Sometimes you can't just change a title when the body of work has already been published. It doesn't fit properly.
So... I have now begun a new blog under the new name of "one page at a time."
Enjoy!
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
while i'm still on the topic of titles...
My byline remains unchanged.
"A story of hope and faith"
Yesterday after church, my best friend asked me what the difference was between Christians and nonbelievers. As it is her first time regularly encountering classmates and professors who do not profess Christ as Lord and Saviour, she was curious because she found them so kind and nice.
Certainly, I agreed. Having also grown up in a Christian bubble, I was also amused to find myself surprised by how "nice" anybody could be. So when she asked, "What then is the difference between Christians and non-Christians?" I could only reply, "I'm not sure. Perhaps it's the hope and faith that we have in God."
And as teachers who don't know the answer to their students' questions, I answered in like fashion: "Why don't you observe them and find out. Then let me know what you find."
As I read through Romans this morning, chapter 8 verse 24 and 25 spoke into my heart, "For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is not seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience."
Likewise, Hebrews chapter 11 verse 1 says, "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."
Our hope and faith in Jesus Christ goes against the idiom "I'll believe it when I see it." Often we ask for tangible results to prayer: concrete answers (like baby brothers) and visible proof. Yet so much of God's work is invisible. It happens slowly and it happens in our hearts.
Through the years, I have seen God work, and now is a time to wait with patience. Jesus is coming back. Our job is to wait with hope and faith until what we hope for is revealed before our eyes.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Epilogue for "the fig tree withered": a new name for a new stage
The Fig Tree Withers (from Matthew 21)
18Early in the morning, as he was on his way back to the city, he was hungry.19Seeing a fig tree by the road, he went up to it but found nothing on it except leaves. Then he said to it, "May you never bear fruit again!" Immediately the tree withered.20When the disciples saw this, they were amazed. "How did the fig tree wither so quickly?" they asked.
21Jesus replied, "I tell you the truth, if you have faith and do not doubt, not only can you do what was done to the fig tree, but also you can say to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and it will be done. 22If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer."
I have decided to rename my blog to reflect more of what I'm going through, but first, I'd like to write an epilogue for "the fig tree withered."
When blogs first became popular, I shunned the idea of sharing all my private thoughts and ideas on such a public forum. But there were a few blogs of note that stuck out to me. These blogs were of older Christian brothers and sisters--people I highly respected in how they lived their life and shared about God and their experiences and insights. I found that reading their blogs was spiritually refreshing and edifying. So with that purpose in mind, I began "the fig tree withered," as a testimony to how God was working in my life.
As morbid-sounding as a withering fig tree sounds, it is a sharp contrast to what Jesus is teaching His disciples. In this instance, Jesus teaches us that faith is critical to prayer. "If you have faith and do not doubt. If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer." These are powerful words. Certainly, there is so much more behind the asking process, but God teaches us how to pray and what to pray for.
When I was a young child, I really wanted a younger sibling. I would beg and beg my mom, but she was adamant about not having another child. I begged to the point of annoying my mother so much that she told me to pray about it. So with the faith of a child, I began praying. Every night before I went to bed, I would ask God to "please give me a brother or sister. Amen."
Through a year's perseverance and the tender belief of my young heart, God changed the hearts of my parents and provided a caregiver (i.e., my grandmother). I still remember the night my mom whispered to me that she was going to have another baby. I remember changing my prayers to the tune of "please protect my baby brother or baby sister and my mom. Amen."
I do believe that fig trees wither. I believe that mountains can be thrown into the sea. I believe that God has mercy on His children. I believe that prayers are still answered when we ask with genuine and pure hearts.
Praise God for withering fig trees!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Friendship Story
I'm really happy to be back at Queen's for another year. Not only do I enjoy catching up with old friends, but my best friend has finally joined me to study in Kingston! Although we're in different programs, we still see each other often and do many things together.
This friend and I first began our studies together at the ripe young age of 4. Together, we went through the same school until the end of high school. We had planned to attend Queen's together for our undergraduate degrees--possibly even in the same program--but by a twist of fate (and God's work), she ended up studying at her parent's alma mater while I treaded off to Queen's on my own.
I still remember the fateful phone call during March Break of Grade 12. I was already so concerned about getting into the university program of my dreams, but when she told me that her parents finally convinced her to go to their school, I broke down and sobbed. I feared for our friendship; a precious friendship that I was afraid would drop like a glass ball and shatter. We had all heard stories of how the friends you make in university become your friends for life; and how your high school friends change beyond recognition so that when you meet each other again, you realize how incompatible you have become.
I think I started going through a period of withdrawal in the last few months of high school. It was out of fear that the final good-byes would hurt too much. Fear that saying good-bye to people we had come to love so tightly and dearly over the course of a few years would tear out a piece of our hearts.
And finally, it dawned on us! We didn't have to say good-bye to our friendship just yet. We could be friends forever if we truly wanted it. So we committed to e-mailing each other, and making sure that we would stay in touch no matter the cost. Once university began, there were three of us regularly corresponding, and the e-mails flew back and forth with a new e-mail sure to pop up in my inbox at least every two days, if not everyday.
Over the years, we have changed. We have grown up. We've gone through challenges, and we've gone through successes. We've travelled without each other, and we've suffered the same loss together. Even though I am now cynical of the term "friends forever," friendship is still a precious gift I carry carefully.
Now that we're finally at the same school (even if only for a single blessed year), it's been a pure pleasure to live a mere three blocks away from each other. It's nice to be able to call her up and see if she wants to do some of the crazy things I've always wanted to do but didn't want to do alone. It's nice to finally go places where I used to think "I wish she were here with me."
I have no regrets that we didn't spend our undergraduate years on the same campus. We've probably grown more because of it and dared to do more because of it; but God is so good to let us study together once again.
Sometimes I wonder how God views friendship. I'm sure He knows it's pretty important to the soul. God, thank you for friends: especially best friends and kindred spirits.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
never imagined
Never would I have imagined that I would see stars during my stay in Hong Kong, and even see a shooting star fleetingly pass by.
Never would I have imagined that I would see a group of Form 6 boys sobbing from overwhelming emotions as their teacher washed their feet.
Never would I have imagined that I would be brought to the forefront of research on spiritual development (a growing interest of mine) at an experimental camp on Cheung Chau Island.
Never would I have imagined...
But God surprises us in unexpected ways. I am humbly reminded that His ways are higher than our ways, and His thoughts higher than ours. More and more do I realize the GREATNESS of God and the littleness of me. And I am so content to fall into His arms, relax, and bask in His loving-kindness.
I spent the past 3 days serving as a First Aider and Observer at a Spiritual Development Camp for Form 6 students (around Grade 11/12) from 3 different Catholic schools in Hong Kong. The morning I left, I found out that I had been placed in a Catholic Secondary School for my teaching placements next year; so the ensuing retreat was especially meaningful in the context of where I will be in October.
There were 24 students in total, and I was placed with a group of students from an all-boys school. As a First Aider, I followed the students around the various activities, and watched transformation occur throughout the 3 days.
As soon as the students tromped off the ferry that brought them to the island, they were given a map and asked to find their way to Don Bosco Campsite. Fortunately, they were successful and the rest of the day was spent sharing stories, songs, and prayer. The next morning, we spent some time doing some morning Mindfulness exercises that encouraged focus on breathing, slowing down the heart and opening the mind. Next, we played two games--one involved cutting holes in a newspaper ramp and rolling a tennis ball over it without letting the ball fall through the holes, and the other was a chair game (ask me in person for elaboration). After lunch was Golden Time, where a girl played a bass recorder and a teacher softly spoke us to sleep. How good it was to rest in a large hall with everyone else, windows wide open facing the sea and sky, breeze flowing onto our bodies.
In the afternoon, we set out for a hike to a cemetery on the island. Visiting a cemetery in Hong Kong was one of my wishes, and I am so happy to see it fulfilled. It was interesting to see that some plots were awfully small and squished together, while others took up a large space. One point of difference from the cemeteries I've seen in Canada, England, and France, is that these gravestones only contained the names and dates, without those poetic verses usually found in the other three countries I listed. On this journey, the students were asked to look for 4 things: life among the living, life among the death, death among life, and death among death. Unfortunately, the students didn't have time to share, but these concepts were interesting to think about.
We then headed down to the main area of the island for a satisfying afternoon tea time. I even tried a skewer of frozen fruit. It was yummy! The next portion of the retreat was called "the Last Night on Earth." Students were asked to consider that night to be their last night on earth. They were led to a small Great Wall, seated on the steps, and left to contemplate this question for the next hour. It was during that time that I laid back on the stone staircase railing and saw the shooting star. It was such a beautiful time of peaceful rest.
We trekked back to the campsite under the moonlight, and then the students were once again led to the small chapel for sharing. A highlight was the night-time snack where the students were surprised with dessert soup, cup noodles, and watermelon. I don't think I'll ever forget Polly's reaction to the two boxes of cup noodles. After grabbing the students reaction, she dryly turned and said, "Oh, there's something here." Without waiting for dramatic effect, she pulled out the two boxes of cup noodles amid the students' cheers.
That night, some of the male students were found in the girls' room telling ghost stories. Although the coordinator was very upset, she shared about her feelings the next morning in such a loving way. It was bold, courageous, and humane. It made teachers come alive and granted them humanity. The students then coated an old wall with fresh, new paint before undergoing a highly emotional experience of feet washing. I participated by shuffling new buckets of water to and fro, but I felt so honoured to be part of the process. It was such a beautiful scene, and I can hardly describe the beauty of six teachers on their knees washing the feet of their students. My spirit stirred inside, and I really hope to participate when God allows.
The final afternoon was low-key, with another Golden Time and then writing encouragements on a piece of paper clipped to each person's back. We all wandered back to the ferry together and departed when we arrived at Central.
Throughout the three days, I had the opportunity to get to know some very incredible people, listen to the opinions, and share our thoughts and observations. I am impressed at how God connects people together in the most interesting ways, and I've grown and laughed lots in these past days.
I went into the camp knowing only one person, and left with many new friends; faithful brothers and sisters pursuing God's heart for His next generation. What a blessing indeed.
Never would I have imagined that I would see a group of Form 6 boys sobbing from overwhelming emotions as their teacher washed their feet.
Never would I have imagined that I would be brought to the forefront of research on spiritual development (a growing interest of mine) at an experimental camp on Cheung Chau Island.
Never would I have imagined...
But God surprises us in unexpected ways. I am humbly reminded that His ways are higher than our ways, and His thoughts higher than ours. More and more do I realize the GREATNESS of God and the littleness of me. And I am so content to fall into His arms, relax, and bask in His loving-kindness.
I spent the past 3 days serving as a First Aider and Observer at a Spiritual Development Camp for Form 6 students (around Grade 11/12) from 3 different Catholic schools in Hong Kong. The morning I left, I found out that I had been placed in a Catholic Secondary School for my teaching placements next year; so the ensuing retreat was especially meaningful in the context of where I will be in October.
There were 24 students in total, and I was placed with a group of students from an all-boys school. As a First Aider, I followed the students around the various activities, and watched transformation occur throughout the 3 days.
As soon as the students tromped off the ferry that brought them to the island, they were given a map and asked to find their way to Don Bosco Campsite. Fortunately, they were successful and the rest of the day was spent sharing stories, songs, and prayer. The next morning, we spent some time doing some morning Mindfulness exercises that encouraged focus on breathing, slowing down the heart and opening the mind. Next, we played two games--one involved cutting holes in a newspaper ramp and rolling a tennis ball over it without letting the ball fall through the holes, and the other was a chair game (ask me in person for elaboration). After lunch was Golden Time, where a girl played a bass recorder and a teacher softly spoke us to sleep. How good it was to rest in a large hall with everyone else, windows wide open facing the sea and sky, breeze flowing onto our bodies.
In the afternoon, we set out for a hike to a cemetery on the island. Visiting a cemetery in Hong Kong was one of my wishes, and I am so happy to see it fulfilled. It was interesting to see that some plots were awfully small and squished together, while others took up a large space. One point of difference from the cemeteries I've seen in Canada, England, and France, is that these gravestones only contained the names and dates, without those poetic verses usually found in the other three countries I listed. On this journey, the students were asked to look for 4 things: life among the living, life among the death, death among life, and death among death. Unfortunately, the students didn't have time to share, but these concepts were interesting to think about.
We then headed down to the main area of the island for a satisfying afternoon tea time. I even tried a skewer of frozen fruit. It was yummy! The next portion of the retreat was called "the Last Night on Earth." Students were asked to consider that night to be their last night on earth. They were led to a small Great Wall, seated on the steps, and left to contemplate this question for the next hour. It was during that time that I laid back on the stone staircase railing and saw the shooting star. It was such a beautiful time of peaceful rest.
We trekked back to the campsite under the moonlight, and then the students were once again led to the small chapel for sharing. A highlight was the night-time snack where the students were surprised with dessert soup, cup noodles, and watermelon. I don't think I'll ever forget Polly's reaction to the two boxes of cup noodles. After grabbing the students reaction, she dryly turned and said, "Oh, there's something here." Without waiting for dramatic effect, she pulled out the two boxes of cup noodles amid the students' cheers.
That night, some of the male students were found in the girls' room telling ghost stories. Although the coordinator was very upset, she shared about her feelings the next morning in such a loving way. It was bold, courageous, and humane. It made teachers come alive and granted them humanity. The students then coated an old wall with fresh, new paint before undergoing a highly emotional experience of feet washing. I participated by shuffling new buckets of water to and fro, but I felt so honoured to be part of the process. It was such a beautiful scene, and I can hardly describe the beauty of six teachers on their knees washing the feet of their students. My spirit stirred inside, and I really hope to participate when God allows.
The final afternoon was low-key, with another Golden Time and then writing encouragements on a piece of paper clipped to each person's back. We all wandered back to the ferry together and departed when we arrived at Central.
Throughout the three days, I had the opportunity to get to know some very incredible people, listen to the opinions, and share our thoughts and observations. I am impressed at how God connects people together in the most interesting ways, and I've grown and laughed lots in these past days.
I went into the camp knowing only one person, and left with many new friends; faithful brothers and sisters pursuing God's heart for His next generation. What a blessing indeed.
Monday, July 6, 2009
God actually
I've started to feel a bit of stress about my upcoming teaching trip because of last-minute requests and general underpreparedness. I've also felt alone because I haven't been able to attend the team meetings back in Richmond Hill and bond with the team. Although I leave on Saturday, I will be putting my first aid training and certifications to use as a First Aider on a 3-day camp for Catholic youth. I'm looking forward to it, but worries are beginning to creep in as time is shooting past me.
Today is my father's birthday, but due to my poor scheduling, I couldn't spend it with him. Instead, he went off to Ocean Park with his mom, while I am stuck in the flat prepping what I should have done earlier. Mid-way through the day, I went for a work-out to clear my mind. During my work-out, I reflected on a sermon preached at Island ECC yesterday about balancing truth and love in our walk (based on 2 John). It was an excellent sermon and I am still thinking about which side I fall on. Not only do we demonstrate truth and love in our lives, but we also receive the same from God. Sometimes I feel that I give more love than I do truth, but focus my attention and mind on God's truths, more than God's love. I know that I am feeling drained because I haven't been open to receiving God's love--something I need to remind myself of. I prayed that God would once again pour out His love on me, and remind me of His bountiful mercies and love that He lavishes on His children.
After my work-out, I ate a late lunch at a famous wonton noodle shop by Lee Theater Place. These wonton noodle shops are generally small, but packed with customers. The tables are small; strangers are seated next to or across from each other. I was seated at a tiny table with a lady across from me. As I ate my bowl of wonton noodles, I contemplated beginning a conversation with her, but I didn't know where to start. Half-way through, being inspired by a reporter friend who strikes up conversations with random strangers and listens with rapt attention, I commented on how delicious the noodles were. The lady quickly continued the conversation and I found out that she was retired and learning all sorts of things--like Latin dance and classical Chinese singing. She told me that although she was older and had less disposable income, she was filled with more joy. When I told her that I was going to China, she told me about how she had spent 3 weeks backpacking through with 3 other friends when she was younger. As I was getting ready to leave, she poured out many kind words of blessing and ended with "God bless you." In that moment, I felt so filled and content on love. God had answered my prayer--even through a stranger whom I probably will never meet again.
It reminded me of a time last year when I had been struggling in my faith to believe. I was traveling on my own through the French countryside, and had two hours to spend at a small town between trains. I encountered an elderly American lady who was on a river cruise, but also walking through the same town. Within minutes, she poured out her life story of how God transformed her son committed a crime, but met Jesus in prison and Jesus transformed his life. She was so certain about God and also blessed me as we said farewell.
To me, these women are angels. I most probably won't encounter them again, but in those moments of brief fellowship, I have been reminded that God is actually all around.
Today is my father's birthday, but due to my poor scheduling, I couldn't spend it with him. Instead, he went off to Ocean Park with his mom, while I am stuck in the flat prepping what I should have done earlier. Mid-way through the day, I went for a work-out to clear my mind. During my work-out, I reflected on a sermon preached at Island ECC yesterday about balancing truth and love in our walk (based on 2 John). It was an excellent sermon and I am still thinking about which side I fall on. Not only do we demonstrate truth and love in our lives, but we also receive the same from God. Sometimes I feel that I give more love than I do truth, but focus my attention and mind on God's truths, more than God's love. I know that I am feeling drained because I haven't been open to receiving God's love--something I need to remind myself of. I prayed that God would once again pour out His love on me, and remind me of His bountiful mercies and love that He lavishes on His children.
After my work-out, I ate a late lunch at a famous wonton noodle shop by Lee Theater Place. These wonton noodle shops are generally small, but packed with customers. The tables are small; strangers are seated next to or across from each other. I was seated at a tiny table with a lady across from me. As I ate my bowl of wonton noodles, I contemplated beginning a conversation with her, but I didn't know where to start. Half-way through, being inspired by a reporter friend who strikes up conversations with random strangers and listens with rapt attention, I commented on how delicious the noodles were. The lady quickly continued the conversation and I found out that she was retired and learning all sorts of things--like Latin dance and classical Chinese singing. She told me that although she was older and had less disposable income, she was filled with more joy. When I told her that I was going to China, she told me about how she had spent 3 weeks backpacking through with 3 other friends when she was younger. As I was getting ready to leave, she poured out many kind words of blessing and ended with "God bless you." In that moment, I felt so filled and content on love. God had answered my prayer--even through a stranger whom I probably will never meet again.
It reminded me of a time last year when I had been struggling in my faith to believe. I was traveling on my own through the French countryside, and had two hours to spend at a small town between trains. I encountered an elderly American lady who was on a river cruise, but also walking through the same town. Within minutes, she poured out her life story of how God transformed her son committed a crime, but met Jesus in prison and Jesus transformed his life. She was so certain about God and also blessed me as we said farewell.
To me, these women are angels. I most probably won't encounter them again, but in those moments of brief fellowship, I have been reminded that God is actually all around.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
A Walk to Remember
A large part of why I'm enjoying Hong Kong so much more this time around is because I've had the opportunity to do things I like doing. I've spurned the shopping scene for more sightseeing, reading, writing, and best of all--hiking!
I made it quite clear to my dad that I wanted to go hiking when I went to Hong Kong for my 3-week stay, and wondrously, he still has good friends from primary and middle school who hike regularly and were willing to bring us along. We've gone three times, and although the mountains are not spectacularly high, it's been awfully nice to be in the woods again.
It's only been in the past few weeks that I found out my dad loves to hike. He hiked a lot as a student in Hong Kong, with the friends who still hike, but he is too lazy to travel far for hiking in Canada. It's interesting to learn that my hiking heritage doesn't only come from my aunt.
My aunt in Canada is the one I usually think of when I think of hiking. I always experience a burst of pride when I tell people she's climbed the Himalayas. When I was younger, I hated walking. Quite embarrassingly, even when I was seven, my parents would still push me around in the stroller, or if I got tired walking, I would turn around and ask them to pick me up. Yet when I was 16 years old and was given the opportunity to participate on an Outward Bound trip, my aunt insisted that I choose mountaineering, even though I really wanted to canoe and portage.
It was on that mountaineering trip in British Columbia that I fell in love with walking and hiking. I loved being able to propel myself up mountains, scree down hills, and scale rock faces with my hands and feet. I realized that limits could be pushed: I experienced a colder cold (being awoken by the cold at 2am on top of a summit, opening my eyes, and seeing stars upon stars in the Milky Way Galaxy) and expanded my definition of tired (hiking 6-8 km daily with a 50lbs pack, and then having to set up the tents and cook dinner, for 2 weeks straight--I never appreciated sleep so much).
Today was another of those definition expansions. My dad's primary school friend brought us to Sai Gong. On the bus ride to the starting point, I felt physically horrible--most probably due to the strong Milk Tea I had drank at a famous milk tea place in Central. My stomach quaked, my heart beat funny, and my head spun. But I really wanted to hike.
Once we reached the starting point, I vomited on the side of the road. Part of me wanted to go back to our place in Causeway Bay and sleep it off, but something inside me told me that the hike would cure me.
And it did.
Unfortunately, about half an hour into the hike, it began to rain. We pulled out our ponchos, and as the rain got worse, we stood to the side to wait for it to pass. By then, the rain was seeping into my shoes and the bottom of my pants were soaked. Even so, a group of hikers passed us, drenched by the rain. After 10 minutes of standing, we had to make a critical decision: do we continue in the rain or do we head back down to the bus?
We decided to continue. The hardest point was the next step. It meant that I would have to leave my safe haven (i.e., standing on a small rock that prevented my feet from smooshing into the mud). Watching my dad go first, I followed suit: stepping firmly into the mud, rain water splashing onto my pants, and water flooding my shoe through the upper mesh. As we tromped through the mud, thoughts of feeling sick flew out of my mind. I learned to enjoy the experience of sloshing through the muddy path and feeling the water squeeze between my toes.
This hike was probably the most uncomfortable hike I've ever been on, but it was certainly memorable. My definition of discomfort has been pushed, and God has shown me mercy in the process.
I made it quite clear to my dad that I wanted to go hiking when I went to Hong Kong for my 3-week stay, and wondrously, he still has good friends from primary and middle school who hike regularly and were willing to bring us along. We've gone three times, and although the mountains are not spectacularly high, it's been awfully nice to be in the woods again.
It's only been in the past few weeks that I found out my dad loves to hike. He hiked a lot as a student in Hong Kong, with the friends who still hike, but he is too lazy to travel far for hiking in Canada. It's interesting to learn that my hiking heritage doesn't only come from my aunt.
My aunt in Canada is the one I usually think of when I think of hiking. I always experience a burst of pride when I tell people she's climbed the Himalayas. When I was younger, I hated walking. Quite embarrassingly, even when I was seven, my parents would still push me around in the stroller, or if I got tired walking, I would turn around and ask them to pick me up. Yet when I was 16 years old and was given the opportunity to participate on an Outward Bound trip, my aunt insisted that I choose mountaineering, even though I really wanted to canoe and portage.
It was on that mountaineering trip in British Columbia that I fell in love with walking and hiking. I loved being able to propel myself up mountains, scree down hills, and scale rock faces with my hands and feet. I realized that limits could be pushed: I experienced a colder cold (being awoken by the cold at 2am on top of a summit, opening my eyes, and seeing stars upon stars in the Milky Way Galaxy) and expanded my definition of tired (hiking 6-8 km daily with a 50lbs pack, and then having to set up the tents and cook dinner, for 2 weeks straight--I never appreciated sleep so much).
Today was another of those definition expansions. My dad's primary school friend brought us to Sai Gong. On the bus ride to the starting point, I felt physically horrible--most probably due to the strong Milk Tea I had drank at a famous milk tea place in Central. My stomach quaked, my heart beat funny, and my head spun. But I really wanted to hike.
Once we reached the starting point, I vomited on the side of the road. Part of me wanted to go back to our place in Causeway Bay and sleep it off, but something inside me told me that the hike would cure me.
And it did.
Unfortunately, about half an hour into the hike, it began to rain. We pulled out our ponchos, and as the rain got worse, we stood to the side to wait for it to pass. By then, the rain was seeping into my shoes and the bottom of my pants were soaked. Even so, a group of hikers passed us, drenched by the rain. After 10 minutes of standing, we had to make a critical decision: do we continue in the rain or do we head back down to the bus?
We decided to continue. The hardest point was the next step. It meant that I would have to leave my safe haven (i.e., standing on a small rock that prevented my feet from smooshing into the mud). Watching my dad go first, I followed suit: stepping firmly into the mud, rain water splashing onto my pants, and water flooding my shoe through the upper mesh. As we tromped through the mud, thoughts of feeling sick flew out of my mind. I learned to enjoy the experience of sloshing through the muddy path and feeling the water squeeze between my toes.
This hike was probably the most uncomfortable hike I've ever been on, but it was certainly memorable. My definition of discomfort has been pushed, and God has shown me mercy in the process.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
O Hong Kong
The more time I spend in Hong Kong, the more I am beginning to like it.
At first glace, it's easy for me to disdain the lifestyle here. It's heavily consumeristic and materialistic, the advertisements create an overstimulation of the visual sense, while the sounds and noise are hardly a pleasant cacophony. Yet there are so many things to appreciate about this city.
My dad has been bringing me around to many places, and having someone accompany me to the places I want to visit has been delightful (and safer too!). On Sunday, my dad's middle school friend took us hiking up the dragon's back (Lung Chek). It was a beautiful day for a hike--not too sunny, and with a cool breeze. Butterflies of all species and colours flittered past, and it was nice to admire the city from afar. Sometimes it's easier to be surrounded by nature and see how beautiful the city is, than to be in the city and notice its beauty.
Yesterday, we finally visited Tai O on Lantau Island: a fishing village I had hoped to visit since the first day I arrived. It was definitely food for the amateur photographer, and I enjoyed it very much, apart from the mosquito-bitten calves and sunburnt arms I left with. The sky was blue for once, and the way of life was so different. My dad starts conversations with random people (I get it from him), and we had the chance to hear life stories from two very elderly residents.
When I was younger, I used to pity the poor who continued to use old appliances and lived in one-room houses, but now that I'm a bit older, I'm beginning to appreciate the simple lifestyles. The old lady we spoke to told us that her children and grandchildren would keep asking her to live with them in the city, but she would refuse because she had lived here for the 50 years of her marriage and she belonged here. As an inspiring Urbana speaker once said, "Where you settle is where you will die." I better settle carefully.
Another thing I appreciate about the Hong Kong people is their proactivism. July 1st not only marks Canada Day, but also handover day when Hong Kong was released from British colony rule back to China. Hong Kong is a Special Administrative Region (SAR), which means that it is the only democratic area inside a communist country. The citizens here value their democracy so much because it is vulnerable. Democracy is fragile. So on this public holiday, there are no less than 7 marches and demonstrations, one of which I may take part in. There is a public spirit that docile Canadians seem to lack--simply because it seems superfluous in a democratic country. I like Hong Kong.
Friday, June 26, 2009
faithful
Since I arrived in Hong Kong again, I started to feel drained of joy. I could visibly notice my face growing blanker and my gaze hardening. I cannot blame Hong Kong for this change, although I'm sure it contributed. I realized that the physical change only reflected a hardness of my own heart.
Being a traveller in a foreign city meant that I had to be protective of myself. I had been warned countless times to watch my bag and my wallet and my purse--to the point where I was on the verge of becoming paranoid. Yes, I do need to be careful, but I no longer viewed people with the same compassion as I would if I had felt more secure.
I realized that I was slowly becoming more and more self-centred. I would think about myself more, others less, and God only when I opened my Bible. I had lost focus.
A wise friend once mentioned how she found it more challenging to become like Jesus than to serve Him. I agree with her. Becoming like Jesus requires transformation, and transformation can hurt. Serving God is an outcome of that transformation.
Well, after realizing my despicably prideful heart, I began praying for mercy and trusting my prayer partners to be praying for me too. Within a day, God has provided so much for me.
For the past week, I have woken up early to go for a run on the inner Ambulance Track of the Happy Valley Racecourse. Despite threatening stormclouds on many occasions, today was the first day I found myself caught in the rain. Today was also the last day that I would be living in Happy Valley until August. During my jog, I talked to God about my concerns and uncertainties, and told Him I wanted to trust Him with the different aspects of my life. The rain began as I was heading back to the tunnel that goes under the racetrack, but as soon as I came up from the tunnel, I looked into the rare piece of visible sky and saw the most beautiful stretch of rainbow. I was shocked still in my steps and remained still to admire it until it passed. Rainbows aren't usually particularly significant in my life, but after my prayer that morning, the rainbow suddenly took on an unusual amount of significance today.
Later in the day, my dad brought me to visit some relatives who are serving in ministry in Hong Kong. We aren't particularly close, and we hadn't met since I was 13 years old, but I was so blessed to see how my aunt had been called from her post as a kindergarten principal to become a pastor of a church that serves to disciple the poor. I also had a great conversation with her daughter who is serving in a full-time ministry in Hong Kong. Since my circle of connection in Hong Kong is small, it has been hard to find people similar to myself. Yet in her, I found someone that I could connect with and share our passions together. Afterward, I attended a talk on the spiritual development of children. It was targeted to the parents of their church, but my aunt knew of my interest in education and invited me to participate. The talk was simple, but meaningful, and I enjoyed the question-and-answer time the most because I could hear the concerns of these parents. I am so inspired for their desire to have their children come to know God and grow in Him. These parents are not well-educated and serve in jobs not well-considered by society, but they want a better future for their children and try hard to love them and teach them, which includes the heritage of faith.
Although I still have much to learn and much to confess and much to grow, I have been changed by how powerful and faithful God is to His children. As friends have reminded me, "God is faithful even when we are not faithful." (ref. 2 Timothy 2:13) Please say a prayer for me when you remember!
Being a traveller in a foreign city meant that I had to be protective of myself. I had been warned countless times to watch my bag and my wallet and my purse--to the point where I was on the verge of becoming paranoid. Yes, I do need to be careful, but I no longer viewed people with the same compassion as I would if I had felt more secure.
I realized that I was slowly becoming more and more self-centred. I would think about myself more, others less, and God only when I opened my Bible. I had lost focus.
A wise friend once mentioned how she found it more challenging to become like Jesus than to serve Him. I agree with her. Becoming like Jesus requires transformation, and transformation can hurt. Serving God is an outcome of that transformation.
Well, after realizing my despicably prideful heart, I began praying for mercy and trusting my prayer partners to be praying for me too. Within a day, God has provided so much for me.
For the past week, I have woken up early to go for a run on the inner Ambulance Track of the Happy Valley Racecourse. Despite threatening stormclouds on many occasions, today was the first day I found myself caught in the rain. Today was also the last day that I would be living in Happy Valley until August. During my jog, I talked to God about my concerns and uncertainties, and told Him I wanted to trust Him with the different aspects of my life. The rain began as I was heading back to the tunnel that goes under the racetrack, but as soon as I came up from the tunnel, I looked into the rare piece of visible sky and saw the most beautiful stretch of rainbow. I was shocked still in my steps and remained still to admire it until it passed. Rainbows aren't usually particularly significant in my life, but after my prayer that morning, the rainbow suddenly took on an unusual amount of significance today.
Later in the day, my dad brought me to visit some relatives who are serving in ministry in Hong Kong. We aren't particularly close, and we hadn't met since I was 13 years old, but I was so blessed to see how my aunt had been called from her post as a kindergarten principal to become a pastor of a church that serves to disciple the poor. I also had a great conversation with her daughter who is serving in a full-time ministry in Hong Kong. Since my circle of connection in Hong Kong is small, it has been hard to find people similar to myself. Yet in her, I found someone that I could connect with and share our passions together. Afterward, I attended a talk on the spiritual development of children. It was targeted to the parents of their church, but my aunt knew of my interest in education and invited me to participate. The talk was simple, but meaningful, and I enjoyed the question-and-answer time the most because I could hear the concerns of these parents. I am so inspired for their desire to have their children come to know God and grow in Him. These parents are not well-educated and serve in jobs not well-considered by society, but they want a better future for their children and try hard to love them and teach them, which includes the heritage of faith.
Although I still have much to learn and much to confess and much to grow, I have been changed by how powerful and faithful God is to His children. As friends have reminded me, "God is faithful even when we are not faithful." (ref. 2 Timothy 2:13) Please say a prayer for me when you remember!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Goodbye, my friend
Alas, the time for bittersweet good-byes has come.
I want to cry, but the tears only wet my eyes without sliding down my cheeks. There's a quiet sadness, a hidden sadness, that's stored so deep down inside that it will take time for purging. Maybe writing it out will help.
It's been strange saying good-byes because I will still be here next year, yet my closest '09 friends are graduating and moving on to the next chapter of their lives.
There have been a few "last suppers" lately. A memorable one was with Jenny and Flora. We planned to eat at Lotus Heart Blossoms, only to find out they were taking an extended Easter break. Next, we tried Pan Chancho, only to read that the cafe closed at 4pm. Then, we walked to Mexicali Rosa's to find that it was temporarily closed for some unknown reason. Finally, we backtracked to the Kingston Brew Pub and had a very long dinner, talking about things that friends talk about. This has been a meaningful friendship thus far, although it has only spanned a brief two years since we first all came together. Sometimes you meet people and you just click. It doesn't take much effort to adjust to one another and befriend one another. Sometimes you realize your initial reactions to the person was totally off--they're probably friendlier than they look.
Tonight I ate at Leonard Cafeteria with two of my 2nd year housemates--the only housemates I've ever had during my B.A. years. They were my Queen's family. There's Queen's friends, and then there's Queen's family--the people who root for you and hear you out and see how messy and disorganized you really are, without judging you for the worse. One has finished school for good, while another is going away for more. And I... I am still here.
There's some sort of feeling--kinda like being left behind. Yet I'm really glad to be here for another year. My ministry here is not over yet. God is moving on our campus in huge ways and bringing people from different backgrounds and groups together. I still have a lot of hope and have seen God bring revival. It happens one person at a time, when God breathes into His beloved child and draws them up to life again. People are being transformed daily, and God is here.
Next year is going to be exciting. My best friend is coming! I'm living in a house again! I won't have any exams to write! God is good.
I want to cry, but the tears only wet my eyes without sliding down my cheeks. There's a quiet sadness, a hidden sadness, that's stored so deep down inside that it will take time for purging. Maybe writing it out will help.
It's been strange saying good-byes because I will still be here next year, yet my closest '09 friends are graduating and moving on to the next chapter of their lives.
There have been a few "last suppers" lately. A memorable one was with Jenny and Flora. We planned to eat at Lotus Heart Blossoms, only to find out they were taking an extended Easter break. Next, we tried Pan Chancho, only to read that the cafe closed at 4pm. Then, we walked to Mexicali Rosa's to find that it was temporarily closed for some unknown reason. Finally, we backtracked to the Kingston Brew Pub and had a very long dinner, talking about things that friends talk about. This has been a meaningful friendship thus far, although it has only spanned a brief two years since we first all came together. Sometimes you meet people and you just click. It doesn't take much effort to adjust to one another and befriend one another. Sometimes you realize your initial reactions to the person was totally off--they're probably friendlier than they look.
Tonight I ate at Leonard Cafeteria with two of my 2nd year housemates--the only housemates I've ever had during my B.A. years. They were my Queen's family. There's Queen's friends, and then there's Queen's family--the people who root for you and hear you out and see how messy and disorganized you really are, without judging you for the worse. One has finished school for good, while another is going away for more. And I... I am still here.
There's some sort of feeling--kinda like being left behind. Yet I'm really glad to be here for another year. My ministry here is not over yet. God is moving on our campus in huge ways and bringing people from different backgrounds and groups together. I still have a lot of hope and have seen God bring revival. It happens one person at a time, when God breathes into His beloved child and draws them up to life again. People are being transformed daily, and God is here.
Next year is going to be exciting. My best friend is coming! I'm living in a house again! I won't have any exams to write! God is good.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Easter Sunday
I woke up early to meet two friends and catch the Easter sunrise.
We went out to the pier with our cameras. The sky was bright already, but the sun was still behind the curtain of earth. In a few minutes, the sun poked its bald head over the horizon and slowly tugged into the sky.
I was surprised to see how the sun made the sky appear dusty rose, especially since it was pretty bright on its own. But the sun overpowered the other light in the sky with its own intense luminosity.
Throughout this year, a thought has been playing through my head about the sun and the Son. In the English language, is it an accident that Jesus Christ is referred to as the Son, and the brightest source of energy and light is also called the sun? Saying those two words aloud, I cannot hear a difference.
And I've been learning this all-year long: the Son brights me joy, it brings light upon everything. In contrast to what is already bright, it outshines the rest. There is no other source of energy quite like it. When it is cloudy, I feel down in my soul; when it is sunny, I feel God's smile on me.
Watching the Son rise this morning was a pulchritudinous (a big word for "beautiful") moment.
We serve a risen Saviour! He is RISEN indeed! And all that He demands of us is our love and our life. What could be simpler?
We went out to the pier with our cameras. The sky was bright already, but the sun was still behind the curtain of earth. In a few minutes, the sun poked its bald head over the horizon and slowly tugged into the sky.
I was surprised to see how the sun made the sky appear dusty rose, especially since it was pretty bright on its own. But the sun overpowered the other light in the sky with its own intense luminosity.
Throughout this year, a thought has been playing through my head about the sun and the Son. In the English language, is it an accident that Jesus Christ is referred to as the Son, and the brightest source of energy and light is also called the sun? Saying those two words aloud, I cannot hear a difference.
And I've been learning this all-year long: the Son brights me joy, it brings light upon everything. In contrast to what is already bright, it outshines the rest. There is no other source of energy quite like it. When it is cloudy, I feel down in my soul; when it is sunny, I feel God's smile on me.
Watching the Son rise this morning was a pulchritudinous (a big word for "beautiful") moment.
We serve a risen Saviour! He is RISEN indeed! And all that He demands of us is our love and our life. What could be simpler?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Exams
I've developed a taste for writing exams. It is a cathartic release of everything I've learned and accumulated over the past four or eight months and allows me to leave feeling a sense of accomplishment. (Don't ask about the grades. Numbers don't matter).
Truly, the value of some things are appreciated only when they've been taken away. Last December, I only had one sit-down exam, which was so short I spent a total of an hour and a half in the exam room during the entire exam season. I felt cheated.
I just finished writing the last English exam I'll ever write on this side of the desk, and I think I'll miss it. When else will I get to read stories and be tested on how much I remember? Stories stick. It's easy to remember stories because they leave an emotional thumbprint on your mind. I'm really glad to have selected Canadian Short Stories as my final English course because I've developed such a deep admiration for our Canadian writers. There's something I connect to--perhaps it's the immigrant narrative, the sense of place or lack thereof; the recognition of landscape, and camping, and other Canadian-esque things.
I'm just happy to know there's something in Canada to be proud of: We produce good short stories.
Truly, the value of some things are appreciated only when they've been taken away. Last December, I only had one sit-down exam, which was so short I spent a total of an hour and a half in the exam room during the entire exam season. I felt cheated.
I just finished writing the last English exam I'll ever write on this side of the desk, and I think I'll miss it. When else will I get to read stories and be tested on how much I remember? Stories stick. It's easy to remember stories because they leave an emotional thumbprint on your mind. I'm really glad to have selected Canadian Short Stories as my final English course because I've developed such a deep admiration for our Canadian writers. There's something I connect to--perhaps it's the immigrant narrative, the sense of place or lack thereof; the recognition of landscape, and camping, and other Canadian-esque things.
I'm just happy to know there's something in Canada to be proud of: We produce good short stories.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Thursday April 9
What I have written below was written as a personal journal entry, but a friend bumped into me while I was writing and encouraged me to post it. After all, we write for an audience to read. I have made some omissions to protect privacy, but here are some of my raw thoughts (almost) uncensored.
Today has been one of those days that must be recorded before it goes down in history. It is a day where everything is pregnant with meaning: each encounter is fore-ordained, each thought is predestined.
I woke up before 7:30am, despite not having set my alarm clock the night before. I woke up knowing that today would be the day that my thesis is handed in. I had some final edits to make and I had to see what my thesis supervisor had sent me the night before. He made some very informative suggestions and additions, and I brought my laptop to Ban Righ to work. Over breakfast, I realized that something I had to clarify came from a print journal in the library, so I headed over to Stauffer to finalize my edits. I had forgotten to bring a pen or pencil as I had intended to return home after breakfast, but a kind, fellow student lent his to me. I stayed until lunch, when I returned to Ban Righ and could only feed upon a salad.
I ate with some frosh girls in my buildings. One of them mentioned that I knew a lot of people, and I didn’t deny it. I’ve built up a huge web of connection over the years. I had an enjoyable time eating with them, and found out that I can attend the BFA graduates’ art exhibit from April 20th to 25th. What a pleasant surprise to know because it was my last wish to visit the studio of Ontario Hall before I graduated, and now it appears that I can! What a pleasure.
At 1:30pm, I went to visit my supervisor, but he wasn’t in from lunch yet. I headed over to Dupuis 217 where my English 284 study session was being held. I was early, so I took a look at my essay. I received another 78%. Therefore, I have never been able to break beyond an 80% on an English essay at Queen’s. I understand. However, one of the comments my TA made was very encouraging: “You are a very good writer and a fine critic of literature. All the best for the future.” My supervisor also recently told me that I am a good writer. I feel very happy, because becoming a good writer was something I always wanted to attain before I graduated.
At 2:30pm, I swung by my supervisor's office and he OK’d my final draft for the thesis. I went home to print it out. While I was home, I realized that my stapler wasn’t large enough to contain all 35 pages, so I tried calling the Department of Psychology to see if I could use their stapler. I only reached answering machines because everyone had left early for the long weekend. But while I was on the website, which has since changed after 3 years of being “in the process of updating,” I read from the main page that the work of the first graduate student I volunteered for has since been published and the professor from the lab was quoted in the article. It’s really cool to see that the volunteer work I did has translated into someone’s success. When I entered Craine Hall, I bumped into another graduate student I had met in the same lab, who has since transferred to the lab where I volunteered in the year after. Oh how I love the Department of Psychology. I really don’t know where I belong next, but it seems like things are wrapping up and closing down.
After I submitted my thesis, I hurried back to the English study session that I had left to run my thesis errands. Upon leaving Dupuis for a second time, I caught a glimpse of a woman with long, red hair, and a man with a baby in a baby carrier. She looked awfully familiar, but since they were walking ahead of me, I didn’t want to run up to them only to find out they were strangers. Fortunately, they stopped before Union St. and I had time to catch up. I said to their backs, “Excuse me, Ma’am. Were you in my Canadian history class last semester?” She was indeed the same woman and I was introduced to baby Nora. I said, “Congratulations, she’s beautiful.” She told me that the baby arrived a day and a half after our Canadian history final exam, and I smiled and told her that I remembered that she had wished on the first day of class for the baby to come after our course had finished. How wonderful.
Right now I see two of my friends outside. It makes me happy because I know their friendship has been rocky. They look happy. Friendships heal.
They are now sitting next to me. Talking about exams and loving April.
Even though I have mostly attained my undergraduate goals of becoming an effective writer and a critical thinker, I still have trouble in the global structuring of my ideas. That is something I will go to graduate school and work on.
Today has been one of those days that must be recorded before it goes down in history. It is a day where everything is pregnant with meaning: each encounter is fore-ordained, each thought is predestined.
I woke up before 7:30am, despite not having set my alarm clock the night before. I woke up knowing that today would be the day that my thesis is handed in. I had some final edits to make and I had to see what my thesis supervisor had sent me the night before. He made some very informative suggestions and additions, and I brought my laptop to Ban Righ to work. Over breakfast, I realized that something I had to clarify came from a print journal in the library, so I headed over to Stauffer to finalize my edits. I had forgotten to bring a pen or pencil as I had intended to return home after breakfast, but a kind, fellow student lent his to me. I stayed until lunch, when I returned to Ban Righ and could only feed upon a salad.
I ate with some frosh girls in my buildings. One of them mentioned that I knew a lot of people, and I didn’t deny it. I’ve built up a huge web of connection over the years. I had an enjoyable time eating with them, and found out that I can attend the BFA graduates’ art exhibit from April 20th to 25th. What a pleasant surprise to know because it was my last wish to visit the studio of Ontario Hall before I graduated, and now it appears that I can! What a pleasure.
At 1:30pm, I went to visit my supervisor, but he wasn’t in from lunch yet. I headed over to Dupuis 217 where my English 284 study session was being held. I was early, so I took a look at my essay. I received another 78%. Therefore, I have never been able to break beyond an 80% on an English essay at Queen’s. I understand. However, one of the comments my TA made was very encouraging: “You are a very good writer and a fine critic of literature. All the best for the future.” My supervisor also recently told me that I am a good writer. I feel very happy, because becoming a good writer was something I always wanted to attain before I graduated.
At 2:30pm, I swung by my supervisor's office and he OK’d my final draft for the thesis. I went home to print it out. While I was home, I realized that my stapler wasn’t large enough to contain all 35 pages, so I tried calling the Department of Psychology to see if I could use their stapler. I only reached answering machines because everyone had left early for the long weekend. But while I was on the website, which has since changed after 3 years of being “in the process of updating,” I read from the main page that the work of the first graduate student I volunteered for has since been published and the professor from the lab was quoted in the article. It’s really cool to see that the volunteer work I did has translated into someone’s success. When I entered Craine Hall, I bumped into another graduate student I had met in the same lab, who has since transferred to the lab where I volunteered in the year after. Oh how I love the Department of Psychology. I really don’t know where I belong next, but it seems like things are wrapping up and closing down.
After I submitted my thesis, I hurried back to the English study session that I had left to run my thesis errands. Upon leaving Dupuis for a second time, I caught a glimpse of a woman with long, red hair, and a man with a baby in a baby carrier. She looked awfully familiar, but since they were walking ahead of me, I didn’t want to run up to them only to find out they were strangers. Fortunately, they stopped before Union St. and I had time to catch up. I said to their backs, “Excuse me, Ma’am. Were you in my Canadian history class last semester?” She was indeed the same woman and I was introduced to baby Nora. I said, “Congratulations, she’s beautiful.” She told me that the baby arrived a day and a half after our Canadian history final exam, and I smiled and told her that I remembered that she had wished on the first day of class for the baby to come after our course had finished. How wonderful.
Right now I see two of my friends outside. It makes me happy because I know their friendship has been rocky. They look happy. Friendships heal.
They are now sitting next to me. Talking about exams and loving April.
Even though I have mostly attained my undergraduate goals of becoming an effective writer and a critical thinker, I still have trouble in the global structuring of my ideas. That is something I will go to graduate school and work on.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Annus Mirabilis
I've been blown away by the number of blessings God has flooded upon me in the past week and a bit. From the little things (like finding an empty slot on the timesheet of the always-packed treadmills right when I needed it) to the big things, God has been so present in all aspects of my life.
As I was reading the new report from Patrick Deane (VP Academic) on Curriculum Renewal, I found out that the year the '09s entered university was probably the best time to receive a quality education. In his report, Deane writes, "The year 2005 increasingly seems to have been a kind of annus mirabilis for higher education in Ontario, and Reaching Higher the product of one of those rare and fleeting moments when enlightened government finds itself in possession of the resources appropriate to undertake positive change."
To look back from our current standpoint of budget cuts and department down-sizing, I can see how God has truly blessed me to be a student during the good times. Even though it will be challenging for new graduates to find jobs at this time, it's comforting to know that our education was the best Queen's could offer in these recent years.
On another note: Maybe I'm just trying to be optimistic about graduating. I'm still feeling awfully ambivalent about it.
As I was reading the new report from Patrick Deane (VP Academic) on Curriculum Renewal, I found out that the year the '09s entered university was probably the best time to receive a quality education. In his report, Deane writes, "The year 2005 increasingly seems to have been a kind of annus mirabilis for higher education in Ontario, and Reaching Higher the product of one of those rare and fleeting moments when enlightened government finds itself in possession of the resources appropriate to undertake positive change."
To look back from our current standpoint of budget cuts and department down-sizing, I can see how God has truly blessed me to be a student during the good times. Even though it will be challenging for new graduates to find jobs at this time, it's comforting to know that our education was the best Queen's could offer in these recent years.
On another note: Maybe I'm just trying to be optimistic about graduating. I'm still feeling awfully ambivalent about it.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Best There Is (BTI)
When I chose to do my placement at a Business and Technical Institute (BTI), little did I know that I would be stepping into one of the saddest schools in the TDSB. I was really surprised on my first day to find out that this school was slotted for closure at the end of the year, so staff morale was really low and student enrollment had been "declining" for the past few years. I almost cried after my first day because things seemed so desperate. It doesn't make sense to me that on one hand, we have a request for more trained technicians and applied tradesworkers, but on the other hand, TDSB is closing all of the high schools that provide opportunities for students to pursue these careers.
On the first day, I was feeling pretty nervous about meeting my host teacher. She had a long, Jewish last name, so I was imagining her out to be a tall, imposing woman with big hair (Karen Hitchcock-esque for my fellow alma mater mates). Fortunately, the educational assistant gave me the low-down on her before she came and told me that she was an Asian Jew (Chinese woman converts to marry Jewish man) and that she was crazy. After 4 days with her, I can see why people (including herself) call her crazy, but she's definitely a brilliant woman who cares deeply for her students. Watching her is like watching a sitcom--she's always making people laugh! I've learned a lot from her in the past few days, but I get the feeling that she's a treasure trove of which I've only scratched the surface.
Since the school is in decline, the class sizes are small. Small as in 2-13 students. It's been quite a change from the 30+ students and I realize the huge effect class sizes have on teaching quality. It can't be too small, but having less students definitely allows for more follow-up. Marking is so much lighter too!
What I loved most about the placement were the students. My host teacher was fantastic at commanding respect from them: compassionate toughness, she called it. These students have been sent to this school because they couldn't survive in the "collegiates." They struggle with learning disabilities, poor attendance due to late nights working/general laziness, hungry stomachs--stuff I'd never seen in my high school or the other schools I've been to. I felt that I was filled with love for each student I saw--another new phenomena I didn't experience in other schools. They weren't jostling for marks in order to get into university; they were showing up in class because they had to get their high school diplomas in order to get basic level jobs (like flipping burgers at McDonald's or garbage collecting).
The most inspiring end to my week was the final period when 3 former students separately came back to visit the school. One of them sat in with the class, who was spending the period working in the library, and shared about how he "did the crime, did the time" and realized he had to do something about it. He is now planning to open up his own fine dining restaurant. It was such an inspiration to see how the teachers at this school really make an impact on these students lives. It really isn't about teaching a subject, but using the subject to teach students about life and responsibility.
I'm looking forward to my return in April. If I can teach these students, I think I'm set. If I can't... I still have my B.Ed. year to learn.
On the first day, I was feeling pretty nervous about meeting my host teacher. She had a long, Jewish last name, so I was imagining her out to be a tall, imposing woman with big hair (Karen Hitchcock-esque for my fellow alma mater mates). Fortunately, the educational assistant gave me the low-down on her before she came and told me that she was an Asian Jew (Chinese woman converts to marry Jewish man) and that she was crazy. After 4 days with her, I can see why people (including herself) call her crazy, but she's definitely a brilliant woman who cares deeply for her students. Watching her is like watching a sitcom--she's always making people laugh! I've learned a lot from her in the past few days, but I get the feeling that she's a treasure trove of which I've only scratched the surface.
Since the school is in decline, the class sizes are small. Small as in 2-13 students. It's been quite a change from the 30+ students and I realize the huge effect class sizes have on teaching quality. It can't be too small, but having less students definitely allows for more follow-up. Marking is so much lighter too!
What I loved most about the placement were the students. My host teacher was fantastic at commanding respect from them: compassionate toughness, she called it. These students have been sent to this school because they couldn't survive in the "collegiates." They struggle with learning disabilities, poor attendance due to late nights working/general laziness, hungry stomachs--stuff I'd never seen in my high school or the other schools I've been to. I felt that I was filled with love for each student I saw--another new phenomena I didn't experience in other schools. They weren't jostling for marks in order to get into university; they were showing up in class because they had to get their high school diplomas in order to get basic level jobs (like flipping burgers at McDonald's or garbage collecting).
The most inspiring end to my week was the final period when 3 former students separately came back to visit the school. One of them sat in with the class, who was spending the period working in the library, and shared about how he "did the crime, did the time" and realized he had to do something about it. He is now planning to open up his own fine dining restaurant. It was such an inspiration to see how the teachers at this school really make an impact on these students lives. It really isn't about teaching a subject, but using the subject to teach students about life and responsibility.
I'm looking forward to my return in April. If I can teach these students, I think I'm set. If I can't... I still have my B.Ed. year to learn.
Monday, February 16, 2009
sick and grateful
I haven't left my house since I first stepped in after my dad picked me up from the bus station at Scarborough Town Centre. That's over 60 hours spent in one enclosed location--it's gotta be my record since infancy.
On Friday, I fell horribly ill with a virus that wracked my body so painfully that I felt like crawling out of my skin and my stomach kept churning over and over and over. Graciously, some kind friends gave me some Gravol and Pepto-Bismol to tide me over the bus ride until I returned home. I slept through most of the bus ride, and even ended it with a conversation with a stranger-girl that I had sat beside on the bus last semester, chatting about her interests in evolutionary biology.
Being sick at home has been awesome. Mind you, I didn't like it when my head spun around, and nothing seemed appetizing, but since my mom and brother are also sick, most of us have spent all these time at home being sick together. It's been my dad's turn to shine as caregiver, preparing soup after soup and pot of congee after pot of congee. I'm so blessed he's a great cook! I've also had a lot of time to watch many movies with my brother. I usually have a lot of difficulty sitting still to watch movies on my own, but it's always nice to share it with someone else.
The most wonderful part of this weekend was just the simple conversations I had with family. I tend to lose out on sleep more often when I come home because I stay up late to talk to my parents and I wake up earlier to keep talking to them. They are my best listening ear, wisest guidance, and responsible protectors. In one of my conversations with my dad, who borderlines on being boastful but is quite accurate about himself, I said that he, who once said his gift was in understanding people, did not quite understand me or else he would let me do what I felt called to do. He told me he now understood after some enlightenment from my mom, and that if I truly wanted to pursue a missionary career-- I would be free to do so! What a blessed surprise!
It's strange that the timing should happen now--when my future is more blank in my mind than ever. I am not concerned though. I know my next step, and I will take it in faith.
From James 5:
14Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. 15And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. 16Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.
Happy Family Day!
On Friday, I fell horribly ill with a virus that wracked my body so painfully that I felt like crawling out of my skin and my stomach kept churning over and over and over. Graciously, some kind friends gave me some Gravol and Pepto-Bismol to tide me over the bus ride until I returned home. I slept through most of the bus ride, and even ended it with a conversation with a stranger-girl that I had sat beside on the bus last semester, chatting about her interests in evolutionary biology.
Being sick at home has been awesome. Mind you, I didn't like it when my head spun around, and nothing seemed appetizing, but since my mom and brother are also sick, most of us have spent all these time at home being sick together. It's been my dad's turn to shine as caregiver, preparing soup after soup and pot of congee after pot of congee. I'm so blessed he's a great cook! I've also had a lot of time to watch many movies with my brother. I usually have a lot of difficulty sitting still to watch movies on my own, but it's always nice to share it with someone else.
The most wonderful part of this weekend was just the simple conversations I had with family. I tend to lose out on sleep more often when I come home because I stay up late to talk to my parents and I wake up earlier to keep talking to them. They are my best listening ear, wisest guidance, and responsible protectors. In one of my conversations with my dad, who borderlines on being boastful but is quite accurate about himself, I said that he, who once said his gift was in understanding people, did not quite understand me or else he would let me do what I felt called to do. He told me he now understood after some enlightenment from my mom, and that if I truly wanted to pursue a missionary career-- I would be free to do so! What a blessed surprise!
It's strange that the timing should happen now--when my future is more blank in my mind than ever. I am not concerned though. I know my next step, and I will take it in faith.
From James 5:
14Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. 15And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned, he will be forgiven. 16Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.
Happy Family Day!
Monday, February 9, 2009
In the midst of preparing for my test, midterm, and essay, all of which are due this week, I took some time to hang out with Brother Lawrence (via his book The Practice of the Presence of God). I've been going through it slowly in order to maximize digestive value, but here are some of his final thoughts, written a week before he died.
Sometimes university has frustrated me in that I spend so much time getting to "know" other subjects, without having the same opportunity to "know" God. There have been some courses that have magnified God's glory and majesty in His creation and order, but I'll have to look a bit harder to find God through my Psych of Crime notes for tomorrow's midterm.
Let all our employment be to know God; the more one knows Him, the
more one desires to know Him. And as knowledge is commonly the measure of love,
the deeper and more extensive our knowledge shall be, the greater will be our
love; and if our love of God were great, we should love Him equally in pains
and pleasures.
Let us not content ourselves with loving God for the mere sensible favors,
how elevated soever, which He has done or may do us. Such favors, though never
so great, cannot bring us so near to Him as faith does in one simple act. Let us
seek Him often by faith. He is within us; seek Him not elsewhere.
Sometimes university has frustrated me in that I spend so much time getting to "know" other subjects, without having the same opportunity to "know" God. There have been some courses that have magnified God's glory and majesty in His creation and order, but I'll have to look a bit harder to find God through my Psych of Crime notes for tomorrow's midterm.
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