In the Eclipse……

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“The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?” – Oscar Wilde

I remember vaguely the first time I witnessed a solar eclipse, and though there had been the usual fore-warnings, it still seemed very eerie. Suddenly but gradually watching the day turn to night and feeling as though time was standing still. I recollect wondering if that was how the end of the world would look like however several years later, with the benefit of knowledge and the chances I encountered, I know with absolute certainty that we will never tell what the future holds but we can with absolute certainty live our lives each day as though it were our last.

In the space of three days, I have sadly witnessed the passing on of three lives – three individuals who at different stages of my life left an impression on me. Even as I write now, it is still almost unreal however I know how fleeting life can be and how with the appropriate knowledge, we can make our lives at the very least count for something. A high school mate in his 40s, leaving behind a wife and two little kids. An amazing pastor in his 60s leaving behind a wife, two daughters and grandkids and most painful of all, a friend and sister succumbing to cancer just today. How do I feel? Shell-shocked and sorrowful but mourn them I will because it was indeed a privilege to have crossed paths and shared in each other’s life tales.

In the middle of the darkest phase of my life, when I was diagnosed with myoclonus dystonia, I remember how numbing it was to have my life turned upside down. And as I grappled with comprehending this major shift in my life, I desperately wanted to be left alone because I needed the time to process what life-transforming changes were taking place. Nonetheless, it is not unnatural to grieve but how we allow these moments of sheer grief and sorrow shape us is entirely up to each one of us. I remember how painful it was to lose everything that hitherto seemed priceless and begin to re-learn what the word priority meant and what things truly counted in life. I remember listening to the sermon titled ‘An ordinary life in the hands of an Extraordinary God!’ and bawling my eyes out as I sat unnoticed and brand new in Bethel London Riverside Church. For me, that was the beginning of another chapter of my life as I gradually began to make choices that counted for something.

That was where I met Pastor Ken Williamson; soft spoken and mild mannered along with a couple of others that I am truly honored to still call my friends. When I could barely afford the devastating fees associated with dystonia management, least of all muster the strength to feed myself, the church was there (a family of strangers bound together by the love of God) picking me up for service and dropping me off. Getting a welfare package regularly and getting to meet some of the nicest people on earth, I learned that it is really an awesome responsibility when your current location is but a vantage point that allows you see a need, because you see the need in order to attend to it. It is not all about money (that is a vital resource), it is the ability to put your storms/issues behind and stretch out a hand to someone else who is at the risk of succumbing to their own storm. Life is a journey whose distance we will never know and so how wise is it to ensure that each day is lived as an expression of gratitude to God as well as an expression of kindness to the lives we come across.

I remember vividly the first day I met Christina – jaunty and with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes and smile, clad in a simple black skirt and plaid shirt with tails tied together above her skirt. I remember how independent she always wanted to be, yet she never spared an ounce of kindness and concern wherever she was. That was the beginning of a relationship that would span a lifetime, through the good times and bad times. I remember being treated as a son by her parents, their house probably the only place I could get to without asking questions (I really suck with directions/navigation). I remember being there at the start of what would eventually be her marriage (recall her twinkly disbelieving laugh when I told her this was going to be it), and working very hard behind the scenes on her wedding day. Neither of us knowing where our paths would take us but completely eager to live a purposeful life.

And when my storms all but broke me down, she was there with me helping cater to the needs of my daughter and I. Selflessly setting her own issues afar and loving the best way only she could. And even when I got her to talk about her challenges, she did so with that unique style of making it sound as though it was nothing at all. A loyal friend, easy to talk with regardless of the thousands of miles that separated us – she was that friend who sticks closer than a brother. I remember the call, utter disbelief in her voice, informing me that she had been diagnosed with cancer. As always, I listened and together we encouraged ourselves, with me being the one with the ‘most’ experience. Reminding her that medical science can have its say but as long as we never give up, someday the eclipse would be over. Experience has taught me never to ask why because we actually lack the ability to comprehend even if we are privy to the answer. And when she told me that the doctors had said the chemotherapy was not working, I told her what I tell myself every morning – “this is my life and I choose to live it without surrendering!”

Today, I got the dreaded message and in this case, the third time wasn’t a charm in anyway. After a year of fighting hard, long after the date given by doctors, she finally succumbed and I envy her because I know for certain that she is finally rid of it all. She is in a place where there are no eclipses, where the horrifying grip of pain and anguish is not allowed….but still I mourn! I mourn because so many have intentionally deceived themselves into believing that money will get them the best boat, boats that have been certified ‘indestructible’ by men just like them. I mourn because amidst a world filled with hurting people, many intentionally turn a blind eye and when they are forced to see, their response is a torrent of meaningless ‘well-wishes’, copied prayers and total apathy. We will not be judged by what we have but rather what we have given, and someday when the inevitability of the end arrives, it will be clear what a life of misery and selfishness we have lived.

My battle is far from over but today I celebrate the lives of my friends whose giving has influenced who and where I am. I hoist aloft a banner of victory on their behalf, praying that when my time comes, someone will do the same for me. As I journey on with tattered sails, a battered vessel, I hear the voices rooting in my corner for me and the only option I choose is to pay it forward, regardless of recognition or reward. I choose to remember the words of William J.H. Boetcker that ‘the difficulties and struggles of today are but the price we must pay for the accomplishments and victories of tomorrow’ and so I press on even in the darkness of the eclipse, eyes searching out those who have all but given up. Giving a helping hand, listening ears and a piece of my bread so that together we will press on armed with the knowledge expressed by Elie Wiesel, ‘There are victories of the soul and spirit. Sometimes, even if you lose, you win!’

פרידה עד שנפגשנו שוב בתזמון שלו, וייתכן שאהבתו של אלוהים להיות אמיתית לך!

Adios!

Sowing seeds…..

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Blessed to bless

Blessed to bless

Awakening from my restless brainiac world where the best two hours are like being thrust into a Ferris wheel, everything going around in such a blur that you barely have enough time to comport yourself least off all scream in sheer terror…..but that’s what insomnia feels like. Being exhausted and yet wary of shutting your eyes without ingesting that tiny white pill that gives you a blank world where nothing is, just a feeling of nothingness……my eyes snap open and I realise it’s barely an hour or two ago and yet I’m mentally fatigued. Each subconscious thought methodically pulled apart and a maelstrom of thoughts are all ricochetting in my weary brain. Where’s the rest in sleep, I ask? But wait a minute, if I spend all my time chasing the elusive rest, what happens to my purpose on earth?

I did a mite of shopping a couple of days back and am still recuperating whilst striving to admonish myself not to embark on such a seemingly harmless task however that’s what my body has become. An irreconcilable ongoing exercise between my outsides and insides and it seems to be a losing battle but guess what, the opera ain’t over till the champ says his lines and I’m not done with writing my lines. It’s amazing how much life seems clearer when you are down in the rut, grinding it out daily with myoclonus. It’s also amusing when I come across the experts who are clearly flummoxed and yet are unable to admit that simple truth to themselves. I can because I do battle each moment with a neurological disorder that takes pleasure in persistently striving to make you who you sure aren’t however it’s a game of wits. Persist all you may, the call is mine to make – it’s my life not yours.

I have got this lovely DAB/iPod digital radio and bedside clock and each time my eyes are drawn to those fluorescent green digits, I assure myself that there’s more than just bemoaning my present circumstances. I recollect with astonishing clarity the fun I had working with paper machè, gathering all the old and discarded dailies (for many, just some more clutter that needs to be trashed), letting it soak up in a tub of water till it’s all mushy and then mixing it with yucky paper glue. The smell to many, distasteful it might be but for me, it’s another opportunity to put together that messy unwanted mixture into something of a sculpture that when it’s all dried up would attract more than just glances but back in the days, my sculpture would occupy a place of pride and attract those who failed to see the beauty in some old used newspapers.

Now I admit my fingers may no longer be as nimble as they were back then neither do I have the ability to bend and retrieve those discarded dailies, least of all lug them home and get working but I acknowledge that there’s something of beauty in everything around us. The question is how many of us choose to remain on the level of being too busy chasing nothing, to pause and admire the beauty that lies all around us. Many of us may be content with side-stepping the ‘brokenness and discarded’ amongst us whilst we rush away snuggled in our warm overcoats but realise that the fulfilled life is not only one that takes into perspective what they see but willfully determines to make just that little difference in their world. I can luxuriate in the fact that I may not be able to make a paper mâché sculpture anymore but I can encourage those who still can, but do not realise they can, fashion a thing of beauty from their situations of bleakness as they are apt to be reminded almost daily.

What makes us individuals isn’t just the obvious fact that we are acclaimed to be top of the mammal/primate chain but I’ve seen animals go out of their way to assist an unrelated specie. I’ve been privy to witness love in deeds by those far lesser than us on the evolution ladder. A sparrow with a broken wing being nursed by a raccoon, I’ve witnessed abandoned pups being taken under the motherly care of a lioness and so if we truly are top of the chain, what acts of love define our everyday actions. ‘Saying a prayer’ via comment on social media for an ailing neighbor, friend or family when it cost you nothing to drive out there or send out a card or even place a call. Waiting for the call from that chap who obviously needs a better pair of shoes to warm his feet during the winter, mind you, he can barely afford to place that call. Waiting for your neighbour who’s past her prime to call out to you to please check on her and bring some joy to her life even if it is to help with her groceries. “Love sought and given is good but given unsought is better” – William Shakespeare. The list of little acts of kindness is endless, the question is what if that call never comes, are you absolved on the grounds of ignorance?

My hands hurt and I have to give this body some rest for there is yet a journey to continue on and so I cherish the little seeds of kindness i choose to place on my path because it sure is gonna look rosier to the next person that journeys behind me. That’s the choice I make every conscious moment with each day I yet draw breath, to let things go that truly don’t matter that I might devote myself as much as my body can take, to the things that truly matter.

Remember that giving is truly receiving, what’s that you’ve got in your hands – God wants to use it if you are willing to lose it.

פרידה עד שנפגש שוב בתזמון שלו עצמו

Adios!