My Prayer

It's been a long break; but for the last month of this year, I’ve decided to post this poem I wrote when I was in high school.

O Father, guide me where You wish to lead:

The choosing of the way be of Your will;

Your guidance do I desperately need

In trav'ling straight or winding up a hill.

When rough and rugged roads dismay my soul,

When brambles clutch my gown and hold me fast,

Remind me that You have been here before,

Experienced temptation in the past.

When shady pathways murm'ring beckon me,

Then may Your hand be tighter clasped 'round mine;

Because at every crossroad I must see

Your eye that guides me and keeps me in line.

Through all my life I long to follow You;

Dear Master, lead; and help me follow through.

And the whirlwind-ride continues. . . .

On my ical, red is for church work. Orange is for college work. Blue is travel. And purple is the ever-vague and all-encompassing "other."

"The eye is a region of mostly calm weather at the center of strong tropical cyclones." (quoting Wikipedia, which is acceptable here, since this is not a paper for college).

I'd studied about that a little in school. And I remembered that when I saw this picture:

blogs.ntm.org

So, I'm excited to see what's coming on. I'm rather expecting that my ical planning isn't going to turn out just as I have it written down, but I'm in the eye of this whirlwind.

"He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; He led him about, He instructed him, He kept him as the apple of His eye" (Deut. 32:10).

Ever gone riding on a whirlwind?

poesypluspolemics.com

Ah, where does time fly? Here I am, writing on the last day of August to meet my goal of posting once a month! Because I am in a time crunch, I’ve let this post get more informal (were my posts ever formal, anyway?) or more longwinded — you could say — more like me. *Ahem*

Well, I just want to share what God has been teaching me these days. Let me tell you, it hasn’t been very “fun” (but fun is a relative word, and we’re not placed in this world for the particular reason to have “fun”). 

You see, I have the habit of helping myself; and these past few months, God seems to have taken up the task to teach me that if He is to help me, I can’t have my own way of helping myself. I have to trust Him, go His way, and be content with whatever turn He wants to take at the cross roads. Of course, I know that His way is the best; but, still, I have that habit.

 I don’t know where I got that habit. Perhaps I got it through my years of being independent in — practically everything.

I was in control of my schooling. Deadlines? I set them. Exams? I graded them myself. Stuck on an essay? Too bad. Since you are an independent homeschooler, you’ve got to find out a way to do it yourself.

I taught myself to play the keyboard. Don’t know how to get that part right? Well, try it a ten times (more like 90 times) until it sounds right.

A tough responsibility? Keep on if you’re too proud to ask for help.

So . . . I am not saying this is a good habit. Not at all. 

Especially when I am in need help.

I’m the kind of person you can meet in the kitchen, and ask, “Need help?”

Answer-in-my-head: You may cook the whole meal, thank you. If I’m going to do the cooking, you can wash the dishes and sweep the floor.

Or the kind of person you meet in a housecleaning and you say, “Oooh, the house is messy.”

Answer-in-my-head: I would greatly appreciate it if you stop commenting on everything. If you want to help, take the clothes on floor and put them in the washing machine, but don’t touch these pillowcases I’m working on.

I’m sorry for being so blunt.

The truth is, I liked being independent and in control of everything. 

I tried that with college. (Small hint: Applying to a college and transferring in 72 credits from 5 different places might . . . present a little difficulty in the process).

My plan: Get enough credits to transfer. Order the transcripts. Choose the courses. Order the books. Start classes.

Um. No. 

Practically everything went wrong. Here is a 5-pointer glimpse of the chaos I was in.

1. I applied. Surprise, surprise. You are an international student, you need to take the TOEFL exam.

Queue: E-mails flying back and forth between me and my CP coach, me and the application office, me and my high school office.

1. I sent in my transcripts. Four credits didn’t transfer.

Queue: Dozens of e-mails hurled across the globe between me and my CP coach, me and the application office, me and my credit-awarding college.

1. So I need a couple more credits. I work with the sweat on my brow and get four more credits in 2 weeks. Pay some more money to get that transcript sent.
2. Transcripts flying back and forth. One gets stuck somewhere. “Look here, Miss. You should have done Western Civilizations 1. Why did you do Western Civilizations 2?”

Umm. Because that book got lost on the way from America to Nepal.

Queue: More e-mails shooting back and forth between . . . you know.

Now, may I start my college classes?

1. “Uh-huh. Look here, Miss. You didn’t order the main course book for PHSC 210. Why?”

Whaat? I had ordered my books way before I was supposed to. I looked in MBS direct, and —

“I thought so. You ordered your books way before you were supposed to. You see, the book was just hitting the press then.”

It was stressful, yes. However, I will not exchange that experience for any other in the world. 

I was trying to orchestrate my own life, and I meant to do that perfectly. God had other plans, though: He took me to ride on a whirlwind. When my perfectionist character tried to take over the controls, He put a little twist in it, and let me face the rock wall. Then, every time I felt that I’d reached a dead end, He came up with a beautiful way out. It was a breathtaking ride, a whirl of a ride.

Still, I am quite surprised when I think back . . . that I actually felt secure even when everything was whirling around at 857 km/hr. I felt secure because I knew that all that was happening was outside my control. It had nothing to do with me — I wasn’t guilty for all that mess. 

Even now, that Geology book hasn’t arrived yet. I don’t even know where it is. But because God is in control, I can rest . . . knowing that God is going to work if it is His will. If His will is otherwise, I’ll just fall behind in that class for a while, crash study, and have swollen eyes due to lack of sleep for a couple of weeks. Or He might have other plans. Whichever way, I’m content.

So here I end this amazingly rambling post. Reaching exactly, with these last words, a total of 962 words (I don’t know if the list numbers are counted — uh-oh, that makes a total of 973 words).

Ordinary days, aftershocks, and the Rapture

Another earthquake post — the one I promised.

In an earlier post, I had mentioned that the Nepal earthquake of April 2015 did not have such a great impact on me than the aftershocks that followed it. Yes, I still think so.

The big one came and went; it was just a memory after five minutes. But hundreds of aftershocks followed it; and they were not just memories. Knowing that they had come today, yesterday, and the day before that; and knowing that they would probably continue on for a whole year made them more than just memories.

It wouldn’t be exactly true to say that aftershocks became a part of life. But it came close.

Sometimes one would come when I was studying at my desk, helping my brother with his schoolwork, or practicing the keyboard. Just a quick shudder, a leap in my pulse — and I would be awed to think that I had not been expecting it. Then another would follow the next day when I was cooking dinner. The water inside the water-filter would tremble again.

Sometimes, they were like the first one; our house would rock and tilt and lurch as if it were a village local bus, crossing the bumpy riverbed. Once, it was more like a jump. But most of the the time, the aftershocks would gently nudge our house — north to south.

You know, our brains are wired in a particular way: it expects the earth keep still. It’s as if our little understandings are saying subconsciously, “Everything can change, but the earth will remain the same.” But that’s not true. The earth can turn to liquid in a split second; and when it does, our brain is a little confused, having its theory disproven.

Once I woke up around 3 a.m. The mattress was sliding north and south, and I was sliding with it. I think it was a being-rocked-in-a-crib-like feeling. I was sleeping with my sisters, and they were woken up by the aftershock, too. We tried to rate the aftershock, amused to think that we had become “experienced” seismologists. We checked the news that morning; and, lo and behold, we had guessed right.

The last time a significant one came (5+ on the Richter scale), I was reading Absolute Surrender by Andrew Murray. It was on a Saturday afternoon, and I was flopped on my brother’s bed, highlighting every other sentence in my ebook. When the windows began to clatter and everything jolted, my heart beat sped up. I was about to get up, but it stopped.

I resumed my reading . . . my mind wandered. The rapture — it will be like this.

“In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound . . . and we shall be changed . . .  For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God . . . Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.” (from 1 Cor. 15, 1 Thess. 4)

I know it will be at a time when I am not expecting it. He has said to us that He will come “at an hour when ye think not” (Luke 12:40). But I can be ready.

The rapture — perhaps, today might be the day. Are you ready? Are you saved? Is your lamp burning?

Sometime some ordinary day will come,
A busy day like this—filled to the brim
With ordinary tasks—perhaps so full
That we have little thought or care for Him.

And there will be no hint from silent skies,
No sign, no clash of cymbals, roll of drums;
And yet that ordinary day will be
The very day in which our Lord will come.
— Anonymous

The Safest Place in an Earthquake? Right Where I Am

That evening of April 25, we checked the news as a family. It was shocking. The Dharahara Tower was gone. Houses had turned to rubble. Kathmandu was in chaos. The death toll rose every minute. “over 100, and expected to rise” . . . “200, 300, 400.” My mother went to the store to get something. By the time she was back, it was over 700.

The seismologists’ reports were crazy. A 8.1 earthquake or 7.9 or 7.8 ? Did anyone care? Where was the epicenter? Lamjung? Nuwakot? They moved it half a dozen times. But they didn’t move it — it had already happened . . .

It was all like a dream. I could hardly believe that this was happening to my country. It seemed so far away . . .That tremor we felt in the afternoon, how could it have wreaked so much havoc? But — we were the closest city to the epicenter . . . how did this area escape the destruction?

* * * * * * *

It was not very relaxing, trying to sleep that night. Every few minutes, the house would creak and groan with the aftershocks. It was so continual that it seemed as if it would never stop. Were we the only ones sleeping at home, in the third floor, that night in Nepal? Maybe. Maybe not.

What if the ceiling falls when I’m sleeping? I don’t care if I die, really. But I don’t want it to hurt. I don’t want to be trapped. I can’t bear the thought of being trapped and helpless. My brother! Especially not my brother. . .

I was paralyzed with the thought. I felt as if I were glued to the bed. Dozens of news pictures flashed through my head.

“But you’re safe here, girl. We’re all safe. This is where God placed you, and can’t you trust Him to take care of you?” Yes. “When you’re in the center of God’s will, that the safest place on earth.” Yes, where did I read that? “Doesn’t matter. Go to sleep.”

It didn’t matter after that. Though the aftershocks continued to rock the house all night, I knew I was in the center of God’s will, and that was all that mattered.

7.8 on the Richter Scale — My Earthquake Experience

open.edu

Note: I really don’t know how to begin. I want to write down everything from every possible viewpoint, but that simply is not possible. So, this is more of a what-went-inside-my-head-during-the-earthquake-and-how-God-helped-me post than a critical analysis of the events.

---

“And now, we will begin our Bible lesson!” Eagerly, I flipped open my laptop and selected the picture of blind Bartimaeus sitting by the wayside. Through this lesson, I want my class to learn that Jesus is ready and able to hear us, help us, and answer our prayers. “What do you want me to do for you?” He is asking each of us. Oh, that each child would ask of Him the greatest thing possible!

But a strange noise, a strange feeling . . . my mind is clouded over, I try to think. See. I’m looking, but I really don’t see the children before me. But I can feel ten pairs of eyes staring at me. I am confused.

Just a tenth of a second . . . Oh, an earthquake. . .

My mind cleared. Still, there was no fear. I think it was like the time the 12-ton truck hit our van about a year ago. I knew I was about to die, but there hadn’t been enough time to be afraid. Maybe. Maybe not. I think God gave me the grace — He gave us all the grace, so that looking back, we can say as the Psalmist did,’

“My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed.”

But the house was still rocking. My class — I’m responsible! What shall I do? If this shaking stops and the children are all over the hall, it will be troublesome. . . Why isn’t this stopping? It’s been a while now. Should I really tell them to go outside the class? Where will we go anyway? We are three stories up, no way can we handle the steps while this is going on . . .

Eight seconds, maybe. The ground was shifting, slipping, this way and that . . . and the sound was horrifying — the building sounded something like a train’s engine at full throttle. I saw my little brother open the door, and the children starting to pouring out.

“Okay,” I resigned. “Let’s go.”

Perhaps it was better that way.

The last one slipped outside, and I looked around at the room — oh, Ashish! The two-year old was standing right where another girl had left him. The floor was rocking too hard for him to walk.

I picked him up and followed the line of kids.

Being with the adults will calm them down, I thought. At least everybody will be together. It’s still rocking . . . .

Did I expect everybody to be seated and the preaching still going on? I don’t know, really. It was all so bewildering. All I know, I wasn’t expecting to hear my father telling everybody to stand under the doorway . . . or to see 20-30 people trying to follow his instructions and trying to stand under the one and only doorway of the hall.

Oh, is this earthquake that bad? The children!

Without another thought, I started shooing my little brood toward the kitchen.

“Come on! We’re going under the table.”

Though the shaking was still going on with deadly intensity, I somehow yanked the chairs aside, shoved the kids under the big dining room table, and sat down with them.

I’d never imagined this — not even, as is said, in my wildest dreams. Sitting under the dining room table, the clean linoleum floor jerking, shuddering, quivering under me. Dozens of little fingers clutching the table’s wooden legs. Thankful for a little ‘roof’ over our heads.

30 seconds? 1 minute? I’d lost track of time. It felt like eternity. The water on the water filter looked as if a tsunami was going on. Something crashed down. Glassware shattered somewhere.

Some of the kids started whimpering, “Ke bhayeko yasto? Kasto bhayeko yo aja!” What’s going on? What’s this happening today?

Uh-oh. What if the cement starts breaking off the ceiling and the kids start screaming? I can’t just sit here. The Moravians. . . Sing. Yes, that’s it. We’ll sing. But first . . .

“It seems,” I said matter-of-factly, “that you’re all on one side of the table (there is a length of wood down its middle). Samir, you come around to my side.”

Obediently, the little boy got up (in a crouched sort of way) and began to come over to my side. I could feel the ground tilting this way and that. . .

Don’t bang your head on the wooden ‘ceiling’; don’t bash your knee on the wooden ‘beam.’ Ah, that’s the way. Is this earthquake never going to stop? Okay, which song? Maybe the people in the hall will hear . . . suppose everybody starts singing? That would be good. I’d rather die singing than —

“Come on, we’re going outside.”

I looked up to see one of the brothers in our church beckoning us.

“Oh? Where?”

“Take them out. Take the kids out and go stand in the road. In the road, hear me?”

“Okay.”

The kids didn’t need to be told twice. Rather unsteadily, we headed towards the stairs. The ‘corridor’ was full of people.

Now how am I supposed to get them outside? But, Oh! It has stopped!!

It felt like getting off a boat into firm ground again. Oh, the blessed quietness when the building ceased its rumbling!

Everyone got back into the hall again, and we sang. It was an indescribable experience to sing while the aftershocks began to hit, one after another.

“You are Creator, You are all in all! Yours is the power, Yours is the glory. Yours is the majesty, You are God!”

I will treasure that moment for ever. I could feel His power in that earthquake. In a way, I was afraid. But in a way I could not explain, I was smiling.

Back to the classroom, and I had a once-in-a-life-time opportunity to share the Gospel with the children. Their eyes would dart back and forth at every aftershock, but their hearts were wide open. The uncertainty of life they had learned in a never-to-be-forgotten lesson, and I was blessed to be able to share with them the Way to settle that for ever. I pray with my whole heart that each of them will see his need for eternal life and ask of Him the greatest thing possible . . . before it is too late.

* * * * *

That day, my Omnipotent God strengthened me with His own power. Truly, He had encircled me with His arms. How else can I explain why I did not go wild with panic?

Three years ago, in another earthquake, I had been terrified for my life. But now, in an earthquake more than a 100 times greater, I had no fear of death. God was in control, and He reminded me about the Moravians that John Wesley had recounted in his journal.

And for this I thank Him.

This was an experience that I will never forget. However, in my experience, the aftershocks that followed for days, weeks, and months had a greater impact on me than the first great shaking.

I hope to share more in later posts.

Nepal Earthquake 2015: My Sister’s Experience

komotion.com

Saturday, 25 April 2015. 12 Noon. It was a typical sultry day in Narayangarh, Central Nepal. As every other Saturday, in the third story of a building in Lions Chowk, 30 to 40 people gathered for church. As always, outside the busy city hummed underneath the scorching sun, while inside, the ceiling fans whirred monotonously. Everything was normal as it could be; nothing could possibly go wrong.

Sitting cross-legged in the front row, I was listening to my Dad preach from the podium when a low frequency rumble approached from somewhere outside. Our assumption that it was just a heavy vehicle passing by proved to be wrong when the sound persisted on growing louder and coming nearer and nearer instead, gradually shaking the earth. Why! the whole house itself started vibrating, as if it had suddenly turned on its engine.

“It’s an earthquake.” The preaching stopped, “Don’t panic. Just stay calm in your places.” Baba sounded as calm as if he had known all morning that an earthquake was going to interrupt his sermon today. The windows began to clatter loudly. “Let’s pray.”

The building shuddered. The walls shook angrily. Mysterious strange noises like groans and resonating sounds seemed to rise up from the earth. Three stories high above the now frantic city, our church bowed our heads and talked with Him who was shaking us in His powerful grip. Glasses splintered in the kitchen. I found myself trying to fit under the doorpost while my sister, Sophia, had put the children under a table; one little girl rushed around crying for her aunty, “Fupu! Fupu! Mero Fupu kaha ccha?”

The building staggered. People were standing around in a daze, some still remained in their place. Everybody was waiting for the return of stable ground. As the earthquake continued on for a long time, we began realizing that this was no small earthquake. It impressed on me that today might be the day to meet Jesus. All the same, the quake stopped.

“Be still!” God seemed to command the world. “Be still, and know that I am God.”

We were all safe and sound, just shaken. Returning to our places, we sang a hymn in joyful uplifted voices.

“Almighty Father, You alone are holy.
You are my refuge, I will trust in You.
You are a tower, a mighty fortress,
You are my strength and shield.
You are God.”

The big aftershock hit then; the congregation sang on, yet the more dynamically.

“Almighty Father, You alone are holy.
You are Creator, You are all in all!
Yours is the power, Yours is the glory.
Yours is the majesty.
You are God”

I never heard our small church sing so well.

Later, in the evening at our home, our family browsed through the news. Emails pinged, the phone would be up at intervals, – in fact, so many people were checking on each other that the whole cellular network system was disrupted. What devastations the moments shaking had brought forth in our country was shocking.

“Nepal’s Historic Dharahara Tower Collapses In Kathmandu after 7.9 Earthquake.”

Photographs showed that our famous royal watchtower had been destined to lie in shambles as a mass grave today. The headline rolled out.

“Massive Earthquake Hits Nepal. At least 445 dead.”

The death toll rose higher every few minutes. Having to suffer such a setback, our impoverished small nation wept. People had lost homes, lost family members, lost friends, some lost their own lives. Timetables and plans were to be adjusted; some to be surrendered. In a matter of moments, for some people the whole world had turned black. Human life proved so fragile, knowledge so confined, power – limited.

It struck me suddenly that life never carries on as you think it will. April 25, 2013- exactly two years ago, 22 year old Sharan Dai had slipped off into eternity with Jesus unexpectedly. The notable date recollection dramatized the event yet the more for me. If I too had died today, how would I have met Jesus? What would have my speech of thanks been to Him? How familiar would He have appeared to me? Would there be anything with me to give Him, who gave His all for me?

Words etched by Martha Snell Nicholson ran through my mind:

When I stand at the judgment seat of Christ
And He shows me His plan for me;
The plan of my life as it might have been
Had He had His way, and I see
How I blocked Him here and I checked Him there
And I would not yield my will,
Shall I see grief in my Savior’s eyes;
Grief, though He loves me still?’

Oh, He’d have me rich, but I stand there poor,
Stripped of all but His grace,
While memory runs like a hunted thing
Down the paths I can’t retrace.
Then my desolate heart will well-nigh break
With tears that I cannot shed.
I’ll cover my face with my empty hands
And bow my uncrowned head.

No. Lord of the years that are left to me
I yield them to Thy hand.
Take me, make me, mould me
To the pattern Thou hast planned.

Lord, when I stand before Thee, I want to stand with no regrets. It was a dramatic day, an experience never to be forgotten and lessons branded in the heart – to be prepared to meet the Lord, anytime. As Jim Eliot once put it, “When it comes time to die, make sure that all you have to do is to die.”