Ever gone riding on a whirlwind?

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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).

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

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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.

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“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

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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.”

Has life been hectic? Your schedule packed?

Life is busy. That is good. But sometimes I have so many things to do, I hardly know what to do first. Usually, I end up making a list and set about doing all those things.

Then, suddenly, I find myself so busy doing things that I forget to just live (allusion to Pollyanna). I am so busy — “serving the Lord” as we all like to put it — planning out the children’s Bible lessons for next week, printing out coloring pages for another person’s class, translating lessons for still another person’s class, organizing for the annual children’s program coming up soon, working out music specials for the upcoming Bible Conference, calling up people to work this all out. . . then my own schedule: completing the course work for school, music practice, reading books, keeping up with friends, printing out DIY bag tutorials for one friend, looking up crochet videos for another, microwavable gingerbread cookies for my mother, blogging (which often gets set aside) and on and on . . .

I don’t have much time left over . . . And what time I have left over, I tend to use up for myself, sometimes foolishly, wastefully.

And I get selfish. I begin thinking that nothing else matters as much as this schedule I have to accomplish or that nothing else is so important as completing the items in my to-do list.

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“Be still and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10). When I forget to stand still, I forget to marvel. I forget to wonder. I forget to think right.

Being still. When was the last time you were still? We are like crazy little termites hurrying about as if the sky would fall if we didn’t keep ourselves occupied. Being still is perhaps the last thing we would think of if someone asked us what we’d like to do.

But simply getting up from my little corner and staring at the open sky does wonders. It just puts things in perspective. My little corner is not the whole world. There are other people besides me. And when I do stop to think, my mind slowly begins to realize once more how little I am. How insignificant. How tiny. I’m in this little corner. This little city. In this little country. There are so many other countries. Thousands of cities. Millions of people. Billions of people.

Look up at the sky today. God made it immeasurable for a purpose: to let you and me see how little we are. How insignificant. God doesn’t need me. Nor does He need you.

Yet He loved me. He loved you.

Your to-do list? Your schedule?

You can smile now.

When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; What is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him? (Ps. 8:3-4)

A quotation from Amy Carmichael

Being single-hearted?

That is very hard sometimes. Or so I am finding it.

Wake up, devotions, kitchen work, guests, house work, school, kitchen work, music, kitchen work, school with familyandmusicandchurchandrelationships squashed in somewhere amongst them. . . At last the heart in the grist mill begins to wonder if the whirl will ever end, if there will ever be a peaceful hour again . . .

The daily duties can become a grind and life can seem lifeless IF you don’t abide in the Giver of Life.

For sure, there are countless things in life that try to tear the life apart, but the patience that will look to the Life will survive. Patience isn’t doing anything. It is just abiding, staying, waiting. I like to remember that word in 2 Peter 1:16 — it means to simply stay under and remain under whatever is pressing from above. God has not commanded me to lift the weight that is over me; but He has commanded me to be patient as long as I am under it. And He will be with you, as He has been with me — even under the trials! And with Him, all is joy and all is peace.

“Blessed are the single-hearted, for they shall enjoy much peace. If you refuse to be hurried and pressed, if you stay your soul on God, nothing can keep you from that clearness of spirit which is life and peace. In that stillness you will know what His will is.”

He has provided the way of peace! Praise Him!

Through the Fog

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Fog. I wonder if there is any traveler who likes fog. Artists and poets might find something good in it, but I doubt that any pilgrim could appreciate it.

As for me, I hate fog — especially when we are traveling. The grayish-white cloak of monotony is wearisome: it shrouds the scenery with gloom and an all-encomassing despondency. It is a veil that conceals every mountain, tree, and rock. Even the edge of the road is barely perceptible, sometimes!

Some time ago, we were traveling through fog. It was not the thickest fog we had seen, nor was it nighttime. Still, the bleak surroundings seemed overwhelm me. I was tired — tired of the fog, tired of the tortuous roads, tired of traveling. My soul seemed to be as dreary as the fog outside the misted window-glass.

Then I remembered a song I’d learned years ago:

Why should I care if the sun doesn’t shine?
Jesus is mine, all of the time.
Why should I care if the storm clouds are low?
Jesus is with me I know.
He will never forsake me, I am under His wing,
Tho’ trials o’ertake me,
I will praise Him and sing.
I am ever so happy,
So why should I care if the sun doesn’t shine?
Jesus is mine all the time.

Then, the remembrance that Jesus is mine aroused me, invigorated me, and fired me with zeal for my Lord. . .

Or . . . that is what . . . should have happened, right?

Well. It didn’t. It was good to remember; but still, my heart was weary. I was still tired of staring at the fog. You see, simply knowing God’s truth isn’t enough for victory.

Until I decided that I was going to trust God that He was with me although I couldn’t see Him through all the weariness of my mind and obey Philippians 4:4 in spite of the fog, that song was just an ideality to wish for.

But when I did trust, He blessed. Sure, the fog was all around and the U-turns were as bad as ever, but I had the peace that passeth all understanding. Faith as a grain of mustard seed, and He accepted it.

“But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek Him” (Hebrews 11:6).

How amazing He is! And He is the ever-faithful one that always rewards even our feeblest footsteps to draw near to Him (James 4:4).

We climbed higher and higher up the mountain. Reaching the summit, we broke through the fog. Behind, I could see the impenetrable gloom. Ahead, the mountains and valleys were spread out in majestic grandeur. And I remembered the sweet promise in Isaiah 44:22:

“I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist.”

Mazes, dead-ends, and the Way to Success

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And Theseus . . . returned to the entrance of the Labyrinth. . . with a pelekis, a ball of red fleece thread, and great intuition . . . he had prevailed over the fearful Minotaur. . . 

If you happen to have a puzzled look on your face, go read Greek mythology to find out  . . .

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Is life a maze?

Sometimes I feel that way — especially when I see the same dead end before me again and again. Finding myself at the same place I had hoped to never see again is quite disheartening.

How did I get there? Obviously, I arrived there because I went through the same entrance, followed the same path, and made the same turns.

How was that possible? Probably, I forgot. Most certainly, I did not realize it was the wrong path. If I had, I wouldn’t have come all the way there!

For me, the most grievous part being deflected in such a way is the knowledge that it did not have to happen. As a child of God and redeemed by His infinite grace, I know that it is not my Father’s will for me to waste my life by “going in circles” and ending up in cul-de-sacs.

What light, direction, and guidance I need, He has already provided. It is when I step into the darkness, depart from the way, and leave my guide, that I get lost. The Psalmist has said,

“Thy Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:103).

He has not promised to light up the whole maze, but He has promised to be our guide, even unto death (Psalm 48:14 ). The light we need to take one step ahead of us, He has promised to give. But when I step away from the Light of Life, how can I possibly expect to walk in the same path as He is, in Whom is no darkness at all?

He is the Way, the Truth, the Life. He is the Light, the Lamp, the Guide. Dear reader, do you have Him with you? He has given His promise that those who put their trust in Him shall not be ashamed. The flip side of it is: if we do not, we shall be.

I wonder how I could have lived 13 years of my life without that Light. I wonder how I can still turn my back to Him and step aside, into the darkness. It is possible — it is easy. The old one within me loves that. But the end of it are the ways of death.

“I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live:” (Deut 30:19).

Choose life, choose life! That is the beautiful command of our soul’s greatest Lover.