His Cup Overflows.

You never cease to amaze me.

Once again, I have no choice but to come before you... only to be softly, lovingly rebuked... I was always meant to come before you. In all this turmoil, this struggle, and this perseverance of faith, I have forgotten that you had always meant for us to rest. I sooner began to try on my own - try to stand on my own two feet. How wrong I am. How do I proclaim that I am faithful to you, that I remember your promises... and forget to dwell in your spirit?

Yet, you, like an eagle swooping down to catch its younglings, lift me up to a place of rest again, where I need not try, I need not make an effort to be what I think you want me to be. You call me to rest, to be restored, so that in your spirit, I can be guided along the path you have chosen for me.

Because I was never meant to walk this world alone - alone with my faith, standing on my own two feet. I was always meant to walk with your hand resting on my hip, and your arm tightly around my waist, and the other hand holding mine tightly, so that I would never forget just who you are, what you mean to me, and truly, what I mean to you too.

PTL, Sarah.

I type "you" the way that I do because you aren't supposed to be unreachable. Yes, I proclaim that you are God. But you are also our father, our best friend, our lover, and you have made it possible for us to be so intimate with you, to feel you, to hear you, to see you. I don't do this out of lack of respect, but in fact, in gratitude and gratefulness, because you love us too much to be a distant God. You wrap me in your arms of love, and you call me yours.

De-Guise.

I stare and I think, and I think and I stare some more. And yet, it's still all just white space that floods my eyes. There is no slight tremour, no flicker of movement. There is no spectacular spark of beauty, no stroke of vibrance. It is all just plainness, and this time, I fear it is no longer temporary.

My mind has become the body of a manikin, undressed by fancy sentiment, stripped of the trends of eloquence and materialism. I am bare, and I am naked, and now I'm just too afraid and too ashamed to walk on. As it is, I am a mere figure, aren't I? So why can I not feel the tips of your fingers pressing against me as you twist and turn my joints, exercise my limbs and stretch my posture to continue your work? Your work that chisels, chips, and slits deeper into my woody flesh, leaving me fragile, vulnerable, and weak.

... But I quickly forget. I am far too drawn by, and helplessly drowned in, the love pouring from your eyes when my head is tilted your way. The twinkle is right there in your eyes, and I know that what you have in mind for me is far more beautiful than what I could ever dress myself in.

Yet, sometimes, you turn my head away. Sometimes, you don't let me even catch a glimpse of you. I am left, terrified, with only my faith in you to keep me from jumping right out of my skin and deep into another's dresser. I strain to see, but I cannot. My neck is so stiffened for your purposes that all I've left to do is strain to hear that familiar clink, clink, clink! as you chip away at all my rougher edges.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid because sometimes, I can't see you. I can't hear you. I can't feel you. I stare, and there is nothing, and I find that I am left with nothing - nothing but my wavering faith and mere memories of your voice. Your voice that says: I love you, I will never leave you or forsake you, I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

You are the only reason I still stand here, trembling and terrified, completely broken and exposed. Yet I stand unashamed, because I know that only your love can bring me to my knees.

PTL, Sarah.

They'd Say.

They'd say that I was strong, when I couldn't take anything anymore.
They'd say I was positive, when I could see no good in the world anymore.
They'd say that I was happy,when my heart was breaking.

It's not as if I don't have any problems. But it's not as if I'll ever act like I have no problems. I do. I'm just like every other person in the rest of this world. I suffer, I hurt. Sometimes, no one even knows.

But it's not as if I won't say something. It's because every time I feel that I have to say something for an ounce of relief from heartache, there comes a voice. It's a voice that tells me to stop whining and complaining. It forces me to envision so many other broken people, suffering much harsher circumstances and going through more heartbreaking situations than I could even dream about. People who are on the brink of dying, and yet... still rejoice at seeing another day. And truly, truly no one knows what they go through.

It's these people, and they are real, and I'm weaker than that. They're the ones who should be called strong. They're the ones still seeing positivity in the world. They're the ones who are truly happy with nothing.
And I, a spoiled little girl in one of the luckiest countries in the world, should have nothing to complain about. In fact. My life is so wonderfully fortunate. I have all I need, want, and so much more with the God who would have died for me alone, even if no one else would believe.

So I shall, once again, purse my lips, hold my tongue, and refuse to let another tear escape.

LOL, Sarah.

Clothed.

Colossians 3:7-14

⁷You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. ⁸ But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. ⁹ Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices ¹⁰ and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator. ¹¹ Here there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.

¹² Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. ¹³ Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. ¹⁴ And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

---

I happen to find that life can be like cleaning out a closet. There always comes a time when we have to empty ourselves, lay everything out on the bed, and assess what we keep, and what needs to go. We have grown now, and we need to purge ourselves of childish desires, letting go of the things we do not need, and instead clothe ourselves with the new, be equipped for what is to come.

Where I once laid my childish ways aside, just in a small corner of my closet, I now set it in a pile on my bed. It is a pile I no longer need, for I have grown; clothes of holding on, stubbornness, self-orientation - I let go. A pile that no longer lingers in my closet, taking up space, weighing me down. These must go, for they are too tight, and I suffocate in its cover.

So too, the clothes that must go are the ones that were never mine: clothes I have attempted to put on to become someone else, clothes that don't fit me so well. They must return to their owners, for the clothes which are mine are mine to be worn, not to be left hanging upon the hooks.

And finally, the clothes that are still stained by human's shortcomings: selfishness splattered over compassion, pride seeping in the seams of obedience, and materialistic desires drenching pure, white, love. These clothes will be surrendered, to be laid at His feet, for Him to wash clean, that I may dress myself anew. The stains of sin are washed away by His blood, so that I may be clothed with the robes of a child of God.

And in so doing, I am no longer a sinner, I am a beautiful, loved daughter of God.

---

With the New Year having come around, there are a number of things I must do. There are loose ends to be tied, knots to be loosened, and other strings to be cut off completely. This blog - this string, is one I am not sure how to deal with. Perhaps it will stay a while longer, or perhaps not. But it is a consideration that I need to be aware of, as are many other decisions which I have to make.

Rest assured though, I will offer a valedictory when the time comes to lay this beast to sleep :P

In the mean time, I must immerse myself all the more into my roots in the Motherland (:

Much love,

PtL, Sarah.

In The Stillness.

I breathed in the silent air, like a gulp of icy water. It was refreshing - revitalising. To be alone and not lonely, perhaps was the grandest gift to have! Oh what it was to be how I was at this moment... and what I would give to have it again!

Right here, where I am, people do not question what seems to be the matter, and rightly so, because it is not their matter. They do not ask why I look so... unlike joy, unlike the sun beating away the down of the clouds in the sky. Yet again, I address the question with the question. Do they know my expression? Do they know this queer feeling of the upturned corners of my lips, which really are the contracting muscles underneath? Do they know the true meaning of a furrowed brow, a lackluster eye?

I could say yes, but I long to say no, for the secrets of my heart could be spilled to no one. It is my choices that people are unfamiliar with, not necessarily the circumstance upon which I face, and their interpretation of my outward appearance would, I fear, only distort their understanding of my decisions.

I fear losing the privacy of my thoughts. The very faint idea, even if as tiny and as insignificant as an ant, that my wall is in any way corrupted makes me quiver and tremble. For the minute a tiny little thing like that breaks in, my rations will not survive. I will have no control over anything that I have. It will rot away the pristine clarity and purity of these walls which hide what others find so delicious and quenching. They just want it all, and they want to take me as well.

No, the secrets of my heart must remain deeply hidden. Nature understands - it hugs me with its loosened leaves, and brushes my hair with soft, grassy bristles. This may sound strange, but I do feel that nature speaks. Its voice is in the breeze, in the songs of the birds. It whispers into the inner sanctum of my heart: We hear you, we understand your decisions. Who is we? What is that sovereign voice, so faint, yet so lucid and clear, that seems to know the secrets of my heart, and understands who I am, what I am?

And yet, still, it embraces me with such a natural warmth when I am numbed by cold. Cool water laps at my feet, ready for drinking, when I am weary and tired.

But I can't help but to continually feel that there is a cosmos - larger than me... larger than life, even- that knows, and, even more to the point, understands.

What's more, it loves.

And I am so content that the secrets of my heart are known by this grander and more sovereign being. It is the one being I am willing to surrender to - to Someone that knows, and yet still loves - it is an amazing thing.

To this, not to anyone else, am I willing to lose control to.

PTL, Sarah.

Life Is Wonderful.

If you're the best I've ever met, and I can't have you...

Boy, am I blessed, because the best is still yet to come.

---
LOL, Sarah.

Unfortune.

It is the last night before Methods Exam 2.
I was determined to complete one exam paper.
So I did (though left the last question due to time constraints).

Then it was time to correct.
I search for the solutions...
Only to discover that I spent two hours doing the wrong exam paper.
Mathematical Methods Exam 2≠ Mathematical Methods (CAS) Exam 2.
Sad.

I want to shoot myself.

LOL, Sarah.