All the World's a Classroom

Living for Jesus

A hymn by Thomas O. Chisholm, 1917

Living for Jesus, a life that is true,
Striving to please Him in all that I do;
Yielding allegiance, glad-hearted and free,
This is the pathway of blessing for me.

Refrain:
O Jesus, Lord and Savior, I give myself to Thee,
For Thou, in Thy atonement, didst give Thyself for me;
I own no other Master, my heart shall be Thy throne;
My life I give, henceforth to live, O Christ, for Thee alone.

Living for Jesus Who died in my place,
Bearing on Calv’ry my sin and disgrace;
Such love constrains me to answer His call,
Follow His leading and give Him my all.

Living for Jesus, wherever I am,
Doing each duty in His holy Name;
Willing to suffer affliction and loss,
Deeming each trial a part of my cross.

Living for Jesus through earth’s little while,
My dearest treasure, the light of His smile;
Seeking the lost ones He died to redeem,
Bringing the weary to find rest in Him.

Acts 17:28 “For in him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring.”

Music by Eden Symphony Orchestra

A Firstborn’s Memory

This entry is to commemorate my father’s passing two years ago.

The day after my father passed away, it was determined that I would be the one to find and select the specific location where we would have his burial. So I went with a representative from a cemetery and a few of my father’s relatives.

I didn’t like the cemetery representative; I thought she was obnoxious and rude. Alas, I was stuck with her. She showed me a few options in their complex, which was comprised of several ‘gardens’ with different themes, and I could weigh the various layouts, views, etc. Meaning, not all spots were made equal. Traditionally, the Chinese cares much about giving a proper, even grandeur burial, rooted perhaps in ancestor worship. Of course I do not subscribe to that, but I saw this task as my last chance to do the best I could for my father’s honor. I felt like it was upon me to ensure that this last tribute to him would be proper and honorable.

As we went from place to place I felt the weight of the decision dawned on my entire being. I was faced with some trade-offs. There was a garden named “Sabbath” – what a proper name for a place of rest. My father died on the Sabbath day too. This garden was beautiful and it seemed like the perfect place. I thought, yea, he would like this. However, this particular spot was definitely above our budget.. The other sites were nice, although they did not strike me that much. I had to select one out of those and because I felt like they were not as special, I really wanted to drive down the cost. If we couldn’t get the “Sabbath” spot, at least maybe my success could be monetary. Inside, I was very conflicted with what decisions to make, and in the midst of this, suddenly I realized how much I missed my father. My mind kept saying, if he was here, he would know exactly what to do..

Mind you this process also involved me getting insulted by some comments that the representative made and snapping at her. At one point I couldn’t deal with her anymore and broke down. My father’s relatives had to educate her why the things that she said were offensive to the culture and to the family, which she should have known given the context of her work. They told her to stop saying those things because they hurt.

I couldn’t drive the price as low as I wanted. I ended up with a selection, although I didn’t know if I felt completely satisfied with it. Given the whole situation, a soup of emotions just flooded over me. I was literally sobbing all the way back and almost for the rest of the day. I felt like the lady insulted my father and my family, and I was angry at her; I felt like I failed my task – as the eldest, I was supposed to do this well; I questioned whether I did the right thing, whether my father would have approved and been happy with my decision; and I missed him because I knew if he was alive, even if I didn’t make the best decision and was disappointed in myself, he would have comforted me and said it was okay.

I came back to the funeral home and told my mother I couldn’t get the price lower, which was really a message loaded with my self-disappointment, and she said it was okay; we would give the best for my father. I signed the deal and the papers with the representative. I did eventually apologized to her and vice versa, although that didn’t change my opinion that she was a bad salesperson. It was ironic, but the piece of land where my father would be buried was now to be purchased under my name. Legally, that piece of ‘property’ belonged to me, and that would be so for as long as life on earth would last. Personally, I felt a weird and profound connection between my father and myself as his eldest daughter in this situation; a connection that is tinged with one word – responsibility.

I don’t think I have recounted this experience to a single soul. Alas, some things are too hard to communicate verbally. Besides, it’s been two years…

Sometimes I think about the many decisions in life that my father wouldn’t have a say in. There are many things for which I actually would want his counsel and opinions, and I have no clue what his thoughts would be because no similar situation had come up before and I simply had not asked. But I am not without counsel and I am not Fatherless, so there is no need to despair.

Time heals. It really does. But even more than that, God heals. I can testify to the healing power of the balm of Gilead, and the Lord has ministered to me tremendously the past two years. I don’t know if I can say I’m over it 100%, since there are times when it’s just simply hard, like when unexpected things come up that triggered memories. And I don’t know whether I will ever get over it 100%. But perhaps that’s okay, so as to remind me that this world is not my home.

Here’s a video clip that I made last year: Tribute

Nature’s Song

An ecosystem of ministry…

In the beginning, God was revealed in all the works of creation. It was Christ that spread the heavens, and laid the foundations of the earth. It was His hand that hung the worlds in space, and fashioned the flowers of the field. “His strength setteth fast the mountains.” “The sea is His, and He made it.” (Psalm 65:6; 95:5). It was He that filled the earth with beauty, and the air with song. And upon all things in earth, and air, and sky, He wrote the message of the Father’s love.

Now sin has marred God’s perfect work, yet that handwriting remains. Even now all created things declare the glory of His excellence. There is nothing, save the selfish heart of man, that lives unto itself. No bird that cleaves the air, no animal that moves upon the ground, but ministers to some other life. There is no leaf of the forest, or lowly blade of grass, but has its ministry. Every tree and shrub and leaf pours forth that element of life without which neither man nor animal could live; and man and animal, in turn, minister to the life of tree and shrub and leaf. The flowers breathe fragrance and unfold their beauty in blessing to the world. The sun sheds its light to gladden a thousand worlds. The ocean, itself the source of all our springs and fountains, receives the streams from every land, but takes to give. The mists ascending from its bosom fall in showers to water the earth, that it may bring forth and bud. Desire of Ages, p. 20.

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