Tim and Olive's Blog

Tides of surf roll on the sand
Wipes the marks of many hands
Thus the one thing that survives
Bears the truth of many tries

Sand does not give way to waves
Only through the day to day
Steady workings of the wave
Only then are beaches made

Visible this work is not
Trades these waves are never taught
God’s the only one who sees
Him alone our waves should please

~Author Unknown

Out of all the heartwrenching stories I’ve heard so far about the survivors of the China earthquake, this one touches me the most. I actually didn’t see the photo myself, but my mom told me about it and even in my mind’s eye, it’s a devestatingly beautiful picture.

Apparently, in one of the rescue efforts, workers found a baby still alive in his mother’s lap. The mother had used her body as a shelter to ward off the falling bricks and pieces of debris. In the process, she lost her life. But her baby lived. And somehow, before life slipped away from her, she’d managed to scribble out a note. On a scrap of paper, she’d written, “Son, if someone finds you and you’re alive, please know that your mother loves you very much.”

I can’t even begin to imagine the magnitude and impact this one note will have on the life of this child. I would think that every day of his life would be shaped by the knowledge that his mother gave up her life for him.

And I marvel: if this is what human love is capable of, how much greater is the love of God our Father, who gave His Son for us?

We are finite, God is infinite.
Our sins are finite, God’s grace is
infinite.

~ Bruxy Cavey

It’s so comforting and encouraging to know that there is a limit to the sins, mistakes and failures we can make in one lifetime. And that in contrast, God’s grace is limitless.

(On a tangent, did you know that the word “forgiveness” is only mentioned once in the Old Testament? That’s the difference Christ makes.)

I really detest moving. Maybe it’s because I’m a deep feeler or a sentimental sap, but letting go of familiar people and things is just really difficult for me.

After lunch today, I decided it was time to take some photos of my set design models (otherwise known as maquettes) and say good-bye to them. So I went downstairs to the basement, retrieved them from their dusty little corner and brought them up into the light where I could get some good pictures of them. Being satisfied with the pictures I took, I went ahead and cleared the set pieces off the “stages” and started ripping apart the walls of the boxes.

I had four of them in total – pretty much all that I had to show for my four years in university. Two of them were particularly well done with lots of minute detail painstakingly formed and painted. One was my graduating project; my thesis, if you will. Hours and hours of time had gone into them. And in a matter of minutes, they’d become a pile of bent foamcore, paper, dried glue and paint.

It wasn’t until I threw the last piece into the garbage bag that I was suddenly horrified by what I had done: I had just destroyed my own creation. Grief had never felt that sharp to me as it did in that moment. It was as if my theatre dream died along with those models.

I know maquettes are really minor things in light of eternity. But I really wonder whether God feels that kind of grief when He watches thousands upon thousands of people die, or millions of souls heading to destruction. Perhaps that’s why He made the promise to Noah that He would never flood the entire earth again – it’s just too painful to destroy one’s own work.

And going through this experience, I have greater compassion for those whose homes were demolished by the earthquake and cyclone. How deep their sense of loss must be.

Tim: I think you need some inspiration, Olive. To help you dream again.

Me: Yeah… I dunno. I think I’m afraid to dream. Because I feel like all my past dreams have been laid aside. Like what’s the point of dreaming yet another dream if it doesn’t come to fruition?

Tim: So do you feel like you’ve had a choice in it, or that God has taken your dreams away?

Me: Well, I feel like I’ve been convinced by God of a dream and then He’s presented a better choice, so I’ve chosen to go with that. It’s weird I know, like I’m grieving the loss of something even though what I have is better.

Tim: You see these dreams as a to-do list?!?!

Me: Yeah, I do. And I think, why go dream another dream when I have these half-started ones yet incomplete?

Tim: Well, you don’t seem to have a problem with leaving books unfinished. You’ve always got several on the go.

Me: Hmmm…

Tim: So maybe it’s the same with these dreams. You can have several pages read now and then you might come back to it later. God knows you have a high need for change, so He’s helping you meet that need.

Me: =)

Exerpted from No Wonder They Call Him Saviour – by Max Lucado.

Before we bid good-bye to those present at the cross, I have one more introduction to make. This introduction is very special.

There was one group in attendance that day [of the crucifixion] whose role was critical. They didn’t speak much, but they were there. Few noticed them, but that’s not surprising. Their very nature is so silent they are often overlooked. In fact, the gospel writers scarcely game them a reference. But we know they were there. They had to be. They had a job to do.

Yes, this representation did much more than witness hte divine drama; they expressed it. They captured it. They displayed the despair of Peter; they betrayed the guilt of Pilate and unveiled the anguish of Judas. They transmitted John’s confusion and translated Mary’s compassion.

Their prime role, however, was with that of the Messiah. With utter delicacy and tenderness, they offered relief to his pain and expression to his yearning.

Who am I describing? You may be surprised.

Tears.

Those tiny drops of humanity. Those round, wet balls of fluid that tumble from our eyes, creep down our cheeks and splash on the floor of our hearts. They were there thay day. They are always present at such times. They should be, that’s their job. They are miniature messengers; on call twenty-four hours a day to substitute for crippled words. They drip, drop and pour from the corners of our souls, carrying with them the deepest emotions we possess. They tumble down our faces with announcements that range from the most blissful joy to darkest despair.

The principle is simple; when words are most empty, tears are most apt.

A tearstain on a letter says much more than the sum of all its words. A tear falling on a casket says what a spoken farewell never could. What summons a mother’s compassion and concern more quickly than a tear on a child’s cheek? What gives more support than a sympathetic tear on the face of a friend?

Words failed the day the Saviour was slain. They failed miserably. What words could have been uttered? What phrases could have possibly expressed the feelings of those involved?

That task, my friend, was left for the tears.

I learned something new today: grief is not the same as mourning.

Grief is a sudden wave of sadness. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, you can be walking along, turn the corner, and run smack into it.

Mourning, on the other hand, is like a garment that your soul wears. It’s understated but constantly there. And once in a while, you catch glimpses of it.

Sometimes, I wake up these days and feel blue for seemingly no reason. Since I’m just over a month away from moving from the city I’ve called “home” for my whole 27 years on earth so far, my counselor says my soul is in mourning. And those mornings when I wake up and feel blue, I catch a glimpse of my soul that’s been mourning throughout the night.

My counselor also said that grief and mourning are actually invitations to life. I’m not completely sure what that means, but I know Jesus, who is Life, promised comfort for those who mourn.

A recent image that has given me strength is a picture of a banquet table, laden with lots of dishes, platters and bowls. They’re filled to overflowing, but not with food. In one vessel, there is “joy”, in another, “peace”. Another plate has a heap of “strength,” another dish has “perspective” and so on.

God is the Dad who has prepared this lavish meal and has called me down to eat with a hearty “sik fan la!” (for those who don’t know cantonese, that’s like “dinnertime!”) I’m free to come and take whatever I need whenever I feel “hungry.” I can also come rummage through His kitchen at any time of the day or night. Or if I have friends over, I can feel free to feed them too. This image has been a wonderfully uplifting reminder to me that I have all the resources I need to cope with whatever I’m feeling or facing in the moment. His grace truly IS sufficient.

That’s right, I’m a closet addict and I’m coming clean now. It might not be the kind of addiction you’re used to hearing about, but it’s sapping the life out of me and I need to get out.

I’m an approval addict.

God has exposed this stronghold in my heart and I’m going into a period of rehabilitation. I’ve been using my writing, my blogs, my updates and newsletters as a secret way of feeding this addiction. I’ve been trying to satisfy my cravings with praises of people when only the opinion of Lord Himself matters.

This idolatry has to stop.

So I’m going cold turkey until my heart is free from the need to build my worth upon people’s opinions about me.

Thanks for sticking with me this far. I have hope that I will be back blogging again someday. I really do love writing and seeing God use it to bless. In the meantime, if God brings me to your mind, please say a prayer for me. I know God will use this time of silence for the good of all of us.

Having spent at least 2/3rds of our courtship so far being long-distance, Tim and I have rather enjoyed the wonderful invention of the webcam. Not only do we get to talk to each other (and for free, too, thanks to another wonderful invention called Skype), we get to see each other while we talk. It’s as if all those miles and timezones between us melt away.

Almost.

The rare occasions when we’ve gotten to see each other in person, we realize how much richer the experience is when we’re face-to-face, not separated by a screen. We appreciate the other person’s being and presence to a fuller extent.

I often think about this and relate it to the passage in 1 Corinthians where Paul talks about seeing God face-to-face. How absolutely glorious it will be when we get to stand in His real and actual presence! How delightful it will be to begin to fully appreciate the fullness of Who He is!

So, if I may paraphrase this passage in today’s language, it would be…