God in the Shadows

I’m blogging at the moment because I’m slacking. Three short stories, totaling 68 pages. Done. But my page requirement is 75 pages before I can start corresponding with a mentor at U of T, so I’ve started something, but can’t bring myself to continue because I know I’m just pathetically trying to meet the quota. What awful, awful writing. When I hand pages of my work to someone, I can’t stand the thought of knowing that the work isn’t my best. It’s like going out knowing you’re wearing socks that don’t match. “I know, I know!” I want to say in my own defense.

I’m about to finish the book my sister recently lent me, Ravi Zacharias’ memoir, “Walking from East to West, God in the Shadows.” His sermons have always been compelling and much needed for my Christian faith, which is so often based on my feelings and imagination more so than logic and reasoning (go to http://www.rzim.org/ to download and listen to free sermons!). C.S. Lewis and Zacharias have probably been the most influential when it comes to concretizing my faith, reinforcing it with their gifted abilities of persuasion. (One of my favourite quotes of Lewis is, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.”)

When I listen to someone like Zacharias preach, it’s tempting to overlook the fact that he also has a past. I see his talents, his authority, his reputation—and forget that uncertainty and hopelessness must have also been part of his journey too. After all, God most often shapes us in our weakness and need.

The book was an easy read (I read most of it while doing my running on the treadmill). Starting from the very beginning of his life in India to the end, how he had come to head up such a large organization such as RZIM, I couldn’t help but be moved by his emphasis that every single event in his life, big and small, was a product of God’s design. How it all came to be pieced together, as he writes in the final pages: “I thank the Lord that, even though things were so wrong in my life here, I finally was brought to a realization of what all those struggles were about. There are some wonderful things from your painful past, things with a beauty you may not have realized at the time.”

You have to read the book yourself to feel the awe of the circumstances of his life and how it got him to where he is. Circumstances that included surviving his attempted suicide when he was young, to putting his faith in God and going to the most dangerous parts of the world to preach God’s word, and the sacrifices that he made which affected his family and personal ambitions.

While reading, I started thinking about what a skeptic I have become in the past few years. Even with my love for God and my desire to know Him, I can’t help but think that the circumstances of my own life are more of a product of my own choices and actions than of God’s design.

Zacharias finally uses the phrase “God in the Shadows” at the end of the book, which is also part of the title of the book. And I thought, how fitting. Because I can go through various periods of my life and be thinking that it was me all along, and then suddenly, something happens, and I realize, “No, it wasn’t me. God was in it all this time”—hence, God in the shadows. He’s always there—even when you think He isn’t.

I once wrote in a journal entry that I had felt that my life felt like a book. In it was chapters, and in each of the chapters, or in the book as a whole, there were themes. I thought about God being the author of my life, and I was intrigued and puzzled at the same time: I couldn’t quite put my finger on it—how God managed to give me freedom to make personal choices, but still somehow being part of those choices, bad or good.

A sermon preached by Rev. Charles Price answered that question for me a while back. In Jeremiah 18, it says: "Go down to the potter's house, and there I will give you my message." So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.” The message he preached from this verse penetrated the deepest part of my soul, where there were demons I was still battling. The lesson was this—that God wants the best of us, will shape us in the best way He can—given the choices that we make, and even when we make the worst of choices, and become the “marred clay” he will make the best of the marred clay. You see what the lesson is here? That as long as we go back to God, as long as we will to, even in spite of our ugly past, there is always, always hope for the better.

What could be more beautiful, more liberating than to know “it’s never too late”?

I can’t go through all the mysterious patterns that have emerged in my life, mainly because I can’t recall most of them unless I read my journal (that’s one thing about journaling—sometimes, it’s the journaling that reveals to you the inexplicable patterns), but also because, human nature has it that we always forget. We live one moment, and once that moment is over, we’re onto the next.

Most resonating to me is the year I had experienced four deaths. Two friends from my youth fellowship that I grew up with, my grandmother, and then our family pet rabbit, Purity (yes, I cried for Purity too). The news of each death came every few months, and it had come to the point where I was afraid of phone calls that rang in my home at unexpected hours. Every time I had received news of a death, it was from that ominous phone call at work, while I was serving at church, or in the late hours of the night.

When I think about it, I remember that it was the deaths, and the reminder that life was short, and too precious—that fed my determination to pick up my writing. That all my life, since childhood, I had dreamt of becoming a writer—but where was the writing to show for the aspiration? Shortly afterward, I enrolled in some workshops. Not too long after, I quit my job, started writing part-time, finally taking my passion seriously.

Fast forward a year later. I’m at the CBA tradeshow. I meet authors. I meet people who have contact with editors and are looking for writers. And whether this will materialize or not, on the last day of my trip to Edmonton, a man, upon hearing that I was working on becoming a published writer, asked me for my business card, said that he knew an editor and could talk to him about reading my work. I couldn’t believe it. I was at the tradeshow for business; meanwhile, God was at work on something else. If this incident had taken place even a couple of months earlier, I would have had no manuscript to show for it.

Add that to the fact that Lee, my loving and supportive husband who has been behind me all this time regarding making my dreams come to fruition (one of the sweetest things he's said to me since we got married: "Priscilla, when I married you, I knew I'd be supporting your dream."), who is much more a skeptic than I am, can’t believe it himself. Come September, we lose half my income, and he will have to bring home most of the butter. It was always at the back of my mind—“Can we do it?” “We’ll have to change our lifestyle a bit.” Then suddenly, weeks ago, we find out that his boss is going to be giving him another raise in September, even though he’s already gotten one this past spring. He had said to me just weeks ago, “The timing of everything is so unusual, it has to be God.”

I can tell you that so many things have happened this past year alone that have told us that God is providing, that God is, indeed, in the shadows.

One last thing before I stop slacking:

The first story in my manuscript, which I began writing last fall, ends with the main character, Eve, searching for her grandmother’s grave. She can’t find it because the heavy snow has covered all the tombstones. She winds up going into the cemetery office to ask a man to help her find her grandmother.

I was reading the last few pages of Zacharias’ memoir today and I couldn’t believe the story he told in the last chapter. The description bore such a similarity to my short story I almost fell out of my chair. He talked about his return to India and going to the Christian cemetery in Delhi to find his grandmother’s grave. He couldn’t find where the grave was, so he went into the cemetery office, gave the name of the grandmother and the year she was born; then when he finally found it, he read the words on the gravestone, “Because I live, ye shall live also. John 14:19."

And this was probably the inspiration for this blog. Little reminders that even in the tiniest of moments, God can reveal himself by emerging from out of the shadows.

The Bigger Picture

Came back from Edmonton at 6 a.m. yesterday. Didn’t sleep much on the plane, but managed to get two hours of shut-eye before having to tutor. I was surprised—the brief nap was enough to charge me for the rest of the day.

You know when you go someplace, meet a few people you never expected to meet, hear stories you never thought you’d have the pleasure of hearing—and in a subtle way, you come back home a little more introspective, as if something’s changed inside of you. You don’t know what it is, but you sense it’s for the better, and you hope to God that the feeling doesn’t go away, or that when it does, you’d remember the feeling.

With seminary studies just around the corner, I can feel the onset of change. I’m wondering, I’m curious, I’m anxious, I’m scared—I’m excited. It’s that glorious state that I never enter into unless my imagination is impressed by the presence of God. That His Hand is in everything. And the beauty that He presents before me, in people and in circumstances, often leaves my soul in tears of thankfulness.

None of this I deserve, yet You have freely given.

At the tradeshow, it was this: the reminder that I am a Christian, and with every Christian stranger I meet, we are connected. Our faith in and love for God connects us. I don’t know you, but you and I, we are seeking the same God, loving the same God. To not know someone, and yet, upon hearing his or her stories, you know what they are all about, and where his or her heart is—this is something so empowering, so uplifting, so divine.

That the mere act of hearing another brother or sister tell his or her story and then be prompted to act accordingly in my own spiritual life—love more, sacrifice more, know Him more—this is Contagious Christianity. God never stops working in my life, regardless of the hundreds of times I’ve ventured off course.

The man I spoke to during the banquet dinner in Edmonton, who spoke of his experiences as a missionary in Africa. “You ask them how many children they have, they don’t know because they have no concept of numbers; there is no ‘stealing’ because there is no concept of ownership… they are the poorest of the poor… and yet there is joy…” and then through all the challenges he has had to face, he said, “I would go back in a heartbeat.”

The testimony of writers who have shared about their journeys through pain and redemption in their books. A husband dying of a heart attack in the middle of a barren camp site, the wife left all alone. A mother who loses her newborn baby, after twenty-nine days. A woman suffering the loss of two husbands and freak accidents that left her two children in comas—the months spent by their side when the doctor told her there was no hope. And in all of it, their faith in God prevailed.

Yes, we are all connected. Our faith grows stronger by hearing each other’s stories and then sharing our own. And for the timid, like me, we witness this courage, and thereupon the Holy Spirit gives us that nudge we need to go forward. In 2 Timothy 1:7, it says: "For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline. "

So many people out there, the girl or boy next to us, the child in another country, the sick, the widow, who need us to defend them. As it is written in Psalm 68:5: "A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, God in his holy dwelling."

I heard this in the sermon preached last week, which was entitled, "A Biblical Response to HIV/AIDS": If our hearts can be broken in witnessing the suffering in the world, how much more is God’s heart breaking. I have, at one time or another, said this statement in my prayers, although it is a frightening one to utter if I truly believe God will answer it: “Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.” Pray for the sensitivity.

When God answers this prayer, I have to be prepared. Because with the things that make me happy in my life, the things that I enjoy—from home décor to basking in the complacency of my home in Toronto to seeing my family who are just a phone call away—all of these are hard to let go should one day God ask me to. How much am I willing to sacrifice? Everything around us tells us to hold on tight—fend for ourselves—it’s a tough world out there. And so we live, as the preacher had said last Sunday, in this “piety,” this self-obsessed, self-absorbed Christianity: "Until we help, we have a dysfunctional Christian faith. We live with God in the playpen."

Why am I anxious and scared? Because I am reminded by these strangers with whom I cross paths that Christianity cannot be about staying where you are. For the bold, and for the timid, we must journey into that other place: ‘the safest place to be is where God wants you to be.’

It’s one Kingdom, and it is our Father’s. How tempting it is to be sitting back, relaxing in our own.

Reminders

Just came back from Ancaster. My first tradeshow at the Christian Booksellers Association. My sister and I have been working hard on the Verseries product line (http://www.verseries.com/) the past year, and we were finally able to see its fruits. Many people who walked by our booth were impressed by the art. Five small Christian bookstores have picked up the product to see if it sells. Bigger ones showed interest. All glory goes to God.

Will be in Edmonton this week to do the second tradeshow (already dreading the exhaustion of flying, packing, standing all day, and then unpacking!). This time, however, my dad is not going to be present. As a kid, I watched my dad, the eternal salesman, continually work his magic with clients; it was something I took for granted. Educated as a computer programmer, he’s a salesman at heart.

I was reminded of this again at the Ancaster tradeshow. The way he could stop everyone who walked by and make a conversation that went on for twenty minutes; the way, by the end of the show, everyone seemed to know his name.

When I graduated years ago, my dad had asked me to work for his company. Wanting to prove to myself and others that I could get a job without familial networking, I applied for jobs on my own. Wound up working as a Technical Writer for another company for four years. I realized this year, however, that having been “away” from the family business for so long, I had forgotten what it was like to be “around them.”

But no matter how talented my dad is, or how successful he has been, I was reminded of one thing this weekend, and it took place one hour before the tradeshow began. He had parked the car in the lot, turned to me, and said to me, “Priscilla, let’s pray.” And in his prayer he offered the whole tradeshow to the Lord.

The CBA tradeshow was not just about standing at the booths and showcasing products. There was a devotional breakfast. There was worship. There were music performances. There were Christian authors who shared about their callings. And in witnessing all this— especially Tara (http://www.taradettman.com/) who sang on stage with that angelic voice, her eyes closed while her fingers danced on the keyboard—I felt empowered. It never fails when you are surrounded by others who love and adore God: the energy is contagious.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them…” Matthew 18:19

Maybe the theme for the coming months is “newness.” I don’t know what surprises are in store in Edmonton. Two weeks after that, I’ll be at a retreat with the students and faculty at TBS, encountering new faces, and hearing other people’s stories. To be honest, in the state I am in right now, when I think about all of it, I feel tired; at the same time, however, I’m eager. God is already revealing his plan, and I don’t know what is at the end of it, but I’m excited.

The thing is, Lee is usually the one who’s “off” to places. With his job, he goes off on training regularly, several times overseas. I’m usually the one who is at home going about my things. It’s odd this month to be the one who’s going off and he’s the one waiting for me to come home. It’s good, of course—nothing like the reversal of roles to develop empathy between husband and wife. And it’s true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. I missed him when he had gone off, and when I’m somewhere else, a lot of times, I’m thinking about how much I’m looking forward to sharing with him all my stories. Look what God is doing in our lives, hon. Isn’t he amazing? Aren’t we so blessed?

Well, I woke up early this Sunday to do some writing, so I better get to it.

The Candle of the Lord

I had to do devotions for this Sunday's softball game. I had been nervous about it since a month ago. Standing in front of a group and having to talk always gets my heartbeat racing. Nonetheless, below is what I shared.

Based on Phillips Brooks’ sermon preached on July 4, 1879 entitled “The Candle of the Lord”

Picture darkness. This candle is sitting in the middle of a dark room. Then someone comes in and lights the candle. You now have a flame; its burning is steady and constant. In a room that was once dark, this candle is now at the center of it—beautifully illuminated—grabbing the attention of everyone.

Note, however, that the candle and the flame were made for each other. The candle, without the flame, is futile. Once the candle is lit, it submits to the fire, allowing the flame to glow.

We are the candle. Do you know someone who is a candle whose flame shines so powerfully that he affects those around him? In your home, in your circle of friends, in your church—do you feel warmth from the fire?

God is the fire of this world. And we are the candle. His warm and pervading presence is everywhere. As the candle, we let ourselves be lighted by the flame of God so that He may be known. The Christian knows that she is being watched—and that she must let the watcher see what God is through the flame that God has lighted in her. The Bible verse I want you to remember today is from Proverbs 20:27 (King James Version), “The spirit of man is the candle of the Lord.” Short, simple, but strong.

In the game of charades we just played, how easy it is our expressions, body language, and state of mind can be communicated to those who are watching—whether you are conscious of it or not. When we are impatient, overly proud, or arrogant—our character is visible to everyone.

There are people out there, of influence, of fame, of power, of wealth, but no one feels their warmth. And once they pass on, the world isn’t any brighter. These people are unlighted candles; they are sophisticated, educated, successful in the material sense, but they lack the touch of God. They are proud and selfish, wanting their own light to shine. If you wonder why, by being close to a person like this, whom the world calls bright, but you do not get any brightness from him, it is because he has no light to give.

Why do we play softball in CCSA? The primary purpose is to be that candle that shines that light for those who are watching. Many of us feel that warmth in the air—sometimes, it feels mysterious. It is the sense of God—felt, but unseen.

Picture the dark room again. Now imagine, amid the darkness, Christians enter, pure and God-like. In an instant, the room is lighted. God’s presence becomes clear and certain. Then the mystery becomes not of the darkness, but of the light.

If you are a Christian, I pray that you will let God light the flame of your candle so that those who are watching will feel the warmth of your character and your love for them. If you are still seeking: feel the warmth of those around you and pursue it.

When I was a kid, in my parents’ basement hung a picture of a candle with the following quote beside it: “A candle loses nothing of its light by lighting another candle.” How glorious it would be if one person’s flame could be passed on to others so that this warmth could be multiplied, and instead of one, two, or three—hundreds of candles could be lighted.

Marriage Snapshots

Lee and I wake up before 8 on Saturday morning. I’m always surprised when his eyes are open before mine, and this morning, they are wide open. The first thing that comes out of his mouth is his observations of a discrepancy occurring in the last House episode that we watched this week, “If Wilson… then why…” I have no intelligent reply. I’m just baffled that his brain is working so early in the morning.

While I’m brushing my teeth, he’s already downstairs. I’m about to prep for my tutoring and I see him sitting at the computer desk reading a short story. I’m ecstatic. I’ve got three Raymond Carver stories sitting on the desk (for inspiration when I’m doing my own writing): “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love,” “Fat,” and “They’re Not Your Husband.” By the time I look over his shoulder, he’s finishing up one of them.

A number of thoughts come to me. One: how much I wanted “that.” You have my husband, who isn’t a “short story” reader, who skims the first page of a story that I happen to have lying around, and feels compelled enough by the beginning to have to read to see its end. Now—how do I achieve that for myself? Second: how good it feels to have him take part in this whole process I am engaged in. I can’t help but run over and give him a big hug. He’s somewhat intrigued by Carver’s main character. Of course, every time I thrust a short story on him to read, his reading the last line is typically followed by, “So what…” The quizzical look—all short stories seem to end abruptly to him. I try to explain to him—“that’s why the form is so hard to pull off.” Feel my pain, honey! Because the story he’s just read is about a wife who is fat, he turns to me with that cute, animated look, and says, “Why don’t you write a story about—farting?” I laugh, but I understand where he’s coming from. He got the story—how simple and real it was, but poignant nonetheless.

Of course, at some point, Lee is going to check up on me in this blog and he may want to defend himself. One thing I didn’t realize when I started this blog: so far, I’ve been writing about the things that have moved me in some way; so many of the things I forget or don’t think it necessary to mention to my husband. It never occurred to me that he’d find out about them here.

Like this morning. He’s working at the desk, and I’m on the laptop again—writing. He holds onto the coffee I’ve made for him and says to me, “You like these mornings, don’t you?” And I smile, “Yes, I do.”

The Pursuit of Excellence

It’s August. The month has just begun and I can already see it ticking away. September: full-time seminary begins; the final course for my certificate in creative writing begins (must submit a 75-page manuscript for review—only have 59 pages so far); all my tutoring students, many of them taking a break this summer, all coming back on board; first sermon to be preached in mid-fall imminent… and my anxiety is manifesting itself in my dreams. You know: when you dream that either you’ve forgotten or missed something completely, or when you actually carry out the task but you do an absolute appalling job. I wind up waking up abruptly at 7 a.m. on any given morning, getting a head start on whatever I dreamt about, praying that the dream would not materialize. (Lee often tells me I’m shortening my life span by living this way, but I can’t help it: the habit surges through my veins.)

I’ve never been a very spontaneous person. I’m a planner—whatever situation I know I’ll be in, I spend hours preparing for it. I hate the feeling of being caught off guard—looking foolish because I lacked foresight or wisdom to see what was coming.

Two quotes I came across in high school have always stayed with me; the first quote being, “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity,” the second quote wound up in my yearbook, under the heading, “Words to Live by”: “Go as far as you can see; when you get there, you can see farther.” The first one explains my obsession with productivity; the second one my trust in the promise that God, as long as I’m patient and diligent and faithful, will eventually show the way. Time ripens all things. God hasn’t failed me yet—even though, sometimes, it feels like He takes an awful long time to do the showing.

Complacency doesn’t do any good either. How many times have I, for too long, stayed comfortable, not giving the least thought about going places or accepting responsibilities that make me scared or nervous, and often, downright nuts from the possible failure or humiliation I might face? Yet another battle of life.

A little bit of uneasiness is good for you, of course, as everyone soon discovers. You grow, as a result—in character, in vision, in faith. Above all, faith. Realizing that you can’t do it on your own—you push yourself to climb that cliff, envisioning what is beyond it, believing that after the arduous climb, a reward is waiting. You can’t climb the hill or mountain if you don’t believe that there is something waiting for you at the very top. Even if it isn’t money, or a trophy of some sort, you have to believe nonetheless that there’s something—material or spiritual. Otherwise, you find yourself panting, out of breath, incapable of going on, ultimately giving up entirely.

While working as a teacher assistant back in university, the teacher I was helping gave me a gift that I display on a shelf in my living room; it’s a rock, with the following words engraved on it: “Accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.” How sweet it tastes when after months or years of labouring at something, you see its fruits. But to have the endurance to see it through—now that’s the challenge.

As a Christian, I believe that EXCELLENCE is one of God’s directives. If you want to start by being a testimony to others, don’t be lazy, don’t waste time, don’t forsake the respect of those around you. Otherwise, how are you going to win souls?

In Ecclesiastes 9:10, it says: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” In Proverbs 22:29, it says: “Do you see a man who excels in his work? He will stand before kings.”

At the same time, there’s a fine line between excellence and success. Success is defined for us by the world—you encounter it every day; in one way or another, it seeps into our conversations in which pride surfaces, and in the toys we consciously or unconsciously like to flash before others.

So it’s tough. But as a Christian, God’s congratulation must be enough. To do your absolute best—and whatever the outcome, to accept it, graciously, meekly, joyfully, thankfully. That is the view from the top for one of God’s children. The reward revealed in the smile, the wonder of the miracle, the tears of humility when the moment arrives.

Therein lies the struggle. To not be disheartened by disappointments, to not be slowed down by fear of the unknown, to not allow worldly success to take control of my vision of what my future is to be—that is, as God sees it.


This morning Lee had to drop me off at work at 7 a.m. because he had to go into work early. The building not being open that early, I waited at Tim Horton’s, enjoying a tea biscuit and steeped tea. This week my goal was to revise three of my short stories—two of which have comments on restructuring by my previous writing instructor.

Sitting there, I take a deep breath, reading and rereading her notes—contemplating about how to make the changes—not letting self-doubt overpower me, but to have faith that, with careful molding and discipline, I could do it. There were stories here—worth being told, I hoped.

And this is what keeps me going—that God wants me to do my best—the rest, I leave to Him.