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.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
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.
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