frightfully formidable barrage of anxious thoughts about The Uncertain Future, as mission work and career path and marriage and family and ministry all collide in a nebulous mess.
The odds are against me, I'm not capable enough for this kind of work, what specialty will I major in, will I be a good missionary doctor, will I Recover before I graduate, which developing country will I be going to, will my life partner ever discover me, what if nobody ever loves me, will I ever be a good wife and mother and doctor, will I ever relapse, I'm afraid to go alone- what about my kids, what if my life calling changes... So you get the idea.
I was fighting so valiantly, or so I thought, until the point I was thrown off my horse and my flag felt out of my hand, when I heard the White dove whsiper to me, "Trust God. Because it is only when you trust that you can Surrender."
Surrender what, and whatever for? I thought.
I lay flat on the ground, my horse took flight, and I winced as I saw his hooves trample over the flag I held with such pride.
My flag representing my identity made me feel proud, victorious. It represented who I was, where I came from. On the ground, I was in shock, and then I realised... that the enemy I was fighting with all my life wasn't evil at all. In fact, they were angels on white chariots, and they weren't on the attack.
For all my anxiety, worry and resistance, I realised that I had been struggling and battling with God Himself.
We struggle, only because we do not trust. I hadn't realised, that for all my talk about God's love for us, I hadn't trusted Him with my Uncertain Future... my future dreams, career path, life partner, mission field, ministry. I had too many doubts about even making it that far.
And I forgot, that the day I found God, I also agreed to be a part of His family, His Good Camp, which means flying His flag, not mine.
So many of us claim to believe and trust in God, and yet unknowingly enter into battles carrying our own flags- our own wills and intentions. We are full of mistrust in a God we can neither see nor hear, to take interest or control over our future lives. These battles always take place in the wilderness. And until we realise it is we who are on the wrong territory, carrying the wrong flag, we continue to be plagued by overwhelming fretfulness.
One night I sat to think about what heaven looked like. They say a rainbow surrounds God's throne- which, I thought to myself, when mixed together, should scientifically give you... White light.
The best flag for me to carry as a citizen of heaven would then be... White, I thought.
A White flag, one of Surrender. How apt, I thought. As a citizen of God's kingdom, shouldn't that be the flag I bear, the colour of a mixed-up rainbow around his throne, one that signifies my surrender to Him?
It's not easy. And I find myself fighting these battles every day.
The same questions crop up, and they threaten to emblazon their own emblems on my White flag. I ask a question other people already know the answer to at the hospital and find myself doubting my abilities. I watch yet another friend get attached and find myself asking God the same questions. I listen to yet another missionary doctor tell me about his life and wonder if I will ever find a female equivalent of a role model, if I will ever make it that far.
Nonetheless, I am finding myself fighting a different sort of battle- not against the army of white chariots, but that of fighting to keep my flag White, pristine.
Only that I realise it isn't quite a fight at all. Because my flag, with all its crests, emblems, colours emblazoned upon it, just like how our worries, anxieties and doubts of life graffiti our minds, turns White, pure White, the moment I release the reins and tumble down my horse, let go of my sword, and simply... Surrender.
Just a few weeks ago, I found myself on my steady steed, clad in my battered armour and going to battle again. I held my trusty sword in one hand and held my flag up in the other, flying high. I was fighting valiantly, or so I thought, and acutely aware of the struggle within me.
God, you there for me? You fighting with me?
I'm learning that those with the strongest of faiths aren't those who don't struggle with doubts, but rather, overcome them and continue to believe even in spite of them. The journey of faith doesn't end at the beginning, and one often finds oneself thrust yet again into the wilderness, but thankful for the strengthening at the passing of every desert.
I was putting one sword thrust ahead of the other when a White dove whispered to me in the thick of the action, "Trust God. Woman, you have to let go and trust God."
To trust, one must first believe that He on the other end exists, and this can take a remarkable amount of faith, depending on how long you've been cruising on the wrong side of the road, or the number of times you find yourself -just- missing the bus.
It frightens me tremendously to think too far into the future. Miss I-can-kill-four-cockroaches-in-one-sitting-without-a-whimper is scared out of her wits as she contemplates the Uncertain unknown, and longs to read the pages written out for all the days of her life. It is frightening for most of us, I think, to wander too far into the unknown. "It drives me crazy, too," a friend confided. "Best recipe for a sleepless, teary night."
I've had a record number of people ask me in the past month whether or not I am in a relationship. And I always very, very politely tell them no, after which I try to change the topic as deftly as possible. There're no pitfalls to this innocent questioning and warm concern of course, except that at the wrong time, it does have the potential to trigger a domino effect of a frightfully formidable barrage of anxious thoughts about The Uncertain Future, as mission work and career path and marriage and family and ministry all collide in a nebulous mess.
The odds are against me, I'm not capable enough for this kind of work, what specialty will I major in, will I be a good missionary doctor, will I Recover before I graduate, which developing country will I be going to, will my life partner ever discover me, what if nobody ever loves me, will I ever be a good wife and mother and doctor, will I ever relapse, I'm afraid to go alone- what about my kids, what if my life calling changes... So you get the idea.
I was fighting so valiantly, or so I thought, until the point I was thrown off my horse and my flag felt out of my hand, when I heard the White dove whsiper to me, "Trust God. Because it is only when you trust that you can Surrender."
Surrender what, and whatever for? I thought.
I lay flat on the ground, my horse took flight, and I winced as I saw his hooves trample over the flag I held with such pride.
My flag representing my identity made me feel proud, victorious. It represented who I was, where I came from. On the ground, I was in shock, and then I realised... that the enemy I was fighting with all my life wasn't evil at all. In fact, they were angels on white chariots, and they weren't on the attack.
For all my anxiety, worry and resistance, I realised that I had been struggling and battling with God Himself.
We struggle, only because we do not trust. I hadn't realised, that for all my talk about God's love for us, I hadn't trusted Him with my Uncertain Future... my future dreams, career path, life partner, mission field, ministry. I had too many doubts about even making it that far.
And I forgot, that the day I found God, I also agreed to be a part of His family, His Good Camp, which means flying His flag, not mine.
So many of us claim to believe and trust in God, and yet unknowingly enter into battles carrying our own flags- our own wills and intentions. We are full of mistrust in a God we can neither see nor hear, to take interest or control over our future lives. These battles always take place in the wilderness. And until we realise it is we who are on the wrong territory, carrying the wrong flag, we continue to be plagued by overwhelming fretfulness.
One night I sat to think about what heaven looked like. They say a rainbow surrounds God's throne- which, I thought to myself, when mixed together, should scientifically give you... White light.
The best flag for me to carry as a citizen of heaven would then be... White, I thought.
A White flag, one of Surrender. How apt, I thought. As a citizen of God's kingdom, shouldn't that be the flag I bear, the colour of a mixed-up rainbow around his throne, one that signifies my surrender to Him?
It's not easy. And I find myself fighting these battles every day.
The same questions crop up, and they threaten to emblazon their own emblems on my White flag. I ask a question other people already know the answer to at the hospital and find myself doubting my abilities. I watch yet another friend get attached and find myself asking God the same questions. I listen to yet another missionary doctor tell me about his life and wonder if I will ever find a female equivalent of a role model, if I will ever make it that far.
Nonetheless, I am finding myself fighting a different sort of battle- not against the army of white chariots, but that of fighting to keep my flag White, pristine.
Only that I realise it isn't quite a fight at all. Because my flag, with all its crests, emblems, colours emblazoned upon it, just like how our worries, anxieties and doubts of life graffiti our minds, turns White, pure White, the moment I release the reins and tumble down my horse, let go of my sword, and simply... Surrender.
And at that moment, nothing else matters. Not yesterday, tomorrow, or the many tomorrows, packed with their unfulfilled dreams, insecurities and concerns. Nothing else matters, and my shoulders no longer feel the burden of my heavy armoured suit bearing down upon my aching shoulders.
My White flag helps me face Today with trust.
And I can live Today again, with ease and thanksgiving, with the breeze caressing my hair and the wind catching the lightness of my White dress.
Indeed, how our greatest Surrender becomes our sweetest Victory.
"Surrender your self to God, with His rest at the heart of your being... And once this is done, the remainder of your life will exhibit nothing but the evidence of this surrender, and you never need to be concerned again with what the future may hold for you. Whatever your circumstances may be, God is totally sufficient."
-Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest
"Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself."
-Matthew 6:34
Saturday, September 20, 2008
bake it: Freezing Avocados
In our new house we are so fortunate to have a large avocado tree in our back yard. I have been exploring ways to keep avocados longer so I can have a supply on hand for guacamole, sandwiches and salads.
I have determined the best way to keep them is to freeze them with a little lemon juice.
To freeze, mash the avocados with a fork. Add one teaspoon lime or lemon juice per avocado and mix well. Place the mashed avocados into a freeze-weight zip lock bag. Remove the air from the bag and then zip closed and freeze. Store for up to 2 months. Thaw the frozen avocados in the refrigerator.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Max and Striker Try on Wigs
In the spirit of Mommy's new book, Max decides to model his new wig from Target. (Halloween section $4.99)
Striker is enjoying the profile view of the wig and thinks it looks quite natural.
Max is feeling a little drunk.
Wild times with the wig.
Striker is feeling like pink might not be his color....
Striker is beginning to feel a little silly.
Max really loves his long locks.
Peace Out!
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