hebrews 10:18

now when sins have been forgiven, there is no need to forgive any more sacrifices.

I think one of the nicest things to hear after you feel like you've messed up real bad, is "It's ok. I've forgotten about it." If anyone has a right to hold something against us, it's God. I imagine walking into a room after messing up, and there he is, sitting there, with dinner ready. I expect him to be giving me silent treatment, or give me a disappointed look. And I am cowering, expecting the worse. But he sets a meal before me, and smiles. '[He] prepares a feast for me, in the presence of my enemies. [He] welcomes me as a guest, anointing my head with oil. My cup overflows with blessings.' He knows, forgives, forgets.

I don't understand, God. My Christian fellowship group and I were talking about guilt the other day, and someone pointed up 2 types of guilt - wordly and godly guilt. Later on, someone emailed us:

"2nd Corinthians 7:9-11
" ⁹ Now I rejoice, not that you were made sorry, but that your sorrow led to repentance. For you were made sorry in a godly manner, that you might suffer loss from us in nothing. ¹⁰ For godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted; but the sorrow of the world produces death. ¹¹For observe this very thing, that you sorrowed in a godly manner: What diligence it produced in you . . . "

Man, isn't this so awesome? Godly sorrow over our sins leads to life, but worldly sorrow over our sins and continuously feeling encumbered by shame and guilt leads to death. Someone last night (sorry I forget who) said the main difference between the two was that in worldly guilt/sorrow, we lack the right perspective, refusing the cleansing and believing that we can make it right. But rather, repentance is entirely a gift of God, and carrying around this shame/guilt is in essence saying the crucifixion was insufficient for our cleansing."

God is so big.

I was in a Boston revival prayer meeting the other day, looking around the room. And there was my side, filled with Harvard med school students. And then there was the middle of the room, filled with hipsters, girls in mustard yellow berets and purple scarves, and guys in skinny corduroy pants and moustaches. And then on the other end, there was this big guy with orange hair, tatts all over, worshipping God wholeheartedly. I don't understand how God connects with them. All I know is, He does, because he knows how to speak their heart language even though I don't. He knows what breaks their heart, just like he knows what breaks and broke mine. He knows our all the things we're ashamed of. And he says, "it's ok, I've forgotten" in the way they can understand, just the way he tells me "it's okay" the way I understand. He tells me it's okay when i wake up in the morning and open the curtains and he stuns me with a snow covered landscape, through music, through a deep knowing that he loves me. You stun me, God. And I'm sure you stun the guy with the tatts too. You are so big!

Overwhelmed with wonder.

Gtg talk to Him now.

Year Two of Grad School.

Fun things:

1) Watching Mark Morris Dance Group last Saturday. All I could think of was, dance makes music sound so good.

2) Designing a new laparascopic grasper for class. I forget how cool engineering can be sometimes. One prof wears Hawaiian shirts with weird prints to class and he's a genius, which makes him extra cool. The other prof speaks slowly, deliberately and makes a ton of deadpan jokes and is also a genius. The teaching assistant throws balls of paper at people who are sleeping in class behind the prof's backs.

3) Anatomy class. Dissections are making me want to be a surgeon very badly.

4) Immunology class. Flabbergastingly complex! Our bodies are amazing and I bet we don't even understand 2% of what really happens yet.

5) Learning to be happily Singaporean in angmohland. It's a new feeling when I can speak Singlish over Skype in lab and feel proud of it.

Running off for a Engineer without Borders conference call! xxx.

wow2.

i'm still excited, heh.

wow.

so today i go for group therapy, and we're all talking about how we try to fit into different 'roles', and live up to expectations, and don't say what's really on our mind.

i got all excited when we talking about not editing what we say before we say it. can you imagine that? i mean, so i guess if we were a group of aggressive, loud-mouthed, obnoxious jerks that wouldn't be so great. BUT. this is a group of people pleasing, nurturing, caregiver-esque folks. wouldn't you like to know what's REALLY on their mind?

and then it leads me to think....i would really want to marry someone who is able to be himself no matter where he is, or who he is. respectful and real. not conflict avoiding, loving, totally comfortable being a source of discomfort.

omg. i'm so excited.

mirror on the wall

Today I spent some time staring at myself in the mirror, and feeling surprised that I am Chinese/Asian/Singaporean. It's funny because ever since I've come overseas, I haven't really thought of myself that way. Some of it, I think, is because I hang out with non-Singaporeans/non-Asian people for a significant portion of my time that I've kind of become oblivious to myself - it's like gaining your identity from people around you. Some of it too is just that Singaporeans have a great aptitude (I think) for assimilating into whatever environment you give them, just because Singapore hasn't really done a great job of branding itself. I don't know what to tell people when they ask me what Singapore is about. America is Hollywood. America is Macdonalds. America is Obama. Singapore is....? In my heart I can say Singapore is chicken rice, and ERP, and sheltered walkways everywhere. But how do I explain that to someone overseas? And because they don't understand it, I don't communicate it. And because I don't communicate it, I don't feel it. And I start to have this vague notion of my cultural identity.

I looked in the mirror and was very surprised that I am tan, and I have Asian features. It's a funny feeling.

Bright eyes are calling

Is it okay that I'm 23 and still feel like a bright eyed, wide eyed child inside? That I kind of want to wear orange and green checkered shirts for the heck of it? That I want to wink over the top of the novel I'm reading at someone across the table, and then laugh?

Is it okay that I don't adhere to social norms all the time? That sometimes I want to take off and run in wide open fields?

Is it okay that I want to pray fervently on my knees to the God I know rules the universe? Is it okay that I don't want my room to match? That I don't want to look elegant all the time?

I want to dance in my living room to whatever's on the radio. I want to bask in the splendour of the sun, and pick the ugliest hat to wear to work tomorrow.

I don't want to ever forget how to love with abandon. To take risks, and hurt and cry. That's what makes a heart alive.

I want to be able to do the mundane things - laundry, chores, repeatedly failing experiments - and still be able to sit down at the end of the day and praise God. He makes me so safe, so safe to be exactly who I am. Am I too passionate? Am I too fickle? Am I too emotional? Thankfully, He doesn't think so. I think He's seen me at my worst (:

When I look at the end of the road, I can see His eyes looking at me. And when I gaze back at them, I know, I am safe. Absolutely, altogether, without a doubt, safe. It doesn't matter what happens to me tomorrow, in a month, in 5 years. I can see His eyes. Eyes which are wonderfully wise, passionate, loving (SO loving), understanding, powerful. And they are calling me.

Cameras, robbers, freebie love

Today I was thinking about how owning a camera could transform my fame in blogosphere. Theoretically, with a camera, I would take stunning photographs of everyday life (grandparents kissing, babies smiling etc) and post them, so that even if I had utterly no wit that day, I had at least a picture of a toddler picking his nose for blog readers to coo over.

Unfortunately I have no camera, and this makes me slightly sad because beautiful Kodak moments in life go forgotten. Then again, it also means that if my home ever was broken into (like how my neighbour's home was broken into 2 weeks ago), the robbers' (them poor dears) best luck at stealing something valuable from my room would be the Red Bull shot that has sat on my desk for the past 3 months or so. I have never gotten round to drinking it because the healthfreak in me (which mostly comes out to play during blue moons, pig flying events and in the presence of Red Bull shots) declares it a dangerous, chemical-laden beverage. Robbers though, I feel, would find it a worthy find since most robberies, which require alertness, nimble-footedness and energy, occur at night, when they surely must be sleepy and tired like me.

By the way, in case I come off as the sort of person who makes impulsive purchases of Red Bull shots and then doesn't drink them, I should clarify that it was a free gift when I bought a microfabrication textbook at the MIT Co-op at the start of semester. One week later though, I returned the textbook when I realised that microfabrication is just 'not my thang'. Although I received a total refund when I returned the textbook, the bookstore people did not ask for the Red Bull shot back. SCORE, I thought to myself, for I have gained a free Red Bull shot! Which I will never drink, of course, but which the freebie-loving Asian me will nonetheless derive satisfaction from.