Sunday, September 30, 2007
It's funny how an army private can sometimes dumbfound a staff sergeant. Not that it happens most of the time elsewhere in other countries since regulations and discipline is always utmost priority until it stifles communication and interaction. In Zanotopia, soldiers of different ranks and positions stay at the same bunks, work in same units and groups, and are almost indifferent where rank and profile are concern, thus the freedom of speech among the hierachy.
It was during training. The whole batallion was running and doing the normal drills as usual. And as usual too, the troops in the units will always remove their shirts. Some say it helps to get the sweat off your shirt - save some water on the extra amount of dirty clothes that has to be washed - other thinks it's an opportunity to flex their muscles to each other. Not that they're trying to get attention from each other, especially when they're of same (or similar) gender, it's the ego that's at stake.
Unusually, however, the staff sergeant will wear his shirt. More than just a shirt, but the complete army outfit. Many have wondered, but not many dare to ask. More so that the SS is well known for his temper, lousy attitude and impatience. Never takes 'no' as an answer, never accepts 'sir I think you're wrong' as a response, never accepts failures, and seldom - if not never at all - encourages questions asked.
The irony then comes when it didn't take someone from a position above his to throw him that question, but someone new, fresh, no almost nuts about the military, to 'make him wonder'.
"Sir, while everyone runs without their gear and outfit during the drills, why do you do that?" the private asked.
The question of course stunned the SS for a while. He never expected a junior to throw such a question at him. His colleagues and bunk mates teased him before, but no one actually asked out of concern and care. Somehow, like always, his defense mechanism started was activated. Excuses and some barking around, telling him off for being a busybody and a warning to stop snooping around his business.
Interesting enough, that defense mechanism though activated, never worked out any results. He just stared at the junior, mouth ajar with no words said yet, and gazed into the eyes of the junior. From those little eyes beneath the ruffled hair trickling with sweat, he knew that this junior knew something about him.
"Sir, it can get a little heavy at times." I'm sorry if I'm being a busybody, maybe I'm not in a position to ask, but just so you know..
I'm concern, and we care about you sir.
The private trotted off to the dinner calls of his friends, leaving the SS behind, amid tired soldiers moving to the canteen, but alone in his thoughts. Drowned, he knew that in that sea of thoughts was an answer. Or he need not even look into those thoughts, he just need to lift up his shirt for those answers.
Quietly closing the door of his bathroom cubicle, he took of his armour piece by piece. Standing in front of the mirror, stark naked, completely stripped off his armour, he saw what he never wanted others to see. Unhidden by any piece of garment, the bruises of his torments were clear and evident. The marks of a suffered and tortured ex-prisoner of war, the traits of an abused soldier back in the old regiment, the scars of a defeated soldier.
All this while, he knew so surely, that if anyone saw those bruises that will never fade, those scars that will never heal, he will be discriminated. The army perception is that the weak will never be fit for the army, the sick don't deserve to be a part of Zanotopia's elite military force, the defeated are never regarded as soldiers. At the back of his mind, he can imagine himself losing all opportunities to rise even further in the ranks. He saw himself isolated and secluded, rejected and discredited despite the stars and stripes he won for himself, despite the lengths he covered in the battlefield, just because he was defeated.
Sick, a disease in the mind. Bruise, more than just a blue-back mark across his back and chest, but a spot in his heart that hurts when applied pressure.
Later the evening he met up with Nire. Wasn't he glad that he had that opportunity to be at the side of someone who would finally understand. She was always the good listener. He would spill his thoughts to the floor - that's where his eyes were glued at everytime he talked 'with' her - and she would just listen, absorb, be a part of the scenario he was in, and finally and most importantly, the advice.
"You know," she broke the long silence after he concluded his problem. "The question is more than just why aren't you prepared to let people see what is inside you, but rather, what is it that you can't accept about yourself."
Second stunner in a single day. He exhaled heavily along with a sigh.
You still can't accept yourself for what you are, can you? I can't. I just can't. Expectations. Overidealistic dreams. What are you? A robot that can be repaired? God that is divine and untouchable? You're made of flesh and bones, blood and breath, like anyone of us, you're still human, you're still vulnerable like anyone else, and you carry what all of us too carry.
"Finally someone pricked you at a soft spot huh?" she poked him. He nodded slowly. His past has always been his soft spot. His memories, at times, haunts him. Often he asks himself, do I still live in the shadows of my past, and far too often, he allowed himself to believe so.
Right now, who knows, he might be thinking twice of running the way everyone else in the army runs. Hopefully he will be able to take those heavy armours adorning him off one day. If that day really comes, it will because it took a brave junior with enough discernment to take that step up, with nothing more but care as a needle and curiosity as the prick, to poke the SS at a place where he needs to be pricked. Like a clogged vessel, the blood can only flow when an exit is made. The private, like a porcupine and its prick, or maybe like a doctor with the surgical tools, made that exit for him.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
I will never forget that night. My dad slapped me. He slapped me and was almost shouting at me. He was so angry, so mad, so furious.
I stole something from him. It's really no big deal, it's just something small and cheap - now that I look back to think - and it's so insignificant. It's not like I stole a nuclear bomb and planned to destruct the whole world, or the family pendant that I took to a pawn shop.
It was just a little handkerchief. A small, cotton handkerchief that I liked very very much. It had a nice little flower pattern at the bottom left corner, and a brown frame half a cm from the borders of the handkerchief. It was soft and it was smooth, and I loved it very much.
Stumbling upon that handkerchief for the first time in my parents' room, it was lying on the floor, like it belonged to nobody. But of course, despite my age, I could have already deduced by then that if it was on the floor in my parents' room, then it had to belong to my parents. I picked it up, brought it to my mother and asked her whether I could have it.
"It's not mine, it's your dad's. Go ask him."
And my heart sank. I knew that I would never be able to have it. My dad is a stingy man. He will never give me what I want. Even a small toy or an ice-cream, I was dead sure that if I were to ask him, I'd be better off not asking for it in the very first place. If I wanted something real badly, it would have to be asked from my mother, and not my dad.
Secretly, I kept the handkerchief. I wanted it very badly. It was nice to touch and hold. Especially when you are bored - after all, I was just a kid who had nothing better to do - I would just lie on the bed, and play with that handkerchief. It was my little companion from the first day I found it, and it was my source of happiness and imagination. I wrapped it around my head and played pirates, I put it over my mouth and I was a thief, I tied it on my knee and impersonated a limping soldier wounded in battle.
Later, the handkerchief became more than just a source of imagination, it became my little comfort zone. I'd come back from school emotionally bruised after being bullied by the kids in the kindergarten, and I'd lock myself up in the room and take out the handkerchief from under my bed, and start wiping my tears with it. Then holding it in my head, I'd talk to it as if as I was allowing the handkerchief to understand what I was going through. There were the times that I thought it didn't know what I was talking about, and I'd get so fed-up of it and will just throw it around, only to feel bad for treating my 'good friend' that way, pick it up, wipe the dust of it and rub it lovingly again.
But alas, my dad found out about the handkerchief, and trust me, he sure was furious.
"How dare you take something from me without permission?" He bellowed. That was stealing, he claimed.
But you already have so many handkerchiefs, why couldn't I just take that one? Not like it means so much to you... And I refused to return that handkerchief. I love it so much, why couldn't I keep it? I'm taking very good care of it, I even wash it every week secretly. What's wrong?
"Give me back what is mine." he commanded. I refused. He repeated the command, and I still refused.
That did it. The slap came flying towards me and landed accurately on my cheek. Taken off by the blow, the impact sent me sprawling on the ground. Heat seared on my face, tears welled in my eyes, I grew even more resilient and angry.
"It wil never be yours!" I yelled and I ran up to my room.
Soon, things became very hostile between me and my dad. He became that angry and fearful man to me, and I will always dodge away from him when he comes into sight, even at home. Could you actually imagine a little 6-year-old kid avoiding his dad in his dad's house and home? Ridiculously hilarious, but that was me back then.
And I realized, that nothing will ever change, until and unless I surrender that handkerchief back to him.
There was only one reason why I refused to give the handkerchief up. I wanted it so badly, and that was only because I thought I found comfort in that handkerchief. To me, that handkerchief is my world. Eevrything to me. And I couldn't live without it.
One night, my dad walked into my room, sat down beside me on the bed, and looked at me. I nearly pissed in my pants, but as I saw into my dad's eyes, I saw so much love, so much forgiveness, so much kindness through his eyes. The evil dad that wouldn't even allow me to give me a small handkerchief, was now a gentle and loving dad.
"Son," he said softly while running his fingers through my hair. "It's not about the handkerchief, but when you steal something that's not yours, when you take something that's mine and not yours, how can I give you something better, that I have always wanted to give you?"
I hid my face underneath my blanket. Deep inside, I was so angry with myself that I made my dad so mad back then, and yet there's a struggle to surrender the handkerchief that I've grown so fond of up. I didn't want to lose a little possession, but I didn't want to make my dad angry either.
"Will you give me back what is mine?" This time, the gentle voice over the blanket, prompted me to do the right thing.
Pulling out the handkerchief from under my pillow, I held it in my palms and gazed at it for a last time. Thank you for everything you've been to me, little handkerchief. Controlling my tears and my feelings, I slowly handed the handkerchief back to my dad. A little smile carved across his face as I gently dropped the cloth into my dad's palm.
With one hand stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket, he pulled out another handkerchief with the other hand from a different pocket. He took my little hand, and firmly gave me that new handkerchief. A brand new handkerchief, it was far smoother and silkier than the cotton handkerchief. It had embroidery and was made of silk linen, and had the most sophisticated golden designs all across the handkerchief. Later I discovered it was a silk fabric imported from Italy, and it was worth a treasure to many people.
"The best things in life comes," he paused to look at me again, "when you make that choice to give me what I want so I can give you things that are even better."
That handkerchief still stays in my pocket till now. If I knew that I could have got a better handkerchief from Italy than the one found on the floor, I would have never even looked at the floor, but would have straight looked up to my dad, and asked for it, believing that though he will not say yes immediately, he will never let me not have what is best for me.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
My juniors, after a week's break, invited me out for a nice lunch and a chat after some ice skating.
I will never forget that moment when they spilled out everything. One by one, they told me the concealed words of their hearts, opening up their lock chambers in their minds, allowing me to, for once, take a peek into their thoughts. And as tears were welling not in my eyes but in my heart, I was moved, by their sincerity, their honesty, their attitude and their outlook.
For once, I felt accepted by people who didn't know much about me. No form of rejection or discrimination because of my outward appearance, no sense of isolation towards me because of my past or my background, but just pure acceptance by people who gave me an opportunity to be part of their lives.
The thing that I will always be grateful for, was the chance they gave me.
They gave me a chance not to teach, but to care. They gave me a chance not to lead, but to walk by their sides. They gave me a chance not to debate, but to discuss.
And I am full of gratitude.
A month ago, as I stood in front of this same screen, typing sentences after sentences of sadness and pain, I wondered what was my purpose of going through all that I went through, the worries and the anxiety that was on my mind, the problems I faced throughout the duration of training. The pessimism from friends, the discouraging peers that often hindered me from staying focused to my goals, yet I hang on to what I believe was a calling, because the calling themselves have never gave up on themselves.
I challenged God for a miracle. Show me some signs, show me that You're still there.
Today, this evening, I saw those miracles. Miracles are not in lightnings or in rainbows, miracles were and are always in people. Those around us. Those close to us. Those that put us in a special place in their hearts as we put them in ours. People. Miracles God place in our lives.
Now I know, that I have friends I can trust. Now I know, I have companions that will never betray me. Now I know, that there are 2 seniors I can depend on and a bunch of juniors that I can turn to when the going gets tough. That is the miracle that God has performed in my life. That burst of light in my night that never seems to end, that little rainbow after a long rain.
Thank you people, thank you Si Han and PC. Thank you for being that miracle to me.
And God, I'm sorry. I'll never ask for a miracle again.
It's more than just mere stuff that any guy would say to a pretty girl hoping that the girl would respond
But it's a commitment I promise not to you, but to myself
To be there for you whether or not you need me by your side
To say I love you, is more than just a present
A gift that can be bought with money or prizes
But it's a price that has been paid for, with tears and pain
To put that smile not just on your face, but in your heart
To say I love you, is nothing about wanting you
It's nothing about hoping that you can be there for me or that you will always be by my side
But it's about letting you have the best you can ever want
Even if it means that you will never put me first even if I make you the princess of my heart
To say I love you, is always about you and you alone
Your happiness, your laughter, your joy, your life
To hope that you will always have the best in life, to give you the best of me
Even if it requires me to love you without being loved in return
To say I love you, it means more than anything to me
Coz I know that at the end of the day, it's not what you do in return that truly matters
But what I've done for you, and what I can do to you, that could make a difference
Even if love hurts to much and if the process gets to painful
when many can love each other, not everyone can love without being loved in return
when many can wait for each other, not everyone can wait for nothing
Yet when someone makes that decision to wait and love with no assurance of a future,
that brings out the true essence of love altogether
Coz Love, after all,
is about giving without getting
is about paying without receiving
is about dying to yourself for others
and to hang on even when it gets too hard and tough.
To say I love you,
I truly mean it, and I do mean it. Just hope you'll understand.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Deep inside her, she may not have realized what she once had, what she once lost, and what she can still fight for. Concealed in fears and unknowns of what people can never see, she somehow needs somethings to make her aware once again, that there are still people who know about her.
Somehow, someone had to bring her back, by force, into a realm that she can familiarize herself with. A world that she can call her own, a dream she once dreamt and a vision she once saw. Standing up in front of people, words of intelligence and arguments that will make heads nod and spin the minds of her opponents.
That was her immortal part that she thought she nearly lost. But she never did.
Maybe debate was once her life. Maybe to her, debate is everything about winning and the glory and the fame and the joy of defeating their opponents. Maybe that changed when she suffered terribly a year ago in a tragedy that left her devastated and dejected, maybe that put off the fire in her.
The amazing thing is this: that a fire that was put out with water and sand, may very well remain ignited, glowing deep within. She, like a glowing rod concealed beneath the sands of disappointment and disillusions, needed something to blow away the dirts and bring out the best in her again.
That person that can only do that, is God.
No matter what, whether is it in debates or not, whether is it in studies or anything, as a matter of fact, any dream that is made to be immortal in the human spirit, any vision that was once given to us or any wishes that is marked deep within our hearts, comes from God. A creator of dreams, a giver of visions, a keeper of His own promises. That makes every dream and every vision immortal.
Amy, don't ever forget that. Your dreams will live forever as long as your eyes are on the Giver of those dreams.
Behind the realms of truth, lies the nature of pain and hurt. Because it is the truth that reveals the pain and the problems that are in existence. Yet my journey with you over the last whole month, over the last 7 rounds in the debate field, has challenged that truth. It was once said, that great man use lies to convey the truth. Have I done that, regardless of whether I am a great man or not?
When I first met you, back on that corridor while pasting up the ‘Battle of Minds’ posters, it was just a casual question that I didn’t expect any response. I never expected anybody to be so enthusiastic about partnering me in a debate. I make a lousy partner. I’m impatient, I’m moody, I have a fiery temper. And when you said ‘yes’ without giving it a second thought, I really thought you were kidding. And when I realized that you were serious and sincere, I decided to take it as a challenge.
And to be honest, you were no good speaker at all. You had no formal training, you had no real exposure in the debate or speaking arena, you had no experience one way or another. To me, it was a disadvantage. Perhaps I sealed my own fate when I decided to take you as a partner. Before partnering you, I very badly wanted to win the tournament. I have never won any single debate tournament, and this BoM seemed like a very good chance. All I needed was a good partner that could debate well, and I could well be on the path to victory.
You changed that all.
You were handicapped where language was concerned. True, you have the ideas and the thoughts, but you just simply couldn’t express it. You had a backhand where speaking was involved. Yes, you may talk a lot in class – from the feedbacks I get from your lecturers - but it just simply doesn’t reflect that you could speak well.
Suddenly, my dreams of winning vapourised. In a split second after working with you, I knew for sure that we will never go far in a tournament where you will meet debaters like Johnson, Alex or Deenish. Debate, after all, is team work, not individual performance. No point if I could be a best speaker while you were a mediocre. It doesn’t work that way.
Somehow now, after looking back at what I’ve went through with you, I must admit that you have left me with an invaluable lesson. You taught me, that winning is simply not everything. That sometimes, victory can be hollow, but it is the dream that keeps us pushing hard and strong when things seem to go wrong from every direction. You made me see, that beyond the glory of gold and applause, there is a greater goal to accomplish. In life, it is more than just the mere honour Man can endow upon each other that matters, but it is the fruits of the labour of striving hard and pressing on to achieving a vision that brings out the best in us.
What I saw from you, that made me never gave up on you ever, was your persistency and perseverance. That I saw you struggle so hard and so much at times, and yet you were never ready to give up. That when I just fired you for all the mistakes you made, you just accepted it, made some notes, and stand up, try again and keep learning. That you were prepared to make mistakes to learn from it, and you were ready to get a fair bit of scolding for the sake of improving. And I was moved by that.
Most of all, you gave me the opportunity. The chance to be a partner to you, the chance to learn how to help each other, the chance to see what I have never seen in a person that struggles as she fights, but above all, a chance to bring out the best in you.
You see, Rachel, I could have never be a winner with you. But it is not about being a winner in the sense of winning a tournament, rather it is about being able to bring out the best in you that makes me and you a true winner. No one can always win forever, but we can always choose to bring out the best in each other. That could have only happened because you first gave me that chance to be there for you, to bring out the best in you.
I can and never will be the best in the field. And that feeling sucks. I have never won any tournament despite how hard I train back in secondary school because I never had good partners in the first place. That to know that you will always be discriminated because you come from a Chinese school, regardless of how good or how well prepared you are, you are always a second-class speaker in any major league. I have went through all of that, and sometimes that feeling kinda haunts me still. This is where you have an advantage. Because you never had such exposure, you have no such fears. Because you never went through what I did, you don’t worry about ‘history repeating itself’ to you.
Maybe what you said was right. That “I really don’t like you” made me think a lot. From the very first moment, after knowing that I am not a very well accepted person to you challenged me, to not become more accepted to you, but to be more careful. I won’t lie. It hurt very much to hear you say that. But I had to pretend, and show outwardly, that it didn’t matter. I rather get hurt for the truth then to feel good over a lie. And I thank you for being that truthful partner.
So much said and so much written, the last thing you ought to remember is this: I no longer strive for gold. After fighting for the last 7 rounds with you, I now know that there is a greater calling, and that is God. For it is God who placed me in a team with you, and showed me what purposes that needed to be achieved in the process, and the journey that I had to go through with you, that makes gold as worthless as the dust beneath the feet. Sometimes there will be that desire to get gold, but the true gold in me is the heart of gold both you and I have, and that comes from God.
My victory, is in you. My gold, came when I know, that you learned something out of all this. And that though you may not have won anything so far, though you may not be the best partner that I could dream for, but you gave your worst and lousiest chance your very best shot, and brought out the very best in you. That makes both you and I, champions, in our very own ways.
You are never forgotten in my prayers. Never forgotten, because as much as I have made a difference in you, so have you made a change in me. And I can only thank you, from the very bottom of my heart, for everything that you have done to and for me.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
I need answers. Sometimes, questions can kill. Kill you out of frustration that you'll not know what the problems truly are, or where are things going wrong, or what is the whole problem with the world towards you. what does the world holds against you? What is it that the world hates about you? What have you done that has offended people so much?
Then just when you think the question is the real problem to you, wait till the answer comes.
Like a piercing arrow or a spear flung through the heart, the answer can devastate you. Stun you in the spot, stupefy you till you're just left dumbfounded, speechless and shocked, all at the same time.
Man was never made to be understood by people. Man are intelligent creatures but never smart enough to reason things out. Man are sensitive where their hearts are concerned, but they never understand what other's are thinking.
I learned this sad truth painfully. That no matter how noble your motives may be, no matter how hard you try to pursue your dreams, there will always be people who will never understand. There will always be other people who not only reject it, but pose as a hindrance to your moving ahead of things.
But it's never a reason good enough to give up.
That thought surely crossed my mind more than once, more than twice, more than thrice. The imagination of how 'easy life would be if I wasn't involved with all this nonsense' could be easily pictured at the back of my mind. The sweetness of having no responsibilities, no late night researchs, no early morning discussions or no one to be accountable to, is something that I've long dreamed of tasting, and yet it will always remain a luxury found only in the deepest dreams of mine.
Still, I'm not giving up.
I once shared with my CA, a screwed-up situation can either break you or make you. Either make you bitter, or better. I'm in a lousy state now, with so much to do in so little time, but guess what? I'm not going to let it make me bitter, neither is it going to break me. A choice I made, and I'm going to stick by it.
Please pray for INTEC's Battle of MiNDS, it's our inaugural premier BP Debating championships. We came such a long way, and there's still a longer way to go. 7th to 9th September, your prayers will make a difference.
Please don't forget my junior debaters in your prayers. They're young and new, fresh with ideas but intimidated by the unknowns. Some have already quit, many are discouraged. They are the reason why I hang on, and they are hanging on a thin line between going on and letting go.
I know I'll survive this period of time, but the outcome of it, largely depends on how I choose to survive this period of time, ultimately changing my story at the end of the day.
And yet, so few of them could truly appreciate the beauty of independence. What independence do we seek? What independence do we shout about, when the independence that one truly needs, is the independence in the heart and soul?
The night before, I was preparing a little sharing supposed to be presented for my cell group’s combined Independence Day celebration picnic. And the only passage in my mind, was the passage where Jesus spoke to the 2 disciples on the way to Emmaus.
As they talked and discussed, Jesus himself drew near and walked along with them; they saw him, but somehow did not recognize him.
Jesus said to them, "What are you talking about to each other, as you walk along?" They stood still, with sad faces.
One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, "Are you the only visitor in Jerusalem who doesn't know the things that have been happening there these last few days?"
"What things?" he asked.
"The things that happened to Jesus of Nazareth," they answered. "This man was a prophet and was considered by God and by all the people to be powerful in everything he said and did. Our chief priests and rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and he was crucified. And we had hoped that he would be the one who was going to set Israel free! Besides all that, this is now the third day since it happened. Some of the women of our group surprised us; they went at dawn to the tomb, but could not find his body. They came back saying they had seen a vision of angels who told them that he is alive. Some of our group went to the tomb and found it exactly as the women had said, but they did not see him."
Then Jesus said to them, "How foolish you are, how slow you are to believe everything the prophets said! Was it not necessary for the Messiah to suffer these things and then to enter his glory?"
We come before god, petitioning and presenting Him with our shopping list of ‘prayer items’ and ‘prayer requests’, hoping that it would come to past. We don’t commit ourselves before God in total surrender or compliance, but instead come with expectations, wanting to see results, hoping that things will turn out our way, and waiting to see the stuff that we asked for.
How often do we do that?
If it were a crime, I’d be guilty, first degree.
Most of the time, we are, in Jesus’ very own words, “Slow to believe everything the prophets said”. The words of our prophets, are the promises that God has given to us. A promise that He is always there for us. A promise that He will never leave us nor forsake us. A promise of rest to those who surrender to Him. A promise for a yoke that is light, and a burden that does not burn you out when you walk with Him in Him.
So simple. Yet, we doubt.
Sometimes – or most of the time – it’s easier to doubt than believe.
The beauty of this passage, the message that really struck me hard and left me pondering long into the night as I prepare this dedication post, is the fact, that Jesus knows even before we asks, and knowing what we want, He already has something better for us, that we could never imagine before.
What He sees, is the dreams that we have for ourselves. More than those dreams, He sees how our dreams stifle us, how our own dreams causes us to fall and stumble, how our dreams eventually lead to our own failure. He sees pride and ego in our dreams, He sees pain and agony in the process of achieving those dreams, He sees meaningless pursues and unfulfilled desires behind the illusion of a dream.
What He has prepared for us, is the deliverance from the bondage of our own dreams. An option to hang on to Him, a choice to let Him take control of our own life, an open door for us to walk into a land of green hopes and blue comforts from the deserts of desolation and the dryness of disappointment. More than just the deliverance from such a bondage, but a hope and a future.
“For I have plans for you, plans to prosper you not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.”
When we only see our own failures, He is there, arms waiting to welcome you back with a warm hug, and to bring you back home in His own arms, into a journey that we were always meant to complete. When we only see the disappointments in life, He has always been there, watching from somewhere never far away, maybe just behind us to catch us when we fall; maybe by our side to mark our next step; maybe in front of us to clear some path that needs to be cleared; maybe, in our heart, to speak and talk to us, when no one can talk to us ever again.
“For was it not necessary for the Messiah to suffer these things and then to enter his glory?”
The price for freedom has already been paid in full. It is now up to us, to walk out of our own bondage that has already been paid for, and to move on into a life of freedom, where our sweetest dreams can be found and where our heart can truly lie in, is in the treasure of God’s promises.
Happy Independence Day Malaysians. Much has been done, but more is yet to be fulfilled. Get right, get straight, and get going, as usual and forever, but this time, with God in us. That should make a difference.