Two Plus Two

This song, a wedding gift for my best friend and her groom, is inspired by their first meeting years ago at a nationwide high school math contest. It is also a tribute to how God has led their lives together. As for the bad arithmetic in the song...I take the blame. Congratulations, Abi and Fitz!

Verse 1:
I planned my life with fierce precision,
Counted every day,
Calculated each decision,
Charted every way.
Yet with you came a revelation
To these plans I owned,
With you came a new equation
I had never known...

Chorus:
Where two minds plus two hearts
Is equal to one,
How greater and higher
Was what the Lord had done.
For I could, I could never
Calculate your love
When two plus two is one.

Verse 2:
I dreamed my dreams through each occasion,
Formed each fantasy,
Gathered all the information
As to what I'll be.
Yet with you came a revelation
To these dreams I owned,
With you came a new equation
I had never known...

A Sweeter Song

I have thought much about which composition to choose as my new year post. And this song...written long ago in the midst of heartache...finally emerged as the best choice. No matter what my foolishness might tend to do, may the new year bring me closer and closer to my Savior, as I live a lifesong of satisfaction and love to Him.

Verse:
I brought to You my foolish dreams
And threw them up to You,
Requesting that You faithfully
Make all of them come true.
"I'd do my best, You do the rest,"
As long as each of them comes true...

I brought to You a battered heart,
All torn beyond console,
Requesting that You faithfully
Redeem and make it whole.
You tore it more, and then restored
That sweeter song unto my soul...

Chorus:
A sweeter song I sing
Of all that's pure and true,
A song no man can bring
Though everything he do,
A song my life resounds,
A song of love profound,
A song of love I found,
When satisfied in You.

Someday

My mom was married at 21. Ever since I was a kid, I thought that I'd be getting married by now. But God had other plans. If I had tried to get married at this age, I wouldn't have gone away to college...and life would just be completely different. God is faithful, good, wise, and true. I post these lyrics, one of my most favorite compositions, on my 21st birthday...knowing that God will continue to guide my heart as another decade of my life unfolds.

This song is somewhat based on author Joshua Harris' last chapter (titled "Someday I'll Have a Love Story to Tell") in his book I Kissed Dating Goodbye. I have personally experienced the amazing impact of godly love stories of people in my life, and I want to be able to do the same one day as well. Someday, someday, Lord willing...I will tell, together with the love of my life, a miraculous story of purity, patience, hope, and faith rewarded.

Verse 1:
I hold my heart within my hand
With dear anxiety,
For I know I won't understand
What His plans are for me;
I'd rather live the way that I
Now think would make me free,
Yet knowing that if I comply,
He knows what's best for me.

I store my dreams within my heart
As I remember you,
For though we may be far apart,
His love can see us through;
And though impatience drives me on,
I know that in His time,
The One who calls us both His own
Will write our tale sublime.

Chorus:
Someday we will tell His loving grace
To a generation who is seeking for His face;
Someday we will tell His wondrous love
In a perfect match made from what dreams are fashioned of...
Someday...

Verse 2:
And many younger souls will see
How in His perfect plans,
He's brought me to you, you to me,
By wondrous circumstance;
And when they see how He has done
His miracle on us,
Then they can find the strength to run
Their race with hope and trust.

So when my heart forgets and fails
To trust His time and grace,
I think of how His will prevails
O'er any human ways;
And I remember how one day
We'll have our tale to tell,
So in our hearts and lives, I pray,
May we portray it well.

Chorus:
Someday we will tell His loving grace
To a generation who is seeking for His face;
Someday we will tell His wondrous love
In a perfect match made from what dreams are fashioned of...
Someday...someday...
Someday.

The Beauty of a Place

Strolling around a near-empty campus during lockdown week, I realized the incredible amount of memories that have been formed upon those grounds throughout the past 30 years...but is it really the place that matters?

The beauty of a place lies not
Upon its selfish charm,
It lieth rather on the lot
Of human melancholy wrought
Upon that selfsame spot;
One place of sweetest dreams for me
Might be of dread for thee,
'Tis not the place that earns the grace,
'Tis human memory.

Kept For Me

I wrote these lyrics as a personalized wedding gift to my musician friends Mark and Jocelyn. Even though their whole love story won't fit here, I can bear witness of how their lives testify to God's amazing sovereignty in keeping both of them unattached for many years until they met each other and fell magically in love...to be each other's first and last in a world of broken hearts. And whenever I fear that God would let me miss out on what's best, I remember their story, and I find comfort in knowing that God would keep me and my groom for each other, according to His perfect plans.

Verse 1:
There were times I felt there was no one
Who'd know me as I am;
There were times I thought I'd settle for
Whatever was at hand,
Yet somehow God would have me wait
In search for something more,
For in His perfect, sovereign plan,
The best was still in store...

Chorus 1:
And through the years, He's guided me
To where I stand today,
Breathless at what my eyes see,
And robbed of words to say.
And through the years, there was no one,
For looking back, I see
That He was keeping me for you,
And keeping you for me.

Verse 2:
There were times I felt there was no one
Who'd love me as I am,
There were times I thought I'd never find
Someone to understand.
Yet somehow God would lead me through
An unexpected door
That opened to a world of love
I'd never known before...

Chorus 2:
And through the years, He's molded me
To who I am today,
Breathless at what my eyes see,
And robbed of words to say.
And I thank God there was no one,
For looking back, I see
That He was keeping me for you,
And keeping you for me.

Bridge:
The first to see inside of me,
The first to hear "I love you,"
The first to sing within my soul,
Are you...

Coda:
And looking back upon the years,
I sing with ecstasy...
That He's been keeping me for you,
And keeping you for me.

And here is the video that they made out of the song =)

To Fear to Lose

I penned this poem this past May, a time when inspiration brought some of my best pieces ever. Not a person in the world, no matter how good-looking or outstanding, is spared from the fear of losing the one he or she loves. Love longs for security and usually never finds enough of it. God gave me this poem because He knew how often I need to hear its message; and I share this poem because I know many others would benefit from it as well. Love not from God is fleeting. True love, when given by God and based on God, can never be lost.

I often wonder why at all
That you would choose to love me so,
I trip, I stumble, and I fall,
I have no faults you do not know,
I am not beauty's prideful claim,
I have not charm's gentility,
My talents, skills are all the same,
If not much less, than what can be.

And with these thoughts within my mind,
I often fear that you would go,
I fear that I would lag behind,
Another's charms, another's flow;
Yet then my heart reminds my fear
That never did you love me so
Because of charms or manners dear,
Or anything that swiftly go;
Our love has friendship as its stand,
A friendship founded on the One
Whose plans we cannot understand,
Whose will, when said, is good as done.

Then why fear I that you would go
To seek what never did draw you?
You love me and I love you so
For who He is, for what He'll do;
And since I never can lose Him,
I know that I cannot lose you.

The Gift

The conversation in this poem was inspired by the tale "The Nightingale and the Rose" by Oscar Wilde, something I read in English literature class. Yet I have also drawn deeply from personal experience for this piece. My first composition in blank verse, this long poem answers a question for all who are patient enough to read and understand it...What is the best gift love can give?

The little boy came to the nightingale
And asked with youthful curiosity,
"Dear love-bird, if I deeply love a girl,
What present can I give to prove my love?
I've never loved a person more before
And want to give what no one else can give."
The nightingale looked on him long and sure,
"That present only truest love can give."

The little boy gazed at the nightingale
And asked with patient, slight uncertainty,
"Dear love-bird, if I want to give to her
What I can never give to someone else,
What present can I give to only her?
What present can I give to prove my love?"
The nightingale looked on him kind and long,
"That present can be given only once."

The little boy sighed at the nightingale
And asked with young frustration in his voice,
"Dear love-bird, will you please tell me today
What present's worth the most in all the earth?
I want to give what money cannot buy
For she is worth far more than jewels are."
The nightingale looked on him sweet and kind,
"This present's worth is irretrievable.

"Dear boy," the bird replied, "this special gift,
This present that you seek to give to her
Is never bought, though often rashly giv'n,
Is never earned, but granted undeserved,
'Tis what no other one can give to her,
'Tis what no other can receive but her,
Its worth is priceless, for there only is
But one in every human life on earth."

The bird continued as the boy, so filled
With love, did strain his youthful ear to hear,
"This gift is truer than fine silvery;
This gift is giving what is part of you.
Her heart can melt when you give it to her,
But you must give with warnings in your ear:
For this dear present, once given away,
Can never be outdone or taken back.

"If you should love her till the end of life,
Then only do you have the right to give;
But if you cannot love her till the end,
Then you should hesitate to grant this gift."
"Oh what's the gift?" the boy would want to know.
"No matter what the cost I'll gladly pay,
No matter what the work I will accept,
For I love her more than I love myself."

"The gift is simple, priceless, and profound,
'Tis given once, yet given not alone,
'Tis given with a record you must bear
No matter what may change in days to come.
The gift you seek is rightly named as--'First'
And it is given with whate'er you choose:
A song, a kiss, a hug, a word or three...
You give it only once eternally."

"Oh that is easy!" the young boy exclaimed.
"Oh no! 'Tis not!" the bird did reprimand,
"For once you give this gift away to one,
No human being can have it again.
You might give greater, better, stronger things,
But 'first' has ownership for one alone.
So please, be wary of what you decide,
For though you've found the gift, please bide the price."

The boy in love looked happy yet confused,
He's found the gift, but many warnings too.
"Oh be not sad," the love-bird sweetly said,
"For love would give what can be given now,
But save for last what's best among them all.
The choice of what to give and what to save,
Is yours to make, with wisdom, love, and sense,
And yours to keep throughout your days ahead."

The young boy hesitated for a while,
Then lifted up his visage with a smile,
"I think I've learned what gift is best of all,
'Tis not a gift of passion or of gold,
'Tis not a gift of words or one of praise,
But 'tis a gift I give once and for all."
And off he skipped to give his special gift,
While silently, the nightingale did muse.

"I hope that this one makes his choices well,
Lest I have one more saddened tale to tell,"
Spoke thus the bird, spoke thus the nightingale.

想起你 (I Remember You)

Even though the Chinese language may be my mother tongue, it is definitely not my mother pen. Thus, I was so happy when this song flowed effortlessly when I was walking around campus. To those who could actually read these lyrics (hehe), please keep in mind that this is basically a pop song. Don't read it as a wisdom piece, for it is not written to be so. It is just a mushy love song about remembrance and romance. Hey, I get to have silly girly moments too, right?

路中初吻的回憶

互換眼神的呼吸

樹下雍抱的情意

恍然地想起你

雨中同傘的天氣

交換軟糖的甜蜜

夕陽散步的美麗

想起便想起你

一百一千一千萬分

的柔情蜜憶

不停地回轉於我的記憶

一百一千一千萬分

的捨不得你

不停地教我不能夠放棄

路中吻別的回憶

互訢愛你的信息

十指緊扣的情意

教我無法忘記

一旦想起，不自禁想起你

Nothing in the World

I seldom write pure lyrics, lyrics that do not resemble poetry in any sense. But with this song, the words flowed out of me so naturally as I composed beside my cousin Theodore. I remember that evening of composition very well, just as I remember the song very well. Truly, nothing can satisfy once one has been found by the One who finds.

Time and time again,
I’ve felt a longing deep within,
Trying hard to find my place
Within this world of sin,
Time and time again,
I’ve searched my dreams all over
Saw them formed, fulfilled, and lost…

Until the day I said
I couldn’t do it any more,
His love called and restored me
To all I should be living for.

And so I found by being found,
And I was freed by being bound,
And bound to Him I’ll always be,
For in His goodness I am free.

And nothing, nothing in the world
Could ever satisfy,
For Jesus, He is everything
I’d ever want in life.

Your Work Continues All the Same

One of the most dramatic chapters of my life is coming to an end. And as I settle down to college life soon, routine will come again. While I look forward to it all, I know that perseverance will be tested in routine life, and I know that God's hand might become humanly less easy to trace. Yet, just as in this poem that I wrote for my best friend a few months ago, I shall still have motivation to do my best. And as I tentatively part from this blog...this is my good wish for all my readers, no matter your duties comprise family, work, studies, church, or otherwise.

Each morn, each hour goes passing by,
Each word, each task, each smile, each sigh,
Each tiring deed, each daily need,
“Lord, is there more?” I cry.

A smiling face to greet the day,
A tender word a friend should say,
Still don’t remain; life stays the same,
“Lord, is there more?” I pray.

My duties day and night I do,
I stay obedient and true,
Yet there’s no fire, no keen desire
To draw more close to You.

Lord, help me trace Your loving hand,
Lord, help me hear Your voice’s command
Through each small thing each hour might bring
To make me understand

That though each day may lack the flame,
Your work continues all the same,
And I must strive, each day I live
To glorify Your name.

Teach Me to Remember

I wrote these lyrics soon after I finished the book "Growing Up Christian." This book, written in particular for church-grown kids, challenged me to reevaluate my views on salvation. Have I become self-righteous? Have I taken my salvation for granted more often than not? In the end, I could only cry...Lord, teach me to remember. For a while, I could think of no tune suitable for the words that I felt so intensely about. Then finally, two weeks back, my cousin Theodore wrote the perfect music for it. Now, it is finally a song-prayer that can be sung.

Verse 1:
There are times when I forget
How my soul is long in debt
To the holiness which You, my God, demands
There are times when I retort
How I’ve failed and fallen short
Of the glory found in You and Your commands.

Pre-chorus:
Yet when in Your Word I see
All the wickedness in me,
Can’t help but plead Your mercy to remind me once again…
When in Your Word I see
All the wickedness in me,
Can’t help but plead Your mercy to remind me once again…

Chorus:
Lord, teach me to remember
The price You had to pay;
Lord, teach me to surrender
More of myself each day.
Please help me not forget,
Please help me not neglect
The grace You showed when on the cross You laid,
The miracle that I am Yours today.

Verse 2:
There are times when I would do
All the things You want me to
And imagine that I did it on my own;
There are times when I would live,
I would love, and I would give,
While forgetting all had come from You alone.

A Writer's Prayer

I am barely a writer...but this really is my prayer...

If I could ever write a story…that could capture only one fragment of Your sovereign plans, then it would be the greatest masterpiece on earth. No, it cannot be. That is a wish beyond humanity.

You are the one who created it all.

You invented what people call characterization. You have made millions upon millions of human beings over the course of history, yet not two have been the same. You designed every tendency, every inclination, every preference, every talent, every interest known or unknown to man…and You combined them in unique ways that outwit probability. You planted such varieties of personality, and You set each new concoction in different circumstances. You designed character background, more richly, deeply, and diversely than any single human mind can comprehend. You dictated which parents would bear which children, and which building should house which child, and which cultures would reach which soul. You created propensities so tiny yet significant, that only a family member could tell. You search through every motive and form of selfishness harbored in the heart, even those hidden from one’s own eyes. You did not create sin, yet You understand it and see it manifested in ways as diverse as the human creatures You have conceived. You write character after character, create person after person…yet You know each by name, You understand each one as thoroughly as if he had been the only one made.

You write with purposeful plots. There are three main plots in life, and You control them all. There is the main plot of redemptive history, of which You are the focal point. There is the main plot of the humanity’s history within this universe, which often leaves individuals seem incredibly insignificant. Then there is the main plot of everyone’s own story, for truly no story is ever of greater consequence in one’s life than one’s own. No human being can understand the world except through the context of his own story. For him, for her, for me, that is the main plot. You write each one. You personally write each one. You write each one with precision inconceivable.

You are a God of order, and You are a complex God. How You can interweave billions of main plots over time is beyond my understanding. I can only marvel. One man heads one household, one long chapter within his lifetime. His children, growing under his roof, portray stories of their own. Every day, the family meets; every day, the family lives. Every day, they share certain instances common to all. Yet the significance of an event varies among the stories, even as each of them respectively resolves into what is best. The ending of one story is often the beginning of another. The punishment of one character may well be the reward of another. The consequential progressions of each tale merge together as they take their place in the main plots…in a pattern inscrutable.

You are just, and poetic justice is but a shadow of Your standards. Evil shall be punished; good shall be rewarded. Though achieved in means sometimes elusive to human wisdom, justice is served by Your hands. Ultimately, wickedness does not prosper, evil does not prevail. The humble and righteous are lifted up as You Yourself have promised.

You set the tone of each line, page, and chapter within every tale. Yet in them all, You are glorified. The Christian’s moments of triumph magnify Your faithfulness. The penitent tears of the sinner direct to Your abundant mercy. The achievements of man prove Your common grace. The calamities of nature thunder of Your power and might. From a mother’s healing touch to a judge’s severe sentence to a friend’s jovial tease…You work, You manage, You write.

You write the unexpected, yet You write with consistency to Your character. So paradoxical are You. What man calls good might be a curse; what man calls evil might be a blessing. You ask that man give up his life to find it. You ask what is impossible. Yet You make it possible.

You let man plan his way, but he can never know what is beyond the page, the line, the very word he is living. You know all, yet you let us know so little. You render Your characters helpless under Your pen. There can be no peeking ahead.

Yet You promise what is the best, and the one who would not trust You does so at his own demise. You do know best, and the best way to appreciate that best is through believing in You. You write what is best temporarily, as well as what is best eternally. I cannot understand how, but still You do that. You always give the best, and I could choose to see that best even while its happening, or only when it’s over. Or wait, that is wrong. It is never over. Your lovingkindness is never ceasing. That’s how incomprehensible a writer You are…You do not merely write for the best interests of the whole; You write for the best interests of every one who loves, obeys, and belongs to You.

You make all things beautiful in Your time. You are beyond time, yet You write humanity’s story within this dimension. You never begin one storyline when it’s too early, and You never forget a line until it is too late. You combine fleeting moments of bliss and extensive chapters of sorrow to write the perfect tale.

You write in every language ever known. You write in the hearts of the educated and uneducated, of the heathen and the Christian, of the elderly and the young. You give instruction and demand compliance. You give love though we give hate. You write in the tongues of men and of angels, though they are below You. You take the wisdom of all You are and write it in words man’s weak nature could blurrily decipher. You write both in majesty and in meekness. You write both in thunders and in whispers.

You write everything. You do not neglect any detail. You do not add insignificant facts. You write without error.

I could never end in praises and in awe. You are the Master Author, truly, the Beginning and the End.

Lord, take my pen. You do the writing…write with my words…write with my life itself.

I know You are the one writing anyway, whether I say so or not. But just to let You know…I want You to write.

I can’t write. You do the writing. Write beside me, write through me…write with me as Your pen.

God's Reply

I had originally intended to keep this precious poem tucked away for years, until when perhaps circumstances and time would be my protection. Yet when I witness so many young hearts being bruised because of impatience or carelessness, I can't help but share it. I do not claim to have permanently learned the lesson in this poem, for I find myself asking God, hearing His reply, getting hurt, then learning to trust again and again...yet fickle as my emotions may be, His reply stands constant and true.

Dear girls and girls-at-heart, this poem is dedicated to you in particular. May we all guard our hearts faithfully and as carefully as possible, for whomever the Lord has written for our future, in His most perfect plan.

The world conspires and says to me
I have to seize what I can see,
And give my life and heart today
To love not guaranteed to stay.

It feels so tempting to accept
This thought that my sane mind rejects,
For though security’s not giv’n,
A temp’ral love still sounds like heav’n.

It’s hard to hold myself against
The charm that my soft heart had sensed;
It’s hard to trustingly forego
Affections he now seems to show.

The time’s not right; I know this well,
Yet still in me emotions swell.
“Lord, can’t I take him, just for now?
If it’s Your will, You’ll show us how.”

Then God replied in tenderness,
So firmly, “Child, would I give less?
Would I give less than what is best,
When I have given you the rest?

“There is a story kept for you,
A story written for your due,
I wrote it with My loving hand,
It’s best—though not what you demand.

“There’ll come the day when you will see
A person made for you by Me;
I know it’s hard to let things be,
Yet I want you to wait on Me.

“If he should be the one for you,
Then let me mold both of you two
Until you’re ready for that day
For love committed e’er to stay.

“If it should be another one,
Then do not rush before I’m done;
In case you love someone untrue,
Someone I hadn’t made for you.

“Just trust Me, child, I love you so,
My love is all you need to know;
Would I retain from you the rest,
When I have given you My best?”

My Love Affair with Translation

It never was love at first sight. It was more like an arranged marriage.

I never was given much of a choice. Well, not that my parents forced me to become a pulpit translator, nor did my church. I don’t remember any coercion, but nor do I recall any voluntary enthusiasm. I just know that one statement stands true over the years: “Translation chose me, not I translation.”

I “debuted” as a pulpit translator just a few months after turning 15, but my training came far before that. You know how those young girls in countries with arranged marriages are taught since childhood that they would one day marry in a so-and-so way? It was the same way with me. It’s just that it wasn’t about marriage, but about translation.

At age six or seven, my parents commented often on how their talkative daughter had the potential to become a translator. They didn’t know that my young mind absorbed those comments, as well as their discussions on how to train me sooner or later. There was an expectation lingering in the air for my ministerial future, and nowhere was it stronger than within my own family.

When I was promoted at age 13 to adult worship service from junior worship, my mom advised me seriously. “Wen, listen and learn from the sermons,” she said, “One day, you can be, you will be a translator.”

So I did. I listened, I learned, I observed, and I distracted other translators by my constant inaudible lip movements during sermons. I practiced, I drilled, I jot down notes. Translation was calling me.

The years went by quickly, and I was 15. That December, translation called up for a first date.

A birthday party was scheduled by an acquaintance living nearby, and she hoped to insert some pre-evangelism into the program. It was a family gathering for them, so that there would be both young and old in the same party. My dad would be sharing a short message, and they needed a translator. My mom had another appointment at church that night. Oh…I see.

“Wen, could you translate for your dad tonight?” my mom asked as we all crowded the master bedroom (essentially the only living quarters in the house).

“Um…sure,” I heard myself answer. I was both scared and excited. Something I had only prepared for was actually becoming real. “If there’s a need, I’ll try.”

As my dad acquainted himself with the people that night at the gathering, I sat alone on the side, not eating a bite, pouring over the Bible verses my dad had given me. As if I wasn’t nervous enough, the secular program dragged on as the people drank beer and sang karaoke. I wanted to go home.

When my dad was finally handed the microphone, I took my Bible and stood up next to him. It was late already, and he didn’t even refer to the passage I had so painstakingly studied. It was a 20-minute sharing, but it was enough for me to let out a long hidden sigh of relief at its conclusion.

“How did it go?” my mom’s eyes shined with both curiosity and excitement that night at home.

“Schedule her once or twice a quarter at church,” was my dad’s mechanical reply. That was his way of affirmation.

I caught my breath. It was for real.

A month later, I translated through my first full-length 45-minute church sermon. There were only 60 people in the afternoon service congregation, but they were enough to make me conscious, and to pressure me to a good session.

Apparently, they were also enough to start what I did not know was the beginning of a pattern for years to come. The praises started pouring in.

I never thought myself to be a stellar translator. I never understood why I was considered to be better than others. I was fifteen years old, I was doing what I thought I should be doing, and somehow, people thought I was great.

Most people were simply encouraging me to strive for Him. Others were just honest about how helpful effective translation was to them. A few were flatterers, but it was obvious from their way of talking. From my perspective, however, the results they rendered were basically the same.

I never chose translating. Yet in a way, translating chose me. Over the years, many people have wondered or consulted me, “How do you do it?! And at such an age?”

I usually answer that it is all by the grace of God, which is absolutely true. Skill-wise and training-wise, however, I myself had no idea how I honed those skills. I never strived hard for translation. I just started translating. That’s it. Then somehow, people liked it.

I wasn’t in love with translation at all back then, nor did I even like it a lot. I was apathetic to it, to be honest. Yet somehow, as I translated regularly, as I translated for more people, as I translated for other churches, as I experimented with other languages, the affirmation continued. To my childish and vain mind, that was what made me happy.

It was like wanting a certain boyfriend/girlfriend merely because of the popularity boost that accompanies him or her.

That was what I felt about translation.

As the months went by, however, some things changed. I was realizing that translation did not only give me self-satisfaction or popularity. It demanded sacrifice.

Regular translation meant taking care of my voice full-time, sometimes to the denial of many favourite foods or practices (i.e. talking endlessly). Translation duties required me to travel around with my dad, even if I missed my friends at our church. And once people’s fascination over my “translating prodigy” status began to get old, my pride began to miss the adulation.

If it had been an arranged marriage, then I had gotten over the honeymoon.

For a time span of almost a year, I wallowed in my disillusionment. What was it about translating that I did like anyway? I had lost my passion for translation. Or perhaps it had never been there?

Those months were long for me as I went on from one translation assignment to another, without finding joy in the process of it all. The people were still relatively affirming of my skills, but I wasn’t enjoying the skills at all. My translation skills…those skills that had come so effortlessly to me, were becoming burdens to my selfish teenage heart.

For a while, like a rebel against tradition, I wanted to escape that relationship. I wanted to opt out of translation, because it (or rather, the attention that accompanied it) was no longer satisfying me.

I, along with a few faithful prayer partners, prayed earnestly to God in abundance that year. I did not see the source of my problem. My subjective perspective told me that perhaps translation wasn’t a calling from God. If it were, I would find joy in it, right? It took a while for me to realize otherwise.

Looking back at my own selfishness and childishness, I could only wonder at the grace God showed to me. Instead of taking away the chance for service from an ungrateful girl, He held the hand of His daughter and showed her a far more beautiful picture.

Once I directed my vision to what God wanted me to see, I saw differently.

I saw friends who could not understand English come to our church and react with joy upon every statement that helped them understand the sermon. I saw the beauty of a ministry that could lead people to a clearer understanding of the most important part of every worship service—the preaching of the Word. As the church became more choosy over translators when we merged the two existing services, I realized that I had an edge over others translators even more experienced than I was. I never did anything to gain those skills, but those skills grew on me. They came to me. Translation came to me without my asking. In other words, it was a gift.

Hey, right. It was a gift. It was a special skill given to me as raw talent, then trained in me subconsciously by my surroundings and upbringing. Perhaps it wasn’t a biblical spiritual gift, but it was a present, a present from God.

God gave me that chance to experience the joy of explaining His teachings to those who could not understand. God gave me the skills which became my stepping board to witnessing numerous other ministries and churches at work. God gave me the talent to share His word alongside different speakers, and gain may priceless friends in the different congregations as I do.

Sure, that present came with its responsibilities. Improving my skills require discipline in reading the Chinese Bible, discipline in voice care, the skill of stage confidence, critiquing my own voice recordings, and struggles with pride as I stand in the pulpit spotlight. Every gift, every possession requires stewardship and effort to maintain. Sessions teaming with excellence are often followed by translation flops that spell public embarrassment. The above were just some prices to pay for the joy of reaching people, and the realization of God’s hand in my life and skills.

When I realized where those skills from nowhere had originated, I found my source.

When I realized what those skills could achieve, I found my goal.

I fell in love with translation, and I am still. There are days when we don’t get along; there are days when we are in perfect harmony. Yet still, I love it. I love it not because I enjoy the task. I love it not because it forms my identity. I love it not because it makes me popular, though the temptation may often be very real still. I love it most because it is a gift from the Lord, a result of grace I could never have imagined.

It is something I do not deserve. It is a present that came with many other packages of joy, and it was from the Lord.

Translation chose me, not I translation. Of course it did, because I never would have been wise enough on my own to choose it. Of course it had to choose me first, because it was something I did not deserve. Translation chose me…no wait, God chose me. He just acted through translation. It was and is His grace all along.

I love translation…because I love my Lord—my Giver, my Source, my Goal.

Thy Will Be Done

Due to a belief that works ought to be polished before they are shared, I very seldom post "fresh" compositions, least of all those merely a few hours old, written in the wee hours of the morning. Yet now, I am in no mood to post anything other than what is the cry of my heart.

Daily I pray that Thy will shall be done,
Daily I pray that You will be the One
Who would control all that's coming to be,
Judging with wisdom regarding to me.

Yet when the matters and changes abound,
I lose the answers I thought I had found;
All the best hopes that were filling my mind
All fall apart, far away, and behind.

Lord, I don't want all these things to be true,
Lord, I don't want to think this is from You,
Yet the reality stands in my face--
This is the portion You've given by grace.

Grant me submission, then, this now I pray,
Grant me the strength to be faithful each day,
Grant me a heart that finds joy even now,
Though my affections do not tell me how.

You are my Answer, and You're in command,
I will not try if I could understand,
For I do not, and I've only one call--
"Thy will be done" in my heart, life, and all.

To the Lady Charmer

Somehow, guys always wish they were (or imagine themselves to be) the ladies' man. Well, considering the fact that women fall easily for them, such ambitions might be understandable. Yet if comes the day such a man asks for a woman's love by pledging his own, I wonder how she could respond.

You met me one day and called me so fair.
I had but to say, and you would be there.
You helped me with smiles and perfect delight,
And each leisured while, we’d talk into night.
I’m touched and I’m moved and I’m glad to be me.
Yet if I am loved, then howcome I see
Young ladies abound wherever you be,
Receiving in round all you’d given me?
How then can I be assured of your heart
If repeatedly, I’d see since the start,
Young ladies like me, receiving like me,
Wherever you be?

Family

Although these reflections came from my own pen, they are responsible for having cheered, encouraged, or slightly rebuked me at the times I felt frustration with the people in my life. No family is perfect, yet God made each one. Then surely, it's all for sharpening His children to greater glory.

Family...
Are the people who don’t notice your bad hair day,
because they’ve seen it too many times...
Are the people who can be oblivious to a new outfit,
or forget the one you had for 7 years...

Are the people who can snap at you for no reason at all...
Or shower you with gifts for equally no reason...

Family...
Are the people who know
what you’re going to say before you say it...
Are the people who waste your time by
saying what you knew they were going to say in the first place...

Are the people who would never wonder,
“What if he meant this?”...
Are the people with whom you don’t have to worry
“What if it sounded like that?”...

Are the people who might not always sympathize...
but always care...
Are the people who can always complain about you...
but still be proud of you...

Family...
Are the people who don’t ask if you’re okay...
because they know it when you really aren't...

Are the people who force you to give up comfort…
Are the people who give up their comfort for you…

Are the people whom you forgive again and again...
And who forgive you more times than that...

Family...
Are the most imperfect people you’ll ever know...
And the people who love you most in spite of your imperfections...

Family...
Are people who come in all shapes and sizes...
Are people who come as parents, siblings, friends, relatives...
Are people who come into your life seemingly out of nowhere...

Family...
Are the people God tailor-made and sent to you...
To make you all that you are...for Him…

It's a Cold, Cold World

Even though this dramatic song from the climax hospital scene of "Care for Christmas?" has long been a 'scheduled-release' on this blog, the words of the song seem to rebuke me from the screen today. The world is cold and it pulls us with it. Oh may God help every one of us keep that warmth and glow within our hearts. May He help me set aside the envy, discontentment, vanity, and selfishness the world encourages...and let His love radiate from within me.

It’s a cold, cold world
Full of cold, cold things.
Don’t let it touch your heart
With the cold it brings.

It’s a cold, cold world
With a cheerless smile.
But if your heart is warm,
It may glow awhile.

So let the glow, so let the warmth,
Remain forever in your heart.
Despite the wind, despite the cold
That try to tear your soul apart.
The bitter world may bring you low,
Leave you in the dark,
But there’s a hope, and there’s a glow,
That you can keep within your heart.

So let the glow, so let the warmth,
Remain forever in our hearts,
Despite the wind, despite the cold
That try to tear our souls apart.
The bitter world may bring us low,
And leave us in the dark,
But there's a hope, and there's a glow,
That we can keep within our hearts.

To Him I Cry

A recent worship rehearsal drove me me to tears for several reasons. Since it was fellowship night, my friends and family couldn't comfort me with their company. I was all alone in my sadness. At least, I thought I was...that loneliness, that helplessness led me to turn to Whom I must turn. A friend told me later on upon knowledge of the incident, "I am glad I wasn't around you then." Yes, I had to be alone. I had to remember Who was with me.

I finished these lyrics a few days afterwards. The words are not all mine, for some of them are my friend's. But I know what matters is the lesson, the spirit of the song. More than once since then, I have been laden down in burdens, irritation, or tears...but remembering at least, that I need look no farther than where I was.

Trapped in my own corner,
Abandoned by the world,
I feel just like a loner,
With no one here with me…
I need to cry to someone,
I need to rant this out,
I want to clutch a shoulder,
I need to sport a pout,

But everyone seems far away,
So far away from me…
And I can’t help but want to say,
“Lord, where on earth’s my company,
My friends, my family?
Where can I find a person who
Would listen now to me?”

Then suddenly I hit my head
The truth had just hit me,
I had the world’s best confidant
Right there with me…

“Okay, okay, You got me, Lord,
I don’t need them, and I
I won’t need anyone but You
No matter what goes by.

“I’m sorry, Lord, please have me now,”
I whisper with a sigh,
“I am all-satisfied in You.”
And so to Him I cry.
And so to Him I cry.
And so to Him I cry.

Lord, As I Come to You

This is a song that I wrote for use in my personal quiet time. I often sing the simple tune to prepare my heart in personal or corporate worship. It is nothing but simplicity in words and in song, but it indicates a dedication to living for God every single day.

Lord, as I come to You,
In this most holy place,
Please silent down my heart
And consecrate my praise.
Remove my earthly cares
And worries for the day,
Please cleanse my every sin,
And dwell in me today.