in His time

I took these photos on Sunday, February 24th, 2008. Returning from a heavy burdened Reading Week, I drove by the lake after dropping my friend off at Chown. I parked my car after the frozen lake and sunset caught my breath.

It was sublime. I walked out onto the lake for the very first time. It was beautiful.

I love God's sunsets and sunrises. I used to envy how God could have an endless canvas to mix beautiful colours of brilliant shades together. He makes all things beautiful.

life is stranger than fiction

Just when I thought life couldn't get any sadder, it did.

My mom called me in my residence room last night to let me know that her father, my grandfather, had passed away from a heart attack in his sleep.

It took a little time for the tears to come, but they came.

I'm very thankful that I visited my grandparents over Reading Week. When I had opened his door, he had answered gruffly, but as soon as he saw it was his only granddaughter, he became so happy. He would only speak in English, even though I replied in Chinese. When I commented on his "very good English," he smiled shyly and laughed at himself saying he wasn't very good. I laughed along, assuring him that it was very clear and understandable. It made me happy to see him so happy.

One thing my brother and I have always been concerned about is his salvation. And to this day, it remains questionable. He was baptized, yet when I asked him about it, he would tell me that he believed in this little Buddha statue he kept. And as a young girl being mean to my little brother, he would say, "Look at you Christians, you're so mean to each other." Yet as I grew older, I realized that he was watching my life and I am so thankful that God has been slowly changing me so that I would be a strong testimony of God's grace. My grandmother had told me a few times over Reading Week that my grandpa was very proud of me and kept saying that I was an exceptional person. I hope that he knew it was Christ in me through which I had changed.

After returning from Taiwan in January, he expressed a desire to return to church. Even though they hadn't gone before his death, I hold onto the hope that he had returned to God spiritually before returning physically.

I am sad, but also at peace with his passing.

The psalm below is shared in honour of him.

Psalm 90
1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.
2 Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
3 You turn men back to dust, saying, "Return to dust, O sons of men."
4 For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night.
5 You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like the new grass of the morning-
6 though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered.
7 We are consumed by your anger and terrified by your indignation.
8 You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan.
10 The length of our days is seventy years— or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
11 Who knows the power of your anger? For your wrath is as great as the fear that is due you.
12 Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
13 Relent, O LORD! How long will it be? Have compassion on your servants.
14 Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
15 Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble.
16 May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children.
17 May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us— yes, establish the work of our hands.

it started with a chip in the windshield

Reading Week was incredibly sad.

.possibly the saddest week I've ever passed in my life thus far.

I never take my friendships lightly. From past experience, I have learned that all friendships are gifts from God--especially true friendships. Through friends, we express the goodness of God: love, joy, patience, compassion, faithfulness, &c. We feel negative emotions when we are hurt by the ones we love so dearly. We taste jealousy, anger, sadness--emotions God also admits to and allows us to experience through our relationships with others.

Through my friendships, I have experienced self-sacrificing love for people outside of my family. I have seen how deeply I can care for others, and how much others value my presence and being. So when God chooses to take these beautiful friendships and change them beyond recognition, it hurts. It makes me sad. And yes, it teaches me that I need to let go.

I have wept tears this week. Tears for myself. Tears for my friend. I usually cry when I read sad novels, yet reading the tragic Tess of the d'Urbervilles failed to bring a tear to my burdened heart.

And as I was standing in my driveway with my family waiting for my passenger, we found out the sad news that my neighbour had passed away. We had known them since the first time we moved to that house when I was 3 years old. With time, my family's acquaintance had died down, but we knew that he had married a Falun Gong activist and both were deeply involved in the Falun Gong movement. As my parents found out more from his brother, we learned that he had recently travelled to Israel. When questioned why, his brother told us that it was to explore faith and religion. My mom exclaimed that he could have just come over to ask us since we had tried bringing him to church many years ago. I stamped my foot with indignance and frustratedly said, "We should have gone over!"

What does it mean to love your neighbour as yourself?

It means that at the very least, we MUST share the grace and salvation that God has bestowed upon us.

and yet... why are our mouths kept silent?

Heart even heavier, I found out on my drive up from a passenger that a cute puppy belonging to a friend's housemate I had played with once had been killed in a car accident. I often don't fall in love with animals, but this little puppy stole my heart. I'm allergic to most dogs, yet I had so much fun playing with the little "terror," as his owners affectionately called him.

Life can be so sad sometimes.

Yeats

Tears spill, eyes overflow;
Hearts heavy with a burden for you.

Can you see what's going on?
Can you see the changes?

Who can explain this? Who understands?

Questions without answers fill in the gaps.
More gaps created, gaping holes left unfilled.

Were the days of joy and innocence meant to be short-lived?
Must all good things come to an end?

"A terrible beauty is born."



God, I admire your creativity. Billions of stories you have composed--each utterly different from another. How beautiful indeed is your perfect and creative will.

Bloor Street

My favourite street, hands down, has to be Bloor Street, Toronto. It's the most diverse street I've ever seen, as well as one of the first I used to tramp around when I was young. I used to follow my mom to work whenever I had P.D. Days and occasionally during the longer holidays. Since my mom works at Bloor and Church, Bloor Street was a familiar taste of downtown as we would shop around after she left work. It was on Bloor Street that that my mom purchased my first Tiffany & Co. necklace, as well as my first exposure to the high-end shops where the rich and the extravagant shop to furnish their houses and cover their bodies. It was also on Bloor Street where I watched my little brother demonstrate his first act of compassion towards the homeless when he begged my mom for a coin to give to a homeless man on the street. But I never ventured far on the Bloor I explored until I grew a little older.

One summer, my friend, Amanda, recommended that we try a Portuguese restaurant near Bloor St. At the restaurant, we tried an incredibly interesting dish that the waiter actually recommended that we NOT try called "Seafood Bread Soaking." It's a dish that not even all Portuguese enjoy and we weren't able to finish it since it's actually bread soaking in a dish of seafood soup. Nevertheless, it was a memorable experience and we made our way down to Bloor St. and started heading towards downtown. We were quite far removed from downtown proper and this portion of Bloor was surprisingly different from what I had known and seen. It was a far cry from the business area of Bloor and at times we even felt our safety somewhat compromised. The socioeconomic environment was much lower judging by the shops and the people. As we continued walking, we traveled from the Portuguese area and hit the Korean area. Suddenly, all the shops, restaurants, and bakeries were Korean, as well as most of the pedestrians on the street. I remember being amazed at how drastically diverse and how different each area was. Bloor Street was a microcosm of the multiculturalism of Toronto.

It's incredible how strong is the connection between a person and a place. A longer visit to Toronto isn't a complete visit without a trip down to Bloor Street. I missed my opportunity during Christmas Break and found myself longing to return quickly to Toronto so I could go down.

On Saturday, I went around town with a couple of International students from Queen's and briefly strode along Bloor, but that wasn't enough. So today, armed with my mother's MetroPass, I woke up early to accompany my mom to work. But when she got off at the Bloor-Yonge station, I switched onto the Bloor line and rode the subway almost all the way to the very end of the West side to Etobicoke. As the train I was in switched from Westbound to Eastbound, I continued sitting until I went past Bloor-Yonge again. I finally decided to choose at random a station to get off at, hoping to find a cafe to sit and journal in. I chose Castle Frank.

Upon exiting Castle Frank, I realized I was pretty far from most coffee shops. In the cold, I traversed across the bridge where thin, steel dowels line the sides to prevent any further suicides from people jumping off. Here, Bloor Street turns into Danforth Avenue. Walking along, feeling quite chilled despite the quiet sunshine, I entered into Greek town where I finally began seeing some coffee shops like Second Cup and Timothy's. Yet I found a tiny little place called Mocha Mocha where they played loud Spanish music and none of the workers were Caucasian. It felt so good to sit inside and warm up with a pot of peppermint tea and just write. It felt good to be able to sort out some of my thoughts that I've carried around since second semester started, but haven't been able to express or even understand.

I never thought I would still be searching for my future in third year. I thought I would have figured out more of where I was headed by now, but I feel more stuck than ever. Perhaps I have lost my focus. Perhaps my focus is changing. Perhaps I will temporarily leave my dreams of teaching in China and become an environmental activist. perhaps.

I think the reason why I have so much trouble deciding is because I'm so afraid that the decisions I make now will define who I become in the future. And I'm afraid to make the wrong decision. Especially if that decision leads me far, far away from Bloor Street.