Lights.

During the first of several hour-long drives to Magingisda, an Agape Rural Program (ARP) staff brought to my awareness that ARP staff would take these bumpy daily one-hour drives on dirt road from the city to their assigned villages. With an absence of dissatisfaction, she continued to tell me about the work ARP does among the people living in the rural areas. I saw in her much compassion for her own countrymen and I grew to appreciate their ministry and the staff. ARP provides holistic welfare education to the villages and it is built upon a system of transference. Like many other non-profit NGOs, sustainable work is carried out through the empowerment of local volunteers hallmarked with an earnestness to improve the quality of lives in their immediate communities. What sets ARP apart then? As a volunteer so aptly put in ARP’s introductory video, it is the hand of God.

At every clinic session that ensued, God graciously showed me the work of His hands. My heart was greatly moved by the spirit of servanthood I witnessed among the locals. There was great camaraderie in their efforts to organise the sessions, acting in any way possible to ensure its smooth running. Their humble and kind nature drew me to interact with them more intentionally and it did not take long for me to realise that these were an amazing group of people. It was not only until the last clinic session that it struck me. We, as a medical team, would only be here for four days. Unlike us, the ARP staff and volunteers serve tirelessly every day. Our presence there merely punctuates their long-term commitment to serve God wholeheartedly amongst their own people. What compels them if not for the love of God? What moves them if not for their obedience to a call?

As a pharmacist and being unable to articulate Tagalog, I felt handicapped and relied greatly upon local volunteers not only for translation but also for medication supplies. With the inclusion of my Singaporean counterparts, every individual actively dedicated energy to learn in order to serve. This enthusiasm kept everyone’s spirits buoyant and I saw no signs of complaining except for the occasional distress from a mosquito bite. This, too, was characteristic of the hand of God. Unbeknownst to me at that time, God was silently using the obedience I witnessed in their attitudes to teach me an important lesson, that all service needs to be born and conducted out of love for God, and not out of duty to Him.

Even as we departed, I could not help but notice God’s hand as His love resonated deeply within the initiatives of ARP. God showed me that we are all but a small part in His big plan of salvation. Through the unity of faith, language barriers were crossed and God’s hand was able to move. It is with this same faith that my fellow team mates diagnose conditions; tell bible stories; give health lectures and share the good news of Jesus Christ. It is thus, with this faith, that I implore you to pray for God’s will to be done in the Republic of Philippines.

Before embarking on this trip, I predicted that I would leave with a heavy heart, concerned for the health of the people we were leaving behind. My attitude upon leaving was a great contrast to my prediction. I left with great faith that God would carry on His work. It was with this that I remembered the words of Oswald Chambers who wrote, “There are so few fellow workers with God and so many workers for Him. We would far rather work for God than believe in Him.” It was a timely reminder that my service is to be done in partnership with Him and that His love will carry on the work that was not initiated by our visit, but which was already present in the hearts of all the locals who love Him. 

It took merely one swift action for the hyperbolic motion of his arm to bring his head towards the wall. The absence of hesitation and the sudden cessation of whimpering branded the current situation as different from the other times. The limp form, now in fetal position, lay still on the cheap tiled floor of the room and began to shiver vigorously. A puddle started forming around his hips. Embarrassed, he pulled his knees closer to his shivering chest and the whimpering started again.

Overpowering hands immediately grabbed his shoulders and shoved them against the wall and he was made to stand at attention. With slightly bent knees, his distressed body took a defeatist stance as his eyes were flickering from left to right, exposing his desire for escape.

The intermittent sound of leather rubbing against denim was but the half-time bell of this one-sided fight. Upon hearing it, the body cried out in agony and brought his knees onto the floor. Fear had paralysed once again and words were barely uttered.

With only one hand, his body was yanked up against the wall. The other hand, wrapped in leather, had fingers tightly gripping onto the harbinger of discipline. 

One. He barely managed a weak “no… pleas…” and before he could finish, two.

Pain echoed through the room as he turned his head towards the ceiling, eyes closed, fists clenched, knees slightly bent, form shivering. Sobbing, he slowly lowered his head and his eyes met mine.

As number three was swinging down, I heard her.

“Stop…STOP! STOP! THAT’S MY SON! STOP NOW! ENOUGH!” This was the first time her voice went deep and wet with tears in the presence of the three.

The hand lowered at her voice and the next sound I remembered was the crack of the metal tab of a beer can.

At this point, my arms were around his shivering body, picking him up and into his bed.

“There is much to be thankful for” is a statement oft found on my lips. Yet, toying with the idea of oblivion has emerged once again and this has only been shared with a few. Only two, to be exact. It does not stem from my inability to see God’s objective in life post salvation. Neither does it rise from an inability to recognise the bestowed good things. This action of entertaining the idea of death is, in fact, absolutely disgusting to me. 

I am disgusted that I think this way.

After much reevaluation, my only conclusion is my fear of failing. There is a nagging underlying fear of making a wrong decision that might cause me to suffer the consequences for the rest of my life. Every decision we make impacts our next in so many ways I cannot even bring myself to face. This fear is normal, yet, it parades my immaturity and lack of faith in God so conspicuously that I am ashamed in God’s presence. Lacking the ability to consider His sovereignty causes a slight disturbance in me being able to objectively continue to be joyful in the things I engage in presently. 

Far from being a cry for help, explicitly expressing this indirectly aids in magnifying the blessings I have and the silliness this thinking involves. With this, I thank God for giving us language.

Cause if my fear’s right, I risk to lose you

And if I just might wake up alone

Bring on the night

Bring on the night.

The Xx, once again, kneads all these heart-wrenching emotions together, bakes them into little bittersweet bites and feeds them slowly to the sufferers of the unrequited. 

Stirring, I check that I’ve only been asleep for less than the desired minimum six hours.

Disappointed, I make a couple of attempts to return to the comfort of peaceful rest.

Tossing, I try hard to stick to strict self-imposed sleeping patterns and positions all in the name of better daylight appearances.

Giving up, I lay in bed in utter disgust at my poor sleeping habits and send a prayer skywards for blessings and grace.

Then, suddenly, I notice.

I don’t dream of you anymore.

Oh, the beauty of a healed subconscious mind. Haunting nights with that gripping effect greet my sudden morning wakes no more. I realise I no longer hold disdain against what we once shared. It’s been a long time and I don’t dream of you anymore.

It’s been a long time and I don’t dream of you at all, any more.

Now, fall asleep, Hop into it, these blatant circumstances.
But the fear of the night seems illegitimate,
To falter by virtue of midnight visitations and early morning wakes.
But the fear of these dreams appear to be my fate.

Dreamless nights, where have you been all night? 
In trembling, these eyes wake
And this body tries, with all its might
To focus, channel the mind’s fleeting thoughts,  
To fight. 

“On broken wings, I’m falling and it won’t be long”
For Thy will to be my song;
For Thy grace to render me strong
That these fears, no longer will prolong.

These fears, bluntly stated.
To wonder, if longing reciprocated.
Understand, these thoughts be eliminated.
And instead, to Your grace, be related. 

Exhausted, I fall to my knees. 

“If my heart has one ambition,
If my soul, one goal to seek,
This my solitary vision,
‘Til I only dwell in Thee.”

The same haunts with dissimilar partners
all in efforts of eradicating
memories of the ones past
in hope of creating clean canvases.

With Eyes on Fire, Promises were made
only to see the Inevitable
forcefully placed in your grasp.

So What are Words
if Kids was what it made you both.

Now arises the need to grapple with Consequence
and have Trouble Sleeping as a companion.
The Running seeks to dampen desire.
Now, fall asleep, Hop into it, these blatant circumstances.